Requiem

The last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the Cairngorm Mountains, casting the ancient Caledonian forest into shadow. In the distance, the silver waters of Loch Druie faded into darkness.

A light rain had begun the previous evening, around the time that Illya and Napoleon were busy blowing up yet another THRUSH doomsday weapon, this one under construction at a secret base outside the quaint village of Kinnain in the Scottish Highlands. Now the light rain had become an icy deluge, washing out roads from Aberdeen to Inverness, forcing them to reroute through the ancient forest to their planned extraction point at Aviemore.

Mud-splattered and soaked to the skin, the men slogged their way through the dark forest, stumbling over fallen branches and rotting logs in their haste. Their clothing snagged on patches of bramble and spiny thistle. The thick fog rolling in made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of them. They groped their way forward like blind men.

“Our clever escape plan seems to have gone awry,” Illya observed archly. He swiped at the cascade of water dripping into his eyes. “Perhaps it is time to switch to Plan B.”

“This is Plan B,” Napoleon snapped. "Plan A was our lovely, warm rental car, which is currently floating down the River Spey in the direction of Nethy Bridge.”

“Ah yes, the rental car. Mr. Waverly will not be pleased to hear that we destroyed yet another vehicle. I do not envy you, having to explain the loss of a perfectly good Renault.”

The senior agent winced. Yeah, I don’t envy me, either.

CONTINUE READING AT AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72606661

Follow us:

Applications

COMPANY

PRODUCTS

COMMUNITY

CHOOSE LANGUAGE