Act I

"Aloha Means a Deadly Bacteria"

Hawaii is only one thousand, five hundred miles from the Equator. People not used to the tropical sun find this out quickly. Rollo Ingstein already was sweating as he approached Customs from the jet that had arrived from Asia.

At six-foot, four-inches tall, he towered over many people. His thin features made him stand out more. He was no more than one hundred eighty pounds and looked even thinner. His hairline was receding, adding to the effect. Even the nose was thin. The graying goatee was the only feature that rounded out his face.

Ingstein placed the carry-on bag in front of the customs clerk, who opened it and briefly looked through the contents. The clerk also looked at Ingstein's passport, which had a phony name.

"Anything to declare?" the clerk asked.

"Nothing," Ingstein replied.

The clerk looked briefly at Ingstein's small, soft-cover suitcase. "OK, go on through."

Without comment, Ingstein picked up his things and left and the clerk started to look at the next person in line.

The clerk had barely noticed a toiletries kit. If he had checked it out, he would have had the chance to handle something that could have ended the life of everyone on the island of Oahu.

Six time zones away, in New York City, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin walked quickly down a hallway inside the headquarters of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. Each had been in separate areas of U.N.C.L.E. headquarters -- Solo in his office, Kuryakin downstairs at a firing range. They had each been given a catchphrase: "Imminent." That was this month's code to drop everything at once -- a top-priority mission was about to be assigned.

Kuryakin caught up with Solo a short distance from the office of Alexander Waverly, the Number One of Section One, U.N.C.L.E.'s policy making group. Waverly was the most senior member of Section One. He did not use these codes without a reason.

The automatic sliding doors to Waverly's office opened. In came Solo, who'd put his suitcoat on during the quick walk from the office, followed by Kuryakin in shirt sleeves, his shoulder holster visible.

Waverly was standing, looking down at papers on his large, round conference table. He didn't notice Solo and Kuryakin for a moment until he looked up.

"Sit down, gentlemen. I don't know what plans you have for the next few days, but you'd better cancel them," Waverly said as he sat down.

Waverly flipped a switch on a control console on the table. A large screen came down from the ceiling. A few moments later, an image of a man appeared. Solo guessed the man was either approaching or in his middle thirties. He had dark, thinning hair. He also had a haggard look. It appeared he had a day's growth of beard in the picture.

"Gentlemen, this is -- was -- Alexander Kline," Waverly began. "Reportedly, one of the most brilliant people on earth. He was a biochemist. Some years back, he was looking to create a vaccine that would wipe out all known disease. Instead, he discovered something quite different. A bacteria capable of eliminating all life. His government, the United States government, put him to work. After nearly suffering a breakdown, he disappeared."

Waverly hit the switch again. The image changed. Now on the screen were pictures of three cows, swollen and disfigured. "A year later, he surfaced, in Hawaii," Waverly resumed. "This was the result of a test he conducted. The carcasses were absolutely petrified with lesions all about them. Despite various treaties, many of the world's major powers maintain some kind of capacity to use bacteriological warfare if they ever need it. Alexander Kline wanted them all to stop. And to make them stop, he intended to kill all life on Oahu. His bacteria, once created, would survive only six hours. But in that time, every man, woman and child on that island would have died a horrible, painful death."

"What happened?" Solo said.

"Kline had a change of heart. Unfortunately, his sample of the bacteria got away from him. Luckily, only one young man died from exposure to the bacteria. The authorities managed to locate it. Kline himself was on the scene and assisted them. However, he got too close to the sample and died himself. The sample was finally destroyed by fire."

"I take it the story does not end there," Kuryakin said.

"Quite true, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said. "For years, no more work was performed concerning Mr. Kline's project. Until recently, that is." Waverly flipped the switch once more. Solo and Kuryakin saw a man with a narrow head and goatee appear on the screen. "Rollo Ingstein, another U.S. researcher. Almost as brilliant as Kline. Unfortunately, far less principled. You see gentlemen, Ingstein bolted the American government about two months ago."

"You say Mr. Ingstein is far less principled than Alexander Kline," Solo said. "I assume he is doing something with this bacteria for personal gain."

"Quite right, Mr. Solo. Various agencies, including ourselves, believe Ingstein is setting up an auction for this bacteria, known as a Q strain. Further, in a note of irony, we believe it will take place in Hawaii, probably in less than a week."

"Why Hawaii?" Kuryakin asked.

"We don't know for certain. Perhaps he felt it was a centralized location for bidders from the either the East or West. It really doesn't matter," Waverly said. "What does matter is that the bacteria is drawing attention from governments and criminal organizations. Already, there has been one confirmed sighting. I believe you'll recognize the gentleman."

Waverly hit the switch once more. A middle aged, balding man appeared. Solo sat up in his chair. "G. Emory Partridge? I thought he was dead, killed by Thrush."

"Yes," Kuryakin said. "He had failed Thrush on that business in the Yukon several years ago. He had hired himself out to Thrush. We left him there, knowing Thrush officials were due only a short time later."

"Obviously Mr. Partridge proved to be more adept than you gentlemen gave him credit for," Waverly said. "He showed up in Los Angeles twenty-four hours ago. Unfortunately, he wasn't identified until he left that city on a plane headed toward Hawaii. There's no way of telling whether he is working independently or for Thrush again. But if Mr. Partridge is involved, you can be sure trouble will soon follow."

"What, exactly, do you want us to do, sir?" Solo said. "Are we to recover the bacteria or destroy it?"

"Destroy, as promptly as possible," Waverly said. "This may conflict with your own governments, gentlemen. There are already signs that Russia has dispatched an operative to explore obtaining the bacteria. And the Americans are certainly going to try and get it back." The images on the screen changed again. This time, there were pictures of two men. On the left was a somewhat heavy bald man, with a handlebar mustache. On the right, a middle-aged, clean-shaven man with graying blond hair.

"To the left is Colonel Mikhail Toptegan, who goes by Mischa," Waverly began.

"Yes, I've heard of him," Kuryakin said. "An old warhorse but with very adept survival instincts. KGB office politics can be a bit brutal but he usually ends up on top."

"Colonel Toptegan is either en route or shortly will be," Waverly said. "The man on the right is one Jonathan Kaye, director of Asia-Pacific intelligence for the American Pentagon. He departed in a B-52 jet this morning for Hawaii."

Waverly changed the image one last time. Now, another man appeared. He had few distinguishing physical characteristics, but there was something about the photo, a rigidness, a feeling of authority.

"There's at least one more wild card to consider," Waverly said. "This man, Stephen McGarrett, heads a Hawaii state police agency known as Hawaii Five-O. A bit of a mystery man. Although he is only a state official, he has enormous influence on matters related to security and intelligence. It may just be force of personality. You'll get a complete dossier, but Mr. McGarrett is extremely tough. If you don't let him in, he'll force his way in. He also, apparently, enjoys a close relationship with Mr. Kaye. Kaye has, at times, in effect, deputized Hawaii Five-O to work on security matters. There have even been some funny rumors that McGarrett himself may secretly be a U.S. government operative, but that has never been proven. In any event, I suspect you will encounter Mr. McGarrett and his people at some point in this affair."

"Sir, what if it looks like a 'friendly' power is about to gain control of the bacteria?" Solo said.

"That would not be an acceptable outcome, Mr. Solo."

