The Cadillac & The Lamborghini Affair
LaGuardia Airport was, as usual, crowded with people scurrying to and from in all directions. Napoleon parked the Eldorado in a space and put the top up before getting out and locking the doors. He still looked somewhat like a drowned rat, for there wasn�t time to go home for a shower and a fresh change of clothes, but he was in such a hurry, he didn�t care. He walked around to the front of the car to check the machine guns, but the headlights, the covers closed, thankfully still hid them. He then walked around to the back and the rears ones were not visible, either. Neither was the rocket booster that would come out from underneath the license plate, which read UNCLE-83.
The Lamborghini pulled up to a stop in a spot across the Eldorado and the motor cut off. Napoleon looked over, but didn�t walk over, just in case there were anyone waiting in the wings to pluck off a couple of cousins. He quickly walked toward the main terminal entrance.
Inside, the terminal was more abuzz than the parking lot. Arrivals and departures were continually being announced over the PA system and he started scanning the area for anyone who might be familiar. Seeing none, he quickly headed for the VIP Lounge and, finding the room surprisingly close to deserted, walked over to a quiet corner and pulled out his pen. Clicking once, he said �Open Channel D.�
Out in the Lamborghini, Illya sat, looking at a newspaper when the loud beeping started. He pushed a button on the tape deck and answered �Kuryakin.�
"How do things look on the outside?" Napoleon asked.
He folded up the paper and tossed it into the passenger�s seat. Looking out, he saw a dark sedan pull up and a couple of college-aged kids get out. �So far, nothing,� he answered, picking up a pair of binoculars and trying to get a closer look. �Have you found Jacques yet?�
�I�m waiting on him now to meet me in the VIP Lounge,� Napoleon answered, �I haven�t spotted anyone so far on the inside.�
�Maybe Harry�s coming in unannounced,� Illya suggested.
�Could be.� He heard the PA system announce �South Airways Flight 345 arriving at Gate 27.� He turned his attention back to his pen. �Jacques� flight is just coming in. I�ll try to divert him and you can play shadow and follow Harry once he gets out in the open.�
�How fortunate I�ve become,� Illya remarked.
�Keep in touch.� Napoleon closed up his pen and returned it to the inside of his blazer and walked over by the window to wait and watch. He heard an announcement �Would Mr. J. R. Uncleson please report to the VIP Lounge. Mr. J. R. Uncleson please report to the VIP Lounge.�
Jacques DeBeauharnais came through the gate and into the terminal as the announcement boomed over the intercom, looking rather relaxed in a sport coat, button-down oxford with no tie and pressed khakis. He checked his watch and looked around to see where he needed to go. �Uncleson,� he chuckled to himself. �That�s clever.�
He walked into the VIP Lounge a few minutes later and scanned the room. He saw Napoleon�s back over by the window and walked over nonchalantly. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out. Sticking it between his lips, he asked, �Got a light?�
Napoleon reached into his coat and pulled out a lighter. �Sure,� he answered, flipping back the lid and flicking the wheel on it to produce a good-sized flame.
Jacques leaned over far enough for the end of the cigarette to touch the flame. When the cigarette lit, he pulled back. �Thanks.� He took a puff and exhaled slowly. �How�s the weather here?�
�Hairy,� was Napoleon�s nonchalant reply. �To say the least.�
�It can�t be any worse than back home.� He nodded understandingly before turning around to leave. He coolly walked out the door and headed into the nearest men�s room. He put out the cigarette in a toilet and flushed it. As he came out, he saw Napoleon come in. No one else was in the room. �Uncleson, Huh?� Jacques laughed. �That was good, Napoleon. When�s the second act?�
�Hopefully postponed,� he answered. �At least for a little while longer.� He walked over and washed his hands, looking at the door cautiously before he said anymore. �Harry�s on his way, possibly in a few minutes.�
Jacques tried to control his temper. �Just what is he up to now?� he asked, whispering angrily. �And who's he with?"
