Act V: Spies For Spies 

The U.N.C.L.E. forensics team came up with nothing in the apartment, which didn’t really surprise Solo. He’d known it was a professional operation the minute he entered the room. The only clues he had to work with were back at Headquarters, and he returned to the office with a single purpose: Find the leak at U.N.C.L.E. New York .

The ‘who’ of the situation was rather obvious as the only player unaccounted for was the mystery man in the photo. The ‘why’ of Illya’s kidnapping was another story; the reason for it eluded the dark haired agent. The one thing that was very clear was that Illya’s whereabouts had been monitored carefully for quite awhile for him to have been taken so quickly. Information on his partner’s movements had to have come from the inside, specifically, in the Medical section. It was time to clean house. Before leaving the apartment Solo, through Mr. Waverly, instituted a low-key lock down of the Medical section as the department heads files were pulled and examined.

By the time the CEA reached Waverly’s office, a grim-faced Waverly and the head of Medical were waiting for him.

“We have a problem,” Solo began before the doctor had a chance to speak. Waverly kept silent, letting his top agent take the lead. “There’s a leak in your department.”

********

Dr. Towers’ eyebrows raised in curiosity, the previous look of annoyance gone. After a second he asked, “How do you know it’s not me?”

Waverly interrupted with a harrumph. “Rest assured, Doctor, that we would not take you into our confidence without additional security checks.” The Chief did not go into detail.

Towers cleared his throat, and then got down to business. “I know that the doctor and nursing staff have been here for quite awhile, but the support staff seems to have a larger attrition rate. I would think they would be the ones to start with.”

“I agree,” said Solo, unconsciously rubbing the fingers sticking out from his cast. “I would like to go over Illya’s medical records with you to see who has had access to him. You can brief me on who you know and where to start.”

“Certainly,” Towers replied. “But the records won’t show everyone that had access to his room, only those that signed in.”

“Then we’ll have to cross reference with the duty shifts and do all this without raising any suspicions from your staff.”

The doctor ran his hand through his hair. “That will take some time,” he mused.

“That’s all we have right now, and the one thing we’re running out of,” Solo said, rising to his feet. “First, we need to explain the lockdown.”

“That’s simple enough,” Towers replied instantly. “An unexplained contagion automatically initiates a lockdown until we determine the extent of the contamination. I can easily mock up an infected patient.”

“How much time does that give us?” Solo asked.

Towers grinned. “How much do you want?”

********

Consciousness came slowly and painfully, accompanied by a familiar sour taste on his lips that Illya’s muzzy brain automatically identified as the aftertaste of chloroform.  A swell of fury slowly rose from his gut causing his muscles to tense and his head to throb even more painfully. Before opening his eyes he willed the anger under control, and calmed enough to take stock of what his other senses were telling him.

He was lying on something cold and hard; he wasn’t tied up in any way, and movement was painful - he’d been roughly handled. There was a slight echo and the sound of dripping water that went with the musty smell. Slowly, he cracked his eyes and a spot of bright light made his head throb harder, which didn’t seem possible to the agent. A low groan escaped his lips before he could stop it as he reluctantly struggled to sit.

The room slowly came into focus. The light came from a barred window high on the wall of the small room. The walls were cement block, the floor poured cement, and the ceiling solid wood with a collection of pipes snugly fitted against it, one of which was dripping water, and running the length of the room. Illya’s immediate assumption was that he was in a basement with a ground level window.

He surveyed plain walls adorned with one feature other than the window: a solid metal door with a very small barred window. He couldn’t recall a more secure prison cell; no ideas of how to escape immediately came to mind. Then again, all he could think about at the moment was the pain he was in and leaned heavily against the wall as he tried to recall anything between his returning home and his present situation.

It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps descending stairs outside the metal door. He squinted at the door and saw the blur of a face, which was followed by the sound of a key in the door. The injured man had finally found a position that minimized the pounding in his head, and knowing he couldn’t overpower a puppy at this point he didn’t move when the door cracked open.

