"I lost it. It was right here in my pocket," the man said. There was a slight tremor in his hand as he turned it out.

"Someone must have picked it. I swear, I had it right here!"

"You put it your pocket? Knowing how important it is to us, you put it in your pocket like a comb or a handkerchief?"

"I...I...I don't know what I was thinking. I just..."

"He's a fool! I told you that. You should never have trusted him with a mission like this.What were you thinking?"

"He's my wife's brother. I thought he could be trusted. Besides, no one would ever suspect him of carrying something that important."

"But someone did."

"Yes. Yes, that's obvious."

"Have the idiot go back over where he's been for the past 24 hours. See if he told anyone, anyone at all, about this. Including your wife."

"Then?"

"You'll know what to do. You must find it. If you don't, we're all as good as dead."

"I won't fail."

"You'd better not. There's no room for failure in Thrush. And those who do end up dead. I do not intend to lose my position or my life because of your stupidity. Take care of it. Now."

"I will. I promise I won't let you down, Lucie."

"Report every hour. I want to know what's going on."

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

Boom-Boom wasn't Ridley's real first name. It was Rodney. Rodney Ridley, a very unlikely name for a thief and con artist. So he answered to Boom-Boom, a name coined by a prostitute he used to date. Well, maybe date wasn't exactly the right word. But he knew she liked him because she always favored him with a discount she didn't give her other regulars.

Prosperity had never smiled on Boom-Boom. He was always looking for the big score, the one that would put him on the gravy train. Several times he thought he'd found it, but the only thing Boom-Boom ever struck was fool's gold. His preference for a life of petty crime had landed him in cheap flophouses, motels where the rooms are rented by the hour and, of course, as a guest of his fine friends at the county jail. He'd even done a little hard time.

But Boom-Boom was flying low these days. He'd had to resort to picking pockets. The haul was almost not worth the trouble -- a few bucks here, a couple of driver's licenses that could come in handy down the road and this -- whatever it was --"thing" that he'd lifted from a mousy little pipsqueak down on the strip.

The guy'd been so busy checking out the peep show, salivating at the half-naked women, that he'd paid no attention at all to Boom-Boom. It had been easy to snatch his wallet. Too bad there wasn't anything worth taking in it. Just a couple bucks, some identification, a pawn ticket or two and this, well, whatever it was.

Boom-Boom pulled it out and looked at it again: he'd never seen anything like it. It was some kind of clear material, plastic of some sort, he guessed, and shaped flat like a piece of paper, about the size of a dollar bill, folded in half. And the center had a round circle, sort of soft and mushy feeling, and it was bright green, that ugly shade of green all the teenagers liked these days.

Sighing from the mystery of it all, Boom-Boom put the thing back in own wallet and dropped the pigeon's empty one in a trash container outside a burger joint. Might as well get something to eat, he thought, and pulled out the five he'd taken off the pipsqueak. Who knows? Afterwards he might just take that funny circle thing to a friend of his up on the boulevard. Maybe she could figure out what it was.

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

Napoleon Solo crept on cat feet through the dark alley. It was nearly two in the morning and there was no moon, no stars, no light at all. Solo couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a night this black and starless.

When he reached the doorway, he slid his foot gently along the bottom of the heavy door. It gave slightly. Good. It had been left slightly ajar -- at least that part was going according to plan. He gave a short prayer that Illya was in position on the roof and pushed it open enough to permit entry. It creaked a little. Solo gritted his teeth and eased inside.

THRUSH didn't appreciate intrusions into its business. That message had been sent loud and clear to U.N.C.L.E. when a very dead undercover agent named Grant had been dumped on the steps of Del Floria's. Judging from the condition of the body, he'd taken a long time to die.

Solo's jaw set. Someone had taken a great deal of time and trouble to make sure the man's death was unpleasant. It had to be Lucie Roberti. It was her kind of killing.

Solo moved slowly down the dark hallway, using the informant's instructions as a guide: one, two, yes, here's the third door on the right, now turn, then another 22 paces and the staircase would be on the left. He found his way through the dark with no trouble. Too early to relax, though. Still have to find the office, locate the file, photograph it, and get back out without getting caught.

His foot found the last step. That should do it -- third floor, take a right and to the end of the hall. Illya should be waiting for him, having already entered through the fire escape. Solo paused outside the door and placed his hand on the doorknob. His senses were stretched and working overtime and something was setting off alarms. He pulled his hand back. He hadn't managed to stay alive this long by ignoring his intuition.

Moving back, Solo hugged the wall with his body and kicked the door gently with his foot, drawing back immediately. In the darkness of the room, someone fired at him. There was a muzzle flash and a pop, the bullet aimed at doorknob level, sure to hit something if Solo had put his body behind his entry. He grabbed his own gun from its holster and dropped into a crouch, mentally cursing. Who was in there, where was Illya?

Another round crashed into the hall, sending Solo scurrying for safer cover. He didn't like being on the defensive, but it was too dangerous to fire blind without first locating his partner. Their boss, Alexander Waverly, took exception with using fellow agents for target practice.

Solo backed a small distance and found another doorknob at his back. Reaching behind, he turned the knob and opened the door. Well, he thought, let's hope whatever's behind this door isn't armed to the teeth, too. And he slipped inside.

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

Illya Kuryakin heard the first shot while he was still on the fire escape. The window, the one that was supposed to be left unlocked was not only locked, it was rusted shut. Nothing the small Russian had done would make it budge. He'd sighed and dug into his pockets for a glass cutter. Then the sound of shots being fired, one, then another, broke the stillness. Kuryakin tried to see through the grimy glass into the dark office, but couldn't. He knew Solo should be inside the building by now, but the gun didn't sound like an U.N.C.L.E. weapon.

Illya moved down the fire escape one level and broke the window, reasoning that he'd have a better chance of catching a fleeing gunman from below than above. Climbing in, he found himself in a small room stacked to the ceiling with cardboard boxes. He worked his way through the boxes to the door. It was locked, but Illya had no trouble opening it from the inside. The door opened into a dark hallway. His eyes hadn't time to become accustomed to the almost total darkness, so he hesitated for a short moment before moving into the hallway. It was too dark and eerily quiet. Where was the gunfire he'd heard only moments before? Where were the running feet, the crashing furniture, the sounds something deadly was happening just above his head? Instead Illya could only hear the sound of his own breathing, but his senses told him someone else was there.

Acutely aware he was not alone, Illya pulled a butterfly knife from his pocket and, holding his gun in his other hand, began to move cautiously down the hall, toward the staircase that would take him to Solo.

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

The U.N.C.L.E. agents were packed and ready for a three-day hiatus, a short trip to the Caribbean to soak up a little sun and fun before starting a new case in Jamaica. The case wasn't urgent and Waverly knew Solo and Illya needed a rest. They'd just spent weeks winding down a particularly grueling assignment without anything approaching a day off, so he'd OK'ed the extra three days R and R.

Then Grant's body was dumped on them. Solo took it personally. The young Section Two agent was particularly likable and had made it clear from the first that he wanted nothing more than to be like his hero -- Napoleon Solo. Solo had discouraged the hero-worship, and Illya had ragged him mercilessly, but the experienced agent had found the younger man quite likeable, as well as promising, and he'd spent some time giving Grant pointers.

Solo and Illya were just coming up the sidewalk when they were nearly knocked down by two burly men coming out of Del Floria's in a run. One of the men straight-armed the Russian, knocking him down, while the other threw a punch at Solo. But before either U.N.C.L.E. agent had time to properly react, the pair jumped into a truck parked at the curb and sped off, careening wildly down the street.

Solo offered his partner a hand up and the two headed into the laundry to find several agents spilling out of U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. On the floor sat a big cardboard box, inside of which was what remained of Martin Grant."Remains" was a particularly appropriate term since there little of the young agent that was still recognizable. Solo had even questioned whether the body in the box was Grant.

