The Man from U.N.C.L.E: Operation Istanbul

Chapter 11

The submarine dropped Napoleon and Illya at Fatih, the old town of Istanbul. Gaby's tracker had shown that she and her captors had stopped. Illya jumped out with his opened suitcase in his arms, Napoleon followed soon after. They climbed over the old walls of Constantinople, ran between the cars packed together on the congested road. Illya stopped suddenly at a crowded square, swarming with people and pigeons; the Hagia Sofia loomed behind them. A hoard of tourists were waiting in a queue that meandered like a python. Illya turned around, desperately looking for any glimpse her face in the streets. Napoleon joined him, but no matter where he looked he could find no sign of Gaby. Illya remained determined, and kept searching striding through the flock of pigeons, causing them to rise like a grey, fluttering wave over the Hagia Sofia. Illya felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, but was faced with Napoleon's cerulean eyes. Illya watched the Napoleon's lips part before the American delivered the painful words, "She's not here." The emerald ring rested between the American's thumb and finger, before it landed on Illya's palm. "It must have dropped," said Napoleon.

To Napoleon's surprise, Illya didn't say a word. He simply stared at the little glimmer in his hands. He cupped it in his huge hands, but even so the ring was consumed by empty space. Napoleon looked at his partner. The Red Peril no longer looked like a volcano ready to erupt, he looked like a man who had experienced the devastation of it. Napoleon felt recognition of their fundamental differences; he always faked his persona of a romantic, whereas Illya lived it with every inch of his Russian soul. Napoleon never would have given anyone the power to hurt him like that. He secretly wondered what it was like to feel as intensely as he did: to hate, to rage, to love, to lose... Napoleon decided to leave the contemplation till later. He knew where to look next.

Salome jumped as the hotel room door came crashing down. She saw a giant silhouette fill up the space where the door used to be. A man stormed into the room and yelled, "Where is she?" Salome was stunned, her lips quivered as she stuttered, "Do I know you?" She gulped as the man leaned uncomfortably over her. This time he spoke in deep, slow voice, like a torturer controlling a rack, attempting to draw out the pain for as long as possible, "Tell me where she is."

"This is the waiter you got fired, Lolo," Napoleon was next to slide in, adorning one of his bespoke suits, "Don't worried he's not angry about that."

Salome's fear dissolved completely with the sight of Napoleon, "Could you get him to back off a bit, Gramps?"

"Gramps?" Illya looked disturbed.

"Well, I sometimes call him Bonaparte so he knows how much of a relic he is."

"She's as enchanting as always. Let me handle this."

Illya grabbed Napoleon by the shoulder and growled in his ear, "How do you know she's not working for them?"

"She might be our one shot at finding Gaby," said Napoleon. The Russian responded by looking at the floor, but as soon as he lifted his blue eyes, Napoleon could see resolve burning on his face.

"I will prepare for the infiltration." Illya mumbled as he slipped out, leaving Salome and Napoleon. Illya propped the door back up as he made his exit.

Although Salome crossed her arms, her voice was calm and collected. "If you want to know something, why can't you ask nicely?"

"Because you'll keep asking questions."

"Why are you allowed to do that and not me?"

"See my point?"

Salome pouted, "Now that doesn't seem very fair."

Napoleon tried to hold back a grin, forcing him self to confront the matter at hand, "You were there when they proposed the mission. Did they mention a base?"

"What's going on? You can't expect me to just accept this quietly after you two barged into my room. And did he just say infiltration?"

"He gets a bit dramatic."

"Can you stop it?"

"What?"

"Hiding things from me."

"It never bothered you this much before."

"I was a kid I afford could believe in lies. I can't afford to now can I?" She had a point considering she just learnt about the plot that would screw up international relations.

"I'm sure you wouldn't mind going back to being a kid a little while longer."

"You can't turn back the clock, Bonaparte. Your forehead wrinkles can tell you that."

"I'm like the fine wines you love so much, I only get better with age." Salome let a hint of a smile escape from her lips. Napoleon noticed that she still kept her arms folded, and occasionally her fingers would twitch.

"Look, I want to help you" she insisted, "But you need to at least tell me what you're going to do. And it better not be something stupid. Like looting European art and profiting off Nazi theft, just to name a few. Who are you now, Napoleon Solo? Because you are not the same one I met eighteen years ago."

"You'd think I'm lying."

"They can't be as crazy as the stories you used to tell."

"Trust me they are."

"Try me." And that was one of the few risks Napoleon was unwilling to make. Fortunately, Napoleon was observant enough to divert the conversation.

"Just because I don't tell you everything, doesn't mean you have to try to hide things from me." Napoleon gently held her right wrist, turning over to her palm. There were burn marks all over it.

"I had a little accident with the kettle," said Salome bashfully.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"A bit," she admitted.

"Let me make it better," Napoleon said suavely, as he brought her hand to his lips.

"We were so close, Peril," said Napoleon as he came into Illya's room. Illya rolled his eyes and continued to reassemble a rifle, one of the many pieces of his arsenal. "Don't enjoy yourself too much, Cowboy, we have work to do."

"I don't often like playing nurse, but yes, the company was enjoyable none the less." Illya turned to his partner with a befuddled look, he never thought Napoleon to be one to enjoy roleplaying.

Napoleon could sense a strange vibe coming off his partner, and asked, "You thought we were doing something else, didn't you?"

Illya ended up looking even more shocked, "You mean you two weren't doing it?" Napoleon responded with a smile as he shook his head from side to side. "I had to get ice for her burns." Illya changed the topic, "What did you mean we were close?"

"Gaby was there. We were just weren't looking in the right way."

"What do you mean?"

"A quick little lesson on Byzantine architecture: following the Nika riots that devastated Constantinople in 532AD, Emperor Justinian decided to build a filtration system that would provide water for the palace. For this purpose they built the Basilica Cistern, a huge underground cistern right in the heart of old Constantinople. And we were standing right on top of it."