A wash of anger overcame him when he recognized the man standing in the doorway as the one from the lab photo. Illya didn’t move, but locked his eyes on the man and managed to keep his face emotionless. His visitor did the same, resulting in a silent standoff of wills.

When several seconds of careful scrutiny passed, the visitor finally spoke. His tone was as cold as the surrounding cement. “You have caused me a lot of problems, Mr. Kuryakin.” The man had an odd accent that the agent could not place. “I see you are in no condition to harm me physically, so I shall move you to more comfortable quarters. But understand you will be under close watch. We will then discuss how you can fix what you have broken.”

Illya did not respond, not wanting to reveal his current medical state. He wanted to find out how much this man knew, and where he’d gotten his information. It was clear, with the ease of his kidnapping, that information had been leaked from U.N.C.L.E., and he intended to find the responsible party if he ever got out of this. The man signaled someone from the hallway. Two musclemen crowded through the door and pulled the agent to his feet.

Pain sparked in his temples for a moment. He tried to relax as the men roughly escorted him down a narrow hall and up a dark set of stairs. Illya distracted himself by carefully taking in the lay of the building and found that the pain seemed to recede as he increased his concentration.

Even with the current bad situation, it felt good to be back in action again. Right now, the agent’s sole concern was that his body wouldn’t fail him when he needed it most. Blue eyes brightened when the realization struck him that he’d been thinking clearly for the past several minutes. Hope of a full and complete recovery blossomed, and Illya began to try and facilitate a plan. For now, he could collect facts and assess the situation in an orderly fashion. His confidence rose

Illya was taken through a rather sterile structure that appeared to be a house transformed into a collection of labs. It was a strange mix of offices and scientific paraphernalia. He assumed his host, who lead the way, mingled with both the intellectual and scientific communities and obviously prospered from the relationship. Although the surroundings were Spartan, the few trappings were the best money could buy, from the desks and appointments to the glimpse of lab equipment he saw.

Their final destination was a large office with a pair of desks. The agent was unceremoniously dumped on one of the desk chairs while his host graced the other. One of the guards stood by the window that overlooked a grassy garden, and the second stepped into the hall and shut the door.

His host leaned back in his chair and locked his eyes on the agent as he pursed his lips in thought. Illya held the gaze and mentally took stock of his surroundings. Escape seemed problematic at this time.

“As I said,” began the man, “you have caused me problems that have required me to take some chances I normally wouldn’t take. That does not make me a happy man.”

And why should I care about that? the agent thought.

“I understand U.N.C.L.E. and specifically, you, are responsible for the destruction of my compound in Africa .” Illya could see the clasped hands of his host tighten at that thought. “It took a lot of time and effort to pull that set up together. Money, too, but Thrush absorbs that loss. They are rather upset about that, and insist I am to blame.”

Illya remained emotionless, but thought, And now they want what they paid for, I imagine.

The man confirmed the agent’s thought. “They want a product for the money they spent. I want my reputation unscathed. Outside of Dr. Bardeen, who is too closely guarded at this time, you are the only one that can do both of those things.”

Illya frowned. The man leaned over his desk to make his point perfectly clear. The anger that burned in his eyes was obvious.

“My intelligence tells me you know what was being designed in Africa . I purposely kept all aspects of this project separate, and all involved scientists were experts in their particular area. I thought Bardeen was the last piece I needed to pull it together but apparently you have that knowledge. You will tell me everything you know: How the device works, exactly what is needed to both build it and get it positioned, and the best spot to do that from. The second best spot, I should say.” He stood, barely containing his anger as he pushed himself to his feet. “I had the best spot before you interfered. You will repair what you destroyed starting now.”

Illya frowned slightly, surprised that this man had no working knowledge of the weapon he was responsible for.

