“Magnets,” Solo said as he swept his arm over the colleted files. “It took a lot of effort, time and patience for Illya to finally say a word he meant to say, and he said it with conviction. Magnets. It has to mean something.”

Doctor Schawlow and his colleagues merely frowned at the files. Bardeen, however, kept a very bland face. In fact, Solo felt it was a bit too bland. Bardeen stroked his chin and stared at the files, but his eyes were vacant. He was thinking.

"What is it?" Solo asked him directly. "You see a connection, don't you?"

Bardeen's mouth opened as if to say something, then it snapped shut. He settled back in his chair as if he was making a decision. His forehead furrowed. "What is the background of this Mr. Kuryakin, again?"

"He has a Physics degree from the Sorbonne, among other things. Why?" The other occupants of the room now ignored the files and were waiting to hear what the Doctor had to say. "Um, may I speak to you and Mr. Waverly in private, sir?"

If they felt slighted at being left out, the others didn't show it. Instead they turned back to the files to see if they could piece the puzzle together them selves.

Solo stood quickly and motioned the scientist to follow. They crossed the hall to the secretary’s desk that held agents at bay from Waverly’s door. The alert and efficient woman was speaking in the intercom before the agent said a word; Solo's expression was all she needed to react. The door to Waverly's inner sanctum opened so they didn't even break stride. The Old Man pushed a teetering stack of files to one side.

"What have you got?" he asked abruptly, without preamble.

Dr. Bardeen checked to make sure the door closed behind him. "I may have an idea about what your man may be thinking, but I don't know how he would know any of this unless he follows my work closely and is very . . . imaginative."

"Mr. Kuryakin is not only imaginative but resourceful and very intelligent. It's not wise to underestimate the man," Waverly said without pause. Solo couldn't think of anything to add. His boss had described his partner perfectly.

"Magnets are the key. Have you heard of a rail gun, gentlemen?"

Solo's head snapped up. "Yes. Illya has described has described to me, but I thought it was a theoretical weapon."

"No, it's not." Waverly spoke slowly and steepled his elbows on the table, fingertips together. "The idea of a rail gun is fairly new, but not untried."

"True. I am aware of it because it ties into my new research."

"Rail gun?" Solo inquired. "A super powered gun?"

"Yes." Waverly noted. "Instead of the projectile being driven by explosive, like your sidearm, Mr. Solo, it is driven by magnets, which makes it virtually frictionless. The velocity is supposed to be greater than anything currently in use."

"The constraint is power." Bardeen added. "To give the magnets the power needed make it impractical as a portable field weapon."

"So if the power needs are solved," Solo mused, "it would work. But how does a space launch tie in?"

Dr. Bardeen looked reluctant to speak. "That is the nature of my current work. A superconductor magnet could push a projectile with unimaginable velocity and range. In space, there would be no friction to slow the projectile. Superconductor metals have to be near absolute zero temperature to work. Space is near absolute zero, so less energy would be needed to maintain the correct temperature. Also, with solar power directed through a specially cut diamond that would constantly channel sunlight to a laser device, the energy needed to charge the metals would be available. And if it's in orbit, the weight of the device is not important. It becomes very portable, so to speak." He paused, letting the idea sink in. "But this is only theoretical! Nothing like this has ever been proposed or built! It's quite a leap in logic to put that idea together."

"A rail gun in orbit would be a formidable weapon," Waverly stated.

"Nothing in space or on Earth would be safe," Solo added. "It could easily take out a satellite or a ground target."

"Yes, it could." Bardeen agreed. "I still can't believe this is what your man believes he saw."

"I believe it." Solo said with confidence. "And I'll confirm it."

"And after you do, steps need to be taken to insure it doesn't happen. Mr. Kuryakin has taken the first step by destroying the lab and the physical notes. Now we need to remove the people trying to put this together."

*********

When Napoleon returned to Medical later that evening Nurse Janice stopped him in the hall just outside of Illya's door.

"Just a warning, Napoleon. He's in a mood."

"Thanks."

She smiled and continued on. Solo slowly opened the door to his partner's room and found the wiry patient pacing in a very wobbly fashion. At the sound of the door he stopped and glared at Solo.

"Bad day?" Solo inquired innocently. The spark in Illya's eye was all the response he needed. "I think I may have a cure." The spark of anger melted away. "You were trying to tell us about a rail gun, weren't you? A rail gun that Thrush is planning to launch into space."

