Act III:  "This Isn't Exactly How I Thought My Day Would Go."

Nurse Trueheart was very glad she decided to show Dr. Negril the tape while he was alone. At the moment, she thought he was going to burst a blood vessel. His face was red, his eyes hugely round, and his mouth was clamped so tight she wondered if his lips would cramp.

He was starting to scare her.

“Um, Doctor? How do you want to proceed? There’s nothing amiss in the office. It seems that Mr. Van Dorn’s strong personality and ego may be the problem, don’t you think? He values secrets and one upmanship, as your interview records indicate?”

Dr. Negril didn’t seem to be pleased that his diagnosis of the patient in question was right on the nose. “Put him in restraints immediately. Search his room. He must have gotten his hands on a key somehow.”

“Yes, sir.” Trueheart wasn’t surprised at the order. She’d come to the same conclusion herself. The doctor’s next request surprised her.

“And get me a copy of his picture, along with fingerprints. You do that personally and give them to me only. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she said without hesitation just before leaving to fulfill his orders.

************

Nick Van Dorn was standing at one of the wire reinforced glass windows in the day room looking out over the gardens below when his arms were seized from behind. He’d heard them coming, but Illya Kuryakin deftly quashed his trained response to escape, and allowed himself to be dragged to his room. He wiggled in token resistance and peppered the air with angry expletives as the other residents froze, wide-eyed in amazement.

Duggan and Stacey must have spilled their guts. The agent knew he would be pegged as the instigator of the night’s events eventually and already had his boastful story of ‘not wanting to be bored’ all planned. He expected the antic would probably get him isolation.

What he didn’t expect was to be restrained to his bed. The orderlies stood silently, one cracking his knuckles, as Nurse Trueheart entered the room and closed the door. “All right, Mr. Van Dorn. Where is it?”

Illya’s lip curled up in a rakish smile. “If you don’t know, release me. I’d love to show you. But we don’t need observers, do we?”

The obscene suggestion failed to chip her stony look. She sighed sharply. “The key, Mr. Van Dorn. The key that got you into the office down the hall and out of here.”

Illya was surprised, but kept the façade with icy eyes and cold smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re free to search me, honey. In fact, I can’t wait.”

After an appraising second, Trueheart nodded at the orderlies. “Find it,” she said. Then, from a large pocket on the front of her uniform, she pulled out an ink pad and some paper. While the orderlies began to search, the nurse sat on the side of the bed and inked the agent’s fingers.

“What’s that for?” Illya said, surprised and a little alarmed.

“Fingerprints. For our records.”

The agent knew that was a lie. And in that instant, he knew his time was very, very short. They didn’t know his true identity yet, but they would as soon as the prints were examined. He balled his fists, preventing the prints from being taken and made an instant decision based solely on gut instinct.

“Wait, don’t do that. Listen to me.” The Van Dorn personality was pushed aside in an instant. Illya could see in the nurse’s face that she noticed the change. “Listen! I need your help. You can’t fingerprint me.”

Trueheart hesitated, seeming to make a decision.

“If they check those prints, my life will be in danger. Don’t do it.”

After a moment, Trueheart put the ink back in her pocket and pulled out a syringe.

Illya fought down the panic that instantly hit him. He spoke urgently in a low voice for her ears only. “I’m an UNCLE agent! I’m investigating this place!” His hope spiked when he saw that she didn’t react on hearing the term ‘UNCLE’. She’s not Thrush. I hope.

The nurse swabbed his secured arm. All the agent was able to do was open and close his hand; his arm was hopelessly secured flat against the bed with his vein easily accessible. Trueheart popped the cap on the syringe and lowered the needle to his arm. The possibility that he might not wake up again crossed his mind.

“My name is Kuryakin, Illya Kuryakin. Check with UNCLE. My boss is Alexander Waverly,” he was speaking rapidly, trying to say something to get her to believe him.

The cold sting of the needle brought home the urgency of the situation. “Miss Trueheart, I’m looking for a Dr. Bellows. He’s in danger. Don’t trust anyone here. . .” Illya could feel the warmth of the tranquilizer as it rushed up his arm and through his system. His eyelids suddenly felt very heavy. “Don’t . . . Bellows . . . danger . . .”

