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

Chapter 15

Illya and Gaby sat facing each other on opposite side of the coffee table. They had been like that for at least an hour since they got back. Gaby was staring at the floor, she appeared dazed, her stare blank as a slate, her mouth seemed glued shut. Illya had been resting his his nose on his knuckle, vigilantly looking at her, trying to scrutinize her fathomless expression. He gave up and broke the silence by dragging his chess set from the other side of the table, causing to screech.

"Do you honestly think now is a good time to play chess? For goodness sakes, Napoleon didn't come out with us and he didn't meet us at the rendezvous." Gaby said as she massaged her forehead with her fingers. 

"In our work, we are always playing chess. We make our move," he said as he moved a white pawn forward, "they make their's," then he dragged out a black pawn to stand diagonal to the white pawn, "and if we make wrong move a piece gets taken away." He knocked the black pawn away, remorselessly.

"Are you sure we shouldn't have gone back to look for him?"

"No point. If he escaped he would have come back. If they caught him, they would have taken him somewhere else."

"And you don't have a tracker on him?"

"Not giving off a signal. Gaby, what's wrong?"

"What else? Mossad's got Napoleon and you're just sitting there playing chess, like you're congratulating your self on a hard day's work." Then it hit her. She remembered when she picked up the phones when Napoleon and Ilya were out, the enraged voices of their handlers as they ordered them to get rid of one another.

"You ratted Napoleon out!" She yelled.

Illya's eyes went wide and sound slid out from his lips,"Huh?"

"You let them take him!"Gaby took one big step onto the coffee table, knocking away the chess pieces with her heels as she towered over Illya.

Illya shot up and they met eye to eye."No! I didn't-"

Gaby poked her finger into his chest,"Stop lying! I know you still have orders to kill him." Out of the corner of her eye Gaby notice Illya tapping his finger against his thigh in a steady slow rhythm, "And you couldn't do it yourself so you had Mossad do it for you!" His tapping hand clenched into a fist, the veins bulging out. He was going to lose it, and Gaby knew she wasn't going to stand a chance. He grabbed Gaby by the shoulders and slammed her onto the table. Gaby body thudded against it, her eyes shut closed at the impact. She grabbed onto his arms to try and push him off her but it was futile, she didn't have the will to. She didn't have the will to believe that he would harm Napoleon. That he would harm her. She sobbed, then dared to look up at him with watery eyes that burned red. To her surprise there were tears in his blue eyes as well.

"Just listen to me." he begged furiously,"You think that I would compromise this mission, betray him and you, all because the Kremlin tells me to! I'm not what they made me to be! Not anymore! I thought you of all people would see that." Gaby's heart sand at those words, regret for her words dragged it down like a stone in the water. "And I know that Cowboy can escape anything. He will get out, and our job is to make sure we're ready when he does." A relieved smile escaped Gaby's lips, though her eyes still welled up with tears, she reach for his neck to hug him. To Illya's dismay, he missed her lips by a crosshair. After a while, Gaby let go wiping her tears aways as she said, "Well, we're not doing that by playing chess. Teach me how to shoot."

"What?"

"You heard what I said."

A punch smashed Napoleon's stomach. He felt the bitter, metallic taste of blood pool up in his mouth. His head whipped forward as he spat on the floor. The room was lit with a sickly yellow light bulb that swung tenuously on a wire from the ceiling. Samson Ashkenazy threw another punch, bludgeoning him straight in the eye. Napoleon clenched his teeth so hard they could have shattered. He felt the rope tighten around his wrist and chest with a burning friction. Samson took a step back. He looked at this man, in his dapper and expensive suit, with the bruises and bloody face of a common street kid that wandered into the wrong back alley. No amount of masterful tailoring could hide that.