First a look of astonishment crossed the Slavic features, and then the relief that came to the Russian was so complete that he sank into the lone chair in a corner. He nodded tiredly. The left corner of his mouth smiled a little. "Pos. . . ssbl."

To be unable to clearly communicate would be a frustration that Solo couldn't even begin to comprehend, but the comment made him smile.

Illya tapped his head and looked frustrated, but kept his emotional control.

"You can see it clearly in your mind, I know. Now we finally see it, too, thanks to you, and Dr. Bardeen tells us it is possible. We're hunting down Voss and Mueller, hoping to get a lead on the Thrush responsible for the project. Neither one of them is capable of pulling this off, so there has to be a lead man. Now that the launch site is unusable we have time to find the mastermind before he reorganizes."

Illya raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, I guess I didn't tell you that. The Nairobi team went in and finished what we'd started. The site is now under U.N.C.L.E. control, and will soon be turned over to the villagers in the area. They plan on making it a regional airport."

His partner nodded tiredly. Something still nagged at him. True, a great weight seemed to be gone now that the rail gun plans were out in the open, but there was something else. He shut his eyes, lay his head back and again employed the focusing technique taught him by the therapist.

The lab flashed again in his mind. There was a chalkboard with writing; a table; papers. There was something in the papers. He relaxed more and felt his concentration waver. He fell asleep, but the vision of a pair of eyes tinged in red suddenly flashed in his dream. The eyes grew and exploded. He jumped and was instantly awake bathed in sweat.

A photograph. There had been the photograph of a person on the table, sticking out of a file. Those were the eyes he kept envisioning.

Illya leaped to his feet and tried to ignore the wash of pain from the sudden movement. He cringed and looked around the room and found himself alone. Solo must have left when he fell asleep in the chair. Somewhat exasperated, Illya went to the closet looking for clothes and found none. Clad only in the thin hospital gown and slippers, he pulled open the door and concentrated on walking in a straight line.

He had to find Napoleon before he lost the image of the photograph. His vision swam and he held the rail along the wall for balance.

"Mr. Kuryakin! Where do you think you're going?" Nurse Janice grabbed his elbow and tired to stop him.

He shook her off and continued slowly down the hall.
    "Stop, or I'll have to get the doctor." She watched him move carefully along, reluctant to touch him. She'd seen him explode before and didn't want that problem here in the hallway. "I warned you," she sighed. Enforcement agents had a habit of responding to only certain authority figures, so Janice returned to the nurses' station and called Dr. Towers. She was put through to Mr. Waverly's office, where Towers was in late night conference, as she watched her patient step into the elevator.

Security was waiting for the wavering Russian as soon as the elevator doors opened. He tried to push his way between them, not getting far, but managed to escape the elevator before the doors closed. The men were reluctant to fight with him, so the pair made themselves an impassable wall.

By the time the Old Man arrived, Illya's head felt as if was going to explode. His eyes narrowed in pain and the wall became his crutch in the struggle to keep his feet..

"Mr. Kuryakin." The agent looked at his boss and saw him flanked by Dr. Towers and Napoleon Solo. Suddenly noticing the darkened and empty hallways Illya wondered what time it was. “What's the meaning of this? You have orders to stay in Medical."

Dr. Towers stepped forward and gripped one of his patient's elbows. "You shouldn't be pushing yourself. . .” Illya shook off the hand, nearly falling over in the effort.

"You have something else, don't you?" Napoleon quietly asked.

The effort it took to nod through the pain made Illya's knees weak. He leaned heavily against the wall, and started up the hall.

"Sir, I think he has some information . . ." Solo let the statement hang in the air while he tried to figure out where his partner was going. He glanced up the hall. "Records. Are you going to Records?"

The nod was slight but definite.

"Dr. Towers, get a wheelchair up here now." Waverly's tone was firm.

"But sir, he shouldn't be . . ."

"Now,  Doctor."

Towers stepped into the first office to call for the chair. Napoleon eased to his partner's side and helped him down the hall, waving off security with a backward wave.

“You are most stubborn, you know that?” Solo said lowly as Illya continued painfully down the hall with an acknowledging grunt.

The Records Office was mostly dark this time of night. There was one research assistant flipping through a file at a small desk who jerked to attention at the unusual disturbance. Her eyes were wide behind her reading glasses when she identified the pair. Solo dragged a chair next to her desk and forced his partner to sit.

“We’re here to find someone,” the CEA said.