Trueheart withdrew the needle and kept from showing shock at what she’d just heard. How would he know about Mr. Bellows? she wondered. The sound of an orderly slamming a drawer snapped her back, and she fumbled with the ink and paper. Is he a multiple personality? That still wouldn’t explain how he’d know about another patient here – especially that one. Her hands were shaking now as she worked with the limp fingers. Was she being dragged into a crazy man’s world, or was there truth in what he said?

The usually unshakeable nurse was now filled with doubt. Everything Van Dorn had said and done up to his point was classic sociopath behavior; these types didn’t have a change of heart and suddenly worry about others. And even she didn’t believe the multiple personality idea, especially since he’d mentioned a name he should have no knowledge of.

Finished, she stood and looked at the prints she’d just taken. Her eyes then went to the slack face of the fair skinned Van Dorn.

Or was it Kuryakin? How did he know about Bellows?

“Got it!” The orderly’s voice made her jump. She turned to see a jubilant man holding a piece of bent wire aloft. “A lock pick! Don’t know where he got the wire, though.”

Trueheart pulled herself from her reverie and became all business again. “Ah, this patient is proving to be rather ingenious, isn’t he?” she said lightly, taking the wire. Never in her time here had she seen a patient do this sort of thing.

An UNCLE agent however . . .

“Good job,” she said in what she hoped was a cheery voice. “Shall we let Mr. Van Dorn rest now?”

The orderlies opened the door, slapping each other on the back in congratulations and leaving the nurse to secure the room. Trueheart paused in the doorway and gave the drugged enigma one last look as she sorted her thoughts.

First, do my job. Next, do some checking. Something here just didn’t feel right, and she’d learned long ago not to ignore her gut feelings. She quietly closed the door, already composing her somewhat edited report to Dr. Negril in her mind as she left the ward.

*******

Jacob Negril fingered the print card and photo of Nicholas Van Dorn and wondered if he was doing the right thing. Working with Thrush for the past five years had taught him one thing: If anyone on the Council ever thought you’d lost control of your mission, you disappeared instantly. That's how Negril had become the head doctor here - two doctors before had simply vanished. Negril knew he didn’t yet have the contacts he needed to protect himself, and it was possible that the niggling feeling he had about Van Dorn may be wrong. The man was a bona fide psychopath. Would asking for a print check make him look bad?

He put the items down on his desk. Dr. Ellroy was dropping by for his monthly report after lunch. Negril resolved to show him the items and ask his advice. Ellroy was the only Thrush contact he trusted.

******

After reporting to Negril, Trueheart stated that she was taking her lunch break in town. As soon as she cleared the gates of the facility, she headed for the first pay phone she could find.

“So if this Waverly guy doesn’t exist, I look stupid, but at least it’s over the phone and not face to face,” she mumbled as she tried to find UNCLE in the phone book. She eventually gave up and resorted to the operator. The nurse was connected with the offices of UNCLE quickly, but then was forwarded through a series of secretaries and extensions that dizzied the mind. She did realize, however, that no one denied this Waverly person existed, but no one seemed to be able to find him.

After identifying herself for what seemed like the dozenth time, she was startled by a knocking on the phone booth door. “Oh!” she said when she recognized the dark haired gentleman knocking. The flustered nurse managed to crack the door enough to speak. “Mr. Van Dorn! I’m on hold here. . .”

Solo pushed open the door and removed the receiver from the astonished woman’s hand. “It’s all right, Miss Trueheart. Mr. Waverly sent me.” He hung up the phone.

“What? Mr. Waverly? I didn’t even speak to . . . you know Mr. Waverly? There really is a Mr. Waverly?’

Solo took her elbow and lead her to his unobtrusive sedan. He settled her in the passenger’s seat then ran around to the driver’s seat. When he slipped in and fired up the engine, he said, “I’m just going to park off the main road, then we’ll talk.”

Trueheart was speechless, not knowing what to say first. “How did you know where I was?”

“We traced the call.”

“ ‘We’?”

“UNCLE. Waverly had them trace the call as soon as you identified yourself.”

That gave the woman pause. “They know who I am?” she whispered.

“Yes. You’re part of an investigation of Deerwood.”

“Are you telling me that everything Nicholas said is true?” Even though her words seemed astonished, inside, Trueheart was not surprised.

