III: "You, April, Are An Easy Girl To Please."

Illya was staring at the one-way glass, back in U.N.C.L.E.'s medical wing. There wasn't any sign of the previous fugue; now his wide-eyed look was far away as if he was waiting for someone to come through the door. Additionally, he was openly hostile to any ministrations and restrained in the bed, and most notably, only speaking Russian the rare times he did speak.

Solo watched him with bleary eyes, chin in hand, from the other side of the glass. He'd gotten a few hours sleep, but wasn't at all rested. This puzzle troubled him deeply, and he knew he was out of his league. It was in the medical team's hands to figure out what had happened to his friend, and hopefully, find a cure. He blinked wearily at the sound of someone entering the room.

"Mr. Solo. I just gave my report to Mr. Waverly, so now I can brief you." The man dropped in an adjacent chair and sighed. "This is the deepest case of brainwashing I have ever seen. I've seen subjects conditioned to respond to various kinds of stimuli, and I've even seen subjects reverted to earlier versions of themselves, like their childhood, but I've never seen a subject programmed to monitor his surroundings and respond to stimuli he gathers and processes himself, all as another person so to speak."

Solo looked at him blankly, turning over what he was hearing. "So what you're saying is, he was trained to evaluate an environment and react a certain way when the timing was right? Where's the Illya we know?"

"Oh, he's in there, I think. I just have to figure out how to get him out. This isn't simply a result of mental trauma, as we first believed. This is deliberate manipulation at a deep level. Something has been done to his brain physically; the scars on his scalp attest to that. Somehow, the memory paths have been altered. I don't know if it's even reversible. And you saw what happens if he tries to resist the conditioning."

Solo turned that over, too. "Yes, the epileptic-type spasms. Does he remember me? I mean, does he have his old memories?"

"He must. He got out of here in a direct enough fashion. I don't think he's lost his linguistics skills, either, because he had to understand English to gather the information he needed to get out. His nerve synapses can't access all the old pathways and memories, just some or parts of them. It's a brilliant piece of work."

With all this in mind, Solo shook his head and prepared to enter the room. He straightened his tie, blinked away the tiredness, set his jaw, and entered.

The eyes that met him stopped his heart momentarily, but he didn't let that show outwardly. He smiled a charming smile, and pulled a chair next to the bed. Illya's eyes almost followed him all the while, icy cold, but always a bit behind Solo's motion as if he was looking for someone to follow. Solo parked in the chair, put his feet up on the nightstand, and laced his fingers behind his head.  "Well, Illya, what kind of mess have you gotten us into now?" he asked casually, meeting the dazed-looking eyes. He noted that his partner's muscles were all tensed, and his arms and legs were straining against the restraints. The Russian blinked, and his eyes focused for a split second. He obviously hadn't expected that introduction, and for a second Solo saw a chink in his friend's eyes, a fleeting moment of confusion? Recognition?

"What's the matter?" Solo continued casually. "Feeling a bit guilty about the reports you left behind for me to do? It was quite a substantial pile." The blue eyes faded again and looked beyond Solo's shoulder. It was all the dark-haired agent could do to keep himself from looking behind him.  "Don't think you're off the hook, here. I plan on keeping you busy." Solo stood as the eyes shifted towards him again, and he turned his back and left the room, more shaken than he showed outwardly.

As he passed the doctor, Solo said tiredly, "I think he's waiting for something again and I'd sure like to know what it is, even if it's in his own head."

**********

When Napoleon Solo reported to Alexander Waverly's office he already had an idea. He slipped into the chair next to the curmudgeonly older man and adjusted his jacket, waiting for his cue to speak. The Section Head leaned back with a newly stuffed pipe and fumbled with a match.

"Well, Mr. Solo, I have read the doctors' reports and done some research, and, regretfully, have come to a decision regarding Mr. Kuryakin."

Solo didn't like his boss's tone or the actual words and felt his stomach lurch. "You have, sir?"

"Yes. I am sorry to say that since there is nothing further we can do here for you partner, we must transfer him to a secure, long care facility. You will be assigned another partner for the duration of Mr. Kuryakin's disability."

Solo's mouth felt dry, but part of him had expected this. "When will he be moved?"

"Today. There is no reason to delay. His actions of late have dictated this move. We do not have the staff to guard him properly. Ridgecrest does."

"Uh, sir, may I suggest something first?" Solo leaned forward in earnest, grasping his hands together on the table in front of him.