The clerk, unused to dealing with anyone face to face in the middle of the night let alone the infamous CEA, stuttered, “O. . . okay . . .” She swallowed hard.

The suave agent acted on her nervousness with a winning smile. “I know it’s the middle of the night, um . . .” he raised his eyebrows in a question.

“Ah, Natalie. I’m Natalie.”

“Natalie, yes. Well, I think we need to start with the file on agent Dancer’s surveillance. Who has she been looking at?”

Much to her credit Natalie pulled herself together quickly and turned to stack of files on her desk. “Here they are,” she said, hefting the stack into her arms and plopping them down in front of Kuryakin. “I haven’t had time to look at them yet.” She ignored the sway in Kuryakin’s posture as she settled across from him. “Um, where to do you want . . .”

Kuryakin growled something unintelligible.

“He needs to identify someone.” Solo pulled part of the file in front of him and began leafing through the first one. “Just put all the photos of people in the front of the file.” He pulled out an 8 by 10 and made it the first page of the file, and slid it to his partner. “Illya will look at them until we find what we need.”

Natalie started on the second half of the pile with one eye on the pale Russian. “Are you sure he can focus?” she asked meekly.

“He can see every freckle on your nose, I’m sure.”  Solo shoved more files in front of his partner to distract him from scaring off young Natalie. “But let’s not waste time, shall we?” We need to find something before my partner passes out, the CEA thought.

The quiet rustling of papers was interrupted only once by Dr. Towers bringing in the wheel chair. He parked it as close to Kuryakin as he could, hesitated as he debated if he should lodge his objection to all this, then wisely left without uttering a word. The agents he could deal with; he simply wasn’t convinced that Waverly would back him up this time, and decided to let it ride.

When they passed the final file to Illya, neither one of them commented on the tremor in his hands or the sound of his breathing. He was beyond exhaustion and physically spent but determination kept him going. When no other files came his way, he looked to his partner with stormy blue eyes.

“That’s it,” Solo answered. “That’s what we have.”

The explosion was immediate, and the pile of papers closest to the injured agent hit the floor as he violently swept his hand across the table. Loose papers fluttered like falling snow.

“Hey!” Natalie yelped as she jumped to her feet. “Stop that!”

Lucky for Natalie, the patient had drained his last reserves with the explosion and was unable to continue. He listed to one side, panting, and weakly tried to reach for another pile. Solo intervened and dragged his partner’s chair away from the table.

“You heard the lady, Illya. I think we’ve worn out our welcome.” He pulled the wheelchair over. Illya glared at it, then at his traitorous partner. Solo ignored him and pointed to the wheelchair. “You either get in it or I’ll let you collapse in the middle of the hall. Neither one is dignified, but I’d say one is more preferable than the other.” They locked eyes for several tense seconds.

Finally, blue eyes blinked, and Illya’s head sagged in defeat. Solo helped him to the chair and pushed him toward the door. As they passed the check-in desk, Kuryakin’s eyes wandered to the bulletin board on the wall that usually held head shots of newly ‘discovered’ Thrush that hadn’t yet been identified.

And there, looking back at him from the second row was the face from his dream. Illya fumbled with the brakes, and tried to stand at the same time.

“Whoa, partner!” Solo slid to a stop and kept the wheel chair from tipping over, which was tricky with a cast on one arm. “Sit, will you? What’s up?” His eyes followed his partner’s struggles, and he glanced at the board. “One of these guys?” Illya stopped trying to stand when Solo stepped to the display. “Which one?” He tapped each picture, and ripped the black and white from the second row at Illya’s nod. Solo looked at it, and handed it over. “That’s him, huh? Well, at least we have a face. Now all we need is a name.”

********

“This picture was taken in Germany about two weeks after we spotted Voss there. They must have met; it can’t be a coincidence.” Solo slid the photo across to his boss and dropped in a chair, rubbing his eyes.

“This is the same man Mr. Kuryakin saw in the photos in the lab? He’s sure?” Waverly studied the picture for a moment.

“Yes.”

“I take it Mr. Kuryakin is now resting in Medical.”

“Yes. He seemed relieved and fell asleep right away.” The lucky dog, Solo thought tiredly. He’d been up the rest of the night tracking down the agent that took the photo and the circumstances that surrounded that particular surveillance. Solo felt like his partner looked when he’d last seen him in Medical. “This man was seen in the company of Nigel Torrance, a known Thrush supplier of arms. Torrance was picked up by U.N.C.L.E. several days later on a weapons charge. This man was apparently not involved in that incident.”