"His real name is Illya Kuryakin and mine is Napoleon Solo. He's my partner, and we both work for UNCLE. I was wondering how he was going to contact me, but I wasn't expecting this so soon."

"Wha . . . what does UNCLE want at Deerwood?"

"Specifically, Dr. Carl Bellows. Generally, we want to see what Thrush has been doing there."

" 'Thrush'?"

Solo gave the overwhelmed nurse a quick overview of the Thrush organization and how Dr. Bellows may be at risk.

Trueheart frowned. "I rarely see Mr. Bellows. He's kept separate and has no contact with other patients." Her eyes narrowed. "Are you saying that Mr. Bellows may not be sick at all?"

"That's a very good possibility, and the reason my partner is in there. Illya is to get Bellows out if it looks like he’s being held against his will."

"Oh, my, he has his work cut out for him, Mr. Solo. Dr. Negril has Mr. Bellows on the third floor."

Solo gave the attractive nurse his best smile. "That may be true, but you don't know my partner. And with your help we can get the job done."

"Me? Help?" At first, Trueheart was alarmed, but after a few seconds of thought, the idea appealed to her. If Bellows was being held captive, she felt it to be her duty to help him. Then she remembered how she'd left the blond agent. "I'm not sure what I can do, Mr. Solo, and I'm not sure how soon your partner will be up and around, either."

Solo's heart jumped. "What do you mean?" When Trueheart explained the film and Negril's orders, the American agent immediately started the car. "We have to get moving. Illya's cover will be blown when they check those prints. I'm pulling together an assault team right now. You have to make sure Illya can get to Bellows, understand?"

"Assault team? But there are dozens of innocent patients there! They could get hurt!"

"Miss Trueheart, I'm making it your job to make sure the patients are secured and safe. Can you lock them down?"

Thinking quickly, she nodded. "Yes, yes. I can initiate a lockdown on both the first and second floors and call it training. When?"

Solo glanced at his watch as he pulled in next to the nurse's car. "I can have a team staged by three o'clock - two hours from now. That gives Illya time to locate and secure Bellows first. When he does that, we'll enter. Can you lock down at three?"

She nodded. "Yes, yes. That will be fine." Trueheart stepped from the car. "Mr. Kuryakin should be awake by now. I'll get him to the third floor somehow."

Solo grinned again, in spite of the niggling of worry he couldn't dispel. "Don't get yourself into trouble, Miss Trueheart. Just turn Illya loose. He'll find his way."

A wan smile accented the nurse's quick nod. "This isn't exactly how I thought my day would go," she said with a nervous laugh.

"You're doing the right thing. See you at three o’clock." He gave the nurse a wink to reassure her.

The sedan's engine gunned and Solo sped from the parking lot in a cloud of dust.

************

Dr. Philip Ellroy was in a foul mood. Always looking for a way to gain favor from, and possibly get a seat on, the Thrush Council, Ellroy knew he had to show something from this Bellows job very soon. His methods were working, but too slowly for Ellroy’s taste. Negril worked too cautiously.

Deerwood was woefully under used, in Ellroy’s opinion. He was beginning to wonder, though, if his designs on the place were worth his effort. He had a year into this project, and only Bellows to show for it. Sure, there was a lot of information in the scientist’s room, but Ellroy wasn’t sure how to present it, as it was a jumbled mess. Thrush liked things neat.

The sudden departure of the previous two head doctors had Ellroy a little worried. Either someone else in Thrush had their eye on the place, or they were setting it up to fail and save the operating costs.

That’s why he was upset. None of his contacts would tell him what was going on. Deerwood was ripe for a hostile takeover and Ellroy was on the fence about how much of a fight he should put up to keep this place under his control.

Ellroy’s stomach was satisfyingly full from lunch in town, and now he marched into the facility hoping Bellows had something for him to show the Council. Negril had sounded hopeful. Ellroy just hoped it was something other than the blasted scientist’s room; that place gave him the creeps.

The doctor stopped at the first floor main desk to make an appearance. Actually, he hoped to see the luscious Nurse Trueheart. The woman was an ice queen, but Ellroy was sure he could melt her resolve when he obtained the right amount of power. For now, he was willing to bide his time and admire from afar.