"It's him," the head of forensics told him, then launched into an in-depth explanation on how identification had been made through a small tattoo, as well as blood type and other physical characteristics. Solo thanked him politely and then moved on to Waverly's office. Waverly was wading through recent reports filed by Grant. "Ah, come in gentlemen. Unfortunate business there with young Grant." Waverly gestured vaguely in the direction of Del Floria's. Solo cleared his throat. "I'd call it something a bit more than unfortunate," he said, with more of an edge to his voice than he intended. Waverly looked up and flashed momentary displeasure, but his expression softened a bit before he spoke.

"I didn't mean to trivialize Mr. Grant's, uh, demise, Mr. Solo. I was merely preoccupied with other matters. Matters such as this." He turned in his chair to look at the large screen in his office wall. An image appeared -- but Solo hadn't the faintest idea what it was. "Can either of you gentlemen identify this?" Neither had ever seen anything like it.

Waverly turned back to the screen, which had an image of a piece of clear plastic-type material, about the size of a dollar bill, folded once, with a greenish circle in the center. "This, gentlemen, has cost the lives of several good men, including Mr. Grant's. It is Thrush's latest acquisition and, if they are successful, it could cause a cataclysm the likes of which we have never seen before." Waverly fussed with a file folder for a moment.

"Ah yes, here it is. The device you see before you is a prototype of the Zargoz Generator..."

"Zargoz? Antonin Zargoz, the professor?" Illya expressed surprise.

"The very same...."

"But I thought he was dead. Or at least had disappeared."

"That was the perception. But it seems Antonin Zargoz has not only reappeared but has enlisted in the army of Thrush."

"Excuse me for being obtuse. But just what is the Zargoz Generator?"

"My apologies, Mr. Solo. The generator is a tiny, portable source of energy that, when properly handled, produces enough power to operate a large city...."

"And when not properly handled?"

"It has the same effect as an atomic bomb, Mr. Solo. The small object you see on the screen is also powerful enough to destroy a city of the same size."

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

Illya Kuryakin had understood the concept of Zargoz's Generator: it involved condensing forms of matter, reducing the bulk, but retaining and enhancing the energy. Zargoz, an odd bird who had stepped outside of the realms of ethical scientific research more than once, had been considered something of a crackpot -- albeit a brilliant one -- by his peers. Finally, the professor had simply disappeared and was believed dead. But the truth eventually became evident; Zargoz had continued to pursue his dream with THRUSH backing.

U.N.C.L.E. had received information THRUSH was prepared to test a small portable prototype that could provide power to hundreds of square miles -- and, conversely, if misused, could also destroy an area the same size. The implications were enormous. Used properly, the tiny device could bring a source of energy to places where the terrain or economy had rendered it previously impossible. But because of its size and the potential for abuse, it also carried the threat of annihilation when misapplied by who thirsted only for power.

There was only one drawback to constructing the Generator: it required a small amount of thermiculum, the chemical equivalent of plutonium. And thermiculum could only be obtained from a few, highly guarded sources. Then, about a month ago, U.N.C.L.E. heard rumors THRUSH had obtained a black-market shipment of the chemical. Two weeks ago one of Agent Grant's informants told him the thermiculum was to pass through the hands of Lucie Roberti, owner and operator of Roberti Import-Export Company. Grant had arranged for the informant to leave a door unsecured so he and another agent could break in to the building and inspect the files. The thermiculum wasn't being kept on the company premises but documentation on the chemical, the process and it's eventual destination was.

Grant had broken in and recovered evidence the Generator had indeed been constructed, even photographing the contents of the safe. That's how U.N.C.L.E. knew what the generator looked like. But they didn't know where it was or where it was going.

Grant had been scheduled for another run at the safe tonight, but someone had found and killed him. Contact with the informant led Waverly to continue with the reconnaissance effort. He assigned Solo and Illya.

"Mr. Solo, you will make entry through an outside door that will be left unsecured, while Mr. Kuryakin will come in through the top. Our contact has given us directions on how to find the documents we need. It's important no one realizes how thoroughly we've breached their security."

"How do you know the informant wasn't the one who gave up Grant?" Solo asked.

"Actually, we don't. But we need the information badly enough to take another run at it. We're hoping they haven't had time to remove what we're after...it's certainly worth a try, don't you agree gentlemen?"

Whether they agreed or not, the gentlemen had no real choice in the matter. So the pair of agents settled down in their office, ordered in lunch and spent the rest of their day reviewing everything U.N.C.L.E. had on Antonin Zargoz, the Generator, Lucie Roberti and her business.

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

Illya's eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. It was incredibly dark, almost like being inside the earth, Illya thought. Clutching the butterfly knife in one hand and his gun in the other, the slight, blond agent made his way tentatively out of the room crammed with boxes and into the hallway. He paused briefly to get his bearings and try to get a fix on the sounds that signaled company. There! It was coming from the left. Putting his foot along the wall, and sliding it slowly and quietly along, Illya moved inch by inch down the hallway, acutely aware he was out in the open against an unknown enemy.

Just because I can't see him, doesn't mean he can't see me, he thought, as his foot made contact with an object. Ah, yes! The wall stops here and turns into the staircase. Illya touched the wall of the stairwell with his shoulder and began to slide up slowly, touching each step with his toe before taking it.

Napoleon's up there, somewhere.

He took five steps, eight, twelve, then a small landing, turn a bit, five more, and up. Illya almost lost his balance as he reached the next floor, expected to find a step where there was none. He could barely make out the shape of something in the hall, something large and boxy.

Yes, those were boxes, lots of them, stacked up. And somewhere, coming from that direction, was a muffled sound, sort of like someone was trying to talk with a gag on or -- uh oh! The truth came to Illya too late. Behind him, the rustle of cloth as someone raised an arm, intending to come down, hard, with a tire iron. But Illya had moved, just a fraction of an inch to be sure, but enough to keep from having his skull crushed in. Instead the tire iron crashed down, glancing off the side of his head and hitting his shoulder. The force was enough to put him out and Illya Kuryakin fell to the cold, hard floor.

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

Illya awoke to find an elbow in his ear and a knee in the small of his back. He started to push whoever it was off, but discovered there was no place to push. He was in the trunk of a car, with company. The company moaned a familiar moan.

"Napoleon, is that you?"

"I think that's who I used to be, but right now I'm not so sure. My head's killing me.

Where are we anyway?" Solo stirred in the cramped space, kicking his partner in the back.

"First, don't try to sit up or you're going to compound both of our headaches. It appears we are stuffed into the trunk of a car like a couple of spare tires. It would also seem we are currently being moved, although I neglected to ask our destination."

"How did we get here? The last thing I remember someone was shooting at me, I tried to take cover in another room and an anvil fell on my head."

"An anvil?"

"Or something at least that big. Would you mind getting your rear end out of my face?"

"I'd be glad to, if I knew where your face was. Listen, we may not have much time. Eventually this car is going to stop and someone is going to let us out. I don't know about you, but I would like to exit of my own free will and in one piece."

"Then perhaps you'd better reach in my pants pocket and see if that little flashlight's still in there."

"Why don't you just reach in there and get it?" "Because, you irritating Russian, I can't. You've got your knee on top of it. Or something."

The two did a little shifting.

"There. Is that better?"

"I don't know. Let me see if I can get my hand in now, yes, there it is. I still have it."

"Good. Let's hope it still works."

"It should. Hey! Watch where you're putting your hands!"

"I can't watch anything. It's dark, you've got the flashlight and you're taking enough time to see if...."

"It works!"

"I see that. Will you please stop shining it in my eyes?"

"I think we stopped moving."

"Yes. No, it's just a stop light or something. Here we go again. Now. We have the light, Napoleon, anything else?"

"I'll check. What about you?"