Shortly after noon, Honolulu time, Steve McGarrett walked down the steps of the Iolani Palace. Normally, McGarrett would catch a bit of lunch at his desk. But things had been quiet lately, quiet enough that he had decided on the luxury, for him, of a lunch out of the office. McGarrett was still slipping on the jacket to his light summer-weight suit as he left the palace. He looked toward his car, a refurbished 1974 Mercury. McGarrett, always a bit of a traditionalist, never warmed to the smoothed-edge "jellybean" look of modern automobiles. He had always been fond of Mercurys, so he had invested in having one redone. It had cost quite a bit, but McGarrett had no family, just his job. All he needed was the time -- the toughest thing for him to swing -- but he had restored the car on weekends.

He was now down the steps and almost to his car. Just then, a large sedan screeched to a halt just in front of him. McGarrett turned and, for a second, braced to respond. Out of the sedan came two men in dark suits -- not the best clothing for Hawaii, McGarrett thought -- wearing sunglasses. McGarrett didn't recognize the specific men, but he recognized the type.

"Let me guess: Jonathan Kaye is in town."

"It's an emergency, sir," one of the men replied.

"Figures," McGarrett said. "The governor's office?"

"Yes sir."

The trio walked a short distance to the nearby Capitol Building, where Gov. George Hitoshi had his office. Kaye's men were silent and McGarrett had no reason to make conversation. This was typical of Jonathan Kaye, McGarrett thought. Kaye typically stayed put at the Pentagon. When he jetted to Hawaii, that meant something large was about to break. McGarrett and Kaye had known each other for years. They were friends, more or less. But Kaye also seemed to throw his weight around at key moments. The escort probably wasn't necessary but McGarrett played along.

They entered the building and walked briskly to Gov. Hitoshi's office. Inside, McGarrett recognized the governor and Kaye. He also had met the third person, a middle-aged bald man, years ago. His presence was big trouble, McGarrett thought.

"Steve, glad you could make it," Kaye said. Gesturing toward the bald man, Kaye said, "You remember A.L. Benjamin, don't you?"

"How could I forget? The dead cows at Makapuu," McGarrett said coldly.

In an instant, he remembered the entire case. How three swollen, dead cows led to a manhunt for Alexander Kline, the troubled inventor of a deadly bacteria. Benjamin had been Kline's superior at Fort Dietrich, Maryland, where Kline had worked on the bacterial weapon project.

Benjamin sensed McGarrett was ill at ease. "Yes, it has been a long time," he said.

"I guess it would be naive to ask whether this has something to do with Alexander Kline," McGarrett said.

Kaye gestured over to a conference table on the other side of the room. "It's worse, actually. Please sit down."

The men approached the table and sat. McGarrett's frown was visible. He had watched Alexander Kline die. Kline had grabbed a vial containing a solution full of the bacteria from a shack and buried it in a shallow hole on a beach. Those few moments had permitted a U.S. Army unit equipped with a flamethrower to arrive before the bacteria could spread. The operator of the flamethrower burned down the shack, then destroyed the vial. But for Kline, it was too late. McGarrett had to hold back a woman -- Wanda Russell, was her name -- who had fallen in love with Kline. They both watched as lesions erupted all over Kline's body.

The governor's voice broke McGarrett's concentration on the memory.

"Mr. Kaye, please tell me about this Makapuu incident," Hitoshi said.

"Some years ago, as Steve reminds us, an Alexander Kline developed what was called the Q strain -- a bacteria hostile to all forms of life. As some of us here remember, Kline wanted to make a point to the world -- a warning -- by using the bacteria on the island of Oahu. Kline, thank God, had a change of heart and the bacteria was destroyed before it could spread. Dr. Kline, unfortunately, did not survive the incident. And that appeared to be that."

Kaye took a photo from a folder in front of him. "Just recently, this man, one Rollo Ingstein, a microbiologist in the employ of the United States government, revived the Kline research and found some scraps of information that survived Kline. More recently, he left without warning. We believe, unfortunately, he has the capability of producing a new version of the Q strain. Moreover, data from a variety of sources indicate he is going to auction it off -- right here in Hawaii."

"I thought treaties and such prohibited our government and others from developing biological warfare weapons," McGarrett said coldly.

"Yes, that is developing, as in production," Benjamin said. "But there is little in place to prevent basic research. And, in any case, Ingstein had disguised his project. A new version of the Q strain had not been authorized by me or anyone else at Fort Dietrich."

"Regardless, we believe the new Q strain exists and may be deadlier than the original," Kaye said. "It must not get into the wrong hands. And some of the wrong hands are already en route to Hawaii." Kaye took another picture from the file of a middle aged man. "This is one G. Emory Partridge. We know he left for Hawaii from Los Angeles. A known criminal, thought deceased, he has worked both independently and for major criminal organizations on major projects. That can't be coincidence. An old acquaintance of yours, Steve, may also be in the hunt." Out came another picture.

McGarrett recognized the picture instantly. "Colonel Toptegan of the Russian KGB," McGarrett said.

Kaye stood up. "It's imperative we recover that bacteria, Steve. I need your help. You've never let me down before."

McGarrett cleared his throat. "We're looking for something that, in all likelihood, can be hidden almost anywhere. I'll give it my best shot, Jonathan, but you're not exactly making it easy. And I'm not real big on recovering the bacteria."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'd rather just destroy the damn stuff like we did originally."

"If necessary, of course," Kaye said. "But our first preference is recovery of both the bacteria and our defecting scientist."

"Who else might be looking?"

"We're not sure, yet. Besides the usual government and criminal types, some organizations considered friendly may become involved. While en route here, I was informed the U-N-C-L-E had been making inquiries," Kaye said.

"U.N.C.L.E., eh?" McGarrett said. "The last time I heard, U.N.C.L.E. was an organization supported by our government with both money and personnel."

"True enough," Kaye said. He sat back down and reached once more into the file folder. "U.N.C.L.E. pursues an independent, albeit law enforcement-oriented, agenda. I'm not comfortable with the idea of U.N.C.L.E. getting to the Q strain first. If they do become involved, they're likely to send one or both of these men."

Kaye passed the pictures to McGarrett. The first was of a clean-shaven man with dark hair, basically good looking. The other was of a blonde man, his hair cut so he had short bangs.

"Napoleon Solo is the first gentleman, the top enforcement officer of U.N.C.L.E., an American. The other is Illya Kuryakin, a Russian who has been stationed at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in New York for many years. They often work together but not always. On an assignment of this magnitude, they are the agents U.N.C.L.E. would most likely assign. Also, U.N.C.L.E. has assigned both men in the past to oppose projects sponsored by Mr. Partridge. I can't see how they would not become involved in this matter."

"What do I do if this Solo or Kuryakin gets to the Q strain first?" McGarrett said.

"I would rather they didn't," Kaye said. "I don't dare chance it, not with stakes like this."

Solo had just gotten off the telephone at the desk in his office. He had just completed his travel arrangements to Hawaii.

"So you managed to secure two first-class seats?" Kuryakin asked.

"Don't I always?"

"Let's just say you know what to say to women travel agents."

Solo's face dropped all hints of levity. "Illya, this affair really bothers me."

"Why is that? Just because we will be thousands of miles from the nearest U.N.C.L.E. station? Just because we have to find what is most likely a small container that can be hidden almost anywhere? And just because ourselves, other governments and other known criminals are looking for the same thing? And what we're all looking for is an incredibly deadly bacteria that could wipe out millions of people?"

"Something like that," Solo said.

"Good reason to worry," Kuryakin replied. "How do you suggest we proceed?"

"I hate to say it, but given the time constraints, one or both of us will make ourselves targets and hope one of the bidders goes after us. Then, we hopefully disarm said bidder and secure information -- at least add to the skimpy information we already have."

"I think I've heard this plan before," Kuryakin said. "It can often be painful -- especially for my head."

