It was one of those February days in New York when the cold winds drop, the sun comes out and the weather drops a broad hint that spring is just round the corner. Napoleon Solo looked away from the cheerful view out of the window as once empty streets thronged with lunch time office staff. It had been five years since he had reluctantly given up his post of Chief Enforcement Agent to become head of UNCLE’s public relations department. The change was forced on him by UNCLE’s strict rules regarding the age of field operatives. Five long years. He missed the excitement, the danger, the travel ...He was bored by the constant round of meetings, lunches, wheeling and dealing. A public face for a very secret organisation was to say the least a next to impossible task. Keeping UNCLE’s name away from the media and rescuing hapless UNCLE agents confined by various police forces kept him busy. Negotiating protocols with agencies such as the CIA kept him very bored. Things were about to change, Napoleon just been summoned to Alexander Waverly's office. The invitation was not the normal meeting with the agenda sent out before hand. In fact he didn’t even know the purpose of the meeting. He smiled to himself, this sounded as if it could be serious and nothing whatever to do with public relations!

He was ushered in to Waverly’s office, a place Solo rarely saw these days. Henri Le Blanc, the current Chief Enforcement Agent was already sitting at Waverly’s right hand. A tall French Canadian, he had a reputation for ruthlessness that Solo found unnerving. Solo nodded to him, he knew him only vaguely. He had never worked with him.

"Mr. Solo, good of you to come at such short notice" Waverly started.

"Yes" agreed Le Blanc "there is an urgent matter in which we need your help"

Napoleon felt pleased that even after five years he was useful for something. He just couldn’t wait to find out what the two men were edging around.

Waverly continued "There have been some worrying developments in THRUSH, an unexpected situation."

"And you think I can help?" queried Solo.

"In an indirect way. Unfortunately the only person that can really help has left our organisation. We would dearly like to talk to him" Waverly explained.

Solo looked from one man to the other. "It’s Illya isn’t it?" he said quietly.

Napoleon hadn’t seen Illya for five years. When he stood down as Chief Enforcement Officer, Illya Kuryakin had taken the opportunity to return to his native Russia. He had been based in the Moscow office, first as Chief Enforcement Agent and then as head of the Russian UNCLE operation. It must be at least two years since he had spoken to him. "Isn’t Illya prepared to come back from Russia?" queried Solo.

"You are not in touch with Mr. Kuryakin I take it" Waverly murmured. " Mr. Kuryakin left UNCLE over a year ago now. So far we have been unable to contact him."

Solo was stunned "I hadn’t realized Sir, I’m afraid our paths don’t really cross these days."

"Obviously" Waverly sighed.

Le Blanc chipped in. "The Moscow office are currently trying to locate Kuryakin. We would like you to leave for Moscow immediately so that once they have found him you can talk him into coming back with you. We think that you are the only person he would really listen to."

"I’m flattered, but I haven’t seen him in over five years, surely there would be someone in the Moscow office who ...."

Waverly cautioned him "Mr. Solo, I pride myself on knowing my people. I often noticed over the years how much you and Kuryakin trusted one another. I think for the purposes of this exercise, we need a man that Kuryakin can completely trust. It has to be you."

Waverly’s word was final.

There seemed to be two main objectives. The first was that Kuryakin had to be persuaded to return to New York. The Russian Authorities wanted assurances from the former UNCLE agent that he was willing to go. There was also a requirement that Illya be once more an employee of UNCLE. This seemed to be required in order to get him back into the America. As an UNCLE employee he had an automatic right of entry to the US.

Solo was secretly pleased with his assignment. To be off on a plane a such short notice to Moscow made him feel elated. He couldn’t wait to catch up on the latest news with Illya. He looked forward to asking his secretary to cancel a myriad of dreadful meetings due this week .. or better still delegate one of his staff to take them!

After a couple of flights Solo landed at Moscow airport to be quickly greeted by Valkov, an UNCLE agent he vaguely knew. They were quickly whisked to central Moscow and the UNCLE HQ. Solo had seldom been to the Moscow office although he had met Viktor Sergeyev, current UNCLE chief on a couple of occasions when Viktor had been a field agent. After New York the Russian head office seemed quiet and almost dismal. THRUSH were not as active in the East, so there was not the constant buzz of work that kept agents on their toes and the atmosphere stimulating. Solo was shown quickly into the director's office. He looked at it critically. This would have been Illya’s office till last year. They obviously did not waste money on interior design or even a decent set of furniture. Obviously such Western decadence had made no impact on Kuryakin. A deep voice rang out "Napoleon!" as a tall dark man skidded round the desk, hand outstretched to receive him, a broad smile on his face. "Welcome, welcome" rang out in a thick east European accent. "Good to see you again Viktor" Solo returned.

After talking through the formalities, Solo asked if Viktor Sergeyev and his team had managed to locate Kuryakin. "Yes we have", but he looked troubled rather than pleased at the thought. "One of our agents is currently arranging transport for tomorrow."

"Where is he?" queried Solo.

"Siberia" replied his host.

Before Solo could ask the obvious question, a woman stormed in. She looked to be in her late twenties, was short with very short dark hair and a slim figure that almost gave her the appearance of a boy. She seemed very agitated and spoke quickly in Russian to Sergeyev. He spoke to quieten her.

"Marta", he interrupted "our important guest from America is here, Mr. Solo"

She turned to him. The phrase ‘if looks could kill’ sprang to mind. Solo always tried to be sociable, even in the most adverse of conditions.

"Hallo Marta, I’m pleased to meet you". He sprang forward offering his hand. She accepted it reluctantly.

"Marta will accompany you on your journey tomorrow, acting as your interpreter."

"Good" beamed Solo, whilst looking at her expression he wondered if once alone she intended to murder him!

"I have spoken to Mr. Waverly, informing him of the arrangements. He asks that you contact him once you have succeeded in enlisting Mr. Kuryakin’s help." Then he quietly added "Or not". Napoleon knew that whatever happened he could not fail.

Once more Marta spoke to Sergeyev in rapid Russian. Solo could understand some Russian, but not enough to follow the conversation. The only words he could pick out were Kuryakin’s name and the phrase ‘big trouble’. He also got the uneasy feeling that he was somehow being blamed. Sergeyev spoke sternly to her and she left the room. He looked a little embarrassed at Solo. "Don’t worry Napoleon, as they say her barking is worse than her biting".