Waverly's bushy eyebrow raised in curiosity as he puffed on the pipe. "Yes, Mr. Solo?"

"Why don't we let the conditioning run its course? Before we say there is nothing else we can do, let's see what has been done."

Waverly puffed silently, the blue smoke rising in a lazy current to the ceiling. "Go on," he said.

"Well, maybe it's like a fever. If we let the behavior he has been conditioned with go ahead and happen, perhaps the conditioning itself will 'burn itself out' so to speak."

"I see what you are saying. Interesting idea," the Old Man nodded thoughtfully. The pipe burned itself out, and he didn't seem to notice.

"We could tag Illya so we can follow him and see what it is he's been programmed to do, or if he has been programmed to do anything." Solo sat back.

Waverly puffed on the pipe, then his brows furrowed in annoyance when he realized the tobacco had burned out. Distracted, he put the pipe down. "I don't want to lose Mr. Kuryakin, and think that he deserves this opportunity. Not only is there a chance we can get him back, we will also have more information on the extent of this conditioning. We do need more information. You have my permission, Mr. Solo."

Solo shot to his feet with a grin. "I'm on it, sir."

Waverly stopped him with a look. "Remember Mr. Kuryakin's abilities, Mr. Solo. Don't lose him, for his safety and ours."

"Yes, sir." Solo was out of the door in a heartbeat.

  **********

The plan was simple and Solo briefed only those that needed to know. Illya would have to truly believe what he heard around him for the plan to work. The doctors let their patient 'overhear' their plans for the transfer, and their reasoning for drugging him as lightly as possible during the move. Solo was right outside the door when they put him under, and at their signal entered the room with the tracking device. They made a very small incision and slipped the device just under the Russian's skin, just inside the hairline at the base of his skull. It required a single, tiny stitch to secure it.

They loaded him onto a transport gurney without restraints, and into the back of an ambulance. The two drivers were actually Section Two agents that had been recently transferred to New York, and they were on their way. Solo followed at a discreet distance with a mobile tracking screen in the car. To his delight, his partner for this venture was April Dancer.

"Here we go, luv," April said lightly as she flipped the switch on the screen. "Looks good." She had a map opened in her lap to correspond to the readings.

"And so do you," Solo quipped with a smile, keeping his eye on the distant ambulance.

"You silver tongued devil," April giggled. "I won't fall for that stuff. I know you too well."

"And I say not well enough," Solo countered.

Riverside was several miles outside of New York City, and the drugs were scheduled to wear off within the hour. They followed the screen blip through traffic and along several turns in the suburban area around the facility. Long after the time that Solo thought something should have happened, April finally commented.

"They are almost to the facility. Shouldn't something have happened by now? The knock out drugs should have worn off a while ago."

"I know," Solo replied through clenched teeth, and he gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. "I'm going to get a little closer."

The blip on the screen continued on smoothly. "Wait!" April said excitedly. "The ambulance went right by the facility turn off! I think Illya's in play now."

Solo's smile was grim. "The escorts haven't contacted us yet. I wonder what.." He was interrupted by the beeping of his communicator pen and April snatched it from his pocket.

"Dancer here. What's up?"

"This is Wallace. The bait was taken," there was a slight groan.

"Are you all right? How's Baker?"

"Baker's still out, but he'll be OK. I'm glad Kuryakin's on our side, or will be again soon. We were dumped out of the vehicle along the road. I'll arrange for a pick up."

April's smile was brief. "Acknowledged. Dancer out." She closed the pen and returned it to Solo's pocket. That had been the one chance they'd have to take; that the Illya inside wouldn't kill unnecessarily. "Part one complete. Now what do you think the wily Russian will do?"

"The same thing he did before. He needs supplies. Anything on the map helpful?"

April studied it for a moment. "Go north on the interstate, by the way. That's where he went. Let's see here. There are some government areas here, and a National Guard station, a small airport; lots of choices. Whoa, wait, he just turned east." Solo followed her directions and sped up a bit. "He's slowing just outside of this little town. Keep going."

The blip stopped for a moment, then continued on at a much slower pace. "I think he's on foot. Pull over in about a mile and stop."

Napoleon did so, and they both watched the screen. The blip stayed just outside the small town of Emoryville, moving at a very slow pace, and even stopping for lengths of time. The areas corresponded to small farms and houses.

