Chapter Text
“You Napoleon Solo?”
Napoleon lifted his gaze from his date, a copper-haired analyst from Section IV, to the man standing behind her. From the cut of his short dark hair and hardwearing suit to the set of his angular jaw and square shoulders, every inch proclaimed his occupation. To flash a badge would be superfluous.
“I could be,” Napoleon answered, cocking his head. “That, ah, all depends on who’s asking.”
The police detective nodded. “You’re him, all right. Just like the lieutenant said you’d be.”
“And how would I be, exactly?”
“Insouciant and insolent,” he replied, the words stumbling heavily off his tongue.
Napoleon’s lips curved. “Are you sure about that?”
“Indubitably. Now come on.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the reception desk. “The lieutenant wants to see you.”
“Why is that, Sergeant…?” he asked.
“Wynant. And that, pal, is on a need-to-know basis.”
Napoleon picked up his martini. “In other words, your lieutenant didn’t tell you,” he said and took a sip.
“That’s right. And if the lieut’ thinks I don’t need to know, that means you don’t need to know either. Now are you coming quietly, or do I have to disturb the ambiance?”
Napoleon’s dinner date tore a fascinated gaze away from the sergeant. “Perhaps you’d better see what this is about.”
“Yes, perhaps I should.” Napoleon kissed her hand. “Excuse me.”
She pressed her knuckles to her cheek. “When you get your one phone call, do remember my number.”
Napoleon gave her a small salute, then rose from the table and followed the sergeant across the dining room.
A man in a plaid trilby leaned against the wall near the coat check. He dug a sugared peanut from a paper bag and popped it in his mouth, oblivious to the affronted glances of the maître d'. He held out the bag as Napoleon approached.
Napoleon shook his head with a grimace. “Mallory.”
“Solo.”
“Was this necessary?”
The lieutenant pushed up his brim with one finger, sliding the hat farther back over his light brown hair. “Nope.” His hazel eyes twinkled. “But it was amusing.”
“My partner locked up again?”
“Not by me. If he’s back to cat burgling, he’s doing it in someone else’s borough.” He folded the top of the bag and dropped it into his jacket’s hip pocket. “I’ve got something to show you. I think you’ll be interested.”
Napoleon waited expectantly. “Well?”
“Over at the Gardiner Building. Come on.” He pushed off the wall.
“Now? Couldn’t this wait until morning?”
“Probably.”
Napoleon looked from Mallory’s amusement to the sergeant’s implacability. He raised a finger, and the maître d' appeared at his side.
“Carl, would you apologize to the lady at my table and tell her that I’ve been called away on business?”
Carl looked apprehensively across the restaurant at the redhead.
“Don’t worry. She won’t make a scene,” Napoleon reassured him.“She’ll extract her pound of flesh later”—he grinned—“in private.”
After retrieving his overcoat, Napoleon followed Mallory and the sergeant out of the restaurant. An unmarked sedan sat at the curb. “What, no squad car?”
Mallory opened the door and waved Napoleon into the backseat. “Maybe next time.”
The sergeant steered the sedan onto 5th Avenue and headed down to the financial district. When they arrived, the entrance to the venerable Gardiner Trust and Safe Deposit Company was flanked by a small crowd. A ripple of excitement passed through them as the lieutenant let Napoleon out of the backseat.
“Is he the one?”
“Looks like a jewel thief to me.”
“They sure caught him fast.”
Mallory chuckled and fished peanuts from his pocket as they passed between the onlookers. Inside the lobby, a gaggle of impatient reporters blocked their way.
“Is this the guy, Lieutenant?”
Mallory looked at Napoleon and shook his head. “Sorry, boys. He’s from one of the insurance companies. What was that mouthful again?”
“The Unified Northern Casualty and Liability Exchange,” Napoleon said.
“They must have made off with some high-class stuff.”
Another reporter elbowed his way to the front. “Yeah, tell us, whose heirlooms got pinched and what were they worth?”
“I’m afraid that information is confidential,” Napoleon replied.
“All right, all right, you guys. Break it up.” Sergeant Wynant carved a path through the gentlemen of the press. “The lieutenant’ll have a statement for you in a little while.”
An alcove to the left of the lobby was marked Safe Deposits. A massive vault door stood open within it.
“How did he get in?” Napoleon asked as they crossed the lobby.
“The bank uses an outside security firm. The thief was disguised as a night guard. Had the right credentials. Said the usual guy was sick.”
“Was he sick?”
“Yeah, food poisoning,” Mallory said, tossing a peanut into the air and catching it in his mouth.
“Convenient. And easily induced.” Napoleon paused at the vault door. “A Smithson 500 series?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Was the alarm triggered?”
Mallory shook his head. “This was a smooth operator.”
They entered the vault. Dozens of steel and brass doors hung open at wild angles, the metal warped from forced entry. Safe deposit box were strewn about the floor. Napoleon whistled. “You sure the alarm wasn’t triggered?”
“Positive. He had all the time in the world.”
“Then why a smash and grab? He could have taken what he wanted, and no one would have been the wiser.”
“Looks like he wanted us to know he was here.”
“But not whose box he was after.”
“That’s where it really gets interesting.” Mallory slid a gray metal container from a nearby cabinet and set it on the counter.
The lieutenant opened the box. Napoleon’s face scrunched. A scrawl of black marker stretched across the inside of the lid: ‘Thrush.’
“Well, well, well.” Napoleon tilted his head one way, then the other, considering the script from different angles.
“I knew you’d find it interesting.”
“Oh, very. But I’ve never known Thrush to leave a calling card like this.” He looked at the lieutenant. “Whose box is it?”
Mallory shut the lid with a clank. “Afraid I can’t tell you that. I’ve stuck my neck out pretty far showing you this much.”
“We’re on the same side.”
“Try telling that to my Inspector.” Mallory scratched under the brim of his hat. “Of course, if your agency wanted to take over this case, I’d be obligated to share everything we know.”
Napoleon pulled out his communicator. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“In the meantime, I’ll throw the press boys a bone. ‘We expect an arrest within forty-eight hours.’ The usual spiel.” He funneled a handful of peanuts into his mouth and went back out to the lobby.
Napoleon was closing his communicator when the lieutenant returned, Sergeant Wynant with him. “It’s all set,” the agent said. “My Chief made some calls, and this case is officially an UNCLE affair now.”
Mallory’s hazel eyes were skeptical.
Napoleon held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. Now about the box.”
“Wynant,” the lieutenant said, “who’s got box 437?”
The sergeant produced a notebook from inside his jacket and flipped it open. “Name’s Truitt.”
Napoleon frowned. “That, ah, wouldn’t happen to be Genny Truitt, would it?”
Wynant looked at the page again. “Ifigenia Truitt,” he pronounced laboriously, “Truitt Island, New York.”
Napoleon smiled ruefully. “Methinks our thief isn’t the only smooth operator around.”
Mallory’s lips twitched. “Good luck on the case, Solo.”
“Thanks,” he replied darkly. “I hope to do the same for you someday.”