The next morning an UNCLE jet was waiting for them on a small airstrip outside Moscow. Solo and Marta both carried bags containing cold weather gear. The temperatures in Siberia in February are sub-zero, ordinary clothes would not protect them. Although rather a luxurious way to travel, the UNCLE jet was the only way to get there. They could fly to a small airport 20 miles from Kuryakin’s location. From there Marta had managed to arrange a helicopter flight. Altogether the journey would take four to five hours. Solo still did not know why Illya was in Siberia. He wondered if Marta knew.

The hut rose above the snow. Inside the prisoner waited for the start of the day. He was unable to sleep partly because of the pain in his ribs and partly because of desperate plight. He was becoming too weak to work. Yesterday he had fallen and been kicked by one of the guards. The poor diet and a recent illness had left him frail. The key rattled and the guard opened the door. He called out the prisoners name, then told him he would not be required for his work gang today. He was told to wait in the hut. Vaguely the prisoner wondered why he was not working today but it didn't seem important. He was relieved that there would be no work for him today but that would mean no food. He knew he was rapidly falling to the point of no return.

Solo’s journey was uneventful. Marta only answered his questions, never voluntarily saying anything. She seemed to avoid making any communication with him at all. A couple of times she went speaking to the pilots and he could here the laughter, but was never invited to share the joke. He certainly got the impression that their destination was not good news, but nobody seemed interested in explaining why. It was like a dark family secret, as if everybody knew and preferred not to discuss with a stranger. When they reached the remote airstrip Napoleon took his first ever step in Siberia. The cold rushed to greet him, enveloping him with the frozen chill. "It must be at least 5 below" he realized. It took his breath away.

Finally, just before noon the helicopter set them down in a snowy field on the edge of what appeared to be a prison. High barbed wire fences surrounded a collection of wooden huts of various sizes. Two sets of tall wooden gates blocked the road entering into the place. He and Marta walked in through small gates set at the side of the road. Marta dealt with the guards and the paper work. Once the Helicopters engines quieted, there was a deep and frosty silence. Solo felt he must be at the end of the Earth. The first gate took an eternity to get through. Even though Solo was dressed for the sub zero temperatures, by the time the guard had finished two phone calls and studied endless documents he could no longer feel his feet. Solo had never seen a Gulag, a Russian forced labor camp before, let alone set foot in one. He wondered to himself which scenario would be worse, that Illya was a prisoner or the he was one of the guards? He wasn't sure of the answer. The second gate was opened for them and they were directed to a grim looking wooden building in front of them. As they entered through the main door the warm air came to greet them.

The reception area was bare, with a large woman dressed in a dull uniform sitting on a chair knitting. Marta spoke to her in very demanding tones. The woman looked at the strangers and smiled showing a revolting set of teeth. She pointed them towards a door at the end of the corridor. Solo and the UNCLE agent walked into a large office with a desk placed in the middle behind which sat a woman who seemed totally gray. Her gray hair matched her gray eyes and her gray suit toned in beautifully. She made no attempt to introduce herself or make any kind of small talk. A faceless bureaucrat in what must be one of the worst places to be posted. She motioned for their papers which she started to read. Two chairs stood facing her desk, Solo watched Marta sit in one, then he settled himself in the other. He realized he was nervous, but couldn’t quite decide if it was the strange surroundings or the thought of seeing Illya again.

The cell door was opened. The prisoner stood up slowly. The room was freezing cold and his body unfolded painfully as muscles protested. As he was marched to the interrogation room fear began to gnaw into his mind. Feeling too tired for the inevitable confrontation, he was pushed forward by an impatient guard, his mind buried somewhere whilst his body sat down on the chair. He thought back to the summer when he was last here. The shouting, the humiliation. The pain.

Solo was startled by a loud thump on the door. A man in a military looking uniform entered. The gray woman spoke briefly. Marta translated. "You are to go with the guard. He will take you to Kuryakin." Solo stood up and followed the guard. He glanced at the smart uniform with the gleaming medals. On his chest was pinned a medal that Solo had expected to see, the dagger and shield of the KGB. The guard walked smartly down various silent dowdy corridors, never looking back at Solo. His boots stamped on the wooden floor surfaces and the noise of the impact echoed round them, filling the silence with his rhythmic march. Finally he stopped at a door, opened it and motioned Solo to enter. He smartly closed the door with a crash behind Solo.

The room was small and windowless. There was a small table with two chairs either side. One chair was already occupied by a figure facing away from the door. He didn’t look round to see who entered the room, even with the crash of the door. "Is this Illya?" Solo thought. He looked about the right size, but the filthy hair looked anything but blond. He walked round to the other chair. As he looked at the man’s face he realized suddenly that it was Illya. He was a bit older, there were hollows in his cheeks and enough stubble to almost make a beard covered his face but there was no mistaking him. Looking at his clothes answered Solo’s query about his status here. He looked as if he had several layers of clothes on, with a final padded jerkin inscribed with a number. Illya had not moved his eyes from the table. It was that simple act that brought home to Solo just how much trouble Illya was in.

The prisoner sat in the interrogation room. He heard the door open, then close noisily behind him. He did not look up. He was afraid. Suddenly he heard a voice of a man from before. It was impossible.

"Good to see you again Illya" Solo's first words echoed round the room. Blue eyes suddenly looked up and focused on his face. Kuryakin did not change his expression nor did he speak. However Solo found the blue eyes examming his face, confirming every detail. Illya looked worn out, as if he hadn’t eaten or slept in days, perhaps even weeks. Finally Solo gave up, "Aren’t you pleased to see me?

The prisoner had been trying to make sense of the situation. There, in front of him, sat his old friend and colleague Napoleon Solo. A man who should be thousands of miles away from here. Was this an hallucination?

"Forgive me, Napoleon, it is just that you are the last person I ever expected to see here."

"I can imagine"

Silence once more surrounded the two men as they sat and stared at each other. Solo hoped Illya would say something else, especially after his long journey with the monosyllabic Marta. Again he had to give in.

"I’ve come to ask a favor"

Kuryakin’s cheeks flushed slightly. "I cannot think there is anything I could do for you here"

"That’s just it Illya, I need you to come back to New York with me, to return to UNCLE."

Kuryakin sat for a moment pondering the question. "Is that what I should do Napoleon?"

Solo thought back to their unwritten codes. He answered him "Yes, I think that is what you should do". His answer sounded rather convoluted but that was the code, to repeat Illya’s words. Had he merely said ‘Yes I am sure’ Illya would have understand the answer to be no.