"I bet he's getting clothes," Solo guessed. "And I bet his next acquisition is a car. The ambulance is a bit too obvious." They watched the blip circle around the outside of the town, then come to a stop. It stayed there for a while. Solo looked at April, and she shrugged in return. Nearly an hour later, the blip moved again, this time at a much higher rate of speed. "Saddle up, we're off! Have one of the back up teams check out the town for casualties." That was the only rub in the plan; they were assuming that Illya's basic personality and morals about injuring civilians would guide him, but they had to be sure. If not, they had orders to stop him permanently. He shuddered at the idea, and pushed it out of his mind.

April shook out the map as they hit the road and called in the back up unit. They headed north along the smaller roadways at an almost leisurely pace. She consulted the map again. "I'm betting it's the National Guard armory he's headed for." Her finger poked at a site several miles ahead. "Our intelligence shows they store all kinds of ammunition and vehicles there. A tank, perhaps?"

Solo grinned and shook his head. "We both know that's too obvious for the Illya we know." He hesitated a second. "Well, I hope not, anyway."

"Me too. Make a right. Yup, that's where he's going, I'm sure."

They took another route that would bring them in on the opposite side of the armory, and parked. The blip on the screed also stopped directly east of them with the armory in the middle.

April was already on the radio trying to get the rundown on what was in the armory as they watched the blip slowly circle the compound. Then, it stopped a little distance away.

"I bet he's picked his spot and is now waiting for nightfall," Solo commented, pulling out his field glasses. "I'm going to see if I can get a visual."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll join you when I get the inventory."

Solo got out of the car and walked as close to the fence as he dared, keeping elevated on a small hill. He could see across the entire facility to the fields beyond knowing his partner was out there somewhere. He also kept out of sight; the Russian was very good at surveillance.  It was awhile before April plopped down in the grass next to him.

"Our boy's shopping list will be interesting. There are uniforms and all sorts of handguns and rifles; we expected that. What surprises me is the amount of plastic explosive and loose gunpowder."

Solo's neck was sore from holding it up to use the field glasses, but he ignored it. "What does the National Guard need with plastic explosives? Those college campus peace demonstrators getting a wee bit out of hand?"

"Hey, peace and love to you, too, baby. Actually, they are just storing it. This is a central depository in this area to collect it, and then it's shipped off a couple of times a year for disposal. I guess it's the old stuff, or stuff that is seized as evidence."

"Ah." Solo acknowledged, frustrated that he couldn't spot his partner. "Just curious, but did the blip move? He's not sneaking up on us, is he?"

"Hasn't moved much at all. He's still out there."

Solo finally dropped the glasses and rubbed his eyes. "All right, let's brain storm, here. Where do you think his ultimate destination is?"

April looked thoughtful. "Well, let's look at what we have. Who did this? The Russians, but who? KGB? The government? Thrush? Do we even know that much?"

"The negotiations for his release was through the government, but Illya wasn't kept with the other two. We don't know where he was kept that whole time, so I guess it could have been anyone. Thrush is at the bottom of my list, however. I don't see any benefits for them right now. The government, though, is another story."

"I guess we'll just have to see what happens." April grabbed the glasses. "Meanwhile we can cuddle in the grass together here! How romantic!"

Solo grinned. "You, April, are and easy girl to please."

She adjusted the focus. "Let's keep that between you and me, hmmm?"  

Act IV: "Let The Program Run Its Course."

When darkness fell, they moved back to the car and watched the blip that was Illya move. He was in and out of the facility in under a half hour, and the guards were none the wiser. When it appeared that he was moving away in the car, Solo contacted the support team who would liaison with the Guard and obtain a list of what Kuryakin had taken. Meanwhile, they followed their target at a leisurely pace.

"He sure won't draw attention for speeding," April mumbled.

"But he might for his general lousy driving," Solo replied airily. "Maybe they conditioned him to be a better driver!"

April laughed as she studied the map. As time went by and she noted the route, she frowned. "Hey," she said suddenly. "I think he's headed towards the Grummann factory in Bethpage." Poking at the map, she added, "That's the only thing in this direction."

Solo looked thoughtful. "Isn't that where they assemble the F-14 fighter jets?" he said after a moment. He glanced at April; she was looking at him, wide-eyed.

"You don't think they're having him blow up the plant do you?"

"I think that would be a one-way mission, don't you?"

April looked thoughtful. "Yes, I think you're right. But if it isn't a suicide mission, then what's the encore?"

