ACT I: On Your Marks . . .

"Well, when are you leaving?"

The query caused the pair of agents to pause with Illya Kuryakin's spoon suspended between bowl and lips and Napoleon Solo in mid bite of a club sandwich. Their eyes flicked to each other, certain the other was pulling a joke.

Agent Guy Segil and his partner Sean O'Brien plunked their plastic trays down at the table uninvited and settled in to the available chairs. "Are you going to do it or not? We have to know. If you back out then we're bettin' on Berlin." The intruding partners began to saw at their small steaks.

Illya raised his eyebrow at Solo, who shrugged his shoulder in return as he chewed the bite of sandwich. "What is it we're supposed to be doing?" the blond agent asked suspiciously.

O'Brien continued to saw away on his well done steak. "What? You mean we know something before the CEA and his partner? That's a first!" The two chuckled as they took their first bites.

"It seems that being in a Bolivian rain forest for three weeks has put us behind is the news." Solo said calmly after he swallowed and touched his lips with his napkin.

Another pair of agents stopped behind O'Brien, trays in hand. "Well?" One of them asked. "Is it them or Williams and Wescott in Berlin?"

Solo and Kuryakin glanced at each other again. The Russian's eyes turned stormy. "If someone doesn't tell me what's going on I'll begin to practice Interrogations 101 right here."

It was the visitors' turn to pause. Solo and Kuryakin looked at them expectantly.

"The UNCLE Olympics. Didn't you hear about it?"

Illya rolled his eyes, issued a snort of disgust and continued to eat.

"Apparently not," Solo responded as he picked up his coffee mug. "What is it, exactly?"

O'Brien answered. "Since that Harry Beldon fiasco in Berlin it seems that the head UNCLE honchos feel we need a little team building exercise. A team representing each of the five main headquarters will run a course, sort of a cross between a treasure hunt and an obstacle course. What ever team gets to the last point first, wins."

"Wins what?"

"Does it matter? The winner proves they're the best. I guess there will be quite a party, too."

Kuryakin continued to eat, unimpressed. Solo nodded his head and looked thoughtful.

"You two were voted to represent the North American office."

"Leave the office for just a little while and see what happens? You get elected to all sorts of things," Solo said to his partner.

"The office pool is against you, though."

This comment caused Kuryakin to raise his head. Solo looked surprised. "Who's slated to win?" The Chief Enforcement Agent asked.

"Like I said, Wescott and Williams in Berlin," Agent Segil answered.

"But they've been partnered for less than a year," Solo said.

O'Brien and Segil glanced at each other. "Uh, yeah, but . . ."

"But what?" Kuryakin growled from behind his spoon.

"Um, office scuttlebutt says they're favored because they're a couple of years younger. Not that I believe that, you understand." O'Brien stammered. "I'm bettin' you two all the way!"

Segil dropped his head and began to pay close attention to his meal. O'Brien followed his lead. Neither one of them saw the look pass between the 'older' agents.

"Tell me," Solo asked calmly. "How is this Olympics set up?"

ACT II: Get Set . . .

"Basically, that's how it will be run gentlemen." Mr. Waverly puffed on his pipe sagely, one hand behind his back, as he stood in front of the world map looking satisfied. "The first team that gets to the end of the course, wins."

"So, there's five legs to this race," Solo summed up. "Each leg selected and routed by one of the five UNCLE office chiefs."

"Yes. No one but the office chiefs and their immediate staff knows their particular route. No Chief will know what the other Chiefs are planning, or where the routes are. Each team will have to follow clues. It's an exercise in observation, deduction and physical ability."

"And this route covers five continents? Transportation will be available?" Kuryakin asked, still amazed at the whole idea.

"Yes. Each section head is responsible for taking the teams to the next location. First one out of the woods, so to speak, gets the first ride, and so on. We have a neutral party checking to make sure none of the routes overlap or go through the same country or countries."

"It doesn't sound like there will be time to be bored," Solo mused.

Kuryakin glared at his partner. "Are you saying that we're doing this?"

"Why not? It sounds . . . challenging."