He could see the decision was not simple for Illya. He sat for some minutes obviously struggling with inner thoughts. He was looking at his hands. Solo followed his gaze. They were filthy and showed all the signs of hard physical work. He finally asked, "Will I be allowed to go?"

"Of course, but only if you consent. We have an agreement with the Russian authorities that as long as you return of your own free will they will not stop you."

He rubbed his face with his hands, massaging his forehead briefly. Solo recognized the signs, he was obviously in pain.

"Waverly asked you to come here?"

"I think ‘told’ would be the more appropriate word"

Kuryakin met his gaze. It was almost as if he were trying to read his mind.

"Well, I suppose there is no point hanging around here" he said simply "we have some traveling to do"

He rose from his chair, Solo stood up too. The pair left the room, following the guard who retraced his steps the office.

Marta looked at Kuryakin's face. She looked apprehensive. The bureaucrat spoke and Marta took Solo's arm. "We have to wait outside " she explained, "while she talks to Kuryakin". Standing in the corridor Solo realized he was very angry. How could they treat Kuryakin like this? He had done so much, been so brave risking his life to stop the 'bad guys' and yet this was his reward. Luckily Illya was quickly out of the office, otherwise Solo realized he could have gotten into a rage. They could have all finished up as prisoners in the Gulag!

Back in the UNCLE jet all three collapsed into the comfortable seats and prepared for take off. Napoleon made his channel ‘D’ call to inform Waverly of their success. The plane was quickly airborne. Marta started a reticent conversation with Illya. Kuryakin stopped her. "You should speak in English so our guest can understand" he remonstrated.

"But I think speaking English to foreigners is the sort of activity that only brings trouble"

Illya sighed. "You are an agent for an international organisation. If you do not want to talk to foreigners you are really in the wrong job!"

Marta blushed at her reprimand, then disappeared off into the rear of the plane and returned with three bowls of almost warm soup and some bread. Solo struggled with the food. Earlier he had felt so hungry, but now …must be jet lag he told himself as he unsuccessfully tried to calculate the current New York time. He looked over to Illya. His food had gone. "I must be getting old," thought Solo, "ten years ago I would have gladly eaten this, I’m slowing up."

Illya and Napoleon chatted casually on the journey back. Solo noticed Illya’s accent was a little thicker and that he sometimes had to search for the appropriate English word. Apart from that he was just the same man he knew all those years ago. Solo had so many questions but he tried very hard to ask none. He knew if he started quizzing Kuryakin he might turn round and refuse the New York trip. Kuryakin had always been defensive of his mother country. Solo very carefully tried to keep all his comments positive. He tried to keep the conversation geared around the past, old friends and colleagues, stunts they had pulled off. Good times.

Arriving back at the Moscow office Illya was ushered away. Viktor rescued Napoleon. "Kuryakin will be spending some time with the Doctor now, I know a good restaurant a short walk away, let us go and eat Napoleon." Solo was relieved. The last few hours had been tense ones. He tried to be careful in his conversations with Illya - having got him this far he did not want to upset him. His old friend had obviously been through a lot, but the enigma that was Illya was hard to fathom. Solo felt as if he were walking on egg shells.

On their return from a particularly fine meal washed down with red champagne, they found Kuryakin waiting for them. Cleaned up, once again his blond hair framed his clean shaven face. He had shed his layers of clothes and changed into a black jumper and pants. Illya had always been slim, but now he looked almost painfully thin, slender bony wrists emerging from the jumper. Dark circles framed his blue eyes, which had an almost haunted look in them.

Viktor led them both to their over night accommodation at the Moscow HQ. Just like every where else the rooms were sparsely furnished. An early flight had been booked to London, with a connecting flight to New York.

Left alone, Solo thought through the day's events. He needed to speak to Sergeyev. He found the Moscow chief in his office. "I thought you would be sleeping now Napoleon."

"I just wanted to check some things with you first Viktor"

"Such as what?"

"Is Kuryakin fit to travel tomorrow?"

"Look for yourself", he threw a folder over his desk to Solo. He picked it up and glanced through. His Russian really was not up to this.

"Translation?" he queried.

Viktor smiled and took the report back. Glancing through he summarized the report for Napoleon. "Malnutrition, exhaustion, some frostbite and bruising. Nothing more. The good Doctor would rather he spent some days resting and recuperating before leaving, but as the matter is urgent and his life will not be endangered, traveling tomorrow is not a problem."

"Good", agreed Napoleon, "Have you got a set of documents for him?"

"Everything, his passport, UNCLE identification and I even managed a pilot's license"

"Anything else I should know?"

Sergeyev looked serious. "You know the KGB were responsible for Kuryakin's incarceration?"

"I guessed"

"They may not be happy to let him go." He paused choosing his next words carefully. "I had to talk to some people in very high places to get Kuryakin, I think the KGB are not pleased. Be careful"

Solo nodded silently. "I think I'll go get that sleep you mentioned. I think I'm going to need it."

Lying awake, Napoleon went through the burning question in his mind, why had Illya been incarcerated? No one seemed willing to talk about it and he was cautious not to push too hard. Finally he drifted off to sleep. A wake up call got Napoleon out of bed, especially as the phone was thoughtfully place at the other end of the room from the bed. As soon as Solo was up and dressed he was joined by Illya. Viktor came to say a brief goodbye, handing Illya his set of documents. Marta was already waiting for them in the car. She would accompany them on the flight to London, riding shot gun. Agents from the London office were to guard them for the trans-atlantic journey. As the car left for the airport they all became aware of the black car following them. No doubt this was a farewell gesture by the KGB.

Solo and Kuryakin walked through the airport together. Marta kept some distance behind. Two suited men followed them all. Napoleon felt their malevolent presence. He knew there was no point in running or taking avoiding action. If the KGB decided to make a move against Kuryakin there was nothing he could do. As they went to board the plane one of them spoke briefly to Kuryakin. He registered nothing on his face. Solo looked to Marta, who whispered a brief translation "He said they will be waiting for him when he gets back". Napoleon made a silent wish that Illya would never return.

On the plane Solo and Kuryakin next to each other Marta two rows away. Solo noted all surrounding passengers. He was tense, alert for danger. He looked at Kuryakin, who leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed as if asleep but probably similarly monitoring his surroundings.