"The trunk would probably be easy enough to pop, but I want to see where they're taking us. Let's see, I had another knife, a boot knife. It may still be there. Move a bit so I can check. Yes, there it is."

"Ok. We have a flashlight and a boot knife. Where does that get us?" "Well, when they open the trunk, you could shine the light in their faces, blinding them and I'll come up with the knife."

"That'll work unless they have guns."

"That's the best I can do under the circumstances."

"Illya."

"What, Napoleon?"

"Did you have garlic for lunch?"

"Napoleon, when I get out of here, I'm going to demand a transfer to the laboratory where the dumbest conversation I'll have to endure will concern atomic weights and I won't have to hold it in the trunk of a car with someone's elbow in my groin."

"Is that what that was? Sorry. Illya, I smell garlic. I didn't eat garlic and if you didn't eat garlic, then where is that smell coming from?" Illya paused and sniffed.

"You're right. I smell it, too."

"Think maybe they've taken us to an Italian restaurant?"

"I'd say that's a pretty strange hypothesis, but then again, so is smelling garlic while locked in a car trunk."

The car came to a sudden halt, slamming the two men into one another. Both were silent, waiting for whatever was to come, the boot knife and flashlight strategically hidden. Voices were heard outside, too muffled to understand, and then the trunk lid swung open. Arms reached in and roughly pulled the two U.N.C.L.E. agents out into a well-lit garage. A garage that smelled of garlic.

"To whom do we owe our thanks for inviting us to this lovely party?" Solo said as he was turned around by one of the thugs. Illya was standing next to him, blinking as his eyes made the shift from total darkness to bright lights.

"To me, my dear Mr. Solo," a throaty voice called out and a woman descended the concrete staircase into the garage.

"Ah, Miss Roberti. Always a pleasure. While we'd like to stay, we have another engagement planned for tonight, so if you'll just show us the way out...."

"Tut, tut, Mr. Solo. It would be rude to allow you to leave without dinner. And I have such a nice menu planned." Lucie Roberti nodded to the guards.

That was their cue. The two U.N.C.L.E. agents exploded into action, Illya neatly dispatching the guard at his back with one well-placed blow. Solo, with three men swarming over him, was holding his own. Lucie Roberti stood on the staircase, a look of amusement on her pretty face. Illya had just jumped on the back of one of Solo's tormenters when the crack of a rifle rang out. All movement ceased and the two U.N.C.L.E. agents exchanged looks. Two additional guards, rifles at ready, flanked the woman. Solo shrugged and placed his hands on his head. Illya followed suit.

"Since you put it so charmingly, we'd be delighted to stay for dinner."

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

"Any more ideas?" "I'm thinking."

"Well think fast, Napoleon, or we're destined to become meatballs."

The two agents were tied and seated in the bottom of a large, empty stainless steel vat. Around them, other vats bubbled with fragrant spaghetti sauce. Roberti Sauce Company was located an hour's drive from the New York warehouse. Since no one knew where they were, both knew the chances of U.N.C.L.E. pulling a rescue was pretty slim.

"Still have that boot knife?"

"Yes. Do you think you can fish it out?" Solo nodded and Illya scooted around behind him, putting his bound feet at Solo's hands. Their hands were also bound, but Solo worked his fingers carefully around Illya's pants, pushing them up to the top of the short boot he was wearing.

"That one, Napoleon." Solo's finger found the top of the knife and gently worked it out of the boot. It was short for a boot knife, but it would work. Illya turned around with some effort and placed his back to Solo's back, his hands even with Solo's.

"A little lower, Illya. There. Now be still unless you want to shoot weak-handed the rest of your career."

"I just hope I have a rest of my career," Illya muttered while Solo sawed away. Finally, the rope gave and Illya's hands were free. Moving swiftly, he snatched the knife and cut Solo's bonds, then both men untied the ropes that bound their feet. Solo was already on his way up the ladder on the side of the vat when the door opened. He quickly jumped from the vat onto the catwalk, hissing at Illya behind him to hurry. Snaking his way around the vats by catwalk, Solo put as much distance as possible between himself and the door, where a woman stood. Although she had black hair and olive skin, like Lucie Roberti, Solo could tell it was not Lucie. This woman carried herself differently and was smaller.

She held a gun in her right hand and moved carefully over to the edge of the vat. Illya, still on the ladder, reached up and grabbed her ankle, pulling the woman down to the floor of the catwalk. The gun spun away and Solo sprinted over to pick it up, pointing it at the woman. Illya finished his climb and reached down to lift her to her feet. She rubbed her backside with a petulant look on her face.

"Thanks, guys. See if I help you out again."

"Help us? With this?" Solo waggled the gun.

"I was coming to rescue you. If you'd waited a couple more minutes, I could have gotten you out. As it is, you'd better get out of here before the guards show up."

"Which way is out?"

"I'll show you. Follow me."

"Wait a minute. I like to know who's leading the charge. Just who are you?" Illya paused, boot knife held loosely in his hand.

"Candie. Candie Roberti. Lucie's my sister. Half-sister, actually. But unless you're more interested in me than you are in living, you'd better get out of here. You don't have much time."

Solo and Illya looked at one another. Illya shrugged, then nodded.

"All right," Solo said, leveling the gun at the girl."It seems we have no choice. Lead the way, but I'm warning you. I don't plan to go swimming in a sauce vat tonight unless I have company."

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

The three were out of the compound and in Candie's car in short order. The young woman, actually a teenager, knew her way around the company, and led them straight out of the building and to a parking lot where she'd parked her big convertible. Solo instructed Candie to drive back out to the main road and park behind a small grove of bushes where they could see any vehicles exiting the Roberti plant.

"Now, my fine young lady, a few questions," Solo said.

"Shoot. Uh, well, maybe that's not the best way to put it. But go ahead."

"You say you're Candie Roberti?"

"Yes. Candida Luisa Roberti, to be exact. Lucrezia's my half-sister. Same father, different mothers."

"Lucrezia?"

"Yeah. Perfect name, huh? And she's every bit as deadly as the famous one."

"So why did you, Lucie's sister, decide to help a couple of strangers?"

The girl sighed. She twirled one of the many beaded necklaces she wore around her neck.

"Well, let's just say my sister and I have different goals in life. I am a child of peace and love. A hippie, sort of. Only without all the commune stuff. I kind of like imperialistic capitalists -- pays the rent, you know? But I don't like mean people and Lucie's just about the meanest person I've ever known."

"So you choose to betray her?"

"Strong words, but I guess that's about it. If she finds out, she'll French fry me, sister or no sister. Lucie's in charge of the Roberti holdings since my father died. Mom went a year before Daddy, so it's just been me and the Killer ever since."

"The Killer?"

"Yep. That was Dad's nickname for her. He was proud of Lucie. Said she was more like a man than a woman and not afraid of anything. He was right on both counts. Lucie isn't afraid of anything. And she'd like nothing better than an excuse to rid herself of me. So far she hasn't, but if she finds out I'm helping you two, all bets are off."

"So why are you taking a chance in assisting total strangers?"

"I don't know. I just know Lucie. If she wants to kill you, then you're probably pretty good guys. She's always had lousy taste in men, you know?"

"Enough of the family history, Napoleon. Do you think Miss Roberti here could try and shed some light on Zargoz?"

"Zargoz? You mean that creepy guy with the accent? Yeah, he's been here."

"By ‘here' do you mean in this place or just New York?" Illya asked the girl.

"Right here. In the sauce plant. I saw him about four days ago. Heard him tell Lucie the shipment was ready."

"Did he say how it was being shipped or its destination?" The girl looked thoughtful for a moment.

"As a matter of fact, he didn't But Lucie did. I heard her tell him it was going to California. Los Angeles, I think she said."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. She said she was leaving that end up to her partner out there. I guess she means her cousin, Marcus. He's the son of her mother's older brother."