"I don't need a challenge."

"Well, there's the prize," Solo said as he turned his attention to their boss. "There is a prize for the winning team, isn't there, sir?"

Waverly raised his bushy brows at his lead agent. "You mean other than the respect of your peers worldwide and office pride?"

"Yes," Kuryakin said immediately.

The old man puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. His eyes sparkled with mischief. "I'll make a deal with you gentlemen. If you win, you may have two days off for each day you're in the race. Paid."

The agents regarded each other momentarily. "Deal," they agreed simultaneously.

*******

They had three weeks until the contest was slated to begin. Solo and Kuryakin worked as usual around the office with an occasional job that took them away for a day or two. The only difference the other office workers noticed was that Solo seemed to be on the phone a lot, and Kuryakin was carrying around more files that usual, but no one could really be sure. Overall, it appeared that the two agents weren't really training in any way. No amount of questions or needling could get either agent to confess if there was any plan. Both agents claimed they didn't have time to give the Olympics much thought. Their apparent lack of interest in the Olympics made world wide betting pool against them grow quite large.

"They aren't even working out in the gym!" O'Brien wailed to Segil at another lunch. "I hear Williams ran a marathon race last week and was back at work like it was a stroll in the park!"

The table full of agents sitting with them nodded; they'd heard the same kinds of stories about the other teams. Solo and Kuryakin were taking this way too lightly as far as they could see, and reluctantly, they put their money on the Berlin team. Mark Slate and April Dancer seemed to be the only agents aside from Solo and Kuryakin that weren't drawn into the excitement of the event.

"You know, you two were the back up team," Segil pointed out. "I'd bet on you two in a heartbeat."

Mark crossed his arms and leaned against the cafeteria wall. "Guess that's a moot point, eh? Never known that pair to turn down a challenge."

"They could at least look interested!" O'Brien moped. "They're going to make our office look bad! Are you betting on them?"

April flicked a piece of lint off her silk sleeve. "Of course! I don't want to face them afterwards and say I bet against them. Call it loyalty."

"I'm more loyal to my wallet," Segil growled as he cleared his tray and left with O'Brien close behind.

Mark gave April a lopsided grin. "I think most of the staff plans on being elsewhere the day after the race ends."

"Good," the trim agent replied, inspecting her nails. "I could use the peace and quiet."

ACT III: Go!

It was a week before the race and the final teams were posted. Solo and Kuryakin represented the New York office, Harry Williams and Paul Wescott for Berlin, Caracas had Gabriel Seguin and Jorge Salazar, Nairobi submitted Sule Memeza with Kojo Fasse, with New Delhi's Ron Wang and Bennie Silver rounding out the field. There were no surprises; the reputations of the teams were well known.

Four days before the posted starting date, Solo and Kuryakin were called to Waverly's office. When they had settled into their seats the old man spun the table around and brought it to a rest with plane tickets, some cash, and a world map in front of each agent.

"On your marks, gentlemen." It was hard to miss the sparkle in the eyes of their boss.

"Excuse me?" Kuryakin said as he examined the tickets.

Solo flashed a grin and retrieved his offering. "The game is afoot, I assume?"

The blond agent's head snapped up. "It's four days early."

"Mr. Kuryakin, this organization is renowned for keeping secrets." Waverly patted his breast pocket absently, looking for his pipe.

Solo grinned and leaned back. "The date Illya's referring to was an intentional leak."

"So that's how this game will be played," Kuryakin groused.

"We did say that the course would be secret. That includes the actual starting time." The sage leader abandoned his search and pointed to the world map. "The race starts when all team members arrive here." His finger tapped an area in California. "And leave your guns here, gentlemen."

"San Francisco," Illya said, reading the map as he dropped his shoulder harness. He gave the gun a long last look. "Are they afraid we will shoot our competition?"

The old man raised a bushy brow but didn't grace the question with an answer. "Look for these markers. They will mark the start and end of each leg." Waverly held up a small, pale blue flag that had the yellow globe used in the UNCLE logo imprinted on it. "You have less than an hour to get to the airport. The first team that gets to the end of the course wins," Waverly said with a touch of amusement in his tone. "Remember that you are representing this office, gentlemen."