Solo frowned at Kuryakin. "Sometimes mine too," he said. "Unfortunately, given the time constraints, we don't have much choice. I think we should use one of the basic covers -- something that wouldn't take too long for someone in the intelligence field to break."

"Agreed," Kuryakin said. "The problem this time may not come from the opposition but our so-called allies. Both the United States and Russia are benefactors of U.N.C.L.E. but I suspect neither Mr. Kaye nor Colonel Toptegan will make it easy for us."

Act II

"Aloha Means Knockout Gas."

McGarrett hurriedly walked up the steps of the Iolani Palace to the second floor. He quickly reached the Five-O office. He entered and as he walked by a series of three cubicles, he tapped at the walls of each. After passing the third he came to the desk of his secretary, a woman in her late thirties. "May, hold all my calls."

By now, three men had emerged from the cubicles. They were familiar with the drill and knew McGarrett wanted their attention and now. Each was in his shirt sleeves, not even wasting a moment to put on their suit jackets. Kono Kalakaua, a big beefy native Hawaiian entered McGarrett's office first. He officially listed his weight at two hundred forty pounds, but that at least twenty pounds too light. Next in was Chin Ho Kelly, somewhat lighter, but he wouldn't be mistaken for being svelte. His odd name stemmed from his Chinese and Irish ancestry. The last in was Dan Williams, about five-foot-eight with a more athletic build than his other two colleagues. Although Williams was in his thirties, his boyish looks and blonde hair caused some people to mistake him for a younger man, perhaps just out of college.

"Gentlemen, this is top priority," McGarrett said, coming, as always, directly to the point. "I'm sure you all remember Alexander Kline and his killer bacteria. A microbiologist formerly in the employ of Uncle Sam apparently has decided to revive Kline's research and is auctioning off a sample. He's probably on the islands already. Some interesting bidders are either here or on the way. The job's simple enough -- nab the man in question and the bacteria."

"What's this person's name and do we have a picture of him?" Williams asked.

"The name is Rollo Ingstein and some shots of our would-be entrepreneur are on their way over. So are pictures of other people being attracted by Ingstein's offering, including friendly and unfriendly. It's quite a list and I'm sure it's just the start."

"What do you mean by friendly, boss?" Kelly said.

"People who are officially friendly with the United States but are not considered, by our people anyway, as the kind who should get the bacteria. Our old friend Colonel Toptegan from Russia may want to inspect the merchandise. And I've been told by Jonathan Kaye it's likely some other international agencies may poke their head in it. Ever hear of the U-N-C-L-E?"

"My favorite charity," Kono said, deadpan.

McGarrett grinned. "Wrong folks. A fancy outfit also known as the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. They specialize in cloak and dagger stuff and often have tricks up their sleeves. Officially, the United States supports U.N.C.L.E. But Kaye and his people don't trust them. Kaye would prefer Five-O or U.S. agencies coordinating through us get there first. Anyway, I've got some pictures of some U.N.C.L.E. types on their way over."

"Okay, Steve. What do we do?" Williams said.

"I want Chin and Kono to go with some plainclothes HPD officers and keep an eye out at the airport. If any of our cast of characters shows up, I want them tailed. That's friendly or unfriendly. I want to know what these people are up to. At least one potential bidder is already here, a gent by the name of Partridge. I'm told he's fairly deadly despite his country gentleman looks." McGarrett now turned to Williams. "Danno, I want you here to coordinate with the FBI, Naval Intelligence and others. Kaye has set it up. The list of contacts is coming over with the photos. I want you on that phone constantly, checking with everyone. I'll split my time here and out in the field checking on leads. Questions?"

"How much time do we have?" Williams asked.

"At the most, a few days. Let's not waste time, gentlemen."

Solo and Kuryakin sat in the first-class cabin of TransGlobal Flight Seven Sixty-One. About an hour away from Honolulu, Solo awakened after dozing and reached to straighten the tie to his suit. Kuryakin was dressed somewhat more casually, with a blue sport jacket and a light blue golf shirt and dark blue slacks. He had on a pair of glasses so he could read some scientific journal that Solo didn't recognize.

"Hmmm, slept longer than I thought. Are we getting close?" Solo said.

Kuryakin glanced at his watch. "I'd say sixty-eight minutes. Given any more thought to our approach or do we just wing it?"

"Well, I'd say our best shot is to isolate Emory Partridge. He has a bit of a score to settle with us and hopefully we can draw him out in the open. Although..."

"Although what?" Kuryakin said.

"Partridge goes underground for years. He's apparently well hidden because no law enforcement agency of any kind in the world reports his whereabouts. Suddenly he's out in the open."

"This Q strain is quite a powerful inducement. Perhaps he was yearning for one last criminal undertaking," Kuryakin said as he took his glasses off and placed them in the breast pocket of his jacket.

"Perhaps," Solo said. "But I can't help but think there's more to it than that. I wonder if he's working for someone else."

"That's not out of the question," Kuryakin said. "After all, he acted as a Thrush contractor those years ago in the Yukon."

"Somehow I doubt he's working for Thrush," Solo replied. "He evidently escaped their brand of justice but I can't imagine our bird friends being the type to forgive and forget."

"Who else might it be -- if he's acting for someone else?" Kuryakin said.

"No way of knowing," Solo said. "That's another reason I'd like to isolate our Mr. Partridge if we can."

It was the second day -- actually first full day -- that Kono Kalakaua had been on the airport duty. None of the men he was looking for had shown up. Suddenly, there they were -- the American and the Russian had entered the main terminal. Kono reached the small walkie talkie in his pocket.

"Kono to Chin, have a sighting. Over."

"Kono, this is Chin," his Five-O colleague responded. "Who is it? Over."

"The men from U.N.C.L.E.," Kono said. "Both of them. They have just entered the main terminal building coming in from their gate. The American is wearing a gray suit and tie for crying out loud. The Russian is dressed in a sport jacket and plain golf shirt, over."

"You stay close to them. I'll get the car and pick you up out front. Chin out."

Kono had already started following the pair. They headed for baggage pickup. Each already carried a small carry-on bag and had only one piece of luggage to pick up from the carousel. Kono was perhaps thirty feet away. He was trying to blend in. He wore a typical brightly colored Hawaiian shirt with his plain gray slacks. But Kono, because of his size, never easily blended in anywhere. However, the terminal was quite busy because at least two large flights had arrived close to the same time. It was so crowded that Kono hoped the U.N.C.L.E. agents would not spot him.

Kono watched them head toward the exit where rental car agencies sent buses. He then exited through a door near the rental car pickup station. He scanned around and spotted Chin Ho Kelly who was driving a blue Ford Taurus through the lane where cars dropped off passengers. Kono waved and Chin quickly pulled up.

"They're just now getting a Hertz bus," Kono said as he got in.

Chin Ho moved up behind the Hertz bus. Kono, meanwhile, started broadcasting on the police radio in the Taurus.

"Central, patch me through to McGarrett," Kono said. "This is car four. Over."

"Just a moment, car four," the dispatcher replied.

A moment's pause. "McGarrett. What's up, Kono? Over."

"Our relatives just showed up. The two uncles. Over," he said.

"Both uncles? Over."

"Yes, sir. The dark-haired one apparently is a sharpie since he's dressed in a suit and he is with his yellow-haired friend, over."

"Status? Over."

"They're on their way to pick up a rental car. Should be at the rental agency in another two, three minutes. Over."

"Stick with them, Kono," McGarrett said. "Let's see what they're up to. McGarrett out."

Chin pulled up the car near the exit where the rental cars left the lot. A fence obscured their view of the lot itself but they'd be able to watch each rental car depart. Both watched intently.