�We don�t know. All I heard was he was coming in from Miami at ten-fifteen.� He dried his hands and checked his watch. �I want you to stay in here until I come for you, understand?�
�No,� he answered indignantly. �I'm coming."
�Jacques!� He walked over and got within a nose-length of his father-in-law�s face. �I said no. The sight of you will create nothing but a scene and that�s the last thing we need right now.�
�Oh, pipe down, Napoleon!� Jacques snapped. �I�m not going to create a scene,� he tried to explain. �Besides,� he added with a sly grin. �I left the lingerie at home.�
Harry was alone when he came into the terminal, carrying an attach� case. He quickly scanned the scene and, as he saw a couple of guys in open shirts and hats coming toward him, he took off.
The two guys followed pursuit, pushing through the crowd, yelling �Stop! You snake, give us back our stuff!� They pulled out guns and started firing through the crowd, creating more turmoil. People screamed and started scattering, running for cover as airport security scurried into the melee, trying to stop them.
From the railing above, Napoleon looked down when he heard the shots and saw Harry, briefcase in hand, running for his life. He quickly made his way to the escalator and started running down, trying to catch Harry before he could get outside. About the time he reached the bottom, he saw Harry bolt and run to the side, dropping the case.
The pandemonium increased as Jacques scurried into the scene, as if from nowhere, and scooped up the briefcase. He tucked it under one arm and, like a football quarterback, made a mad dash through the area. Seeing his son-in-law, he pointed "That way!" he hollered.
�Get out of here, Jacques!� Napoleon barked as he was trying to keep up with Harry.
Jacques tried to make a run for the doors, but a couple of guys who had been chasing Harry started after him, their guns blazing. Jacques ducked as bullets whizzed past him and kept moving. He yanked open a door and ran up a flight of stairs, still being followed. Panting for breath, he slowed a little and kept moving. He heard another shot and felt a burning sensation in one thigh as a bullet entered, but kept moving until he reached another door. He threw it open and suddenly found himself on the rooftop. Looking back, he saw the others coming up the stairs and he realized his options were dwindling rapidly. He took a deep breath and ran for the side and, just as the gunmen were less than ten feet away, leaped over the side, the briefcase still in his hand.
The gunmen rushed over to the edge to find Jacques landing in the backseat of a red MG convertible. "There's no way in hell he could've survived that," the first one remarked.
The second one put his gun back inside his pants. �Let�s go down there and get our stuff, man,� he answered as he headed for the entrance to the stairs.
A couple of minutes later, Jacques slowly came to, groaning as the pain in his leg came to life. �I guess I'm not coming up there after all, Maggie," he moaned.
Out of the blue, he heard a female voice almost screeching "Just what the hell are you doing?"
He looked up to see a petite blonde in a flight attendant uniform, glowering at him suspiciously. He tried to raise up, but was so exhausted, all he could do was muster a half-smile. "I know this looks strange," he moaned, "but if you'll give me a-"
�I don�t want to hear it, Mister!� she snapped. �Get out of my car. Now before I call the cops.�
�I�d like to oblige, but my leg won�t let me,� he groaned. "If you'll kindly get me out of here, I'll give you an explanation."
A gunshot rang out and missed the girl�s head by a few inches. She screamed and ducked. �Never mind.� She scrambled around to the driver�s side door and hopped in. "I hope you've got a good story to tell me." She fumbled in her purse for her keys and quickly stuck one into the ignition. She quickly put the car in drive as they both heard the two guys coming out he door, yelling �Stop!� and firing again.
�Just drive!� He barked.
With tires screeching, the MG flew out of the parking lot and into the busy street. From his vantage point in the parking lot, Illya noticed the car and pulled out his pen. �Open Channel D,� he said, as he turned the ignition on the Lamborghini and saw Harry come out of the doors and almost jump into the back of a waiting limousine.
A second later, Napoleon came on the line asking "What's going on?"