Trueheart breezed to the main desk slightly breathless and a bit flustered, causing Ellroy to raise his brows. He’d never seen her out of sorts before and he found it attractive. When she saw him, however, she pulled up short, straightened her already perfect uniform, and changed into the ice queen before his eyes.

“Dr. Ellroy,” she said politely. “Dr. Negril is on the third floor, I believe.”

“Would you tell him I’m here, Nurse?” he asked coolly.

“Yes, doctor.”

“Thank you.” He turned his back and marched to the elevator, glowing internally at her obedience. Yes, she would be a catch.

***

Trueheart paged Negril’s office and announced Ellroy. With the coast clear, she nonchalantly made her way to the second floor to release Kuryakin.

She found him awake and a bit lathered, but still restrained to his bed. The nervous nurse made sure the door was secured before she began to unlock the restraints and tell him about her meeting with Solo. The blond agent looked relieved.

“I’m glad you believed me. Why did they decide to fingerprint me?” Trueheart told him about the camera on the drug case. “Stupid mistake on my part. Are there cameras on the third floor or anywhere else?”

“No,” she said. “Only on the drug cabinets.” She proceeded to give him a verbal description of the third floor layout, and the fact that Solo was storming the place in less than two hours.

“Not much time,” Illya mused. “I need to see Bellows. Is that possible?”

“I think so.” Trueheart’s pretty forehead furrowed as she thought. “Dr. Ellroy just went up there to meet with Negril. They’ll do that in Negril’s office because Ellroy doesn’t like to get too close to the patients.”

Illya rubbed his wrists. “I saw Ellroy’s name in the files. He’s Thrush.”

“And I warn you, Ellroy doesn’t hang around long so watch out for him leaving. I can pull the orderly and nurse from the floor on some red herring, which should clear the way to Bellow’s room.” She fished a key ring from her pocket and flipped through the numerous keys. “This should work on the doors.” She gave him a key. “What are you going to do, exactly?”

“Since Napoleon is on his way all I really have to do is make sure Bellows is contained, and then get Negril and Ellroy in custody before they destroy Bellows’ files. I’ll secure the files and the doctors and wait for Napoleon’s arrival.”

The nurse nodded and briefly chewed her lip. “Give me a half hour to get the floor clear before you leave here,” Trueheart said. “I’m instituting a training lock down at 2:30. Your key should still work on all the floors. Look for a steady red light near the ceiling in the hallways. That’s the signal that lock down is in effect and your partner is on his way.”

Illya nodded and gave the woman an appraising look, then grinned slightly. “You’re really taking to this spy stuff.”

Trueheart frowned. “Not exactly. I just want what’s best for the patients here, Mr. Kuryakin, and Drs. Negril and Ellroy apparently aren’t it.”

“They aren’t the only Thrush here, so be careful,” Illya cautioned.

She smiled weakly. “I can get you down the hall and in the stairwell. Let’s go now before I lose my nerve.”

Act IV:  "Do You Know Who This Is?"

Negril and Ellroy dropped in on Bellows in his room first. The scientist’s room always dazzled Ellroy each time he entered it. The amount of possibly valuable information he saw there made his blood race with excitement.

So far, the Thrush Council was not aware of what the room held. Ellroy was in the process of selecting the appropriate individual to decipher it all. He had to find someone willing to pledge him total loyalty so the benefits of all this information would serve Ellroy’s best interest. Council had to be informed soon; they were starting to question the value of the whole Deerwood project.

As Bellows sat mute on his rumpled bed, Ellroy surveyed the room with a carefully neutral face as Negril summarized Bellows’ latest treatment. The visiting doctor wasn’t listening. Instead, he was mentally adding up the value of the scribbling that adorned every surface of the room and how to market it. His head swam with the idea of the amount of power this information could bring him.

But then the nagging fear in the back of his mind raised its ugly head: What if all these formulae and diagrams were just the writings of a unbalanced mind? It was a possibility he couldn’t ignore. The amount of experimental drugs in Bellows’ system had to be considered . . .

Ellroy suddenly realized that Negril had stopped speaking. He put aside his thoughts and turned his attention to the annoying little man. Negril suggested they adjourn to his office.

Once in Negril’s office, Ellroy walked to the neat mahogany desk while Negril pulled the files from a cabinet. Ellroy’s eyes fell to a picture sitting on a pile of files and he quickly snatched it up.