"So much for packing," Solo mumbled as they rose and headed for the door.

As they raced out of the building the office-wide intercom announced, "And they're off!"

ACT IV: First Leg – Day One

Fog threatened San Francisco's airport but hung congenially offshore and allowed the agents' plane to land without delay or diversion. When they stepped from the jet way to the terminal, Solo and Kuryakin scanned the crowd for something, anything, since they didn't have any idea what to look for. A grinning man flashed his UNCLE identification just outside the gate, resolving the quandary.

“Gentlemen,” he said cheerily. “You are the final arrivals. The other teams are here in the terminal. I will notify everyone that the race will now begin.” Offering no more, the man disappeared into the crowd.

The two agents regarded each other. “Well?” said Solo.

Kuryakin nodded to the exit and began to walk just as their communicator pens warbled, acting as the race starting gun.

A gathering of religious panhandlers partially blocking the hallway marked their first obstacle. "I guess we simply follow normal routine and check the local field office." Illya studied the group of robe-clad, shaved head, tambourine-bearing beggars with open suspicion. One of them offered him a yellow flower with one hand and a donation bucket with the other. "I gave at the office," the agent snarled curtly. The beggar backed off quickly, eyes wide.

"Sorry," Solo said in passing to the frightened Krishna. "He hasn't bitten anyone all day and he's grumpy." He directed his partner to the doors. "Let's go, then." Solo led the way, weaving through the crowd. When they got to the taxi line they saw Wescott and Williams disappear into the lead cab. "They beat us here from the international gates?"

Illya cut the line and quickly opened the door to the first empty cab, Solo on his heels.

"Hey! That's my cab!" yelled a busty middle-aged woman who clutched a small, fluffy dog in one arm. With the other hand tightly gripping her suitcase, she angrily shook the dazed canine in Illya's direction as she berated the pair.

"Sorry!" Solo replied. He jumped in beside his partner and slammed the door. "Good thing that dog wasn't loaded," he quipped as the cab pulled away. Illya just rolled his eyes at him. Solo sat straighter. "You need to get into the spirit of this. I'm not apologizing for you anymore today."

"Fine with me."

When they arrived at the UNCLE field office, two cabs were pulling away from the curb. Their own cab stopped in front of the small bookstore that fronted UNCLE San Francisco, and Illya noted a small blue flag with a yellow globe printed on it was posted next to the American flag in the display window.

"Shall we follow our plan, or see what the office holds?" he asked his dark-haired partner.

"Follow those cabs," was Solo's reply, directed at their driver. "There's an extra five in if for you if we get to where ever they’re going before the passengers are out of sight."

The cab squealed from the curb. "What if I get to their stop before they do?" The driver asked curiously. "I heard their destination on the radio before I picked you up."

The agents looked at each other and grinned. "I think I could get into the spirit of this after all," Illya said happily.

*******

As promised, when the driver arrived at the wharf area there wasn't a cab in sight. "You have about 15 seconds until they arrive," the driver said, his hand out for payment. Solo slapped bills into the open palm and both agents dove from the cab which roared off before the door was fully closed.

"He seemed to catch on quick," Illya noted as he straightened his jacket.

The pair had settled into the shadow of a storage building. The sun was hanging somewhere over the horizon, mired in the incoming fog, and the darkness of night threatened to close in earlier than expected. The bright yellow cabs were easy to spot in the poor light and arrived within seconds of each other.

Solo and Kuryakin recognized Williams and Wescott's outlines as they leaped from the first cab and the brighter clothing and lanky figures of Memeza and Fasse of Nairobi close behind in the second cab.

The New York agents broke cover and trailed the others to the edge of the dock area. They could barely make out the four agents in the fog, who appeared to be searching a small, grassy park area that was situated between the dock and the rocky bay. Solo and Kuryakin circled around the edge of the park, keeping them all in sight. They heard the arrival of the fourth cab in the foggy darkness and saw the fuzzy outlines of what they figured were the remaining four agents spill out.