�Harry�s fled in a limousine,� he answered, putting the car in gear and pulling out of his space. �I'm going to see what's going on."
�I take it this means you won�t be home for dinner tonight,� he answered.
�Where�s Jacques?�
�He created quite a spectacle there for a minute, but I don�t know where he is now.�
�I guess you won�t be home for dinner, either then.�
�I'm not going to worry just yet. He can take care of himself.� He paused momentarily. �I'm going back to Headquarters. Keep me posted.� The line went dead.
Later that afternoon . . .
A little bit later, the pair came out the building and down the steps to the waiting Cadillac, Jacques dressed rather inconspicuously in a nun's habit. The briefcase had been concealed in the suitcase, which Napoleon quickly locked in the safety of the trunk before opening the passenger�s door to help Jacques in. �After you, Sister."
Jacques managed to get his bulky frame into the seat, muttering "I'm going to get you, Napoleon! Telling that innocent girl I was into necrophilia and voyeurism?�
�I�m already in the doghouse,� he laughed as he got in and started the car. He quickly checked the rearview mirror to see if anyone was behind. Seeing nothing yet, he pulled the Eldorado into traffic.
A ringing sound was soon heard as they headed down the street. Napoleon pushed a button beside the sound system and replied �Number One, Section One here.�
�Look behind you,� Illya told him. �I thought you could use an escort.�
Napoleon looked in his rear-view mirror and saw the Lamborghini almost a block behind. �Old habits die hard, I take it."
�Speaking of which,� he began.
�I hear two doghouses calling,� Jacques interrupted. �And they�re side by side.�
From a side street, a black sedan pulled into traffic between the Cadillac and the Lamborghini, with two foreigners in the front seat. From the Lamborghini, Illya saw them and quickly pushed a button on the console between the two seats. A pair of turrets came out from behind the front headlights and positioned themselves. A computerized voice announced �Front guns are in position. Fire when ready."
Napoleon looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the strangers. �Hold on,� he told Jacques, �I think this is where we get off.� He made a sharp turn in the middle of the road cutting in front of a tractor-trailer, almost causing it to jackknife. The car followed, and another one came up behind.
And, with that, the chase was on. The Eldorado sped up to get away, but couldn't shake them. One of the guys from the first car leaned out the window and fired a gun at the car, but missed. Napoleon tried the rear guns, but they were jammed up. Sirens were going off inside the car, and the computer started nagging "You should've had the rear ones checked, Smart-ass."
Jacques� mouth fell open. �Who changed the voice module on this deathtrap?�
"The same smartass who installed the CAATS system the other night.� He pushed another button marked �Smoke Screen.� Within seconds, the interior of the car filled up with smoke. �How about a hand?� he shouted toward the speakerphone.
"I've seemed to have developed my own troubles," Illya returned, firing off his rear guns at a car following him. The car flipped over onto its side and flames were coming out of the bottom. He pushed the fire button for the front guns and the car in front went up in a fireball as he swerved to avoid it. He quickly made his way around, the speedometer hand pushing one-twenty, and passed a NYPD patrol car like it was standing still.
Inside the blue and white, the two cops looked at each other and the younger one of them asked "What was that?"
�Just another typical day in the neighborhood,� the older one answered.
Meanwhile, the Eldorado was developing more problems. The speedometer was pushing one hundred and Napoleon had pushed the button for the rocket boosters, but with no result. The computer continued to nag. "That damn booster ain't working, either," it quipped. �Where�d you get your license? A Blue-Light special at K-Mart?"
In a split second, the motor blew in the car, and (thankfully) the nagging voice ceased. Napoleon and Jacques tried to get the electric windows down, but they were shorted out as well. Jacques reached into his coat and pulled out a gun. He knocked out the glass on his side with he butt end and the smoke started slowly dissipating. �We�re dead meat,� he coughed.