“I am a broker,” the man said as if reading the agent’s thoughts. “My talent is bringing together specialists for one end result. I do not have the scientific know how to create, but due to my talents, have been responsible for some of the greatest inventions in weaponry the world has seen to date. I will not allow you to hinder my success.” The man began to pace like a caged tiger. “I am fully aware of your injuries. I have been kept well informed of your situation. You will stay here until you give me what I want. Time is no matter to me.” He stopped and faced his prisoner. “This will be your last home, Mr. Kuryakin. Mark my words.”

The as yet unidentified man stormed from the room, leaving the surprised agent with his thoughts and a very watchful guard.

 Illya doodled on the paper supplied to him, drawing technical schematics that looked impressive but meant nothing. He was fed lunch and dinner, and escorted to a very small bedroom when darkness fell. The room consisted of a mattress on the floor and a tiny bathroom. The window was barred. The frustrated agent flopped down and shut his eyes to the constant pain in his head, trying to convince himself that that the throbbing had lessened a bit. The agent distracted himself by examining every detail of the room for possible weapons or escape.

The door swung open a while later and his captor stormed in. “This is trash, Mr. Kuryakin.” He threw the diagrams at the blond agent, and they fluttered to the floor like autumn leaves. “I knew you would be difficult. What you need is incentive.”

Illya regarded him with carefully hooded eyes.

“I thought I’d try the easy way first, but it obviously didn’t work. So, I have things in play to coerce your cooperation. I’ve left just enough clues for your fellow agents to find me. All I need to do is wait until someone shows up, and then I will have a hostage. Your fellow U.N.C.L.E. agent, whoever it ends up being, will lose first his fingers, one at a time, then his toes, and then his limbs, until I get what I want. If he dies first, I’ll simply get another one. It’s that simple. So, sleep well tonight because I think it’s the last chance you’ll have for that kind of thing.”

The man left, his anger spent. Illya silently cursed his weakened state, and rubbed his once again flaring headache and wondered who, if any one, would be joining the party.

Illya hadn’t seen any indication of being watched but he wanted to be sure. He memorized the room as he waited for darkness, and then moved into the bathroom. Under the sink he felt around and found a flat, easily removable piece of metal that controlled the sink plug. Then he went back into the sleeping area and used the metal to pry up a corner of the linoleum flooring in a corner and under the mattress to get to the rough concrete. He spent a majority of the night sharpening the metal on the concrete as he listened for signs of visitors.

********

Carolyn Mercer was worried. When she was hired on with U.N.C.L.E. she didn’t expect to be caught in this kind of situation.

If I wanted to work around sick people I would have applied for a hospital custodial job, Carolyn thought. Sick people made her nervous; and now here she was, locked down in Medical since the end of her shift the day before because of some horrible, undiagnosed and probably incurable disease. She had plans for her life, none of which involved dying young!

Since waking up this morning in one of the Medical beds, she began to polish the office windows with vigorous circles to take her mind off the idea of developing boils or rashes or some other ugly affliction. In the past several months she’d come to realize that U.N.C.L.E. Medical usually meant treatments for physical injuries with the occasional injected element. Unlike a regular hospital, contagious diseases were rare. That’s why this lockdown was so unnerving – what ever it was had to be bad. Very bad. She adjusted the surgical mask on her face which had been issued to everyone as soon as the lockdown was announced late the previous day.

“That’s it,” she mumbled as she rubbed. “I’m resigning as soon as this scare is over.” She had more than enough money to tide herself over for several months, not only from her wages, but also from the undercover work she’d been doing. Carolyn shook her head at that thought – spies spying on spies – but it had been logically explained to her that it was the only way to keep track of people who were experts at keeping secrets. And her contact certainly had a trustworthy background!

That blond man that was in here was a good example of what her contact kept an eye on. Imagine, an American installation having a Commie employee! Carolyn just knew he was faking his symptoms, and she must have been right because he disappeared right after she’d made her final report on him. She scrubbed harder with the satisfying thought that she had at least accomplished that much in her time here. With her contribution to God and country over, and if she survived this germ that kept her trapped here, she was off to greener pastures.