"All present and accounted for," Solo said quietly. "I wonder if everyone else picked up something from the office." The pair crept in closer to Wescott and his partner, who were in excited dialogue next to what appeared to be a granite marker. Wescott poked at a paper in his hand and looked at his watch. Within moments they took off on foot with Solo and Kuryakin close behind. The other teams were still searching the small park.

The four of them arrived at a nearby ferry station just as a ferry was preparing to leave. Wescott and Williams dashed aboard at the last second and headed into the seating area. Solo and Kuryakin vaulted the closed gate, threw money at the astonished attendant, and moved quickly into the shadows on the ferry. When they crept up the stairs to the seating area, they felt the ferry begin to move and saw the Berlin agents looking out the window toward the dock. The younger one, Williams, sat down, pulled out a paper and began to study it. Wescott cracked a smug grin and waved out the window at the receding dock.

"I guess the others got here too late," Illya surmised.

"I wonder where we're going?" Solo mused.

"I don't know, but I bet that paper they keep looking at would tell us."

Their question was answered nearly and hour later when the ferry docked and the New York pair followed the Berlin agents off the boat. Darkness made stealth easier. Wescott stopped and carefully studied a small, grassy park area adjacent to the ferry dock. When Williams came to him, quiet discussion followed. Wescott pointed at something and they moved off toward the water's edge.

"You know, if we lose them we're basically up a creek without a boat." Kuryakin pulled his coat in tight to keep the fog at bay. "I'd feel better if we had that paper they keep looking at."

"Paddle, not boat,” Solo corrected automatically.

The slight pause was accented by Illya's cocked eyebrow. "What's the point of having a paddle without a boat?"

With a heavenward roll of his eyes, Solo dropped the subject of boats. “So we either don't lose them or we get the paper." He nudged his partner, as the Berlin pair seemed to find what they were looking for; they were now moving out of the park at a quick pace. "We're off again. Go see what they found." The dark haired agent followed the retreating pair as the Russian melted into the hazy darkness.

Illya appeared at Solo's side moments later. "It was a plaque on a granite pillar marking where a Sgt. Jose Ortega first stepped foot on the San Francisco bay."

"All right, keep that in mind; the other place had a granite marker, too." Their pace had quickened as they crossed the street and headed down a business area. “I think we may be heading for the train station.”

Solo was right and managed to get the ticket agent to recall what Wescott had purchased. Boarding without being spotted was tricky but manageable and they settled into an empty seat one car away from their quarry. "We seem to be headed to Monterey."

"Good. I have time to eat something." Illya stood. "The airline food wasn't enough."

"Fine, but don't get spotted by those two." That comment resulted in a withering look from the blond agent. Solo was undaunted. "They may know we're here all along, you know. Watch out for tricks."

"Tricks. Right." Illya left in search of food. It wasn’t long before he returned with a thick sandwich and the news that Wescott and Williams were asleep. "Jet lag from Germany, I suppose. So I took this." He held up a crinkled paper. His eyes glittered with satisfaction.

Solo grinned. "I knew you were a thief at heart, my dear partner. You eat. Let me look." He took the paper and smoothed it out on his thigh. "I can't wait to see their reaction when they can't find this."

Illya swallowed a mouthful of sandwich. "Or this," he added lightly. Solo looked up to see Illya dangling a wallet between his fingers. "I wasn't sure we were going to get reimbursed for expenses by New York, so I thought Berlin should pick up some of the tab."

Solo's grin broadened. "You are a thrifty one, aren't you?"

The paper Illya had liberated from Williams was a list of park names in no particular order. "The cab drivers must have been their source of information." Illya mumbled. "There are no addresses here."

"Let's see," Solo looked at the list in his partner's hands. "I recognize that one." He pointed to the list. "Cabrillo National Monument is in San Diego."

Illya looked thoughtful. "There is a pattern here, besides the parks. The markers at the other two parks had Spanish names. Cabrillo was Spanish, too."

Solo grinned. "I think you got it. Chief Escamilla. He's always bragging about his Spanish ancestors. This has to be his course."