Solo and Kuryakin stowed their bags in the trunk of the white Ford Thunderbird. Kuryakin offered to drive and Solo got into the passenger seat.

They pulled out of the lot and onto a street. It would be a short drive to H1, the main highway into town. Kuryakin noticed the tail almost immediately. A Ford Taurus was hanging terribly close to them.

"We have company already but neither of those men look familiar to me," Kuryakin said.

Solo, without looking back, glanced at the side mirror outside the passenger door. Kuryakin adjusted that mirror so Solo could observe the tail. He saw two men; the driver looked to be of Chinese descent while the passenger was a native Hawaiian.

"I think they're with Hawaii Five-O, the state police unit Mr. Waverly told us about. I studied up on their dossiers. The driver, if I remember correctly, is Chin Ho Kelly."

"Chin Ho Kelly?" Kuryakin said.

"A long story," Solo replied. "The big Hawaiian is Kono Kalakaua. They both work for Steve McGarrett."

"They could use some road manners," Kuryakin said. "They're probably no more than two carlengths behind me."

"Well, since Mr. McGarrett wants to keep track of us, I suggest we drop in for a quick visit," Solo said. "Do you think you can get to the Iolani Palace?"

"I'll manage."

Thirty minutes later, Kono got on the police radio once more and was patched through to McGarrett.

"Go, Kono," McGarrett said.

"You're not going to believe this, boss," Kono said. "But it looks like they're getting ready to pull up to the Palace parking lot. Over"

"The Iolani Palace? Over."

"The same. Over."

"Okay, pull up a discreet distance behind them. I doubt they're going to be sightseeing. McGarrett out."

Kuryakin had managed to find a visitor's parking spot with surprising ease. He pulled in and glanced back once more in the rearview mirror. The police tail was a short distance away.

"Our company has pulled up and stopped, as well," Kuryakin said.

"Wonderful," Solo replied. "I'll drop in on Mr. McGarrett and perhaps you could have a chat with our friends and encourage them to alter their travel plans."

"Well, let's see," Kuryakin said. "Our U.N.C.L.E. Specials are still in the hidden compartments of our luggage. I doubt I'd have time to get them out and reload them with sleep darts."

"Well, we're each loaded up with some new U.N.C.L.E. devices," Solo said.

"Yes, but I think using those special napalm capsules is a bit too extreme," Kuryakin said. He wasn't entirely joking. Both men were walking around with incendiary capsules that could almost instantly start an intense fire. It was part of their gear for dealing with the Q strain should they get close to it.

"Quite true. How about the watch?" Solo asked.

Kuryakin nodded his head. "Yes, I would say the watch might work."

"Give me ten or fifteen minutes first. I'll meet you back here."

Two minutes later, Solo walked casually into the Five-O offices. He spotted the secretary and handed her an official U.N.C.L.E. identification card.

"Excuse me, I don't have an appointment but I was wondering if I could see Mr. McGarrett. I'm with the U-N-C-L-E. Napoleon Solo."

May looked puzzled at the card. "Is that really your name?"

"Scout's honor," Solo said. "My parents were fond of famous generals."

"Er, let me buzz," May replied. She flicked the switch of the intercom. "Boss, it's Mr. Solo of the U-N-C-L-E."

"Send him in," McGarrett said in an emotionless voice.

May motioned Solo toward the door to McGarrett's office.

Dan Williams stood next to McGarrett, who was sitting at his desk. They appeared to be going over some list or report. "That's about it for now," Williams said to McGarrett.

"Fine Danno, keep at it," McGarrett said. Williams left and only then did McGarrett look up at Solo. "Come in, Mr. Solo. Coffee?"

"No thanks, I had plenty on the plane."

"What brings you to Hawaii, Mr. Solo? You don't look dressed for a vacation."

"Actually I suspect the same thing as what you were discussing with your associate -- the whereabouts of Rollo Ingstein and the Q strain," Solo said.

"What is that, Mr. Solo?" McGarrett said.

"Considering that Jonathan Kaye jetted into Hawaii yesterday, I'm pretty sure you already know," Solo replied. "And considering that two more of your associates followed me from the airport, I figured you wanted to check up on me. So I came here directly."

"Well, all of that is official police business, Mr. Solo. I'm afraid I can't discuss it."

"Law enforcement agencies usually cooperate with U.N.C.L.E.," Solo said.

"I'm afraid I haven't been authorized to do so," McGarrett shot back.

"Fine then," Solo said. "If that's how you want to play it. But if you're curious about U.N.C.L.E.'s intentions, I'll make them clear. My top priority is to destroy the Q strain. Pure and simple. No hidden agendas."

McGarrett frowned. "Why do you insist on bringing this up?"

"I'd like to think we're really working on the same side in all this. From what I've read you've seen the effects of the bacteria first hand. You know what it can do and you helped destroy it once. I just thought I'd put my cards on the table as a courtesy."

McGarrett sat back in his chair. "I've been given a job to do, Mr. Solo. I aim to see it get done. Also, no one is above the law in Hawaii. No one. Do you understand?"

"Certainly," Solo said as he started toward the door. He began to open it but paused. "One suggestion, however. Surveillance is best performed when you are more than two car lengths from the subject ahead of you." With that, Solo left, closing the door behind him.

McGarrett leaned back in the chair. What the devil did he mean by that last remark? He paused for a moment and rubbed his eyes. Actually, Solo's goals were probably closer to his own. McGarrett was indeed wary of trying to preserve the Q strain. But he would wait before making a firm decision, one way or another.

Something began to eat at McGarrett. He got up from the desk and walked to his office balcony. He could see the parking lot from there. McGarrett scanned the area and saw Solo enter the passenger side of a Ford Thunderbird. The car pulled away but he didn't see Chin and Kono.

A few minutes earlier, Kuryakin got out of the Thunderbird and started walking toward the Taurus with Chin Ho and Kono inside.

"Excuse me, but do either of you gentleman have the time?" Kuryakin said, now just a step from Chin's car. He seemed to be directing his remarks to Chin, who had the driver's window rolled down.

Chin and Kono looked at each other for a moment. Even when they were spotted by a suspect, that person didn't just come up and make polite conversation.

"Do you have the time?" Kuryakin said, as he brought his left wrist near Chin's face. "My watch seems to have stopped."

A second later, the watch emitted a jet of gas, which filled the front seat of Chin's Taurus. The two started to move but then stopped, as if frozen. Kuryakin nonchalantly walked back to his rental car. Just a minute or so later, Solo came down the Palace steps and the Thunderbird pulled out of the Palace parking lot.

Dan Williams rushed down the palace steps perhaps two minutes after the Thunderbird left. He ran to the Taurus. He couldn't see anything wrong but Chin and Kono didn't seem to move. He reached in through the open driver's window and shook Chin.

"What?" Chin said.

Kono snapped out of it just a few seconds later. "Where'd the Russian go?" he asked.

"Out the parking lot a few minutes ago," Williams said.

Chin grimaced. "He gassed us," he said.

Williams waved at McGarrett, who was still standing at the balcony. "They're okay," Williams said. "Be up in a minute."

"You stay, I'm coming down," McGarrett shouted.

Minutes later, McGarrett had talked to his men. "Apparently, it was some sort of stun gas," McGarrett said. "No damage but apparently something that disorients you for a few minutes."

"Why, Steve?" Williams asked.

"I think that was Mr. Solo's way of telling me to back off," McGarrett said. "But I don't back off, Danno."

Act III

"Aloha Means A Blow to the Head"

Solo and Kuryakin checked into the Ilikai, perhaps the most famous of the many tourist hotels in Honolulu. They had adjoining rooms on the tenth floor. They unpacked and retrieved their U.N.C.L.E. Specials and shoulder holsters from the hidden compartments in their suitcases which permitted their weapons to go undetected at airports. After a few minutes they convened in Solo's room.