Windows done and sparkling, Carolyn assembled the cleaning items on her cart and prepared to move to the next area. When she pushed her cart into the hall, she was surprised to see a pair of unmasked men coming toward her, one of them being that handsome man with the broken arm. She stopped and smiled, and was completely taken aback when they roughly separated her from her cart and escorted her quickly out a private door.

********

“We’ve checked your bank accounts, Miss Mercer. We have a few questions for you.”

The brown eyes boring into her were the color of chocolate, but at the same time felt as piercing as a knife. Carolyn braided her fingers in her lap and felt her hairline begin to prickle with sweat.

“Is…is this a test?” She squeaked. “Because I was never told about any tests. I understood my reports were considered, well, to be extra credit.”

Solo’s train of thought completely derailed. “Excuse me?” That was not the reply he was expecting; outright lies, yes, unmasked anger, yes, or even a nervous breakdown, but not this. She didn’t seem to realize she’d done anything wrong. “Um, what reports?”

Carolyn’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear. I think you may not want to know this.” Completely sympathetic, she leaned forward and patted Solo’s hand like she was patting the head of a recalcitrant child. “I’m not sure I’m the one you should talk to. Perhaps Mr. Spade is the one you should talk to.”

Solo glanced at the one-way glass, behind which Mr. Waverly sat watching the interrogation. The agent stood and fingered his tie. “Mr. Spade?”

“Why, yes,” Carolyn replied. “Mr. Samuel Spade of Internal Affairs.”

The agent took a moment to plot strategy. He glanced at Garrison, his back up. Garrison shrugged and shook his head.

“Um, Sam Spade, you say?” Solo’s eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Yes, of course. All those stories Mr. Hammett wrote are from his real life cases! Surely you know him.” The woman sat up stiffly as if she were surrounded by dolts. “That’s why I decided to do as he asked. He’s a real hero, if you ask me.”

“Ah, yes.” Solo hitched a hip and sat on the corner of the table. “I know who you mean. He prefers to keep a low profile around here.”

“I’m not surprised.” Carolyn smiled affectionately. “I imagine he’s embarrassed about his fame.”

“Yes. Yes, he is. And in fact, we are investigating Mr. Spade right now to see if he deserves a promotion for his exemplary work. Could you tell us his exact instructions to you?”

Her face brightened. “Certainly, if it will help him get the credit he deserves! He was so nice. I thought he’d be older, though.”

“Why don’t you describe him for us? We also want to evaluate his, ah, disguise abilities.”

“Oh my! He was in disguise? It was so convincing, down to the mole right here!” She pointed to a spot just below her left ear and then proceeded to describe the mystery man in the photograph in every detail. “I met with him three times and his disguise looked exactly the same each time! He is good, isn’t he?” Solo held up the photo of the mystery man. “That’s him! He came to my place shortly after I was hired here and gave me the undercover job of telling him exactly who was in the infirmary and when they left.”

Solo’s alarms went off. “But you’ve been working here for nearly a year!”

“Yes, I know. I have my first week of paid vacation coming up.”

The agent couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “How many reports did you make?”

Carolyn picked at her nails, unconcerned. “Let’s see, I left something at the drop point once a week. 52 weeks in a year; I’d say about 40?”

Solo had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. “And they were names only, you say?”

“Yes, names only. Except when that Communist came in. That’s the only time Mr. Spade asked for detailed records, and I was more than happy to get them. Imagine, a Red Communist right here and exposed to all these secrets. Honestly,” she shook her head. “I don’t know what the U.N.C.L.E. president was thinking.”

Solo’s anger was only kept at bay by curiosity. “President?”

“Yes, sir, you know; the man Mr. Spade works for.”

“Oh. Yes certainly.” He immediately made a mental note to make drastic changes in the hiring practices of maintenance staff, and had no doubt that there were more Carolyn Mercers in U.N.C.L.E. New York , and possibly worldwide. No wonder this mystery man was able to keep out of their sights - he probably knew every U.N.C.L.E. agent in every office! “Will you excuse me a moment?”