�Speak for yourself,� Napoleon coughed, trying to coast the car to a stop. �This smoke's still coming in. I can�t see a thing.�
The car finally came to a slow crawl, and then it stopped. Napoleon applied the emergency brake and, with his gun, broke out the window on his side before climbing out. He stepped onto the ground and asked Jacques "Do you need some help?"
�I think I can get out.� He slowly maneuvered his bulky frame through the passenger�s window and, as Napoleon came up behind him to catch him, crawled out. He shook his head as he stood up and walked over to the front of the car, only to discover it was maybe an inch away from a telephone pole on the sidewalk. He looked at the entire car, which sat at an angle, with the right wheels up on the sidewalk, the driver�s side leaning into the street. �That was a close one,� he remarked. �At least the body�s not damaged.�
�Thank God for small favors,� Napoleon returned.
They both heard a screeching sound and looked to see the Lamborghini coming up on them, smoke coming out from underneath, trying to slow itself down. �I see I�m not the only one with car trouble this afternoon,� Napoleon remarked as he and Jacques dove onto the sidewalk and into a jewelry store just as the doors flew up on the car and Illya flung himself out. He rolled on the street as the car came to a crash landing into the back of the Eldorado. As if in slow motion, the Eldorado was pushed into the telephone pole, causing the pole to come crashing down across the length of both vehicles.
The traffic came to a stop to keep from hitting him as he tried to get up, dazed and somewhat banged up. �Oh brother,� he moaned, looking in disbelief at the scene. �If I�m not dead by now, I should be.�
Napoleon and Jacques ran out and around the wreckage and into the street to him. �Illya!� Napoleon called out. �Are you okay? What happened?�
�Everything started shorting out,� he answered, still dazed as a crowd of onlookers appeared. He looked at the wreckage. �Sorry about the Cadillac.�
�Don�t worry about it,� Napoleon reassured him. �That�s the least of my concerns right now.� He and Jacques helped him walk across the street and onto the sidewalk. �Are you sure you�re okay?� Jacques asked.
�I�m fine,� he answered. �Sore, but fine.� He looked at Jacques� attire. �And you, Sister?"
"I'll be fine." He winced as the pain in his leg came back to haunt him. �Just a flesh wound."
�You need to have that looked at,� Napoleon admonished.
�I'm fine."
�How do we explain this one?� Illya asked.
�And how do we get the briefcase out of the trunk?� Jacques chimed in.
A little while later, back in the weapons room of UNCLE-HQ, a couple of technicians were blowing the trunk open on the totaled Cadillac to retrieve the briefcase. They got it out and a secretary walked over, picked it up, and left the area, escorted by two Section Two personnel.
A few minutes later, the trio entered the laboratory of Section Six and handed it over to the chief scientist, Dr. Vincent, a white-haired fellow with stooped shoulders who was obviously nearing retirement, and left.
Back in the office, Illya was sitting on the round table, with a phone directory opened and scanning for something while Napoleon was in his chair, asking "Any luck yet?"
�Try this one: 555-8999.�
Napoleon dialed the number and, after a couple of seconds, asked �Yes, would you by chance have any Cadillac Eldorado convertibles in stock?� A pause. �Preferably the Biarritz model." Another pause. �Would one happen to be in, say, Silver Salmon with gray leather interior?� Another pause. �Thanks anyway for your time.� He hung up and sighed. �No luck there.�
�555-7341,� Illya called out. "Ricardo�s Cadillac Olds."
Napoleon went through the same routine, and hung up again a couple of minute later. �They don�t have one that color, either.�
�Can�t you just tell her what happened? I'm sure she'll understand."
"Er, I could, but in the interest of world peace -"
�Say no more.� He resumed looking through the phone book. �I forgot whom we were talking about.�
Jacques came hobbling in, leaning on a cane, and took a seat. �Good news, sons, I�m going to live.�
Napoleon leaned over and whispered to Illya "Didn't he say he was staying with you and Brenda?"
�I thought we settled this earlier,� he whispered back.
�Any word on what was in the case?� Jacques butted in.