When the plane touched down on the runway at Heathrow, London’s largest airport Solo felt relieved. For one terrible moment he thought he would not get Kuryakin out of Russia alive. Napoleon had to admit he felt far more comfortable in a western English speaking country. The change of flights was tight time wise they had to say a very brief farewell to Marta. After the hard time she had given him, Solo thought she look upset to see them go, or was it to see Illya go? He glanced at his old friend. As usual there was no expression to read. Suddenly, Illya paused and leaned closely to her. Napoleon couldn't understand the words but he knew well that cold threatening tone. Just as suddenly as he paused, Illya was on his way again, Solo following. Perhaps this was the explanation he had been looking for.

As they left the Russian aircraft Napoleon recognized Greenwood from the London office. He led them quickly to their boarding gate. "Your protection squad is already in place" he assured them "There is really no time or place to make the introductions, but I can guarantee they know who you are and they won’t take their eyes off you. They’re a good team, so don’t worry, you’ll be in good hands." As he led them he had a security card that seemed to whisk them past anyone who took an interest in the group. It seemed like a well oiled procedure.

As they took their seats on the aircraft Solo carefully scanned the faces around them whilst he stowed his coat in the overhead locker. He didn’t recognize any faces, but them he had met few agents from the London office in recent years. Solo looked out of the small window at the airport. It was raining, the sky a leaden gray above them and the window was streaked with rain. They were the last to board, the stewardess came over to make sure their seatbelts were fastened. She was extremely pretty with a strong athletic body beneath the rather frumpy cabin staff uniform. She returned Solo’s smile with a beautiful one of her own and Solo felt instantly happy again. "Hi", he examined her badge "Jo, hope I get to see more of you on the flight"

"No doubt you will" she assured him in a firm English accent.

He felt Kuryakin’s eyes on him, and looked round. "You’ll never change will you Napoleon?" he smiled. Solo grinned back.

The flight was not full. The seats across the aisle from them were empty, and the other rows were similarly populated. The aircraft took off, plunging into thick gray clouds before emerging into the bright blue of the ionosphere. They spent some time speculating on who were their ‘London cousins’ but could not agree. Lunch proved a better diversion.

Somewhere high above the Atlantic Solo headed for the rest room. Illya looked out of the window. A figure edged to Solo’s seat but something made Illya look up. This man was not Napoleon. He was young, smartly dressed and in his hand he held what looked like a surgeons scalpel. Illya moved forward to grab the deadly wrist. Suddenly a Mary Poppins’s type voice spoke firmly "I’ll take that, thank you". Jo, the stewardess Solo had talked to earlier grabbed the weapon at the same time a man moved in from in front of the assassin, pushing what looked like a plastic bag onto his arm. The bag contained a syringe full of a knock out drug. Moments later the stewardess and the man pushed the attacker into the empty seat across the isle. The whole operation was so smooth that the other passengers hardly noticed. Jo settled the unconscious attacker with a blanket and pillow so that for all the world he looked like a sleeping passenger. The man settled himself into the seat next to him. The stewardess turned to Kuryakin "Can I get you anything, sir". He looked shocked "A glass of water, please" he asked in a barely audible whisper. She returned moments later with a glass, just as Solo resumed his seat. Napoleon noted Kuryakin's wide eyes and slight tremor as he raised the glass to his lips, he glanced at the sleeping man in the previously empty seat. "Did I miss something?" he asked innocently.

Finally the flight touched down in New York. Solo breathed a sigh of relief. A quick conversation with the stewardess, or rather Jo Westcott, London based UNCLE agent decided that they should wait till the other passengers had left before they made their move. "I was impressed by you rescue earlier" Kuryakin said. "I had not suspected that our protection team would be posing as cabin staff".

"Yes, it works well" agreed Jo. "Geoff and I have used this game plan before. Bit tough on the feet though"

Geoff Carroll was sitting with them. He was one of a whole new generation of agents unknown to the two older men. "Never mind Jo, you can doubly enjoy the journey back, they're one person short on the cabin crew so I’ve volunteered your services." Laughing she thumped him. "Next time I’m the passenger, you can play steward." The pair were returning with the aircraft on its scheduled flight back to London. Solo expressed his regret "I'd have enjoyed taking you out to dinner Jo". She smiled at him "Perhaps next time I'm in New York?"

"I'll look forward to it" Solo confirmed.

Geoff and Jo watched the two men depart. Their briefing had been very rushed that morning and had mainly concentrated on memorizing faces as well as noting all reservations made following UNCLE's booking on the aircraft. Of course they knew Solo's name from various internal memos, but neither knew Kuryakin's name. "I think he must be a gardener from the look of his hands" speculated Jo.

"And THRUSH want to murder him rather than us discover his latest propagation techniques!" added Geoff. Both agents joked but silently each felt a sense of dread looking at a man who had obviously been to hell and back.

A helicopter was waiting for Solo and Kuryakin so they could whisk straight from the tarmac to the roof of the New York UNCLE HQ. A team was also on hand to deal with the unconscious attacker. A good plan, but they reckoned without the CIA. As the group started to leave the plane, four of business suited men approached them. Solo instantly recognized Bill Klein with whom he had spent too many hours recently. "Solo, we just want a word with your Ruskie friend" Napoleon started to object, but Klein blocked him as two men led Kuryakin away. They pinned him against a wall a little further up the corridor. Solo could only see their backs and Kuryakin’s face. He was shaking his head in response to their questions. Suddenly one of the men delivered a punch to Kuryakin's midriff. Solo watched horrified as Kuryakin doubled over. The CIA agents walked off, calling to Bill and his colleague to join them. Napoleon rushed over to Kuryakin, now sitting on the floor. "What the hell was that about" asked Solo. "Just a visit from the welcome wagon" quipped Kuryakin. Solo laughed and sat on the floor next to him. Illya had a smile on his face. "You know", Napoleon said, "I’ve really missed your sense of humor!"

"Come in gentlemen, sit down" As ever Waverly’s greeting was as warm as if they had just taken a walk round the block." I trust your journey was comfortable. "

"Only one attempt on Kuryakin’s life" said Solo.

"I trust no one was hurt?"

"No sir, and the assassin is downstairs, should be awake in an hour or so." answered Solo.

Waverly prompted him to run through the return journey. Solo spared no detail. At the end of the narrative Waverly paused whilst he digested the information. "Well Mr. Kuryakin, I should congratulate you on your truly global perspective. There are few UNCLE agents I could name that can simultaneously be an anathema to both the KGB and the CIA."

Illya smiled a fleeting smile.