Solo didn't want to go there, but Illya had forced his hand. "Well, if it's like the escapes we've seen, I think he'd have to fully believe that his mission was completed before anything would happen, you know, upstairs." He tapped his forehead.

"Napoleon, how do we fake the total destruction of an aircraft assembly plant?"

"I don't know, but we'd better start figuring that out!"

April was silent for a minute. Solo jumped when she snapped her fingers. "Wait a minute! What if he's programmed to steal plans and give them to a contact of some sort?"

"I suppose it's possible, but don't you think they would know we'd be watching him? That we'd follow him?"

"He wasn't supposed to be caught, remember? I don't think they figured you into the equation, Napoleon, and how well you know your partner. You've pretty much predicted his behavior all along. And if they didn't figure you into the equation, that pretty much narrows the suspects down to the Russian government. They have all Illya's military and personal records and should know how solitary he is. That would work in the government's favor. I don't think Thrush would share their knowledge of you with the Russian government, do you?"

"I'd say that's unlikely," Solo shook his head. "You may be on to something there, but how do we know which scenario to follow?"

They looked at each other as their minds went over the facts. Finally, April sighed. "I guess we have to wait and see what happens." She clenched her teeth and looked back at the map. "I hate that idea."

"Me, too." Solo grumbled.

April sighed. "Well he could be there simply to take pictures." The two agents looked at each other for a heartbeat. "Nah!" they said together.

The surveillance pressed their patience and the anticipation brought them to the edge. April's guess had been correct as far as they'd seen. Illya's blip stopped outside the city of Bethpage, fairly near the Grummann facility. Again, they knew nothing would happen until nightfall, so they kept busy by placing Grummann uniformed U.N.C.L.E. personnel in key positions around the factory.  The agents were pulled from offices outside New York and had not met Kuryakin.

By factory closing at five P.M. fifty-six agents had reported in for the swing shift. Kuryakin hadn't moved the entire afternoon.

"Doesn't he ever eat?" April griped, just as her communicator called in sync with the whistle blowing quitting time for the day shift at the factory. She grabbed at the device. "Dancer here." She started scribbling and saying, "uh-huh" and "all right" to the caller, and finally ended the conversation with a "thanks!"

"Well? What did our friend obtain by five finger discount?"

 April blew out a breath and raised her eyebrows. "Seems he's a one-man demolition squad.  He's dressed in dark camouflage and packing enough plastic explosive to level several of these buildings. A few handguns are missing along with rope, bolt cutters and a small acetylene torch."

"Illya's traveling light, I see," Solo joked. "This place doesn't stand a chance against our smart Russian."

"I'll say," April agreed.

The afternoon rolled into evening and the sun fell from sight. Darkness followed and Illya began to move. According to the layout map they had in front of them, the blip that was Illya evaded security completely and went directly to the building where the F-14s major body parts were assembled. From there he entered the area where the engines were assembled. April marked each spot where the blip stopped in each building.          

After that Illya moved to the office building where he began a systematic search pattern in each office, which was proving to be very time consuming but extremely thorough.

Even though Illya couldn't hear them, April felt compelled to whisper. "Now that he's clear of the assembly buildings I'll send in search teams. No one has spotted him yet; your partner is very good, Napoleon."

"I know," he replied quietly, following the progress of the blip on the screen.

A few minutes later April's communicator called, and she confirmed each mark on her map as she listened. "The search teams are reporting explosives with timers in the assembly buildings. They're coordinated to all go off in five hours. Doesn't look like a suicide mission; he's giving himself time to get out. That means we get to blow something up so he believes he's been successful!" Her eyes shined a bit at that, which made Solo grin. "I'd say this," she pointed to a pair of smaller buildings behind the assembly area, near the rearmost fence line. "It's in the same area, they stand alone, and the map here says it's general storage."

"Get the teams to empty them of any essential items and move the explosives. Notify Mr. Waverly; he's in direct contact with the complex owners and will update them." Solo continued to watch the screen and mumbled to himself, "Now what's he up to?" His partner apparently had found what he was searching for and was spending a lot of time in one particular office. Solo pulled the map over. "This says 'administration'. What exactly is in this office?" He pointed at the map where it corresponded to Illya's interest. 

April flipped through her notebook, and looked at Solo with a grin. "He's in the high security storage area. I bet our little Russian has turned shutterbug."

"And he's going to hand off the film to someone. Now we're getting somewhere!" Solo was relieved, actually. It was looking like he wasn't going to end up accompanying his partner to the morgue anytime soon.