"How shall we divide up our assignments?" Kuryakin said.

"I'll look for Partridge," Solo said. "Knowing his tastes, I doubt he'll settle for a lesser hotel. Nothing subtle. I'll simply go to each hotel, identify myself as an U.N.C.L.E. agent and show around pictures of Partridge. That should draw his attention."

"Fair enough," Kuryakin said. "And me?"

"Do you think you can blend into the scenery? Approach perhaps the less savory areas of Honolulu?"

"I thought you might devise something like that. As a matter of fact, I brought a few things. Nothing like Asian makeup -- that's very difficult and time consuming to pull off. But I have a few things that can alter my appearance."

Solo looked at his watch. "It's four o'clock now. I might as well get started."

"Fine," Kuryakin said. "I will survey the territory now. I'll find a discreet cab driver and look over areas I'll visit tomorrow when I use the makeup."

"Good. Check back on the pen communicator every two hours."

McGarrett walked quickly through the main terminal to the customs area. He had timed it just about right. As he arrived, Russia's Colonel Toptegan -- Mischa -- was picking up his bags and heading out. Mischa was dressed in clothes very much like those he had worn the first time he had come to Hawaii -- a white suit, black tie and white hat.

Mischa spotted McGarrett immediately. "Greetings, Colonel," McGarrett said. "I thought we'd get reacquainted."

"Well, well, Stephen McGarrett. Still greeting visitors to Hawaii?" Mischa said in a stiff Russian accent. McGarrett guessed Mischa was using it for effect. Mischa was always a bit theatrical.

"As I said once before, all colonels from the KGB," McGarrett said.

The two men started walking together in the terminal. "You know, we officially reorganized," Mischa said.

"Yes, but KGB has such a ring to it, I'm afraid no other name will ever take hold," McGarrett said.

"Touché."

"What brings you to Hawaii, Colonel?"

"I don't suppose saying the sun and surf will satisfy you?"

"Not a chance," McGarrett said. "I think it's the Q strain."

"I'm sorry but I am still not up on your American slang."

"I think you know about this slang, Colonel. It refers to something bad, very bad. Not the kind of thing you discuss casually in a public place."

Mischa smiled. "You give me far too much credit, Stephen."

McGarrett stopped. "Let's cut out the bull, Mischa. I don't have the time. You're here to see if you can purchase the Q strain. You're up against a lot of potential bidders. Remember the business that first brought you to these islands? The perfect twenty-dollar counterfeit plates? You were a stalking horse then, Colonel. And with your government's precarious finances, I doubt you can be top bidder now."

"Perhaps," Mischa said. "But why should I cooperate with you in any event? You have manpower and resources. I am just one man."

"Yes, but you have an invitation to bid," McGarrett said.

"Given the relatively good relations between our governments, you could do a lot worse if someone other than I were to obtain it -- hypothetically speaking, of course, since I really don't know what you're talking about."

"First, given the rather fluid situation in your government, I'm not sure that's the best destination for the Q strain," McGarrett said. "In any case, I have my instructions. My main job is to protect the lives of the people of this state. I'll do that any way I can."

"I am sure you will," Mischa replied. "May I go now?"

"Of course."

"Can I expect an escort from the airport?"

"Certainly."

"I hope this time your men will be a little more subtle about it."

McGarrett frowned. "Somebody else has already lectured me on that point. And one of your countrymen conducted a demonstration."

"My countryman?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" McGarrett said. "The U-N-C-L-E is also snooping around on this business. An American and a Russian."

"Let me guess," Mischa said. "That wouldn't happen to be Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, would it?"

"Know them?"

"Only by reputation, unfortunately," Mischa said. "Kuryakin would have made a fine operative for my, eh, firm but he ended up being assigned to the U-N-C-L-E as part of the old regime's contribution to that organization. Really, too bad. We could have used him."

"You may yet have a chance to strike up an acquaintance then," McGarrett said. "Good day."

Kuryakin glanced around. He was in the Chinatown section of the city. It was now nearly five-thirty. Kuryakin had drawn a mental map of Honolulu's underbelly and had a good idea where he could make some discreet inquiries.

Then he spotted Partridge.

The tall Englishman, dressed impeccably in a suit, as usual, was across the street. Kuryakin looked down, hoping he hadn't been spotted. But Partridge was turning to his left into a restaurant that had a large sign saying, "Chop Suey."

The street was busy with late afternoon traffic but Kuryakin jay-walked anyway. He went to an alley to the side of the restaurant and took out the pen communicator. He quickly made the adjustments and rigged it to send directly to Napoleon Solo's communicator. Normally, Kuryakin would first call through an U.N.C.L.E. regional office. But there was none in Hawaii.

"Solo here," Napoleon's voice said through the receiver.

"Napoleon, your subject is in Chinatown. He has just entered a Chinese restaurant. A bit below Mr. Partridge's normal culinary standards. I'm going to follow." Kuryakin gave Solo the address.

"All right, then," Solo said. "But be careful. I'll be over as soon as I can. Solo out."

Kuryakin entered and spotted an empty booth near the front entrance. He quickly sat down in the booth to get his bearings. An Asian waitress approached him.

"Just one this evening?"

"Actually, I'm looking for a friend, a tall gentleman."

The waitress looked around. It wasn't very busy yet. "A tall gentleman sat down just a minute ago in the rear booth. If you'd like, I..."

"No thanks, I'll greet him on my own. I'll just order coffee and take it back there."

The waitress's nose wrinkled as if she were puzzled. She complied, bringing him a cup of coffee. Kuryakin then walked back, keeping his head down at another booth, two booths away from where Partridge should be. It was quiet in the restaurant and Kuryakin could hear Partridge's voice.

"I must say, it has gone very much as you predicted it would," Partridge said.

"Of course," said another voice. Kuryakin squinted. The diction was perfect but Kuryakin concluded the voice belonged to an Asian man, probably Chinese. "My information is the authorities are quite excited about the resurfacing of the mysterious G. Emory Partridge."

"The authorities wouldn't include the U-N-C-L-E, would they?" Partridge asked the mystery man.

"U-N? Oh, U.N.C.L.E. There were indications that a couple of agents were en route. But my information doesn't go beyond that."

"I was rather hoping I could extract a bit of revenge if it were the right two agents," Partridge said. "These two particular chaps have cost me dearly. I had a rather large transaction with an independent group a few years ago. They ruined it. I had to go into hiding, supporting myself with various minor criminal undertakings."

"I can assure you, you will be very well paid, Mr. Partridge," said the other voice.

"Of course, Wo Fat." Partridge said. "When is tomorrow's auction?"

"Precisely at three. The yacht will leave the dock at two," Wo Fat said.

"Then I shall make myself known at one. I'm sure it will be easy enough to pick up a police escort. From what you've told me, the police have quite a contingent at the airport."

Kuryakin swallowed quietly. Napoleon was right. Partridge is not only working for someone else -- this Wo Fat -- but is nothing more than a well-known decoy. Kuryakin slid the pen communicator out of his pocket and set it up to transmit. "Napoleon," he whispered. "Acknowledge, but quietly."

There was a pause. "Solo here," he said in as low a voice as he could manage.

"Your theory is correct about Partridge. He is working for someone named Wo Fat. Ask the home office for all information. Also, the auction is tomorrow, aboard a yacht. It leaves at two o'clock and they will have the auction at three, somewhere out at sea. Kuryakin out."