"Do you know his last name?"

"Marcus? Yeah, it's Gunther. Marcus Gunther. He's an actor. Isn't everyone in Los Angeles an actor?"

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

And that was how the men from U.N.C.L.E. ended up in Los Angeles in the company of a 17-year-old pseudo-hippie named Candie. Solo and Illya would have preferred to leave the girl home but Waverly pointed out that not only could she identify both Marcus Gunther and Antonin Zargoz, but that her life was probably in danger at that point. It was pretty safe to assume Lucie Roberti may have figured out Candie's involvement.

"We can't be responsible for a young girl being murdered, now can we, gentlemen?" The pair had reluctantly agreed to take her with them. Once they arrived in L.A., they headed straight for Gunther's house and sat on stake-out for hours, waiting for the actor to come home. Candie was not amused.

"Is this what spies do all day? Just sit around and watch somebody's house? I thought you guys did exciting stuff, like fight the bad guys on the tops of moving trains or get into running gun battles while in high speed chases. Anybody could do this stuff. It's boring."

Illya gritted his teeth and said nothing. It was taking a great deal of effort on his part to share an automobile with the loquacious Miss Roberti, who, it seemed, had opinions on everything and didn't mind sharing them. He put the binoculars to his eyes and tried to block out the sound of her voice. Napoleon sighed and looked over at the girl.

"Yes, I know this boring. But this is part of the job. Every assignment we go on can't have a moving train, you know." Candie was considering this last when a blue Ford pulled up and a man got out.

"Hey. That's Marcus. The one who just pulled up."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure. He wears a toupee, see, it looks like a bird built a nest on top of his head."

"She's right about the toupee, Napoleon," Illya said from behind the binoculars. He handed them over to Solo.

"Do we follow him or take him now?" he asked Solo.

"Let's follow him and see where he goes. We can always take him down then." Illya agreed.

"Keep the engine running while I plant a little hardware on Mr. Gunther's car." The slight, blond agent climbed out of the car and worked his way carefully over to Gunther's car in the driveway. Ducking down behind the vehicle, he reached his hand under the license tag on the back, then stood up and walked quickly back to the car.

Five minutes later, Marcus Gunther, bad wig and all, exited his house, climbed into his car and drove off. The U.N.C.L.E. agents followed. He drove for over thirty minutes through the city until he came to a row of buildings in what appeared to be an abandoned industrial area. Gunther pulled behind one of the buildings and got out, disappearing into a side door. Illya watched him through the binoculars.

"Does the name ‘S&L Distribution Company' mean anything to you?" Candie bobbed her head.

"Sure. ‘S&L' -- that's Sam and Lucrezia, the company that Daddy set up for Lucie to run so she could get her business legs. That's what he called it. He gave it to her as a high school graduation gift." Solo looked over at her.

"Your father gave your sister a company for graduation?"

"I never said we were a normal family."

"Napoleon, Gunther's inside and doesn't seem to be coming out. Do you think perhaps we should invite ourselves in?"

"Good idea, but what about her?" Solo inclined his head toward Candie.

"Why can't I come with you?"

"Because it's dangerous and you'll be a liability."

"I wasn't a liability when you and Grouchy were looking for a way out of the sauce vats."

"Maybe not. But these guys are playing for keeps, Candie. Stay here with the car. If anyone else comes out besides us, take off. Here," Solo handed her a communicator. "If we get into trouble, push this and talk right in there, see. Just say, ‘Open Channel D' and when you get the go-ahead, tell whoever answers where we are and to send help. OK?"

She looked doubtful, but took the communicator. "OK. But I'd rather go in."

"We'll be back within an hour. Sit tight." Solo climbed out of the car. His partner was already waiting for him.

"And I'm not grouchy," Illya said. Candie stuck her tongue out at his disappearing back.

"Are too," she said.

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

The two agents crept quietly through the building, acutely aware of the silence. There was nothing to indicate where Gunther had gone. They decided to split up in order to search the gigantic complex. It appeared to occupy at least a city block, but oddly enough, they could find no activity other than a large number of uniformed guards patrolling the floors.

Solo took the second floor and Illya the ground floor. Illya went carefully from room to room, listening for the guards and watching for anything indicative of Gunther's presence. Finally he came across a set of heavy double doors with a glass insert, the kind on a supermarket meat department. Taking a quick peek through the glass, he saw Gunther, Lucie Roberti and several others crowded around a man tied to a chair. The man appeared terribly distressed. Illya pushed the door slightly open, just enough to hear the conversation going on inside.

"I tell you, I don't know where it is. I took it up on the boulevard and gave it to my friend, Maxie. She was going to try and find out what it was. You've gotta believe me! I wouldn't lie to you. Please."

"This is the last time I'm going to ask you this nicely, Mr. Ridley. Either tell me where the plastic disk you've stolen is located or these fine gentlemen" Lucie gestured to the security guards,"will break every bone in your low-class, worthless body. Do I make myself clear?"

"I'm telling you, lady. I swear. I don't have it. Maxie does."

"And where do we find Maxie?"

"She don't have a regular address or nothing. She's a hooker, ya know? Stays with her dates in hotels. Her old man, Jackie, that's her pimp, he moves around a lot and Maxie lives where he does. I go to the Sand Dollar whenever I want to see her. Sometimes she shows right away. Others, well it depends on how many dates she has and whether she's high or not. You've gotta believe me, lady. I don't want to die!"

"Do we have a good description of this Maxie?"

"Yes, Lucie."

"Good. Give me your gun." One of the guards handed Lucie his handgun. She thumbed the safety, took quick aim and, before Ridley could protest, shot him straight through the heart. He slumped against his bonds, instantly dead. Illya moved away from the door a step and turned, planning to get out of the building as fast as possible or at least conceal himself before being caught. But he walked right into a pair of Lucie Roberti's guards and they'd seen him before he saw them.

The first guard lifted the barrel of his gun, but Illya was too quick for him, kicking the gun out of his hand and following with a straight-arm to his Adam's apple. The guard went sprawling into the second one, knocking him down. Illya seized the moment and took off running down the long hall, trying to make it to the exit he'd passed during his earlier search of the building. Behind him he heard the crack of a bullet, then another, and a searing pain slammed into his back, sending him flying into the wall. He hung there for a moment, then turned and slid down, leaving a smear of blood behind him. Footsteps ran toward him and rough hands seized him, throwing him to the floor. The guard bent down and placed his hand on Illya's neck, feeling for a pulse.

"This one's dead," he said."Better check upstairs and make sure there's not another one. These U.N.C.L.E. agents like to travel in pairs."

The other guards whirled and hit the stairs.

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

Napoleon Solo hit the exit door with Illya in a fireman's carry. He knew he only had a few minutes to get to the car before Lucie and her henchmen would find them. He moved as fast as possible with his partner's added weight, dreading the moment he'd hear the report of a weapon fired at the fleeing pair.

He'd only gone a few hundred feet when he realized Candie was sitting there in the running car. Throwing Illya in the back seat, Solo motioned her over and jumped behind the wheel, peeling out quickly. Behind him, he could hear the rattle of bullets.

"Get down!" he yelled and gunned the engine, heading back out to the street. He heard the sounds of another car gaining behind him.

"Can you shoot a gun?"

"Sure. I'm my Daddy's daughter," Candie said. Napoleon handed the THRUSH guard's gun over to the girl.

"Be careful. Just fire a few shots to keep them back."

"Will do." Candie leaned out of the window slightly and fired a couple of rounds, while Solo wrestled the car back out onto the highway.

"This is harder than it looks in the movies," she said to Solo.

"Just fire one every few seconds to keep them off-balance," he said."And don't shoot any innocent by-standers if you can help it."

He screeched through several red lights with the thugs dead on his tail, finally returning to civilization and the traffic that accompanied it. Up ahead Solo could see a light in the process of changing with cars preparing to stop and start through the intersection. He calculated he could probably make it if he took off.