Carolyn smiled and nodded. Solo told Garrison to stay put, and he joined his boss in the adjoining room where he found the old man on the phone and very red faced.

“. . . immediately!” Waverly barked as he slammed the phone down. It took him a moment to calm down. Solo wisely waited until his boss spoke first. “I am appalled,” the Old Man stated bluntly. “Using innocent people as unknowing traitors. And what is most upsetting is we never thought of that happening!”

“The best spy is the one who doesn’t know they are a spy,” Solo mused. “At least we have a line on our mystery man. I do refuse, however, to call him Sam Spade.”

“Understandably, Mr. Solo. Let’s use Miss Mercer to get a fix on him immediately.”

“I’ll start with the drop point - the place she turned in her reports.”

“Get to it, then. I seem to have a new problem to attend to.”

“Yes, sir.”

********

Carolyn the cleaning lady happily took Solo and Garrison to the spot where she dropped her reports on the western edge of Central Park . “It’s right on my way home,” she chirped happily. “I put them in this box right here.”

She pointed to a locked metal box in a line of other boxes that covered utility access stations. The box she indicated had a slit cut into it like a mailbox, but other than that it looked just like the other city electrical boxes. It was a brilliantly simple location.

“I drop the papers right in here every Friday.”

“Did you ever see them get picked up?”

“Funny you should say that.  I was met here twice by Mr. Spade. The first time right after that Russian was admitted, and the second time was the day he was released.”

Solo frowned. “That was a Wednesday.”

“Yes, it was! When I met him here the first time I was given a phone number and instructed to call when the commie was getting released, then to get a copy of his medical papers.” Her voice dropped. “He told me it was a spot test of the doctor’s record keeping. Everyone is under his eye, I guess!”

“Do you remember the number?”

“No.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Of course not! I ate it.”

“You ate . . .”

“Mr. Spade said that was the best way to destroy paper evidence.”

Solo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, close to the area where a headache was trying to blossom behind his eyes. “Did you see his car?” He asked as a last ditch effort to get something from this exasperating woman.

“Why, yes, I did! He didn’t see me, though, because I didn’t leave the park in my normal direction. He had one of those newfangled cars with the funny doors.”

“Funny doors?” Garrison frowned.

“You know, where the doors open up.” She raised her arms like wings.

“Gull wing doors?” Solo clarified.

“Yes! It was a new car, too. No license plate yet. I looked because I wanted to see if the plate turned like they do is the spy movies. It certainly looked like a spy car! Do you get to drive it, too?”

Solo instructed Garrison to take the woman back to Headquarters and contact the phone company for her phone records, and get the name of the car dealers in town that dealt with the kind of car she described.

“What are you going to do?” Garrison asked.

“Break into this box and see what’s in there. Maybe there are some fingerprints. Maybe we’ll get lucky and out-spy Sam Spade.”

ACT VI:  Missing Pieces  

By late morning Solo and Garrison had the phone number the mystery man had called from and the car dealer that sold him the car. Follow up turned up two different locations.

“You take the phone address, I’ll take the car sale information.” Solo had already thought that the phone wouldn’t pan out. The sighting of the car, however, was unplanned and a more solid lead. At least there was a name: George Oper. He set research on the name, sure it was a fake. They went separate ways in the garage with the understanding that backup would be called in if their quarry was seen.

Solo’s address took him out of the city and into an area of exclusive homes sitting in the center of large pieces of property. Most of them were fenced and gated. He drove by the address in question, noted the thick hedges and long, winding driveway that made a visual on the house impossible, and parked a distance away on a rise in the road that gave him a distant view of the layout.

The house looked to be partially built into the hill itself, and was surrounded by ample landscaping that hid most of it. He could see the hedge and fence line encircled the property completely, and the occasional foot patrol of a lone sentry. The best way in seemed to be in the back, where the trees were thickest.

He parked close to where he thought the back of the house was and had to sneak through the neighbor’s yard to get to the hedge. Wiggling through the hedge to the stone wall he heard his suit tear with every snag and did his best to ignore it. It was difficult to climb with a cast on, but the thickness of the hedge against the wall helped. He dropped on the other side disheveled but unsighted.