Waverly paused to light his pipe, glancing at Kuryakin whilst he did so. "Mr. Kuryakin, I hope you are well?"

"Just tired, Sir, it has been a long journey"

Solo snorted quietly. The look of exhaustion on his haggard face and his painfully thin body told a different story. He knew Illya well enough to make no comment.

"I expect you are wondering why we need you back here, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"It has crossed my mind"

"The McEwan affair" Waverly stated. Kuryakin nodded quietly as if he had known all the time. Solo’s mind reeled back to that time. It was not long before Solo had had to relinquish his post. Illya had posed as a British scientist called McEwan who had been courted by what he suspected was THRUSH. It had all ended very badly with the Russian being left for dead on some waste ground near London. He was in a coma for five days. Napoleon had even flown to London to help bring him back to consciousness. He inwardly shuddered at the memory.

Waverly fiddled with some buttons on his desk for a moment, then on the screen behind him was a photograph, taken from the air showing major devastation of a wooded area. "This is Finland" Waverly explained "and this is yet another in a series of sudden, unexplained devastation. This is the largest so far covering an area of 20 square miles. This site is a stone's throw from the Russian border, which is why we were able to get you back Mr. Kuryakin. Similar incidents have also been recorded in Canada and Scotland. With the latest Finnish incident we intercepted a THRUSH transmission which mention Dr. Roszkowski and Project Mercury. We really must deal with this problem before it gets out of hand.

"In you report on the McEwan affair you mentioned both the name of Dr. Roszkowski and also of Project Mercury. Our only intelligence remains your report. Of course I fully appreciate that at the time your memories were very sketchy, that head injury ..But if you do remember anything more .." Waverly’s voice trailed to a conclusion.

"Yes I do remember more."

"You do?"

"Yes Sir, for a long time it was rather like a jigsaw puzzle, with pieces floating through my mind. Last year I managed a brief interlude of travel before ...Well during this time some of those pieces fell into place. Unfortunately I never had the opportunity to update my report."

"Do you know where we should be looking for this man and his project?"

"Yes sir, I believe that I do."

Waverly went very quiet. He looked for a long time at Kuryakin. "Do you know what you are saying?"

"I imagine that I have just signed my own death warrant for THRUSH"

"Undoubtedly". Waverly looked decisive. "Gentlemen, this conversation remains in this room. If anyone asks and I mean anyone up to and including Le Blanc we say Kuryakin still has no memory of this affair. In the meantime Mr. Solo, I hear your staff are coping well. For the moment I would prefer you to remain with Mr. Kuryakin.

Waverly gave both men copies of the original report. He started to painstakingly go through it, item by item. The Mercury project was to construct a giant laser that could be focused by means of an orbiting satellite onto the earth. When Kuryakin was taken to the project base he had been taken on board a small private jet. When the plane landed it was a small airstrip. He had been deliberately not been told where he was, or shown any indication of his location. Usual clues such as car number plates were simply not there. In his report Illya had said he had the impression that they were on a private island, but he was unsure where. He had slept on the flight, when he had woken he found his watch had been remove so that he had no idea how long the flight had actually taken. A great deal of effort had been taken by his hosts to make sure he knew nothing about where the project base was.

"You feel you now have more information on this, Mr. Kuryakin?" prompted Waverly.

"Yes, I now believe I was on an island in the Azores"

"Can you elucidate on this theory?"

Kuryakin went on to tell how, on first leaving UNCLE he had decided to do some traveling. He had been at Lisbon airport wondering where to go next when he overheard a conversation about cheap tickets being available on the next flight out to the Azores. He enquired and found himself on a flight out to the middle of the Atlantic heading for the largest island of the Azores, Sao Miguel.

"I spent a couple of days traveling around the islands. Somehow I knew I’d been there before. There was something about the climate, the flora, the atmosphere. Finally on a flight to Faial I saw the island of Pico. A strange sight a small island with a huge extinct volcano in the middle of it. I knew I’d seen it somewhere before. When I was taken away from the project I was put on a plane. My captors thought I was unconscious so took no trouble to prevent me seeing anything. One sight stuck in my mind. When I saw Pico I recognized it immediately. I know for sure that I passed Pico on my way back to London."

"So we have some idea of the location. What exactly are actually we looking for Mr. Kuryakin?"

"It’s hard to say exactly would be needed in terms of personnel. It is possible the whole thing could be operated from a remote base literally anywhere in the world. The actual device itself would measure, let me think, say 100 meters. There would need to be an aperture for the beam, but that could be as small as a couple of meters in diameter. I would have thought they would place it below ground because that is what they were discussing at the time. A building large enough to house it would be obvious but" he shrugged his shoulders "with a good cover story it could be housed in a building such as some kind of warehouse or factory"

Waverly fiddled with the buttons on his desk and suddenly a map showing the islands of the Azores shone on the screen. "Now Mr. Kuryakin, perhaps we could go through the location again." When Waverly finally felt comfortable with the facts he wound up the meeting. "Gentlemen, there are people I must talk to, wheels that must be put into motion. Mr. Kuryakin, you have a somewhat overdue appointment to see Dr. Willis. I hope I can rely on you Mr. Solo to stay with him?"

Solo nodded his ascent and the meeting broke up.

The men silently made their way to the sick bay, each occupied by their own thoughts. Solo was glad Illya was receiving more attention from the medics. He looked awful. They entered the sick bay, and Illya was led away by the doctor. Solo had not met Willis before and as soon as he saw her he regretted that he no longer had trips to the sick bay. She was dark, slim and extremely attractive. Solo enviously watched his friend. Illya as usual in these circumstances looked like he was being taken for execution.

Solo was left talking to Susan, one of the nurses that he had known for years. "Not seen you here in years Napoleon. Can I update any of your jabs, or anything else perhaps?" Napoleon uncomfortably remembered that he had dated Susan a couple of times. He also recalled a couple of interesting bed baths.

"No, no, I’ll just wait here quietly"

She smiled.

Finally Illya returned. "I’m under orders to go and eat, coming?" The two men departed. Solo decided they should head for the commissary. He would hate to take Illya out to a restaurant only to see another attempt on his life.

After they had eaten Kuryakin went to find the room allocated to him. He needed to rest. Solo went in search of Waverly. By now it was after nine, but he knew the head of UNCLE would still be there. Waverly waved him into his office, he was just finishing a phone call. "Just receiving news of the interrogation of our tans-atlantic assassin. It seems he is a THRUSH agent. They seemed peculiarly well informed about your travel plans."