"Hold on," he told the girl and gunned the engine. It was so close to a near miss that even Solo wasn't sure they'd made it. He slammed through the intersection like a jet, fighting to keep the big car from fishtailing and hitting some of the traffic that was just responding to the light change. A smaller car, trying to beat the light, locked brakes and skidded sideways, stopping just short of hitting the U.N.C.L.E. car. But Solo made it through with just a half-second to spare. Then the other drivers started through, including a big moving van.

The van provided a perfect surface for the pursuing THRUSH guards to hit. The first car slid sideways trying to avoid the inevitable collision, while the second one almost stood itself on end trying to avoid hitting the first one. Neither succeeded and by the time the last wheel stopped spinning there were four additional cars involved in the wreck, which blocked the intersection for over an hour.

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

Illya, who had miraculously risen from the dead, was stirring in the backseat. Solo pulled behind a closed office building and slid to a stop to check on his partner.

"Your driving is making me nauseous," he told Solo, as he tried to sit up.

"Be still and let me look at it. How'd you managed to get hit in the back?"

"I tried to outrun a bullet."

"You lost. There. It doesn't look too bad now that it's stopped bleeding. How do you feel?"

"OK. I don't think it hit anything important. If I throw a jacket over it, no one will be able to even tell."

"Not hardly, partner. You're going to the hospital and get that sewn up."

"No time, Napoleon," Illya said, grabbing his jacket out of the back seat and slipping it on. Dressed all in black, the blood didn't show too much. He explained what he'd heard Ridley tell Lucie.

"We need to find Maxie before Lucie and Gunther do. Not to mention Zargoz."

"Normally I'd suggest we split up, but I don't think you need to be running around L.A. with an untreated bullet wound. Let's head for the Sand Dollar and see if we can unearth the girl."

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

The news at the Sand Dollar wasn't good: No one had seen or heard from Maxie in a while. The popular consensus was she'd scored and was holed up somewhere higher than a kite. And no, no one knew where to look for her, at least until Solo flashed a couple of twenties.

"Try the Blue Dog Motel down on the strip," a greasy little guy told him and he quickly stuffed the money in his pocket.

The desk clerk at the Blue Dog disavowed all knowledge of Maxie until Solo produced some additional memory-prodding twenties. Then he remembered Maxie and her pimp had checked into room 24, second floor, second door on the right. But he didn't think they were in right that moment.

"Phone in the room?" Illya asked.

"Pay phone in the hallway." The U.N.C.L.E. agents briefly conferred. It wasn't the type of neighborhood where they could just park Candie in a corner, so Solo drove her to a diner a couple of blocks away and sent her inside with instructions to eat something and stay put, no matter what. Then he headed back to the Blue Dog. Illya had been keeping watch on Room 24, but his condition was obviously worsening. He was starting to bleed again and his complexion was a bit ashen.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Solo asked him, worried but trying to take a light tone.

Illya nodded.

"I have to. You need me."

"You're right. I need you, but I need you in one piece."

"I'll stay in one piece, I promise." He glanced down at the droplets of blood on the floor beneath him.

"Of course, you may have to fill me back up when it's over." Voices on the staircase echoed up to the second floor. A woman and a man were arguing. The two U.N.C.L.E. agents had moved down the hall, pretending to be coming out of a room The pair reached the second floor and walked over to 24 where the woman fumbled with the key. The man sighed loudly.

"OK, then you open it!" She said, throwing the keys at him. He caught them and opened the door without trouble.

"You're too high to hold onto anything tonight, baby," he said, ushering >her inside and pulling the door closed. Solo waited a few seconds, then knocked on the door.

"What do you want?" the man called out.

"Uh, sir, your friend dropped something here in the hall...." The door opened and both U.N.C.L.E. agents were inside before either occupant knew what had happened.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" The man started toward Solo, his fists balled. Solo smiled and brought up the muzzle of his U.N.C.L.E. special.

"I wouldn't. Jackie, isn't it?" The man stopped and looked at the gun.

"How do you know my name?"

"Actually, you're not the one we're interested in. We came to see your lady friend."

"Humphh!" Jackie smiled knowingly."If you want to talk with her, you've come for nothing. She's flying, man. Can't even put her on the streets tonight. Too high."

Maxie was on the bed, in a semi-stupor, eyes at half-mast. Illya patted her cheek and her eyes fluttered open.

"Round-the-world'll cost you twenty for a half hour," she mumbled and shut her eyes again. Illya's face reddened slightly.

"I don't want to go anywhere with you. I want you to answer some questions. Wake up."

In answer a gentle snore arose from the crumpled heap on the bed. Illya gave a disgusted sigh.

"This one's obviously not going to be any help."

"Now you know, so get out."

"Not yet, Jackie, not yet. We're looking for something, a small piece of plastic about the size of a folded bill. Green circle in the center. We understand your girlfriend over there was the last person to have it," Solo said.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. You look a like the kind of guy who knows how to make a woman stay in her place. She wouldn't dare hold out on you." Jackie thought about this and his chest swelled a bit.

"You're right, man. I keep my whores in line. But as far as that thing is concerned....Tell me what is it? Why does everyone want it?"

"Has someone else contacted you?"

"Not really. Word was floated around on the streets it might be worth some green stuff. I made sure it was put up in a safe place."

"Listen Jackie, if you know where that thing is, you need to tell us. If it falls into the wrong hands there could be serious problems," Solo pulled his identity card from his pocket and held it up for Jackie to see. The pimp squinted.

"Ain't got my glasses, mister."

"Solo, Napoleon Solo. From U.N.C.L.E."

"Wasn't somebody famous named that?"

"Emperor of France, military leader...."

"Nah. I'm talking about really famous, you know? There was stripper whose boyfriend was in a couple of porno movies, you know the kind I mean, and I think he had the same name,

"Napoleon...." Illya smirked.

"Never mind. Jackie, where's the plastic disk?" It was Jackie's turn to smirk.

"Don't know. Maybe you need to sweeten the deal."

"Napoleon, perhaps we should call the local authorities to assist us." Jackie dropped the smirk.

"OK, OK. I don't want nothing to do with the cops. I'll give it to you, but you gotta make it worthwhile, you know?"

"As in?"

"Moolah, Mr. Stollo..."

"Solo"

"Yeah. Whatever. Cash, cold and hard and across my palm now."

"How much?"

"Two, make that three hundred bucks."

"Done. Illya, how much do you have on you?"

"About two hundred."

"I can make up the rest. Hand it over."

"Let me see the money."

"Let us see the disk."

"OK. I'll take you to where it's hidden, but you gotta show me the money before I give it to you."

"Deal."

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

The two agents picked up Candie and drove to a pawn shop on the boulevard. There the proprietor took them back to a safe and opened it. Rummaging around, he pulled out a manila envelope with the name"Jackie" scrawled on the side.

"That'll be twenty bucks." Jackie looked indignant.

"Twenty bucks? What kind of moron do you take me for? I ain't paying no twenty bucks just so's you can keep something in that safe of yours." Solo reached wearily into his pocket and drew out his wallet.

"Here. Take the money." He took the envelope.

"Wait a minute. That's my envelope! I want my money, man."

"Outside, Jackie. Into the car and we'll finish this deal." The two men walked out into the neon strip. They'd left Illya and the girl sitting in the car at the curb. It was gone. Solo put the envelope in his inside coat pocket and pulled out his communicator.

"Open Channel D."

"Hey, you sorry asshole, you ain't gonna steal my money like that...."

"Shut up." Solo's communicator crackled.

"What was that you said, Mr. Solo?"

"Uh, not you, sir. I was talking to this, um, gentleman, with me...."

"I shoulda known this would be nothing but a con...."

