5Napoleon stayed conscious through his pain until they put him under to take the bullet out, the doctor could only speak broken English but Napoleon could understand his German, though it was hard for him to concentrate on the words. The doctor knew what he was doing so it didn't matter what language he was speaking, Napoleon was in his hands. Later on when he woke up he looked around groggily, there was a nurse there asking him in German how his pain was, he did his best to tell her awful, she gave him something for it. The next thing he knew he was waking up again, this time in a room with the heat on and a window looking out at the beautiful snowy mountains. He also had an IV in his arm and a stone faced Russian by his bedside along with another man leaning against the wall at the foot of his bed.
"Hello," Illya said.
"Hello. I guess I checked out for awhile," Napoleon said, blinking his eyes.
"They put you through surgery to take the bullet out of your shoulder," Illya explained, in case Napoleon didn't remember.
"Ah. What are my chances?" Napoleon asked with a grin.
"Good. But no thanks to me," Robert finally spoke.
Napoleon gave him a full look then and smiled, recognizing him. "Rob! It's been awhile. What are you doing here?" he asked.
"He is after the man who shot you, it would seem the bullet was meant for him," Illya said.
"Oh? Well you can have it if you like, I'll ask the doctor," Napoleon joked.
"No, thanks. I'll settle for DuRosen though," Robert said.
Illya explained the whole thing to Napoleon who thought and shook his head. "Sounds like Van is driving you to drink," he said.
Robert smiled and cast a glance at Illya, who's mouth turned up ever so slightly at the corner. "You could say that, I could do with some help for sure," he said.
"We would be happy to help, wouldn't we my vodka smelling friend?" Napoleon asked, looking at Illya with a half smile.
"Is it that strong?" Illya asked, knowing it was.
"Well it certainly isn't rubbing alcohol that I smell," Napoleon said.
"No, it isn't. But anyhow, the doctor told us that you will be alright, they will release you from the hospital sometime tomorrow, as long as there are no complications. He also said that you need to rest once you leave the hospital so I will help Robert," Illya said.
"I will rest on the plane to wherever DuRosen will go next. Now that I've got a whiff of this affair, not to mention a scar from it, nothing can keep me away," Napoleon said.
"Alright, well I would say that settles it. I'll call Mr. Donleson and report in and then we'll find Van," Robert said.
"I'll tell Mr. Waverly," Illya said.
"I'll just lay here," Napoleon said as the two men went out in the hall to contact their bosses. He waited ten minutes before they both returned.
"Everything is set," Robert reported.
"Yes and Mr. Waverly send his get well wishes to you," Illya told his partner.
"That was kind of him. But now gentlemen, I purpose you go find that THURSH agent, hum?" Napoleon asked.
"We shall. You rest while you can, we'll do the hard things," Illya said with a slight smile.
"Ha, ha. Get on with you now," Napoleon said.
Illya and Robert left the room and began to make their way out of the hospital and onto the now dark streets of Zermatt. "How do we find DuRosen? Are you tracking him?" Illya asked.
"Well, I have been, he usually finds my tracking devices and I have to replace them anytime I get near his luggage or anything else of his. Last time I hid one on his coat in the airport, he wasn't in it at the time of course, he was hiding from one of those THURSH killers, so was I, hopefully he picked it back up again and not the killer. I lost him after that and every time I turn on my control the signal is faint," Robert said. He took out a remote control type device and flipped a small switch on it, a light came on and it started beeping.
"Your right, the signal isn't coming in very strong," Illya said.
"He's north of here about ten miles, that's close to or in the airport. He's probably ready to flee Switzerland already, thinking that he's nailed me and only has to worry about his former friends," Robert said.
"Where do you think he would go next?" Illya asked, he was flagging down a cab for them.
"Well, he's covered Europe, that just leaves the rest of the world," Robert said with a sigh.
"Driver, to the airport, hurry," Illya ordered once they had stopped a cab.
When they arrived at the airport Robert's device was beeping loudly, they ran through the small airport as the sound lead them to the boarding gates. They got to gate seven and a woman stopped them. "Excuse me, gentlemen. Were you supposed to be on flight twelve?" she asked. She was a short, dark haired woman with a pretty smile.
"Did a man come through this gate wearing a black heavy coat? He's 5'11, brown eyes, sandy hair, medium weight, probably acting nervous," Robert questioned.
"Yes, I believe I recall a man like that. Why?" the woman asked.
"Was he using the name Bernie Con?" Robert asked.
"Yes! Mr. Con was his name. But why?" the woman asked again.
"And he is on this flight?" Illya asked, eyeing the plane sitting on the runway.
"Yes he was," the woman confirmed.
"Let us on, we have to talk to him," Robert said.
"Well I'm sorry, sir. Flight twelve just took off, you've missed it," the woman said.
Robert was crestfallen, Illya frustrated to some extent. "Where is the fight bound?" Illya asked.
"Zurich. But Mr. Con was rather adamant about leaving the country," the woman said.
"Did he say anything at all about this destination?" Robert asked.
"Only that he expressed some wishes about leaving Europe," the woman said.
"Thank you, Miss, you've been a big help," Illya told the woman before they walked away from her.
"Well, you were right. Departing from Europe, next stop- the rest of the world," Illya said, looking at Robert.