"A traitor in Moscow?"

"I think more probably revenge by the KGB. They are displeased I fear and they take great care to monitor our Moscow operation".

Waverly wanted Solo to stay with the Mercury affair. A 24 hour medical notice had been placed on Kuryakin, so he would have to spend tomorrow at UNCLE HQ. This would give Solo a day to make sure all was well with his department. In the meantime the Lisbon office would start the search. It was after 11 before Solo left for his apartment.

Somewhere in his mind Illya was trying to bury the memories of his time in the Gulag. He knew he could not share these thoughts with anybody, thoughts of despair. The constant hunger that had gnawed at his body, the relentless work cutting and hauling logs. The thought of the freezing last few months made his body shiver even now, the perpetual cold that invaded every where. The isolation was hard with no contact with the outside world, no crumbs of comfort to be gleaned from friends. No these were thoughts that must be buried. No one must ever know how close he had been to giving up.

In UNCLE’s Portuguese headquarters, a generous office with sea views, Manual Luis da Camara was putting in to play the instructions from Waverly. He called two of his best agents Nadine Cardoso and Alberico Nunes. "I’ve just been talking to Mr. Waverly in New York. We have a very important job on the Azores. I must be brief because you only have 2 hours before your flight. We need you to get to Faial. The flight this evening will take you as far as Sao Miguel, and I’m arranging for an ocean going cruiser for you to pick up in Ponta Delgada. Alberico, you’ll be able to sail the boat to Faial?"

"Yes, that will be easy, as long as a set of charts will be available?" Tall, dark and solidly built, Alberico was from a fishing family. He grew up on boats fishing in the Atlantic. The sea was in his blood.

"You will use the boat as your base. You must keep a very low profile, THRUSH are going to be looking closely at all strangers. An ocean going cruiser in Faial will be as obvious as an apple in an orchard". They all smiled, Faial was a place where many yachts and cruisers stop on their Atlantic crossing.

He went on to explain about Project Mercury and what exactly they would be trying to find.

"And when we do find this thing?" asked Nadine. She was small with dark curly hair and olive skin.

"Some agents are coming from New York. They will confirm what you find and make their decision as to its future. This is a very dangerous assignment. THRUSH will not willingly allow us to just walk in and look at this machine. Be extremely careful." Both agents nodded.

The next day Waverly was making decisions about travel for Solo and Kuryakin. To get to the Azores from New York was not too easy. Waverly insisted they should have their own plane so that they could easily move around the Islands and also make a fast escape if necessary. "Would you be willing to be the pilot?" he asked Kuryakin. Illya was reluctant. It had been some time since he had actually flown. He was willing to act as co-pilot to a more recently experienced person. "In that case I think I can find one of our agents who is a good pilot, and can be ready first thing tomorrow".

Solo and Kuryakin arrived at the airstrip together. Stepping on board the plane they were both surprised to see Jo Westcott resplendent in a pilot’s uniform. "You?" queried Solo.

"Yes, I was a pilot before a joined UNCLE. That’s how I passed myself off as cabin staff on your trans-atlantic flight, I spent so much time aboard passenger aircraft. I know the procedures well. So where is the co-pilot?"

"That's me" replied Kuryakin. The look of astonishment on Jo's face did not go unnoticed by either man.

As they went through the pre-flight checks Jo wondered about Kuryakin. He looked so thin, but not so ill as last time she saw him. She hated to think what had happened to him. She definitely preferred Solo. He had a smooth charm and sophistication that reminded her of a successful business man. But he also had that edge to him too. You looked into his eyes and knew he was capable of killing a man. She liked the danger she felt in his presence.

Jo tried making conversation, but Kuryakin did not seem interested. She tried to find out more about him. "Do you live in New York?"

"No"

"Which office do you work from?"

The look on his face told her she was asking the wrong questions. He sighed "Napoleon will brief you on the mission once we clear US air space". With that all conversation was finished. She was intrigued. In her experience men liked to talk about themselves.

When she finally retreated to the rear cabin she found a much warmer welcome. "Jo, come in. I take it Illya can run things for the moment?"

"Yes, he said you would brief me about our mission"

"I thought Illya would .." His voice trailed off. He realized the Russian was not in a talkative mood. He briefly ran through the more recent events of Project Mercury. "So how does our mission fit into this?" queried Jo

"We need to get Kuryakin to see the equipment when we find it, to confirm our agents have found the device"

"How would he know?"

Solo sighed. He had been hoping not to have to go into too much detail.

"Illya is a physicist, he's got all sorts of degrees from Universities all over the world. Believe me, he would know" Solo could see doubt on her face but he really did not want to start detailing events that would be better left untold.

Arriving in Sao Miguel, they were greeted by a hire car being brought out to their plane. It was a red Renault 5. Solo looked aghast at the small car. "Anything wrong?" asked Jo. "Napoleon hates a stick shift" Illya said. The American decided to keep his thoughts on tiny cars to himself. They decided to go in search of their hotel.

The hotel was perched half way up a mountain overlooking a local beauty spot the Sete Cidades. Unfortunately it was late afternoon and the Atlantic clouds had drifted over the island so the air was fresh, damp with a visibility of only several hundred feet. The hotel was modern with a large reception area, hardly a soul was in sight in the lobby. "Should be good for some peace and quiet" murmured Solo to his companions. Illya took care of the formalities being the only member of the group to speak any Portuguese. They had two adjoining rooms, Solo and Kuryakin would share one room with Westcott taking the next door room.

That evening Kuryakin left straight after the meal claiming tiredness. Napoleon and Jo moved to the lounge, chatting over a couple of brandies. Solo noticed the way she skirted around various subjects, then when she felt comfortable she finally asked, "You’re worried about Kuryakin, aren’t you?"

"Is it so obvious?"

"What happened to him?"

Solo took a deep breath. He was reluctant to say anything, but he knew deserved some kind of explanation "The KGB sent him for a holiday to Siberia". He looked at her face. He could see she understood.

"Did he work for UNCLE before?"

"Yes, for many years. We used to be partners. He's the best agent I've ever worked with" Solo looked at his glass, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "Come on" he said, "we can’t stay here all night".

When Solo returned to the room Illya was still dressed, looking through the hotel literature. "How are you holding up?" Solo asked.

"Just like old times, is it not?"

"No"

Illya looked puzzled. "It’s you Illya. You are not your old self. You grow quieter everyday."