Running an evasive pattern Solo made it to the back of the house. The lack of security put him on edge, but reasoned that too much security in this neighborhood would be noticed by the neighbors. He was just about to check out the windows at ground level when his communicator went off.

Fumbling with the device, he quickly opened it and ducked back in the brush. “Solo here,” he whispered.

“Mr. Solo?” Waverly’s voice was brisk and to the point. “I have information on Mr. Oper. He is renting the house, and has been there for approximately six months. His rental application has his last rental being in Germany . Mr. Oper appears to travel quite a bit.”

“Anything else?”

“No, nothing yet. He paid cash up front for a year. Not many questions were asked.”

“I think we now have two aliases on our mystery man. I’m determined to find out his real name.”

“That makes two of us, Mr. Solo. Waverly out.”

Solo pocketed the device after switching it off. He listened for a few minutes until he was satisfied there would be no retaliation and again approached the ground level windows. Most of the rooms contained file cabinets, but one room was bare with a solid metal door as the only break in the walls. It was a cold-looking room and the only one with bars on the window. The agent found himself vaguely disappointed that it was empty.

He peeked around the sides, and saw the armed security man wandering around the front. Solo decided to enter via the back, and also figured that the empty room would be the last room anyone would walk into.

With a line of explosive, he burned through the bolts holding about half of the bars to the outside. The window opened easily and he dropped in. Echoes of his movements bounced off the bare, block walls.

After a moment at the door he determined the lower level was empty and slipped into the hallway and to the stairs. He was almost to the top when he heard voices from the other side of the door at the top of the stairs which caused him to pause and listen.

“I want him brought here immediately. Our stubborn visitor needs a little more convincing, and this just may be just what we need. Does he have a name?” There was silence during the expected reply and Solo realized the man was on the phone. “Interesting. That’s not the name I expected, but he is U.N.C.L.E., correct?” Another silence; Solo figured they were talking about Garrison, which meant that the stubborn visitor must be his missing partner.

Making the instant decision to stay close until he located Illya made it impossible to call for back up at this time. He must be so confident, he doesn’t think he needs security, Solo thought. That would be a plus on his side if it were true.

With a loud bang the phone was hung up. The agent heard footsteps fade off into the distance and then quietly bumped open the door. A quick survey revealed he was alone as he slipped into the large kitchen area. He was just deciding which way to go when quick steps behind him made him spin around, gun in ready position.

A small Mexican woman with an armload of potatoes glared at him from the back kitchen entrance.  She didn’t give the gun a second glance, but chattered angrily at the agent in Spanish as she dumped the spuds in the sink. Solo quickly tucked the gun away and apologized, but the woman would not be silenced. She continued to babble while she continued her cooking chores. Solo quietly exited down the first hallway and put distance between him and the kitchen.

“Must be annoyed at the amount of food Illya puts away,” he mumbled to himself as he checked his progress down the dark hall. There were several doors that opened from the hall to various rooms, most of them empty. A couple of doors were closed, and Solo heard murmurs of discussion inside, but nothing that indicated the location of his partner.  The hallway spilled out into a large entry hall that had an upward curving staircase on one side and two very ornate front doors. Marble floors sparkled brightly from the sunlight streaming in from the large glass dome above and made the crystal chandelier hanging over him glitter like diamonds. Art graced the walls and marble pedestals held classic sculptures in every corner. It was beautiful, but crossing the open space to the hallway on the other side would put him in the wide open spaces. Solo quickly checked the area, and stepped out into the open.

“Hey!” The agent was halfway across the foyer when the voice stopped him. “I’ll cover you.” A beefy man dressed similar to Solo trotted down the stairs and stopped at the bottom. “What happened to you? Have to chase those damn cats again?”

Solo pocketed his gun and brushed at his damaged suit. “Yeah. They’re pretty quick.”