"Excuse me, sir. Jackie, shut up or I'm going to use your belt buckle for target practice. Do you understand me?" Jackie looked down at his waist.

"But I'm not wearing a belt."

"You're very quick on the uptake," said Solo."Excuse the interruption, sir. Any recent communication from Illya?"

"None. Have you misplaced Mr. Kuryakin?"

"I'm not sure. Would you please have communications try and raise him?" Solo said and proceeded to give Waverly a quick run-down on the status of the case.

"Very good, Mr. Solo. Please check out the contents of that envelope." Solo opened the envelope and peered inside. Reaching in, he pulled out a clear plastic disk with a green liquid center. Pushing lightly on the center, it turned orange.

"I've got it!" he said into his communicator. The odor of perfume, feminine and expensive, touched his senses, but before it registered, he found himself looking into the barrel of a gun.

"Correction, Mr. Solo. I've got it. And you. Now, say good-bye to our dear friend, Alexander, and hand over the Generator like a good boy."

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

Jackie was crying and wailing like a two-year-old. Solo could cheerfully have slit his throat, but since he couldn't get to it, or anything else for that matter, he was doomed to listen to the pimp pout.

"I shouldn't be here. Listen to me, nice pretty lady, I shouldn't be here. I'm just a regular, average person. I don't know nothing about no generation or whatever the hell you crazy people's talking about. I just want out of here. And if you'll let me go I promise I won't tell no one. Cross my heart."

"Do you ever shut up?" Even the guards were growing tired of the pimp's constant wailing.

"Never," Jackie said."But if you let me go I'll leave and never, ever come back. I swear it." The guard made a face.

"Just shut up or I'll rearrange your teeth." The sound of approaching feet heralded another visit from Lucie Roberti. She and Zargoz had made several trips back into the room where Solo and the whining Jackie were tied to some heavy-duty steam pipes. They had returned to the industrial complex, somewhere in the Roberti building.

"Well, Mr. Solo, it is with a very heavy heart that my friend Antonin and I must bid you and your soul-mate good-bye. But we have worlds to conquer and you are impeding progress. So, I'm afraid that means we must be rid of you, Mr. Solo, once and for all."

"What about me?" Jackie cried. "You, too, you whiny little twit. I'm actually quite tempted to simply shoot you myself, but I like the idea of your making Mr. Solo's last minutes on earth totally unbearable. Sort of poetic justice, don't you think?"

"Excellent parry. Simple, yet in such exquisite taste. I give it a seven." Solo said. Lucie bowed slightly.

"Why thank you, Napoleon. And now, as a parting gift, I give you this," Lucie pointed to the door, which opened to reveal a smiling Candie Roberti.

"Hi there, Mr. Solo," Candie said. She walked over to where Solo was tied up and tweaked his cheek.

"I've been wanting to do that since this whole thing started," Candie said.

"Shocked, Mr. Solo? Shocked to see that my baby sister not only doesn't hate me, but is a chip off the old block?" The two sisters laughed and Candie threw Solo another smile.

"Good-bye, my dear Mr. Solo. I'm going to enjoy killing you almost as much as I enjoyed finishing off your partner?"

"Illya? What did you do to him?" Napoleon's stomach knotted.

"Oh it was quite entertaining, Mr. Solo. After we dropped you at the pawn shop, I put a bullet right between his eyes. Under normal circumstances I would have much more difficulty with your friend, but he never suspected a thing. Perhaps I should go into acting." Lucie patted her on the back.

"Mr. Kuryakin currently resides in a dumpster. If you live through this you can fish him out and give him a proper burial. Oh, I forgot. You aren't going to live through this, are you?" The two women laughed.

"So you were in league with Lucie all along?"

"All along, Mr. Solo. Convincing, wasn't I?" Solo said nothing. Lucie finally broke the silence.

"Come on, baby sister, time to clear out of here. This place is set to blow in a few minutes. Antonin, do you have the thermiculum?" The scientist patted the small briefcase he was holding.

"It's right here, Miss Lucie," he said.

"Good. Ta, ta, my dear Mr. Solo. Please give Mr. Kuryakin our best when you see him." Still laughing, the three left the building.

Five minutes. Five minutes to get out of his bonds and far enough away from the building to keep from being blown up. It wasn't enough. He knew he couldn't do it. But Napoleon Solo didn't get where he was because he gave up easily. He started trying to pull his hands out of the rope ties. They wouldn't budge. He began to look around him. Meanwhile, Jackie was wailing and crying, his blubbering echoing in the otherwise empty room. Solo was mentally counting the seconds. About four minutes and no salvation in sight.

"Perhaps I can be of service," said a quiet, familiar voice. Illya!

"I thought you were dead!"

"I've always said you think way too much. I'm the brains of the outfit, remember? Of course, I'm also the brawn...."

"I'm glad to see your ego didn't die along with you." "Want me leave you hanging here with your little friend? No. Then be still while I cut your ropes." Illya cut Solo's bonds. He moved to Jackie.

"As much as I hate to do this, I'm going to let you go. If you're smart, you'll get out of here and keep running. Don't look back."

"Don't worry, man. I promise I won't ever come back here. Ever." Illya sliced his bonds.

"Hey man. You still owe me $300!"

"I charge $500 for a rescue. You owe me $200. Now I suggest you get out of here."

"Sounds like good advice, Illya. Can you run?"

"Try me."

The two U.N.C.L.E. agents and one frightened pimp cleared the building, moving far enough away that when the place blew they were unhurt. But the blast was so strong it knocked all three to the ground and rained debris for blocks.

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

Jackie kept on running, but the U.N.C.L.E. agents ducked into a side alley where the car was waiting.

"Care to fill me in?"

"Sure, but let's start moving. The transmitter on Lucie's car should be working now."

They climbed in with Solo at the wheel. Soon Illya was tracking the Roberti vehicle as it snaked through L.A. at a leisurely pace. Lucie was in no hurry. After all, the U.N.C.L.E. agents were both dead, as far as she was concerned.

"So, what happened? Candie said she killed you?"

"It's a long story, but as it turns out Candie was Grant's informant. She went to school with Grant's little sister and that's how she knew him. She's the one who left the doors and window unlocked. Grant was going in and out during the day time as a delivery man. Neither he nor Candie knew there was a camera in the room where the safe was located. Fortunately, Candie never did anything on camera that implicated her. But Lucie recognized Grant when he broke in and photographed the safe's contents. She was ready for him the next time."

"So how did Candie end up with Lucie at the warehouse?"

"Candie sold Lucie a bill of goods. Offered to help us escape and stick with us, feeding information back to her. Lucie decided that having U.N.C.L.E. find the Generator for her would be a deliciously ironic ending to the whole affair, so she agreed. A police officer insisted we move the car when you were inside the pawn shop, so we circled the block. We drove up just as you were being taken prisoner. I sent her back in to locate you."

"How did you know where to find me? This place is huge...."

"Candie left a trail when she exited the building. We broke up those little love beads she wears all the time and she dropped them one by one on her way out."

"Just like Hansel and Gretel. What now?" "Now we follow the Robertis and Zargoz."

"You're pretty smart for a Russian."

"I know. Too bad I can't say the same thing for you."

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

The trail took them to a small air strip outside of Los Angeles, far enough away to be considered remote, it contained only the bare necessities: a small shack and a large hangar. Solo and Illya watched from a comfortable distance, using their binoculars.

"I count at least six guards. We've faced worse odds."

"True, but you look like hell and probably should be sitting in a hospital bed somewhere, not preparing for an armed assault where we're outnumbered nearly three to one." Illya sighed.

"Next time you can be the one to get shot, OK? And then I'll hound you mercilessly until you're ready to throttle me. Will that satisfy you?" Solo ignored him and continued to watch the airfield.

"I think they're getting ready to go somewhere. Perhaps we should interrupt their party, What do you think?"