“What’s this doing here?” he said hotly, waving the photo and at Negril.

“Oh, that’s just a patient I was going to ask you about.”

“This man is here? Now?” Ellroy’s eyes went wide with alarm.

Negril froze; a feeling of dread settled over him. “Um, yes. Second floor.”

“Do you know who this is? This is Illya Kuryakin! This is one of UNCLE’s top agents! How did he get by your security? Is he roaming around right now?” Ellroy clutched the photo so tightly his knuckles were white.

“He’s in restraints at the moment - I knew there was something about him!” Negril wrung his hands. “ What should I do?” He clutched a fat file to his chest.

As quick as a flash, a plan came to Ellroy. Bringing Kuryakin in to the Council would be quite a feat; throwing Negril and Bellows to UNCLE would be a small price to pay, especially since Negril would take the full blame.

If Kuryakin was here now, that meant Solo wasn’t far behind. This facility is as good as gone, he thought with sudden clarity, and Negril naively trusts me to save it for him. If I could use Bellows and Negril as a distraction and get away with Kuryakin . . .

“Get Bellows out of here,” Ellroy said decisively. “I’ll call for a helicopter. His partner, Napoleon Solo, is probably near by. You get Bellows out, and I’ll meet you later.”

“Where?”

Ellroy did his best to sound sincere. “You have my number. Call me when you’re safe, and we’ll plan from there. No need to alarm Thrush Central right now.” If you make it out of here, you idiot.

Negril began to stack files on his desk, and Ellroy offered to clear the floor of personnel, leaving Negril two orderlies to handle Bellows.

Ellroy left the floor with the plan to whisk Kuryakin out before the impending raid he knew was going to happen. When he got to the ground floor main desk, he quickly began to fill out a transfer order. The goons here may not be too smart, but they did check paperwork.

His plan was disrupted by the sound of a muted alarm that made him jump. Ellroy grabbed the arm of a nurse as she hurried by. “What’s that?” he demanded.

“Emergency lock down,” she snapped, pulling her arm free. “Excuse me!” She then hurried down the hall.

With a sinking heart, Ellroy knew Solo was on his way and that he needed to blend in and sit tight if he was to get out of this mess.

*******

When Illya poked his head from the stairwell into the third floor, he was pleased to see an empty hall and the red light Trueheart told him about. So far, so good. He went directly to Bellows’ room and let himself in.

The scientist’s room stopped him in his tracks. Dr. Bellows has been busy during his incarceration, the agent thought, turning a little circle with dropped jaw. If the little bit Illya deciphered was any clue, there was a plethora of information here that couldn’t fall into Thrush hands.

Bellows himself appeared to be in some sort of catatonic state. He lay quietly on his bunk, staring at the ceiling and oblivious to all. The agent decided to leave him for now and retrieve his files. UNCLE medical would need those to counteract what ever was done the scientist. Once the agent had both Bellows and files secured together, he would take Negril, and hopefully Ellroy, into custody and wait for Solo to find them.

Illya slipped from the room and started down the hall to Negril’s office. The sound of a doorknob turning made him duck into and empty patient room where he heard Negril speaking with someone. With the door cracked, he saw Negril and two orderlies heading down the hall toward Bellows’ room. Ellroy must be gone already, the agent concluded.

When he lost sight of the pair, he immediately heard the sound of a door opening. After a second, a glance told him the hall was clear. Illya quickly moved to the office and began searching for Bellows’ files. It didn’t take him long to find them stacked on Negril’s desk and he counted himself lucky. Now, he needed to stash the files and get Negril. With the thick Bellows file secured under his arm, Illya moved to the door to check the hall.

Without warning, the office door flew open. The surprised agent acted without thinking and grabbed the lead figure by his collar and pulled him in the room, instantly recognizing Dr. Negril

Kuryakin didn’t count on the stocky orderly moving so quickly. The agent was unable to disengage himself from the panicked doctor in time to avoid being placed in an impressive chokehold by the white uniformed behemoth. Releasing Negril, Illya grappled with the arms of steel. He was just about to initiate a nasty grab to the groin when the mountain of a man was joined by his equally large partner. Together, they made their own continent and soon had the Russian pressed flat to the floor with absolutely no wiggle room. Illya gasped, his breathing hindered by the mass on his back.