The guard tugged at his tie as he spoke. “Yeah, I had to dive in those bushes last week. I’m still finding holes in my other jacket. You should get reimbursed, but it’ll take awhile. HQ is slow at that kinda stuff.” The agent followed the guard down the hallway. The guard continued to talk. “I’m surprised they let you work with a busted arm. Must be short handed. Er, no pun intended.” He laughed shortly, and Solo did likewise.

The agent decided to take a chance with the chatty guard. “Um, what are we supposed to do? I wasn’t briefed.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal. There’s this shrimpy blond guy, some sort of scientist I think since that’s all that comes here, and we have to help him get around.”

“Is he here by choice?”

“I have no idea. The guy never talks. The boss wants two guys on him all the time, but I don’t know why. He couldn’t hurt a fly.”

Solo nodded knowing otherwise, and dutifully followed the goon feeling unbelievably lucky. The only other thing that could top his day right now would be to snag the mystery man and get a true identity.

The guard nodded at another man standing outside one of the far doors in the hallway. “Break time,” he said. He opened the door and waited for the inside guard to step out. “Which do you want?” Solo’s guide asked him. “In or out?”

“In,” Solo replied quickly, his feet moving before the word was finished. In a flash he found himself face-to-face with his astonished partner and the door closing behind him. He glanced back to make sure the door was solidly closed before he turned to his partner with a cat-ate-the-canary grin. “There you are. Vacationing without me?”

Illya looked terrible. The bags under his eyes stood out like charcoal on his pale  face. He stood shakily, and Solo was at his side in an instant.

“You’ve been overdoing it again, haven’t you?” The American agent pushed his partner back down into the chair, then pulled out his communicator. “Hang in there, IK, the cavalry is coming.” He opened the device and called Headquarters. After telling Waverly his location and reporting Garrison’s capture, he closed it up. “Have you got a name on our man?” Illya shook his head. Solo chewed his lip.

“Now, shall we ride my luck and stay put until backup arrives, or would you rather leave now?”

Illya’s answer was to get to his feet and move to the window. He was half way out before Solo leaped to his side. “Slow down, partner, you’re to hurt yourself all over again.” His partner’s burning glare was enough make the American shut his mouth and begin to help the ailing agent over the sill.

It wasn’t far to the ground, but Solo could tell that when the Russian hit the grass, it hurt. Illya wavered on his feet, and blanched visibly.. His hand automatically pressed his temple. Solo was at his side in an instant and offered a supporting arm that was accepted without protest. They almost made it around the corner of the house.

“HEY!”

Solo glanced back and saw his chatty guide hanging out the window. A gun popped into view, and Solo fired in his direction. Illya twitched, but kept moving. A bullet zinged by their heads, and Solo returned fire. “Keep going!” He pushed Illya around the corner and kept the guard from jumping out the window.

When the blond agent finally made it to the back of the house, Solo pelted after him, pulling a clump of explosives from his inner pocket. “Head for the woods,” Solo ordered as he smashed a lower window and placed a fuse in the explosives. He tossed the bomb in the window and snapped off a couple of shots at the man trying to follow them.

Solo made it to the woods on Illya’s heels when the explosion rocked the back of the house and knocked their pursuer flat. Solo grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him into the trees and toward the rear wall. Illya wobbled alarmingly - there was no way he could make it over the wall.

“Wait,” Solo panted. “We can’t get out this way. We have to go to the front and wait for reinforcements.”

Breathing heavily and with eyes narrowed in pain Illya still made it clear that he wasn’t giving up. They both turned at the sound of pursuit.

“Split up,” Solo ordered. “You have a weapon?”

Illya nodded and stumbled out of sight. Solo took off noisily in the other direction, hoping to draw the attention of the guards.

It was a heart-pounding game of cat and mouse among the trees for what seemed like forever to Napoleon. He was near the edge of the trees when he decided to make a dash to a line of shrubs near the wall. A few steps from his goal, he heard a gravelly voice yell, “Napoleon! Get down!”