"We need to stop them soon. It's starting to get dark and we don't know when they plan to leave."

"Agreed. What do you say we move a little closer to the target?"

"After you, Mr. Stollo."

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

The hangar was full of small planes, and it was obvious one of them was being readied for a trip. Most of the guards were stationed on the perimeter at this point, but they didn't seem too concerned about security. There was a casual, almost festive air to the proceedings. They weren't worried about an attack for, after all, both U.N.C.L.E. agents were dead.

The"dead" agents had made it to the hangar without being detected and were watching carefully from behind a bank of stacked barrels. Lucie was checking out the plane, Zargoz was climbing into the aircraft, still clutching the briefcase like a baby with a pacifier and Candie was nowhere to be seen.

"Looks like they're getting ready for a trip," Solo whispered.

"Wonder where they're going?"

"There's one way to find out. Want to crash the party?"

"I'd rather take a nap, but if you insist. Any ideas?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do have one. Do you think you could find and disconnect the power source for this hangar?"

"You mean turn off the lights?"

"Exactly."

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

Darkness came. The hangar and airstrip were brightly lit and activity around the plane had increased. Illya had carefully worked his way around the small complex, avoiding the guards while canvassing the electrical system. He found the generator and reported he could take it out quickly.

"They may they have a back-up system, though."

"But it should take a moment or two to activate. All we need are a few minutes of darkness, just enough to grab Zargoz and his briefcase."

"But what about the Generator? Do we know where it is?"

"I'm betting it's on that airplane and if everything goes as planned, we'll be out of here with Zargoz, the thermiculum and the Generator before they realize it."

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

Solo's plan was simple: cut the power and in the ensuing confusion, grab Zargoz, jump into the plane and take off. It could work if nothing went wrong: they had to be wait until the plane was being prepared for take-off, overcome any resistance and climb on board without being killed or taken hostage.

"I think we'd do better jumping back into the sauce vats, Napoleon."

"That's just the glum, doom-laden Russian in you."

"No, it's the practical, I'd-prefer-not-to-die-today in me."

"Let's go over it one more time. You get in position and we count down in synchronization. You cut the power, I take out inside resistance. We take the plane and clear everyone out except Zargoz and the Roberti sisters if they're in it."

"You make it sound so simple."

"You should hear me do Macbeth."

"I'll pass."

"Your loss. Look. They're getting her ready. Time to move. Synchronize for three minutes."

"Three minutes. I'm off."

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

Illya worked his way over to the generators unchallenged. They were located on the outside of the building and most of the guards were on the extreme perimeter of the airfield or inside the building. He checked his watch and at exactly three minutes, cut the power, plunging the entire airfield into total darkness.

Pandemonium immediately broke out and Solo pressed his advantage with a spray of bullets. Feet ran, panic ensued, a few shots rang out in answer stopped when but someone yelled,

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!"

Solo made his way over to the plane, it's engine already started and warming up for take-off, and hoisted himself inside the open door. It was just as he thought -- ready to fly. Holding his small flashlight in his left hand, away from his body to avoid illuminating himself, Solo quickly shined the beam around the plane's interior, his gun in his right hand at ready.

"Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads. Now!" Solo barked. Zargoz, trembling, did as he was told. Lucie Roberti, who was sitting in the pilot's seat, turned with a snarl, gun in her hand. She and Solo fired almost simultaneously. Her bullet found it's mark, hitting Solo low in the rib cage. But his bullet was much more effective, slamming into Lucie's upper chest. She jerked violently, the gun falling from her hand, a small trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. He quickly turned the light back on her.

"Well, look at this," she said with obvious effort."Killed by an U.N.C.L.E. agent who should already be dead. Now I suppose I'll have to kill you again." Bringing her left hand forward, she held up something Solo couldn't see. He fired one more time, and Lucie fell back in the pilot's seat, dead. Behind him Illya was clamoring on board.

"We need to get out of here fast, before those thugs figure out how to turn on the lights."

"Illya, see what Lucie had in her hand and get the body out of here." Illya moved past Solo and grabbed an object from the woman's hand. It was the Generator. And it glowed with an odd, deepening orange glow. From the back seat, Zargoz spat out a choked oath.

"Oh my God. She's activated it. Let me out of here." He attempted to push his way past Solo, but the agent shoved him back in his seat.

"What do you mean?"

"She's activated it. In reverse. We're all dead unless we get out of here."

"How long before it actually goes off."

"The timing is unreliable. The bugs haven't been ironed out yet. It could go off anywhere from two to three hours," Illya yanked Lucie's body from the pilot's seat and dumped her unceremoniously on the concrete hangar's floor.

"We need to get out of here right now. I'm flying this plane." Running footsteps told them the guards were starting to reorganize. Illya began to taxi out of the hangar. Just as the plane emerged from inside, the lights popped back on.

"Uh, oh, they found the back-up generator." Illya observed. He increased speed. The small plane aimed for the end of the runway, which was now lit up. They could hear shots fired from behind.

"Get us out of here!"

"Hold on," Illya yelled as he increased speed and took the small plane up much faster than the operator's manual advised. Several stray rounds pinged off the back of the plane as they cleared the ground. Solo turned to the clearly terrified Zargoz and thrust the Generator under the scientist's nose.

"Can it be turned off?"

"No, there's no way to stop it once it starts. It's an irreversible process."

"Napoleon, there's two ways we can go. We can head for the desert and drop it off or go for the ocean. Professor Zargoz, which way would lessen it's effect?"

"Either way it will still explode. The water would help absorb the shock effect, but you would need to get out extremely far in order to negate tidal waves inland." The man virtually shook with fear . Solo looked at him with loathing.

"You should have thought about what you were doing when you made this little toy. What happens over the desert?"

"It will be like an atomic explosion without the radiation. It could act like an earthquake and, if set off anywhere near a faultline, it could actually induce one."

"Illya?" The small Russian thought for a moment.

"Water, Napoleon. It's the best way to go. We can advise Mr. Waverly and have him clear any vessels in the area. We'll simply fly out as far out we can before dumping it."

"What about us?" Zargoz asked, terror clearly mirrored in his voice.

"Well, professor, just like the people who would have died as a result of your little gadget, I'm afraid we're expendable. Just call it one of those great ironies of life." Solo said. He reached in his belt and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, then secured Zargoz to his seat, checked the cabin for additional weapons and moved to the front passenger seat. A small gasp escaped as he sat down. Illya, intent on flying, glanced over.

"I see you've joined the walking wounded. How bad is it?"

"Hurts, but it probably won't bother me much in, say, another couple of hours."

"You need to keep the pressure on it and stop that bleeding, otherwise we' re going to be shark bait."

"Does it really matter?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Better call Waverly."

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

Solo filled the U.N.C.L.E. Chief in of their predicament and he concurred with their course of action. He had a heading mapped out for them and contacted the appropriate authorities in an attempt to clear all traffic from the water.

"Gentlemen, uh, you of course realize you will probably not be able to turn back far enough to escape the consequences."

"Yes, sir. We're aware of that sir." Solo told his boss. There was a long, embarrassing silence in the cabin. Finally Solo broke it.

"Sir, if you would, see if our people can locate Candie Roberti. She should be in the area of the hangar. She rendered invaluable assistance. We'd like to make sure she's safe." "Certainly. We've a team enroute to that location at this time. Uh, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin...."

"Yes, sir."

"I seem to be at a loss for words. Gentlemen, please keep me advised on your progress. I regret there's not more I can do."

"No need to apologize sir. Solo out."

Silence filled the little plane's cabin.

"How long?"

"We've been up for 20 minutes. That gives us an hour and a half to two and a half hours left."

"Not much time."

"But enough."

"Yeah. Depending on your point of view."

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

"Illya."

"Yes, Napoleon?"

"I just want to say, um, to say...."

"Don't."