After a moment he felt a sharp prick on his forearm. “That should take care of him. Let me gather a few things before we take Bellows and leave.”

“What did you give him?” one of the beasts panted.

“Something to distract him. Bring him along in case we need a bargaining chip.”

Illya blinked hard at the odd sensation he felt trickling through his system. He tried to fight the whirling feeling in his head, but everything soon became a confusing mass of colors, smells and feelings. So enamored with the colorful visions, he didn’t even feel the orderlies release him. He just lay there, his senses completely over stimulated and overwhelmed.

One of the toughs easily pulled Illya to his feet. The sudden movement both surprised and unnerved the agent. With a quick twist, he slipped from the grip and fell, his arms outstretched in an effort to maintain balance.

“Look out!” Negril jumped aside as Illya fell hands first into the glass doors of a bookcase. His forearms erupted in bloody, but he didn’t feel anything but exhilaration at the vivid sights, sounds, smells and tastes that the accident triggered. He began to laugh, wavering drunkenly on his feet.

The two orderlies frowned at him, then one laughed shortly. “Whoa, look at him, Deke! He’s out there!”

Words only added to the bright and dancing visual display. Illya was oblivious to all but the cacophony of sights, smells and sound that surrounded him. He blinked in confusion.

The two attendants laughed and Deke grabbed Illya’s elbow. At his touch, the room erupted in violent colors and hummed with sound. Illya’s skin crawled and he tried to brush off the sensation. Every move brought a corresponding swirl of distracting colors and sights that totally disoriented him, but he managed to keep his feet, gaping in wonder. With the bright colors came foreign tastes on his tongue and smells that had to be savored.

The compromised agent moved to explore the sights, sounds and smells. The colors made music, and the brightest display was always just ahead. Illya stumbled forward, reaching out with bloodied arms and feeling nothing but exhilaration and unknowingly kept upright and guided by the burly orderly.

********************

Solo and his team moved through the lowest floor with swift efficiency. They worked on the premise of securing the exits and keeping the patients and staff calm. Trueheart proved to be an invaluable ally; the locked down rooms made the entry and follow up much more efficient. Solo nodded his thanks and left a half-dozen agents to cover the exits while he advanced to the upper floors.

Two squads worked their way up the stairs at each end of the building. The second floor was just as secure as the first, thanks to Trueheart, who was soon at Solo's side. Solo turned the floor over the Trueheart and a small team of agents.

Their ultimate goal was just above them now. Solo fully expected to find Negril in Illya’s custody on the third floor and shook off the feeling of doom that had dogged him since the beginning of this affair.

“You and you, come with me!” Solo snapped. The two chosen agents closely followed their boss up the final flight of stairs, weapons at ready. They burst through the door to the third floor and scanned an empty hallway. “Stay here and cover the stairs,” Solo ordered one of the pair. "Hauser, follow me." He and the Hauser began a fast and methodical check of the rooms.

The first rooms were offices, neat and orderly, decorated with stylish and expensive treatments. Solo and Hauser gave each room a cursory scan; they would follow up later. Right now they were simply looking for bodies. And with each room sweep, Solo's nerves tightened a bit more; Illya was no where to be found.

The only office that gave them pause was the one with Dr. Negril's nameplate on it. Glass from a broken bookcase littered the floor, and both agents noted blood intermingled with the sharp shards. Solo's heart rate kicked up a notch, and they pressed on.

Patient rooms started half way down the hall. The heavy doors were locked, but the contents of each room were clearly visible through the wire-meshed glass in each door. The rooms were bare with the patients either lying on the bed in a stupor or calmly pacing. Solo saw no reason to disturb them at this time. Some of the rooms were empty, and only one room was unlocked, empty and appeared to have been recently occupied. The pair of agents stepped inside.

“Bellows’ room?” Hauser asked, scanning the walls in wide-eyed wonder.

“It seems so," Solo agreed in an astonished awe. The agents stood back to back as they surveyed the room.

Every surface was covered with tiny writing. Formulae equations and diagrams lined the walls, spiraled around the metal bed frame, and appeared to be hanging in mid air on the windows. The floor looked like a page in a math book with a smeared path that showed where the sick scientist paced. Even one corner of the bed sheets had lines written on it - the ink had spread as it soaked the fibers and looked fuzzy. Not even the small sink or toilet was spared.