Illya's five-hour deadline was close when the blip moved out of the complex, still unseen by anyone. The thought crossed Napoleon's mind that it was too bad this would all be classified; there was a lot of good training material here! His partner moved off in the direction of where April and he thought Illya's transportation was parked, but became perplexed when he veered off into another direction, still maintaining foot speed, and stopped.

"He's verifying the explosions," April mumbled. "Good thing we covered that. Hopefully he won't check which buildings explode; he's pretty far away. I think we're OK." They began to pack up in anticipation of things moving quickly from this point on. As they hoped, the buildings went up in an impressive fireball while it was still dark, and the blip moved away, slowly at first, and then at higher speed.

"I think he just 'borrowed' another car. He left from a different location. Have the backup teams check the area for the original vehicle so we can get it back to the owners." Solo started their car as April acknowledged him, both wondering where they would be lead to next.

    ********

It was difficult to keep up with Illya. When Solo and Dancer had to fuel up, Kuryakin simply obtained another car.

"Does he have a sixth sense about cars that have gas? How does he do that?" April groused after filling up for a second time. They managed to get within a reasonable range somewhere in Virginia. Illya stopped suddenly, and stayed put for nearly two hours.

"Sleeping?" Solo wondered.

April shrugged. "We'll check that spot when he moves on." That very thing happened a couple of hours later. She pointed out a convenience store, and they pulled in.

"Excuse me," Solo asked the counter clerk. "Did a blond man stop in here just a little while ago? Alone? Possibly in army clothes?"

"Yeah, man," the clerk responded, bouncing his head to a rock song in the background. "He was weird."

" 'Weird'?" Solo repeated. "How?"

"Well, he didn’t buy anything, for starters. Just used the phone out there," he nodded towards the parking lot. April headed for the phone.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, that dude was stoned. Slept in the car. When he got out to answer the phone I could see his eyes looked weird."

"Ah." Solo, replied, understanding. "He answered the phone, you say?

The clerk's stringy hair bounced as he responded, wiping his hands on his Jefferson Airplane t-shirt. "First he made a call, then took a nap, then the phone rang. Then he left. Dude looked like he shoulda had the munchies but he didn't eat anything. Weird."

"Yes, I see what you mean." Solo nodded. "Thanks."

"Sure, man."

Solo went outside and found Dancer on the payphone, thanking the operator. She headed to the car as she pulled out her communicator, and fired it up as Solo started the car. "Open Channel D," she said smartly. "I need a phone number trace. The number is 555-5794. I'll wait." They got on the road again and followed their quarry eastward. "Really? Thanks!"

Napoleon couldn't hear what was said. "Well? Who did our friend call?"

"The number Illya called and the number that returned his call both go to an townhouse complex near D.C. Specifically," she smiled a toothy smile, "to the residence of one Daniel R. Durrin, who happens to be a CIA agent."

Solo grinned. "Really? Isn't this getting in teresting, Miss Dancer?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth, Mr. Solo!"

*******

Illya's blip stopped miles from the Durrin residence at a city park. Solo and Dancer stopped on the opposite side of the park and proceeded on foot carefully. It was a beautiful park with lots of trees and secluded areas and even a babbling brook with a pretty little bridge. Dancer finally spotted Illya on a bench at one end of the bridge. She focused the lenses and was a little dismayed at what she saw. "He looks awful," she commented, settling down. "Do we have backup available yet?"

"Give me those," Solo said as he took the field glasses and looked for his friend. "Yes, there's a team close by and near Durrin's residence, too." He clucked his tongue when he focused in on Illya. "He does look bad." In his mind, he was alarmed at how bad his partner appeared; again, Solo was reminded of how he missed Illya. I hope my theory pans out, he thought worriedly, afraid to think of an alternative.

Illya sat there for a while, unmoving, much like he sat in his room in the hospital.  After what seemed like forever, a sole male cautiously approached from the other side of the bridge. He walked slowly past the Russian and stopped a little distance away and lit a cigarette. He must have said something to Illya, because soon after Solo saw his partner rise, leaving something on the bench, and head into the woods. When Illya was out of sight the man they assumed was Durrin leisurely walked past the bench, plucked up the envelope and crossed the bridge.

"April, take the team and follow Durrin. We need to know what he's going to do with those pictures. Notify Waverly, and ask him what he wants done with Durrin. I'm going after Illya." He tossed her the car keys and took off after his friend.