Illya sipped his coffee, left a five-dollar bill, got up and walked to the door. He hoped with his back to Partridge he could get out of the restaurant unnoticed. He got to the door and took a sharp left. He decided to walk to the corner where he could radio Solo again. After a couple of steps, he felt a tap on the shoulder.

As he turned around, Kuryakin felt the blow to the side of the neck. It was a tall Chinese man with a crew cut dressed in a black suit. He caught Kuryakin as he fell. Almost at the same moment, a BMW sedan pulled up to the curb. The Chinese man stuffed Kuryakin into the back seat.

Act IV

"Aloha Means....The End?"

Solo's car pulled up at the restaurant. He looked around the exterior but saw no sign of Kuryakin. Solo walked inside. It was now almost six.

"Help you, sir?" an Asian waitress said to Solo

"I'm looking for a friend a mine, a blonde fellow."

"Sorry, he's gone. Just had coffee. Tipped well, though," she said.

Solo frowned. "That's Illya, all right. So he left, you say?"

"Yes, little while ago."

Solo went back outside and looked around. It was still bright outside. He looked a bit further up the street. There, a half block away was the same Ford Taurus that had tailed him from the airport. Apparently a man from Five-O had gotten back on the trail. No big surprise. Solo had been fairly conspicuous in announcing his presence the past two hours among the main tourist hotels.

Solo rubbed his chin. Presumably, something had happened to Illya. If that were the case, Kuryakin would have been relieved of the communicator. Even if he still had the communicator, calling him now would do no good. A call from Solo would alert Kuryakin's captors to the device.

He looked up again at the Taurus. The big Hawaiian officer was inside.

"It may be time to eat a little crow," Solo said to himself.

Solo walked up the street to the Taurus, waving the last few steps. Kono Kalakaua braced, expecting a trick.

Solo took the handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and waved it as a flag of truce. "Can you get me in touch with your boss? I think he's going to want to hear this," Solo said.

Kono frowned. "Stay outside for a minute," he said to Solo. He then took the police radio receiver. "Central, patch me through to McGarrett. Over."

A moment's pause. "McGarrett here. Over."

"This is Kono. I re-established contact with one of the U.N.C.L.E. men. He had been driving around the tourist hotels. He's waving his handkerchief and says he needs to talk to you. Says he has information you're going to want to hear. Over."

"OK, put him on, but be on guard. Over."

"Don't worry. Over."

Kono gestured for Solo to go around to the passenger car door. "No tricks this time," Kono said.

"No tricks," Solo responded.

Solo opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. Kono spoke again into the receiver. "It's the American, Solo. I'm about to put him on."

Kono handed the receiver to Solo. "I assume you know how to work one of these," he said.

"Yes, thank you," Solo said as he took the receiver. "I understand you're acquainted with one Wo Fat. Is this correct? Over."

This time there was a long pause. Solo glanced into Kono's face. The big Hawaiian certainly recognized the name. Kono's face had tightened with the mention of Wo Fat.

"We've met. Let's continue this discussion elsewhere. Come to my office immediately. Over."

"We'll be there directly. Out," Solo said.

Fifteen minutes later, Solo's and Kono's cars pulled into the Iolani Palace, Solo coming in first with Kono behind him. They walked up the stairs to the Five-O offices.

Kono ushered Solo straight to McGarrett's office. Inside, both McGarrett and Dan Williams were in their shirt sleeves, with no ties. McGarrett sat the desk while Williams stood nearby.

"This had better be good," McGarrett said.

Solo was right to the point. "Our man Partridge is a decoy. He's working for Wo Fat, apparently to draw attention away from him. Presumably, Partridge's arrival in the islands was the result of a disinformation effort. People would watch him and not be aware this Wo Fat was here."

"Just how do you know all this?" McGarrett said sharply.

"My associate, Mr. Kuryakin, came across Partridge and followed him into a restaurant in Chinatown. He managed to get that information to me. He mentioned something else: the auction is tomorrow on a yacht which will be at sea."

"What do you know about Wo Fat?" McGarrett said.

"Just sketchy details. I contacted my home office. A person on duty gave me the highlights. Let's see. Former operative for the Peoples Republic of China. Apparently an old Maoist, violently disagreed with his nation's policies. Went independent, even attempted a coup sometime back. Those were the basics. Also, he had attempted several operations in Hawaii, mostly unsuccessfully."

"Where's Kuryakin?" Williams said.

"Either captured or killed, most likely," Solo said. "He's made no attempt to contact me since getting the information about Wo Fat. He failed to show when I got to the restaurant."

McGarrett rose from his desk and started snapping his fingers, a nervous habit when he was trying to think. "Nothing specific, like a yacht name?" he said.

"Just that the yacht left at two tomorrow and the auction would occur an hour later."

Williams turned to McGarrett. "Steve, if Wo Fat gets his hands on that bacteria..."

"He uses it to take over China -- and blames the United States in the process," McGarrett said. "And if Wo Fat's in the game, it doesn't matter who else is bidding. He'll tip the scales his way." McGarrett paused. "Mr. Solo, I don't trust you very far. But I'd rather have you where I can keep an eye on you. I'd like you to come with me. We're going to pay a visit on somebody. Danno, you come along, too. Kono, you keep an eye on things here."

McGarrett and Williams went over to a coat rack, where their suit coats and ties were. They started to put the coats on and McGarrett motioned for Solo to follow. The U.N.C.L.E. agent had no real choice at this point.

The three men left the office and down the steps to the main exit. As they approached the exterior steps, McGarrett turned to Williams. "Danno, wasn't Toptegan staying at the Royal Hawaiian?"

"That's right," Williams said.

"All right, Mr. Solo, you get in the passenger seat. Danno, you watch him from the back," McGarrett said as they approached the Five-O leader's car.

"I haven't seen one of these in a long time," Solo said as he got into the passenger seat.

The Mercury's tires squealed as McGarrett pulled out of the parking lot. Less than a half hour later, they pulled into the parking lot of the Royal Hawaiian. As they pulled into a space, McGarrett said, "If I know Mischa, he's probably enjoying a full meal about now. Stay close, Mr. Solo. No games this time."

Solo frowned but didn't comment.

A few minutes later, the three men were inside the Royal Hawaii's restaurant. Upon entering, McGarrett looked toward the back and saw Mischa eating some kind of fruit cocktail. A waitress came up and McGarrett explained his group was meeting someone already seated.

Kuryakin's head hurt as he woke up. How many times had this happened over his career? He opened his eyes but his vision was a bit blurry. As his eyes came into focus, he saw Partridge sitting across from him holding a gun and another man who was standing. Heavy set, perhaps five-foot-nine or ten inches tall. He was dressed in a basic blue business suit. His head was shaven and he had a neat mustache. Apparently, his guess of Chinese was correct, Kuryakin thought, remembering the mystery voice.

"Good evening, Mr. Kuryakin," the Chinese man said. "The U-N-C-L-E is more efficient that I thought. My name is Wo Fat. But I suspect you knew that already."

Kuryakin began to mentally take stock of his situation. He was tied up, of course, and up against a wall. Or was it a hull? He could feel a slight motion. And he appeared to be in a small bedroom of some sort. Of course! He was on a boat.

"I only know of you by reputation," Kuryakin answered. "Our dossiers go beyond our direct adversaries. I am sure, however, it is not complete."

"Ah, but Mr. Partridge here has given me a rather detailed account of your adventures. Quite impressive. It's too bad you chose to involve yourself in my affairs."

"The choice was not really mine, you know," Kuryakin said.

"I must apologize for the accommodations, but after hearing from Mr. Partridge I decided I had to make you secure, so to speak."

"I think we should perhaps consider killing the gentleman," Partridge interjected.