“Then he must have been brokering another deal,” Waverly concluded. “Where’s Torrance now?”

“In custody through the London office. He’s being held in the local jail pending charges. When that’s handled to the local law enforcement’s satisfaction, he’ll be turned over to us.”

“And how long should that take?”

Solo smiled. “Quite awhile, I hear. U.N.C.L.E. has plenty of time to pull its case together, but it’s really a moot point. He’s probably going to get life for the local charges - he killed a police detective during the raid to arrest him.”

 They were interrupted by a woman’s voice on the intercom. “Mr. Waverly, Agent Dancer is on Channel D.”

“It’s about time. I’ll take it.” Waverly swiveled to the communications console next to him. “Miss Dancer?”

“Sir, we have Von Heisen, and he seems willing to talk, but only to you. He wants protection.”

“I see, I see. Very good. Are you still in Berlin ?”

“We’re in a small town on the outskirts, sir. Von Heisen’s hometown. We thought we’d give it one last visit.”

“Good work, both of you. Return immediately. And watch him carefully. We’ll send you a copy of someone to watch out for; he’s connected to this whole affair, but we don’t have a name to go with the face yet. Maybe Herr Von Heisen can help us there as a show of good faith.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll look for that at the Berlin office when we pick up our travel vouchers. Dancer out.”

When Waverly spun his chair around to face Solo, he had the closest thing to a smile the CEA’d seen in several weeks. “One more down, sir.”

“And one to go, Mr. Solo. Let’s see what we get from our scientist.”

Stifling a yawn, Solo nodded acknowledgement as he saw that the sky had lightened with a new day’s dawn.

********

The other good news of the morning was that Kuryakin was given the OK to return to his apartment. Since Solo was sidelined with a broken arm, the doctor agreed that if Solo brought Kuryakin to Medical daily for therapy, the ill-tempered Russian could go home. The familiar surroundings may even hasten healing and improve his sleep.

The surly agent also had to agree to use a wheelchair to and from home, which put him in a sour funk on the drive. It didn’t last long, however, and his mood improved proportionally with the distance from Medical.

Solo brought his partner up to date on the latest from April, trying to keep Illya’s attention from the wheelchair shoved in the back seat. When they pulled up to the apartment building, Illya managed to get the car door open and pull himself out before Solo got to his side.

“Wait a second, let me get the . . .” If looks could melt flesh, Solo would have been a steaming puddle on the sidewalk. “Well, then, never mind.”

Illya shuffled through the front door to the lobby, shaking off his partner’s efforts to assist. On a good note, Solo noticed that his partner had kept his anger under full control. He was greatly improved from a mere two days ago.

“Fine,” Solo acquiesced. “I just hope you don’t crack the nice floor when you hit it with your hard head.” His statement elicited a grunt from his partner.

Illya was pale and tired by the time they entered his place, but he insisted on carefully checking each room before collapsing with a pleasant sigh onto his couch. He was asleep instantly.

Since it was just after noon and Solo knew how his partner could be when both hungry and in pain, the suave agent decided to shop for groceries. He was tired, too, after the long hours, but figured he’d rather shop now than later. Illya was sound asleep when Solo set the alarms and locked up.

The nearest grocer was two blocks away. The walk was pleasant this time of day, and he took his time to admire the scenery that strolled by on fashionable heels. His injured state also elicited help from several ladies willing to assist a handsome and seemingly helpless man. He could have had his pick of lovelies to prepare a meal for the evening, but knew that Illya wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion. Instead, he arranged for the service to be done at his place the following night by the fair Amelia, whom he met in the produce section.

Solo was then distracted by Daphne’s invitation to coffee on the way back, and by the time he returned to Illya’s building it was late in the afternoon. Solo expected his partner to be asleep, and if he was awake, very grouchy from hunger.

Something alerted his agent senses as soon as he stepped from the elevator. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck tingled. Solo froze, trusting his instincts, and slowly set the grocery bags on the floor of the hall. He felt for his gun as he glided along the wall as silent as a shadow.

Illya’s door was ajar.

With a racing heart the American agent peered through the opening and saw the alarm panel dangling from the wall by a mass of wires. He took a breath, kicked the door open and dashed inside, his gun leading the way.

All the living room furniture within a five foot radius of the couch was upset; even the couch was tipped over backward. A quick scan of the rest of the apartment revealed undisturbed rooms and no sign of his partner.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Solo reported in. The mystery in this affair had just taken another turn.