********

Solo tried to be as stealthy as he could as he caught up to Illya. The noisy rustling of the bushes were the biggest obstacles; Illya himself seemed to be ploughing through in a fairly straight line. When Solo finally got his friend in visual contact he could see that the blond agent wasn't making the slightest effort to conceal himself. In fact, he seemed dazed and even a bit wobbly. Eventually Illya came to a stop, breathing so raggedly that Solo could hear him from his vantage point behind a thick stand of brush.

As he watched, Solo realized that his friend wasn't breathing hard at all, but was mumbling to himself. Frowning and wishing he'd learned more Russian, he tried to anticipate his partner's next move.

Illya's back was against a tree, his head pressed firmly to the trunk, his eyes closed. Napoleon could see how ragged he looked - unshaven, dirty, sallow cheeked. He could see his lips moving over clenched teeth. 'Arguing with himself?' Solo thought.

The dark haired agent began to think about approaching his friend. 'Let the program run its course,' he reminded himself. His heart leaped into his throat, however, when he saw his friend slowly pull a handgun from his waistband. Solo's hand automatically went for his gun, knowing his partner didn't have sleep darts like he did. He held himself from drawing when he realized that Illya didn't even know he was there; something else was going on.

Slowly, Solo rose as an alarming possibility came to his mind. Only the 'let the program run its course' mantra in his mind stayed his feet. With a pounding heart, he watched his friend fall to his knees in agony, one hand pulling on his own hair and the other wielding the gun wildly.

"No! Don’t let this happen," Solo whispered.

Still on his knees Illya began pounding the back of his head against the tree trunk, moaning loudly. He tried to pull on his hair with the other hand, trapping the gun against his skull.

Solo crept a little closer, fighting the urge to run to Illya's side, unable to tear his eyes away from the drama unfolding in front of him.

Illya's body started to twitch and Solo recalled the event in the hospital. 'He's fighting the programming,' Solo realized, now knowing that the idea he feared a few seconds ago must be true: Illya's final conditioned order was to kill himself! Along with the fatigue and helplessness he must feel at this point, there was a real chance he would follow through.

'Let the program run its course!'  How?' he thought frantically. He'd never seen his friend in such pain and everyone, even Illya Kuryakin, has a breaking point.

Solo was now just a few feet from Illya and the blond agent was beyond screaming, hunched over in pain as each spasm racked his body. Suddenly he stiffened, and his hands dropped down in front of him and began a weird battle between themselves as his right hand fought to point the muzzle at his temple and the left tried to push it away.  Sporadically his body would arch in a seizure as he fought the conditioning.

Finally, the right hand appeared to win and the muzzle of the powerful gun made a wobbly arc to the side of his head. Illya's eyes and jaws were clenched shut, his body bathed in sweat, and his overall features appearing weary, as if his body was slowly shutting down in surrender.

Napoleon Solo couldn't stand by anymore. He covered the last few feet in long strides and placed himself in front of his friend.  "Illya!" he barked sharply. "Illya!"

The muzzle of the weapon wavered slightly as the tormented man raised his head. His eyes were open wide and Solo had never seen that depth of pain and sorrow before in anyone's eyes. They were clear and blue and totally focused as he pleaded, "Kill me!" in a soft, hoarse voice. "It hurts!" The muzzle of the gun began to shake, and he pressed the weapon to his temple as tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

"Illya, I…."

"Please!" A tear escaped, tracing a hot path down the exhausted Russian's cheek.

Solo reached out, but Illya's finger tightened on the trigger, so he froze - both hands out in front of him, his jacket hanging open and his holstered gun exposed. Slowly, he moved one hand toward his secured weapon. It was a huge gamble; Illya had to believe there were real bullets in there, not sleep darts. The sound of it firing would give that fact away and Illya would know. Could the conditioning be fooled? He hesitated, his hand hovering over the butt of his gun.

"This can't be the only way!" Solo said, choking slightly.

"Yesssss," Illya hissed softly; his eyes drifted closed and Solo saw his friend jam the muzzle more firmly against his temple - the decision made in his mind.

From that moment on, everything Solo saw seemed to move in slow motion; his hand darted to his own weapon and he pulled it free, hoping to find his target on instinct alone. At the very same moment Illya's fingers tightened and there was a blinding flash. The shots were nearly simultaneous and Illya Kuryakin dropped like a stone.