"I’m sorry."

"I shouldn’t criticize. You’ve had a difficult time."

"You’ll never know."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"No. I’m trying to put it behind me."

"Waverly won’t send you back. You do know that don’t you Illya?"

"Yes. But not going back means I have lost my country. My home." He sat heavily on the bed. "I find that hard to live with."

"You know you can count on me. I’ll give you any help you need."

"Thanks. You’ve already given me more help then you’ll ever know."

The next day, after breakfast the three UNCLE agents sat enjoying a coffee on the terrace. The sun was bright and gave a gentle warmth. After the chill of New York and the deep freeze of Siberia the soft climate of the Azores was a real tonic. Jo quietly observed the two men. Illya was pale and the sunlight lit up his golden hair and penetrated his skin so that it almost looked translucent. Solo was dark, his large eyes bright in the sun, his dark hair ruffled in the breeze. Both men were handsome in their own way but yet had such different personalities, such different backgrounds. Solo the successful executive in his expensive business suit and Kuryakin? In his sweater and jacket he looked rather like an academic from some European University. She appreciated the way the two men were comfortable in each other’s presence. They had nothing to prove. Jo too found herself relaxed in their company. Having spent most of her working life in a male dominated profession she was relieved at being accepted on equal terms, rather than as some kind of trophy.

Jo had the idea first. "Let’s trying walking down to the lake." The two men looked dubious. "Come on, it can’t be that hard!" She walked across the road away from the hotel and disappeared down a deep slope towards the water. Illya shrugged his shoulders, Napoleon forged forward. "Better not to leave her on her own". The lakes looked glorious, formed in the craters of two extinct volcanoes, one lake was a clear blue, the other a turquoise color. The hillside was dotted with Azaleas in the most beautiful pastel shades. The whole scene was quite breathtaking. Only Jo seemed to be enjoying the trek. She was still far ahead and called out to the others. "Come on, last one down is a big girl’s blouse". A rather unfamiliar phrase to Solo he hoped it was not too disparaging.

It was then that danger struck. A bullet from a silenced automatic went "splat" in a tree trunk next to Solo’s face. He shouted out a sudden "Down". Jo looked towards him and realized from the look on his face that this was serious. She started to very slowly and cautiously make her way back to the two men, who had their UNCLE automatics at the ready, sheltering behind a fallen tree. Two more bullets found their way into the tree trunk. Solo and Kuryakin let off odd shots. A couple more answering shots came their way.

"Where would you say?" Solo whispered urgently. Jo hoped he wasn’t asking her. "Above and to the left" answered Kuryakin. He nodded to Solo, then with all the noise of a passing ghost he made his way behind them, then was quickly out of sight. "Come on" Solo urged Jo "We’ve got to keep them busy." They took turns snapping off shots. The opposition did not seem to be in any kind of hurry. Perhaps they were hoping the UNCLE agents would simply run out of ammunition. "How come Illya is going, not you?" asked Jo

"He’s a much better shot, won’t have to get so close".

After what seemed an eternity they heard two shots from an UNCLE automatic above them. There was a brief pause then they heard a shrill whistle and saw Illya signal to them from the location of the gunmen.

With sudden insight Jo blurted "He’s more dangerous than you are!" Solo smiled a slow smile. "That has been the secret of our success. I move to the front, the talker. They see Kuryakin, but he’s quiet, fades into the background. They underestimate him, they keep their attention on me. He sneaks up on their blind side then .. well they don’t stand a chance!" She laughed out loud. "Glad you’re both on the same side as me!"

They made their way cautiously back to the hotel. There could be more trouble waiting for them. If they were lucky the two THRUSHes were working alone and would not be missed yet. They emerged from the woodland higher up the road, then crossed to the shrubbery behind the hotel. Just as this happened Solo’s communicator warbled its call. They all stood round to listen. "This is agent Nadine Cardoso, Mr. Solo. I’m calling from Faial. I think we have found what you are looking for."

" In that case, I think we’ll be with you later today. I’ll contact you again on arrival. Solo out."

Having decided there was no obvious danger the three went back into the hotel. They packed and checked out, making swiftly for the airport. Kuryakin and Westcott went to sort out the formalities for their flight to Faial. Luckily neither airport was busy so their departure was prompt.

During the flight Solo observed Jo talking to Illya in the cockpit. He suddenly realized that she was interested in him. She was trying to penetrate that icy barrier! Solo thought immediately he must speak to her, warn her off. Then he thought again. What better way for Illya to take his mind off his problems than through a tug of emotion elicited by an attractive woman? He would either have to return her interest or run hard in the opposite direction, she was certainly no wallflower. Either way what harm would it do? Solo decided to keep his own council and watch the fun!

Nadine discretely met them at the airport in Faial. She was driving a small car and took them straight from the plane before anyone had a chance to look too closely at the new arrivals. She drove down to the harbor at Horta where they all boarded the yacht.

"How did you find Mercury so quickly" asked Solo. Alberico answered. "I spent some time getting to know the local fishermen. The islands are small and they know everything that goes on. They told me of a project that involved the construction of some special equipment that was designed to measure the shifts in the earth's crust between Pico and Faial. It sounded possible, built in a cave with access to the sea. I did some scuba diving and found an entrance. It was well protected, too well protected. I did not go too far inside, but the machine I saw fits the description we were given."

"Good work" said Kuryakin.

They all agreed to wait until cover of darkness before making a move. That was still four hours away. Luckily the boat was superb with a large saloon as well as three cabins. Nadine made a large pot of coffee. Illya found bread and cheese and began making a large quantity of sandwiches for them all. Jo helped him. They all settled down to conversation, reading and eating, generally passing the time.

Solo was enjoying watching the strange ritual that Jo and Illya were performing. She was trying very hard to be constantly at his side. He was trying very hard to be on his own. She was trying very hard to engage him in conversation. He was trying very hard so say nothing. He felt a slight sympathy for Jo but on the other hand he felt it was better for Kuryakin not to be left alone to brood. In the meantime he was enjoying Nadine's company.

They were equipped with only two wet suits. It was decided that the only two agents who needed to go would be Illya and Alberico. No one else was needed and extra personnel might only result in alerting THRUSH to the sabotage. As soon as it was dark both men silently left the boat and swam to the mouth of the cave. Luck was with them, there was a cover of cloud that meant no moonlight to give them away. Alberico silently led the way. He had already seen the security devices protecting the entrance. They dodged a couple of electronic beams as well as a good old fashioned trip wire. The door had a keypad next to it. Alberico secured an UNCLE device which read off the code to unlock the door. Finally they were in. "Wait here" Kuryakin commanded the Portuguese agent, then picking up his bag he entered the underground chamber. It was huge. The device must have been at least 200 feet long. A metal structure straddled on side of it, with three platforms and a set of stairs climbing to the top. A dim set of lights gave an almost hallowed feel to the cave.