"I agree, but we'd better check the others on this list to be sure. Who would know where these parks are? The library?"

The dark haired agent’s eyes glittered. "Our uncle's travel agency. They open before the library." He looked at his watch and pulled out his communicator. "Open Channel D."

A warm and extremely friendly feminine voice purred from the communicator. "Hello, Napoleon. How goes the race?"

"Charlene, my dear!" Illya shook his head in amazement as his partner began a low, flirty conversation that was accented with chuckles and double entendres. The Russian was sure the calls were backing up for Charlene and that her partner in the UNCLE's communications office was most likely glaring at her office mate both in resentment and anger: Resentful she wasn't speaking with the debonair agent and angry at having to pick up the load while Napoleon's time consuming requests for information were eagerly fulfilled.

Apparently, Solo was fully aware of the consequences of his requests. "And when I get back, Charlene, I'm taking both you and Valerie out to dinner to show my appreciation."

A second voice sounded over the communicator. "Thank you, Napoleon! It's nice to know someone out there realizes what we go through here."

"You're welcome, Valerie."

Charlene's tone was pouty. "Not at the same time, I hope. I want you all to myself."

By this time, Illya was slumped back in his seat with his chin on his palm, completely bored with the playful interchange. "Napoleon, hang up before Thrush traces that and we have more to contend with. Your conversation is so long that my babushka could trace it using her divining rod."

Solo smugly ended the call and replaced his pen. "You know as a scientist that your analogy makes no sense."

Illya nodded and a dreamy look came over his face. "My imagination is much more interesting than your conversation."

Solo hesitated a beat. "I didn't realize you had an imagination."

Illya's reply was deadpan as he looked out the window. "Imagine that."

Their exchange was interrupted by the announcement that they had arrived at the Monterey train station. The car had barely come to a stop before the agents were off. The station was fairly empty so the pair made their way to the exit as quickly as they could before the other agents saw them. Illya approached a uniformed officer standing at the exit. Solo stopped next to him and watched the train.

Wescott and Williams stepped off, looking wildly around the platform. Williams' eyes connected with Solo's at the far end of the platform just as Illya handed the wallet over to the officer.

"Time to go!" Solo said cheerfully as Illya thanked the officer. They darted out the exit.

"They'll have to prove who they are to get the wallet back," Illya said. “Difficult, when I have all the identification cards with photos.” Then he held up a $10 bill. "The cab is courtesy of Mr. Wescott. And I think our meals are covered for quite awhile as well."

They leaped into the first cab. "I'm glad you're on my side," Solo commented, patting his wallet to be sure.

Wescott's cash lasted all the way through San Diego, Mexico City and San Salvador. The agents were satisfied that their supposition had been correct, as each park they visited held a monument dedicated to a Spanish explorer, but none of the tiny field offices bore the blue and yellow flag.

The travel wasn’t too difficult, but constant. They managed with frequent naps and eating on the run. By the end of the second day of the race, they were down to the last two parks.

“Which one is the last one? That will determine the end of the leg." Solo studied the rumpled list. "This park is in Cartagena and the other's in Panama City. They both have UNCLE field offices, if we are to assume that’s where the end of the leg flag will be."

Illya yawned. "We've been running backwards in order of discovery and settlement. That would put Cartagena first”

"True, but we've also been running a linear pattern so far. I'd say Panama City first." Solo pursed his lips in thought then brightened suddenly. "But I think you're right. I think it ends in Cartagena."

Illya was silent for a few moments, his eyebrows raised in interest. "Why do you say that?"

"Call it a hunch." Solo waved down a cab. "Plus the fact that I happen to know that Chief Escamilla flies regularly into Cartagena and even has a private plane there. His family has a ranch outside the city, you know."

The blond agent shook his head in amazement as his partner smiled a sly smile. "Some hunch. I take it you've been there?"

"Ah, no. But Rachel in the Caracas office has." He winked at his partner as he pulled open a cab door.

Skipping Panama City completely, the pair found the blue and yellow flag denoting the end of the leg stapled on the tiny Cartagena field office's front door.