"Patience, my dear Emory," Wo Fat replied. "You will have your opportunity. For now, he provides potential bargaining power in the event of an emergency. And I would certainly like to know what he may have told his colleague. I assume Mr. Solo is here, is he not?"

"I don't recall," Kuryakin said.

"Tut, tut, always being difficult," Wo Fat said. "We are not set up here for a thorough interrogation. But I know you did not have that much of an opportunity to get a message out. However, you might have gotten some information to Mr. Solo. What was it?"

Kuryakin grimaced. He was in for a long night.

Mischa looked up as the three men approached. He instantly recognized McGarrett and assumed the blonde man was his deputy, Dan Williams. The other man seemed familiar somehow as well, even though Mischa knew he had never met him in person.

"Forgive me for being rude, Colonel, but we need to talk to you and now is as good a time as any. May we?" McGarrett said, gesturing toward the table.

"Of course," Mischa said in his heavy Russian accent. "Old comrades should always enjoy a meal together."

Mischa had been seated at a table for four even though he was by himself. Solo, McGarrett and Williams sat down, McGarrett across from Mischa and Williams next to the Russian.

"Colonel, this is Mr. Solo from the U-N-C-L-E," McGarrett said, pointing to Solo.

"Yes, I seem to recall you mentioning something about the gentleman. Mr. Solo, are you here by yourself or is your colleague, Mr. Kuryakin, nearby?

"Mr. Kuryakin is off in parts unknown at the moment," Solo said.

"That's too bad," Mischa said. Turning his head toward McGarrett, he added: "What does this have to do with me, Stephen?"

"Mr. Kuryakin picked up some information this afternoon," McGarrett said. "The auction for the Q strain may not be what you think it is, Mischa."

"And how is that?"

Solo answered. "It appears that one of the bidders isn't a bidder. One Mr. G. Emory Partridge, whom everyone assumed to be involved, is really a decoy. He's in the employ of one Mr. Wo Fat."

Mischa's face grimaced for a moment, then he resumed smiling as quickly as he could. "That's impossible. Wo Fat is nowhere near Hawaii."

"Undoubtedly a smokescreen," McGarrett said. "With Wo Fat involved, there's no auction. He'll take the Q strain and whatever money he can. Mr. Kuryakin had another piece of information."

Solo began talking as if on cue. "It seems the auction is to take place at sea, on a yacht. Around three tomorrow afternoon. Anyone attending would be rather, uh, isolated if something should go wrong."

McGarrett resumed. "My guess is Rollo Ingstein thinks he's running the show tomorrow. But I wouldn't be surprised if Wo Fat had manipulated him into selecting a specific boat. Ingstein might think it's all his idea. But Wo Fat is the one pulling the strings. Face it, Mischa, you haven't a chance of securing that bacteria. You'll only be adding to Wo Fat's haul. By this time tomorrow, you'll be dead."

"Why should I believe you?" Mischa said.

"Don't, then," McGarrett said. "But can you take a chance on a China ruled by Wo Fat? And with the Q strain under his control?"

"Suddenly, I am not so hungry," Mischa said. "What is it you want?"

"The boat. The specific harbor," McGarrett said.

The beating wasn't the worst Kuryakin had endured. The tall Chinese man Wo Fat had brought in was fairly efficient and obviously knew how to do his job. Kuryakin concluded there were no broken bones but some ugly bruises that would last a few days -- if he lived that long.

"That will be enough, Chow Lee," Wo Fat said. With that, the tall Chinese walked out of the compartment.

Kuryakin let out a groan. Wo Fat continued. "In the end, I suppose it matters little. If I had the proper supplies I could get the truth out of you with drugs. But for this affair, I had to travel light."

"Wo Fat, could you indulge me just a little?" Kuryakin said.

"Of course. Never let it be said I was not a proper host."

"I was under the naive impression that Rollo Ingstein, the researcher who stole the Q strain, was behind all this."

"Oh he is, up to a point. It was his idea to develop the new version of the bacteria. But he is an amateur. He began making inquiries within the international underworld for men he could employ and so on. He retained the services of a certain gentleman here in Honolulu to set up the meeting place and so forth. What he does not know is this same man also performs the occasional favors for myself. Through this individual, I was able to suggest this yacht at this time. My man also assisted in getting out the word to potential bidders. It had to look to Mr. Ingstein as if a true auction was going to occur. So we will have three individuals here tomorrow who each -- mistakenly -- believes he or she has a chance to win the Q strain. They will be eliminated but their funds will be useful."

"I suppose Ingstein will be eliminated, also." Kuryakin said.

"Not right away," Wo Fat replied. "He may prove useful, even after he learns the truth."

"May I ask who the unlucky bidders are?"

"So inquisitive, Mr. Kuryakin. You know the information will do you no good."

"Indulge me anyway."

"One of them is one of your countrymen, one Colonel Toptegan of the KGB, or whatever that agency calls itself these days. He and I have had dealings before. The second is a representative of a particularly sophisticated La Cosa Nostra -- what do the Americans call them? ah yes -- family. Finally, the third person is a member of a group you are familiar with. Thrush, I believe is the name. The group's representative is a woman, Contessa Valerie D'Emparssario."

Kuryakin's face wrinkled. That wasn't a name with which he was familiar. "Sorry, I'm not aware of that individual."

"Oh, really?" Wo Fat said. "She may bear special attention, then."

Kuryakin quickly changed the subject. "And good old Mr. Partridge is your decoy."

"Yes, and he has been splendid. He has been under observation by a number of agencies. I thought we had successfully smuggled him out of his hotel today but your presence obviously proved otherwise."

Kuryakin was tempted to smile. He chose not to tell Wo Fat that it was a chance encounter.

Wo Fat turned to a table behind him. He picked up a syringe loaded with a clear fluid. "As for you, you are insurance in case something goes wrong tomorrow. But I doubt it will. You won't be able to count on living much past the transaction, I'm afraid."

Wo Fat reached down and found a vein in Kuryakin's arm. He jabbed the Russian with the needle and pressed the plunger. Kuryakin felt himself going to sleep almost immediately.

The telephone rang at McGarrett's desk in his Iolani Palace office. "I think we're ready now, sir," a man's voice said at the other end.

"Thank you. I'm putting it on the speaker now," McGarrett said.

McGarrett punched a button on his telephone set.

"Jonathan Kaye here," the U.S. official said from his office in Washington, where he had returned almost immediately after arriving in Hawaii.

"Alexander Waverly here." Napoleon Solo recognized the voice of his superior at U.N.C.L.E.

"Gentlemen, the United States government and the U-N-C-L-E have decided to enter an admittedly uneasy alliance and cooperate on this matter," Kaye began. "Normally, on matters of national security, we're uncomfortable with a multi-national effort. Still, with the new information Mr. Solo has provided, we've decided to join forces. It is absolutely imperative the Q strain not fall into the hands of Wo Fat. If that means the bacteria is destroyed on the spot, so be it. Under no circumstances can we let that happen. Our analysis is the bacteria would be replicated and used almost immediately, perhaps in another coup attempt by Wo Fat. Mr. Waverly..."

"Thank you," Waverly said. "I'm assigning Mr. Solo to work with Mr. McGarrett. If you two gentlemen can handle it, we'll avoid specific responsibilities at this point. Our primary interest is making sure that bacteria doesn't fall into Wo Fat's hands. Or, for that matter, any of the other bidders. I understand one of them is cooperating."

"That is correct, sir," Solo said to Waverly. "We can count on Colonel Toptegan's assistance."

"The U.S. Coast Guard and Navy will also work with Mr. McGarrett," Kaye said. "They will patrol as close as they can but the ocean is a big place."