The dark haired American tilted his head at one particularly dense area by the bathroom door and squinted. “I guess I’d have to be committed, too, if all this was in my head.” He shook his head and refocused on the mission. “Come on, let’s find Illya and Negril. I bet Bellows is with them.”

Solo’s walkie-talkie crackled to life. “Napoleon, there’s a helicopter coming in!” The lead agent heard the familiar chopping sound as he acknowledged the call; there seemed to be an escape plan in progress and that fact alarmed the CEA. Where was Illya?

“Come on!” Solo charged from the room and headed to the roof access at the end of the hall. They pounded up the stairs and slammed into the metal door at the top. It flew open, and the agents burst on to the roof where Hauser was immediately grabbed by a beefy attendant and slammed into a brick wall. The agent crumpled, unconscious, to the deck. Solo managed to fire off a round and drop the giant as he turned to repeat the maneuver on Solo. The agent winced as the giant collapsed on top of Hauser.

By now, the chopper was directly overhead. Squinting into the rotor’s wind, Solo could see the craft hesitate before touching down. The roof area was small and the presence of people made the landing tricky. Solo scanned the area of the helipad through his gun sights and found a trio of figures.

“Don’t shoot!” Negril had a pistol pressed against the temple of a dazed looking Bellows, using him as a human shield. Another white uniformed behemoth was signaling the helo to land. “I’ll kill him!”

Solo froze. The aircraft touched down in a swirl of dust and the orderly ducked to open the craft’s door. Solo kept a bead on the retreating pair, waiting for a clear shot. Where the hell is Illya? He thought frantically.

The agent was somewhat surprised when he saw Negril smile coldly. “You may want to look over there, Mr. Solo!” he yelled over the engine noise, nodding his head to Solo’s right. “Your partner is about to get decapitated!”

As soon as it was said Solo dismissed the statement as an obvious bid to make him look away, but a motion in the corner of his eye made him catch his breath and turn his head.

Disheveled and uncoordinated, Illya stumbled directly along a path that led directly to the whirling blades of the copter. Solo’s heart sank when he noted the expression of detached rapture that masked the Slavic features.

“Illya!” Solo yelled, keeping his gun trained on Negril. “Stop!”

His partner was oblivious and gazed into the afternoon sun like an entranced child, completely unaware of the danger one step in front of him.

Solo’s arm was already swinging aside before the decision was completed in his mind. The singe shot made Illya jerk aside from his disastrous path and fall. Blood blossomed from his shoulder like an obscene Rorschach stain.

Solo ducked and ran to him as Negril's trio rushed to the craft. The sound of the engines grew louder when the three men boarded and the pilot prepared to lift off. Solo grabbed his squirming partner’s collar and dragged him behind a large air conditioning unit, the blond agent screaming incoherently. As the craft began a careful ascent, Solo braced his legs, carefully aimed and pumped two shots into the tail rotor. Instantly, he dove next to his partner and covered his head.

The screech of the dying bird was deafening; deadly shrapnel shot in all directions, piercing everything in its path. The runners on the belly of the craft slammed to the roof in a violent spin. Solo huddled behind the air conditioning unit until the main rotors pulverized themselves against the building and the engine whined into self –destruction and silence.

Cautiously, he peeked around the unit and heaved a relieved sigh that the fuselage, even though it was lying on its side, was still intact. With a quick glance at his babbling, incapacitated partner, Solo raced to the craft. A glance in Hauser's direction revealed the dead Thrush skewered by rotor bits. Hauser was already trying to crawl from under his human shield.

The roof door exploded open and the rest of Solo's team spilled onto the scene.

“Your timing is impeccable,” Solo said dryly when they all reached the fuselage at the same time. “A few seconds sooner and you would be like him.” He pointed at the dead, porcupine-like attendant. He turned the downed craft over to the team. "Recover the occupants and see to Hauser," he ordered. Solo holstered his weapon and sprinted back to his partner’s location. Illya was gone.

“Hey!”

Solo turned at a team member's yell, then followed with his eyes to where the agent pointed. Horrified, his heart jumped when he saw the disheveled, bloody Russian swaying at the roof’s edge, his attention fully on the glowing orb low in the sky.