"I need to. I don't think I've ever said ‘Thanks' for all the times you've been there for me."

"You've lost too much blood. You're getting light-headed."

"No, I'm not. I mean it. If I've got to die, then I can't think of anybody I'd rather die with."

"Thank you Napoleon. I'm sure you mean that as a compliment, but I don't share your enthusiasm for exiting this life."

"Dammit, Illya. I'm not enthusiastic about dying. But if I'm going to die, I want you to know how much your friendship has meant to me. That's all." Illya turned and looked at his partner.

"Napoleon, you think of me as a bloodless, emotionless robot..."

"I've never said you were bloodless."

"Will you let me finish? You're not the only one with something to say. I know I don't say it or even act like it. But, but...."

"See. You can't even bring yourself to say it!"

"Yes I can. I am sorry this is happening, Napoleon. I wish I could find a way to get you out of it."

"Same here. Guess we're destined to ride off into the sunset together."

"What?"

"Nothing. I keep forgetting your lack of culture."

"My lack of culture! Why what you don't know about the great Russian novelists alone could fill a library!"

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

Zargoz alternated between complete hysteria and somnambulism. Solo eventually allowed the man out of the handcuffs because, if the plane went down, he didn't want the scientist unable to escape.

"But if you so much as move a muscle, you're dead. Do you understand me?"

"What difference does it make? I'm dead anyway. And so are you." Solo returned to his seat.

"How much time?" His side had stopped bleeding, but he was pale and obviously in pain.

"We are almost to target, Napoleon. Are you ready to make the drop?" Solo nodded and held up the disk, as well as the briefcase containing the thermiculum.

"Are we dropping both?"

"Yes. The lab says the thermiculum won't make the blast any worse, but if it goes down with us, it could create a hazard, so it's best to destroy it."

"Get ready, Napoleon, we'll be over our drop site in two minutes."

"What's our time out?"

"In one minute, we'll be at two hours."

"Then the clock is ticking."

"Yes." There was silence in the cabin as Solo prepared for the drop. He opened the side hatch, and felt the tug of wind rushing at him. It was dark out and the sky was full of stars.

"Stars look pretty tonight."

"Yes. Yes they do, don't they? Napoleon, it's time to count down: ten, nine, eight, seven, six...."

Zargoz, his face contorted with anger, screamed something unintelligible and launched himself out of the seat and on to Solo, nearly pushing the U.N.C.L.E. agent out of the hatch. Solo dropped the disk and briefcase into the darkness, then grabbed Zargoz by the arm, trying to throw him back across the small cabin. Illya, unable to leave the controls, banked the plane sharply, throwing Solo away from the hatch. Zargoz used the opportunity to jump on the agent again. Solo pushed hard, trying to pry the man loose and Zargoz sailed neatly through the hatch, spread-eagled out over the ocean. Legs shaking from the exertion, Solo worked his way back to the cabin.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Better let Mr. Waverly know what's happened."

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

Solo told Waverly he'd dropped the items on target, along with the professor.

"We're counting it down, Mr. Solo. Please check in every ten minutes."

"Yes, sir. Did they find Miss Roberti?"

"Yes, Mr. Solo. She was unharmed."

"Thank you."

The two agents rode for a while in companionable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, unable to stand the suspense any longer, Solo spoke.

"What would you do differently?"

"What?"

"What would you do differently? If you could live your life over, I mean?" Illya thought for a moment.

"I would have let you drive more often."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I thought you hated my driving."

"I do. But I should have let you drive more often. I regret that. What about you?"

"I think I would have dated women with more to them. You know, more substance. And I think I would have done more reading. Russian writers. I'd read the great Russian writers."

"Maybe there'll be lots of time for reading afterwards...."

"Yeah. And driving."

"Maybe."

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

The first thing they discovered was the professor had been off somewhat on his calculations. The blast came exactly three hours and twenty-one minutes after the Generator was activated. Even that far away, the little plane shuddered and shook, and the U.N.C.L.E. agents heard the water churning and bubbling underneath them like a giant kettle. The force buffeted the plane around until Illya was almost unable to tell up from down.

"Hold on!" He yelled to Solo as he fought the controls. The two men were slammed around the cockpit like popcorn, bouncing from one wall to another. Illya could feel the plane nosing down, heading for the water, he jerked the plane as nearly level as he could and tried a controlled climb, but he couldn't make any altitude. Aftershock followed aftershock and walls of water rose so high he could feel the salt spray stinging his eyes. He glanced over at his partner only to see Solo was unconscious -- or possibly dead -- there was no way to tell. Illya hoped if this was the end that Solo was already dead. At least he'd be spared the agony of drowning in an unfriendly black sea.

A second, then a third shock wave hit the plane and Illya, exhausted and nearly at the end of his endurance gave a small prayer and held on as though his life depended on it.

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

"Have you made the funeral arrangements, Mr. Slate?"

"Yes, sir. Any preference in regards to flowers?"

"No, I have no idea. Have Miss Dancer take care of that. She has a way with those kinds of issues."

"Yes, sir."

"What kind of service have you arranged?"

"It's an interdenominational one, sir. I wasn't sure what kind would be appropriate. Is that OK?"

"Certainly. Be sure and have our people there. I don't think there are a lot of relatives."

"Yes, sir."

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

The funeral took place on a sunny Saturday afternoon. It was a day when pretty girls walked their dogs, ideal for sitting on a park bench with a heavy Russian novel while one's partner -- and best friend -- kept track of the attractive scenery. Instead, the two men, so different, yet so alike, were in a dark church filled with fellow U.N.C.L.E. agents, instead of enjoying a warm day outside.

After the service, Alexander Waverly paid his last respects along with the rest of the crowd and made his way over to the front pew where he took Candie Roberti's hand.

"I want to thank you for all you did, Miss Roberti. It took a great deal of courage. You saved many lives."

The girl nodded, but a small tear trickled down her cheek. "I'm alone now, you know? I never really thought about it, but I don't have anyone. I don't even have someone to go to my graduation." Waverly patted her on the head.

"Of course you do. You have Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin here and I'm sure they would be delighted to be your new uncles. Isn't that right, gentlemen?"

Solo and Illya, black and blue and bandaged, looked at Waverly with unconcealed horror.

Waverly shot the pair a stern look over top of the girl's head. Solo plastered a sickly smile on his face. "Why, uh, sure, Candie. Uncle Illya and I will be glad to attend your graduation. Uh, when is it?"

"Really Napoleon? That's great. It's next week. Oh, I can't thank you enough, Mr. Waverly. Thanks for all you've done for me and," she looked at the shiny mahogany coffin that held her sister's body,"For Lucie. She didn't deserve your kindness."

"Nonsense, my child. It's we who are in your debt. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to my office. Gentlemen, see to Miss Roberti's graduation exercises please." Candie turned to Napoleon and threw her arms around his neck.

"Oh thank you! I can't believe you're going to come! The school I attend is about 120 miles away, it's a private school, really, really expensive and very snooty. I hate it...." Napoleon gently pried the girl's arms from around his neck and turned to his partner.

"You had to keep that plane in the air long enough for us to be rescued, didn't you?"

"You were certainly no help. You were taking a nap while I was saving both our lives, if I remember correctly."

"Just remember that I get to drive to the graduation."

"Not if I can help it."

"But you said...."

"I wasn't in my right mind when I said it."

"That applies to everything you say then...."

April Dancer walked up and tapped Napoleon's shoulder. "I found that book you wanted, Napoleon. It's in the car. Are you a Dostoyevsky fan?"

Solo's face reddened slightly. Illya leaned forward.

"Did you say"Dostoyevksy?"

"Yes," said April. Illya reached into his pocket and, pulling out a set of keys, lightly tossed them to Solo.

"On second thought, I think it's about time for me to relax and enjoy the scenery. Would you mind very much if I left the driving to you this time?"

THE END

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