Solo dropped immediately as a bullet split the air where his body had been a fraction of a second before. He rolled to a stop with his gun raised just in time to see his partner slit the throat of a large man from behind. Both men dropped in a heap. Solo jumped to his feet and raced over. The throat wound was as ragged as the home-made blade he saw in his partner’s hand.

Illya looked dazed but otherwise unhurt as he crawled out from the motionless mound. Solo offered a hand and helped him up. “Thanks, tovarisch.”

“You’re. . . wel . . . come,” his partner stuttered as he caught his breath. “Stu . . pid . . . move.” Illya’s accusing look made it clear whom he was calling stupid.

Solo snorted. “You finally find your voice and you’re already nagging me.”

“My . . . job . . . is to. . . keep . . .you . . . out . . . of  . . .trouble.” The speech was slow and deliberate, but very clear as he weakly brushed off his sleeve.

“Yeah, well, there’s still more of them out here, so let’s be careful.”

They both faded back into the thick brush and watched the chaos unfold before them. Several occupants of the house ran out the front door, arms laden with files, and began to load up the cars parked by the house. The U.N.C.L.E. force took them completely by surprise as they swarmed the compound and rounded them up with little gunfire. Solo saw Garrison among the forces, and was relieved to see that he had been successfully rescued.

“I hate . . . watching.” Illya’s words were beginning to slur and he didn’t show much inclination to stand up and help out.

“Me too, but we’re not duty certified yet, remember?”

The pale blond cracked a weak grin. “Right,” he replied.

They watched the events as a spectator sport, critiquing the weak moves and discussing the merits of the better agents. When everything appeared to be under control, the pair decided to test the thoroughness of the clean up crew and see how long it took for them to be found. The injured agents weren’t disappointed in the time it took as they slowly rose to their feet.

“Looks like it’s about over,” Solo said to the agent that found them.

“Yes, sir, it is, except that we haven’t found the main subject.”

“What?”

“There’s a tunnel in one of the lower floors. It opens up on the other side of the wall.” The young agent pointed to the back wall.

The CEA gazed at the wall and clicked his tongue. “Looks like we’ll never identify the mystery man.”

Illya shook his head. “We’re . . . on . . . injury list,” he began.

Solo finished the thought for him. “Which gives us plenty of time to research. We’ll figure out who he is.” Solo threw an arm over his friend’s shoulders and helped him walk to the front to the house. “Well, between therapy sessions with that new nurse, that is. I’m happy to help you out with that, partner.”

Illya rolled his eyes and decided to keep his comeback to himself. Instead, he brokenly told his partner all he’d learned from his captor. He was visibly drained by the time he’d finished.

“So, with all the records destroyed, and all the scientists scattered, no one really has the know how on how to assemble the weapon. Except you, maybe.”

Illya nodded painfully.

“But with him out there, he could start all over again.”

The Russian nodded again, his eyes weary. Solo willingly took the weight of his sagging partner and suddenly laughed as a thought struck him. Illya frowned, tired of talking.

“Our mystery man doesn’t know what he’s done. Not only does he have us after him on a paper trail, he’s going to have another very angry agent hot on his tail.”

Confused blue eyes looked out from unruly bangs.

Solo laughed as he spoke. “When April realizes that she’s been on that boring stakeout for Van Heisen for no reason, she’s not going to be very happy. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve been at the receiving end of an angry Dancer before. I almost feel sorry for him!”

Illya visibly brightened and started to nod in agreement, but the motion fired up the pain. He whispered, “Doesn’t . . . have . . . a . . . chance.”

Solo nodded and assisted his partner into the closest car. “Kind of makes me happy to be confined to Medical.”

Illya’s distasteful frown was cut short when he closed his eyes and relaxed in the car. “Green . . . Jello,” he murmured distastefully.

Solo grimaced. “I take back my last comment.” He slid in next to his partner and friend and closed the car door. “Driver?” he said, smartly tapping the seat in front of him. “My place!”

The tired grin on the Russian’s pale face was a welcome sight as the car pulled onto the street. 

FINIS