�Nothing yet,� Napoleon answered. �How about grabbing a phone book?�
�Ah, yes,� he mused. �We must stay out of the doghouse.� He opened it and started looking. �We are looking for?�
�Cadillac dealerships," Illya answered. He looked at Napoleon and called out another number.
�You�re a fine one to talk,� Jacques quipped while Napoleon was on the phone again. �You need to be looking for a Lamborghini, don�t you?�
�How long did you say you would be in town?� he asked, changing the subject.
�I take it you want me to come stay with you?� he asked, grinning. "I really wouldn't want to impose on anyone here."
Napoleon hung up the telephone once again and dug into his coat pocket. �Still no luck,� he grumbled. He pulled out a set of keys and handed them to Jacques. �Here. You can stay at the penthouse as long as you want.�
�Well, I thought I'd stay for awhile until I can decide what I want to do. The New York Bar Exam is in a month.�
The buzzer on the intercom sounded and Miss Friday interrupted the round table. �Mr. Solo, you're wanted in Section Six."
�Thank you.� He released the button and got up. "I guess we'll go see what all the fuss was about.�
Later that night . . .
It was late. Almost two a.m. in the morning when the boom was heard outside. Brenda sat straight up in the bed and looked over to her right. The other side of the bed was empty.
Before she could move, the bedroom door opened and Larry appeared in the doorway, hurriedly tying the belt of his robe. "The remains of your car just blew up," he announced. "Where's Illya?" he asked, noticing she was alone.
"How should I know?" she asked, scrambling out of bed and throwing her robe on over her pink satin gown. She grabbed her glasses off the nightstand and put them on before almost knocking him down and flying down the hallway.
Larry followed her down the steps. "Don't go outside!" he warned. "Harry could be hiding somewhere, waiting like a damn spider."
She ignored him and flung the front door open to see a huge fireball in the front drive. "Must be the housewarming present," she replied dryly. "Can't wait to see what's coming Christmas." She stepped out onto the front porch. "I hate to waste a good bonfire."
A little bit later, Larry was outside with her, armed with a toasting fork with a wiener on the end of it, turning it over and asking "How do you like your weenie?"
"Is this a trick question?" Brenda giggled, sticking a couple of marshmallows on her fork and sticking it into the flames. "Lynda will be so sorry she missed all this fun."
"Hmmph," Larry snorted. "She's probably still cussing Napoleon out over the Caddie."
A car motor was heard and a couple of minutes later, the Jaguar came to a screeching halt just before the driveway curved in front of the house. Illya leaped from the car and came running toward them, asking "What's going on here?"
"Weenie roast," Larry grinned from ear to ear, removing his dog from the flame and offering it.
"It's actually an early Christmas card from Harry," Brenda answered, her mouth full of marshmallows. "Would you please explain why my car was towed home looking like a giant hot dog bun with wheels?"
"Oh," he started, but stopped when he noticed Larry was still hanging around. "Don't you have school in the morning, Larry?"
"Uh, nope." He propped his arm on Brenda's shoulder.
"Go inside," he pointed. "Now."
"I can't wait to hear this story," Brenda grumbled. "I just installed the CAATS and now you've totaled it."
"I'll buy you another one," he grumbled. He sat down tiredly on the front steps and watched the flames. "I was following Napoleon earlier to pick up Jacques after he disappeared on us at the airport. Some people were following them and I was trying to divert them. We ran them off and when I tried to slow the car down, the brakes acted up and I had to jump out. Then, the car ran into the back of the Eldorado and the telephone pole landed across the length of both vehicles."
Brenda snickered. "Right. Let's have the real story, okay?"
"That was the truth, Brenda. I'll call the factory in the morning and order another one."
"Yeah. And I wait around for eight or nine months for a new Lamborghini. What am I going to drive in the meantime?"
"Drive the Jaguar. Has the fire department been called?"
"Not yet. I thought I'd give the neighborhood something else to complain about."
