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Summary
New York was having a swelteringly hot and humid summer. Napoleon had tried to beg leave from Waverly to escape northwards, maybe as far as Canada, but it had been vetoed - apparently, a mission was imminent.
Bored, Napoleon spent his days driving around aimlessly in the morning in his Bentley and sleeping off the rest of the day in his air-conditioned penthouse, and so had been cruising down Brighton Beach, wondering whether he had the energy to park somewhere and walk down the shorefront, when he saw a familiar, tall blonde figure duck into a shop. Surprised, Napoleon slowed down. It was Illya: that height and cap were unmistakable.