Moving as silently as a passing ghost Kuryakin inspected the equipment. There was no mistaking the workings of the giant laser Roszkowski had planned all those years ago. Despite everything Illya had a sneaking admiration for the device. Five years ago he had though the whole project technically unfeasible, yet here it was. He had two bombs, either would be enough to destroy the device but he wanted to play safe. The first he attached near the base. He then climbed the metal structure that carried stairs and three platforms to the top of the laser. He had literally just set the last device when he felt the cold metal of a gun stuck into his neck. He turned to see a large man who grabbed painfully at his upper arm leading him towards an open door. As he approached a whole crowd of people stepped through.

Down near the entrance to the cave Alberico heard the voices. He moved cautiously into the cave. Squinting up at the platform above he could see the predicament Kuryakin was in. Silently he slipped away, back to the boat and quickly used his communicator to contact the others.

As the men held Kuryakin a familiar face walked towards him. Roszkowski! "Dr. McEwan how interesting to meet you again. Ah, no that was not your real name I believe. Still that is of no matter. " He went over to one of the armed THRUSH guards and had a hurried conversation. "My men tell me you have set explosive charges to detonate in 30 minutes. Now the location of Mercury is known I can no longer protect it. I think I’ll let your bombs do their work. But " he smiled, "I’m going to give you the pleasure of being blown up with it."

He signaled to one of the women waiting behind him. "A harmless drug in itself. It will merely stop you using your voluntary muscles. You will be conscious, you will be able to wait with Mercury to the end. I envy you in a way but I have new and better machines to build. Goodbye!" The woman pulled up the sleeve of his wet suit and pushed the syringe into the vein of his forearm. She was obviously skilled at this art. It only took seconds for his legs to collapse and eyes to close. As Roszkowski had promised he was fully conscious and could hear everything, including the dead silence when everyone disappeared. Illya hoped they had not found Alberico and that rescue was on the way. He tried not to count the passing minutes.

On board the boat Solo was becoming anxious. When Alberico returned alone Napoleon was definitely worried. They quickly piled into the boat. As they whizzed to the mouth of the cave in the launch Nunes explained what had happened. They were all armed to the teeth. Tentatively the Portuguese agent led them through the entrance, then they spread out, hugging the wall of the caves, looking for the guards. Except there were none. Finally Solo gave the order for them to fan out. The American agent saw the first bomb, they had only 14 minutes left before the it went off.

On the platform high above Kuryakin could hear the voices, finally recognizing Solo’s American twang. He just hoped against hope they would find him. He heard footsteps running up the metal staircase. Too light for Solo he waited expectantly. He heard Jo’s voice shout, "He’s up here!" He felt her hands shake him "Illya, Illya can you here me". He replied in his mind. His body lay still. She was almost crying "Oh what have they done to you?" She laid her head on his chest listening for his heart. She yelled triumphantly "He’s still alive!" In the meantime other feet were running up the stairs. Someone picked him up and slung him over a shoulder as if he weighed nothing. This must be Alberico thought Illya. Quickly he descended the stairs, then ran out. In moments her could hear the voices of the whole team in the boat. As they set off he could feel Solo’s hands checking his pulse, feeling for his breathing, talking to him, trying to get a response. He had none to give. A light was shone in his eye. Then a tremendous boom as the bomb finally blew. The small boat rode the shock waves as if it were a roller coaster. Illya felt sick but at least he was alive.

Back on board Solo carried Illya to one seating areas on the deck. He had found the tell tale puncture mark left by the syringe. "Here, Jo" he called "can you give me a hand?" For a moment Jo looked doubtful. Handling lifeless bodies was not one of her favorite occupations. Solo saw her hesitation. "Come on " he commanded urgently "we must get this wet suit off, he could go into shock". Jo held Illya whilst Solo tugged the suit into submission. As he removed the top part of the suit he roughly wiped at the body with a towel. As he wiped Illya's right side Jo felt Illya's body shudder. She looked down, in the dim light she could see something large and dark clinging to his ribs. It was as if some horrific sea creature had attached itself to his side. "What's that?" she yelled in a terrified voice. Napoleon paused, pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shone it at the offending place. Illya's ribs were colored with the black, blue and yellow of healing bruises. He shrugged and moved the towel round to the left side. Finally removing the bottom of the wet suit Solo carried Kuryakin down into the boat. Jo went ahead, finding a cabin. Solo tucked the Russian into a bed. "Will he be alright?" asked Jo.

"I think so, if they had meant to kill him they would have put a bullet in his head back there. We'll leave him to sleep the drug off."

A few hours later all was calm on the boat. Alberico was taking them back to Portugal. Jo and Nadine had settled themselves in the remaining cabins. Solo stretched out on the seating area in the main saloon warm beneath a quilt. Cool hands touched his and he woke with a start. Kuryakin crouched beside him. "You're OK?" Napoleon managed, his speech slurred by sleep.

"Fine, I feel fine now." He looked sympathetically at the drowsy American. "You get some sleep, I'm going to get some air."

Up on the deck he saw Alberico at the wheel of the boat. He went to join him. "Why don't you go and get some sleep? I can taker over"

"You can navigate?"

"I was taught navigation in the navy" answered Illya.

"The American Navy?"

"No, the Russian Navy"

Alberico made no comment. His English was not really up to recognizing accents, he had presumed Kuryakin to be American.

Outside the window there was nothing to see, the black of night shrouded everything. Luckily the boat was equipped with radar. Alberico explained the course he was taking, indicated the charts then gratefully disappeared below.

Illya checked the charts. He was perturbed to find that Alberico was not keeping accurate positions for their journey. He must have been navigating more by instinct and memory than by mere charts. For a moment he was thought of going to find him, but then he stopped himself. What did it matter? The boat was beautiful and well stocked. There was some good company. The sea was calm and the air almost intoxication. What did it matter if they didn’t reach the Portuguese coast tomorrow? As long as they found the European coast sometime this week, what did it really matter? He held the wheel and steered his course with a smile on his lips. He was finally at peace with himself.