"Gentlemen, because of the time zone differences, it is essentially up to you to devise the operational plan," Waverly said. "We'll leave you to it. Good luck."

The line went dead. McGarrett stood up, again in shirt sleeves and without a tie. "Suggestions, Mr. Solo?"

"How well would Wo Fat's men know Colonel Toptegan?"

"Wo Fat and Mischa have had face-to-face meetings in the past," McGarrett said.

"Not Wo Fat," Solo said. "His operatives."

"Hard to say. Since going independent, he tends to hire underlings on a job-by-job basis, although he has one assassin who has worked with him for years. What are you getting at?"

"Well, it would take a fake mustache and padded clothing, but if I could pass for the Colonel long enough to get on the boat, we might have a chance. Wo Fat isn't going to show himself right away. I don't have to fool anyone long. Just long enough to get on the boat."

"What then?"

"If I can get to the same room with the sample, I can incinerate it."

"That's a huge risk. Enormous."

"If you thought Mr. Williams, Mr. Kelly or Mr. Kalakaua were on that boat, would you consider a similar plan? Almost certainly Wo Fat's men would recognize any member of Hawaii Five-O. But they might not recognize me -- at least not right away."

McGarrett sighed. For once, he didn't argue.

At one fifty-five, a cab stopped outside the Freeman Marina. A man in a baggy white suit, large white hat, white shoes and a black tie emerged. The sunglasses he wore obscured his eyes.

"How much?" the man said in a Russian accent.

"Twelve-fifty," said the cabbie, a man of Asian descent.

"Keep it," the man said, handing back a twenty-dollar bill.

As the cab drove off, Napoleon Solo walked toward the marina. He was carrying a brown attaché case. Inside were counterfeit duplicates of the bearer bonds the bidders had been instructed to carry. The counterfeits wouldn't stand up under a lot of scrutiny but Solo reasoned the affair would be decided long before that point.

Solo kept walking until he found what he was looking for: an eighty-five foot yacht, the Stevens. A Chinese man dressed in casual pants and a brightly colored Hawaii shirt, stood at the gangplank. But the man hardly looked casual.

"I am expected," Solo said in his bogus Russian accent.

Solo came aboard, acting as if the boat were his. Another Asian man was on deck. "You are Toptegan?"

"Of course."

"If you don't mind sir, I have to inspect you. Part of the rules, so to speak."

Solo opened the white jacket coat, showing he had no firearm. He pulled up both pant legs. "As you can see, no weapons."

"And the pockets?" the Asian man asked.

Solo emptied the pants pockets and pulled out the pockets themselves for effect. "A wallet, a pen and keys. Satisfied?"

"Go on below."

Solo found the way below and walked past a couple of compartments until he reached the forward cabin. Drapes covered a large window. In the cabin, three people were waiting for him. He recognized Rollo Ingstein from his dossier photos but the others were new faces.

"Colonel Toptegan, glad you could make it. You were pressing the deadline," Ingstein said. The microbiologist picked up a phone attached to a wall. "We can shove off now," Ingstein said.

Solo heard the yacht's engine roar to life and commotion up on deck. "And this, I take it, is the competition?" Solo said.

"Quite," Ingstein replied. He pointed toward a tall, thin brunette woman in a white sleeveless dress. "This is the Countess Valerie D'Emparssario, she represents an independent organization known as Thrush."

Solo's mind raced. The name meant nothing. It was in no Thrush dossier he had ever seen. Undoubtedly an alias. The bigger worry: would she identify Solo as an U.N.C.L.E. agent? Already her green eyes seemed to be examining Solo. But she was playing it cool. "Charmed, I'm sure," she said in what sounded like a French accent. There was no guarantee that was genuine, either.

"This gentleman is Anthony Montori, from a firm in the United States," Ingstein said.

Obviously a Mafioso, Solo thought. He had a full head of jet black hair. Though it was only early afternoon, he already looked like he could use a shave. Montori stood silently.

"We'll cruise a little bit and then conduct our business," the skinny Ingstein said.

Solo looked around for a seat and sat down. The others did the same. Solo could feel the gaze of the two bidders. He then glanced at his watch. It wasn't his normal model. Instead, it was gold-plated. Also on the left wrist was a gold chain with several gold-looking objects in the shape of quarter moons.

The ride seemed like an eternity. The yacht moved slowly at first as it cleared the harbor, then picked up speed. Solo figured this was going to be the longest boat ride of his life.

A few miles away, two helicopters sat in a field overlooking the marina. Steve McGarrett held a machine gun and leaned up against one helicopter. With his right hand, he held a walkie-talkie. "Subject craft now leaving the harbor. Over," a plainclothes policeman said over the walkie talkie.

"Roger, unit three. What is their direction? Over," McGarrett said.

"Southwest, getting up toward twenty knots. I will be losing sight of her in the next few minutes. Over."

"Good job, Mike. We'll take it from here. Over and out," McGarrett replied.

Dan Williams walked over from the other helicopter. "Coast Guard knows what to look for. They've spread out several craft approximately where a yacht that size could reach in an hour," Williams said.

"Let's give it ten minutes and then get in the air," McGarrett said. "But let's not crowd him."

It had been fifty-nine minutes since the yacht left the harbor. Solo was feeling butterflies in his stomach. The trip so far had been almost completely silent. It was eerie. Solo bit his lip.

Ingstein brought out a case from behind his chair and stood up. "I'd say we can begin now," he said. "What I am about to show you is one of the deadliest substances in the world." He opened the case and withdrew a metal tube. He unscrewed one end and withdrew a small vial capped with a cork. "I mixed this up shortly before we left. This, lady and gentlemen, is the Q strain. This new improved variety lasts twelve hours in sunlight. If I were to break this vial in a populated area, everyone would die well before the twelve hours ended."

"How do we know this is genuine?" Montori said in a sharp tone.

"The winner today will be supplied with various supporting documents I have on board," Ingstein said. "I am quite familiar with the reputation of all your organizations. It would be extremely foolhardy of me to attempt to fool you. I want to enjoy my money."

"Before we continue, there's something you should know," Countess D'Emparssario interjected. "This man," she said, pointing At Solo, "is not with the KGB. He is an U.N.C.L.E. agent."

"What are you talking about?" Solo said, maintaining his Russian accent.

"I've met this man before. He has either gained weight or his suit is padded," she said.

"I've never seen you before in my life!" Solo protested.

"There you're wrong, Mr. Solo. I realize you don't remember me. On our last encounter, I was known as Madame Alceste Streigau. But I am also known as Dr. Egret," she said.

Solo's mind raced. Dr. Egret, a female Thrush operative known for her ability to disguise herself, changing radically with each appearance. Solo had met Dr. Egret only once in person, but Dr. Egret had also been the brains behind an attempt to destroy U.N.C.L.E. headquarters during a conference of world leaders there.

Solo's eyes focused on Ingstein. He still hadn't replaced the vial in the metal container. It was now or never. Solo grabbed one of the quarter moons off the gold chain on his wrist and threw it at Ingstein's feet. A burst of flame shot up from the spot. There was a cry of agony as Ingstein was engulfed in fire.

The Mafia chieftain glanced at the burning biochemist . That was all the opening Solo needed. He delivered a karate blow at Montori's neck. The man was out instantly and fell to the deck. But before Solo could move, Dr. Egret was all over him, clawing at him. He used a quick judo maneuver, throwing her to the floor. He clipped her temple with his right hand, knocking her unconscious.

"Sorry, Countess. Getting less chivalrous in my old age."

Ingstein's screaming had stopped. His body was badly charred. But now there was a new threat. Half of the front cabin was now on fire.

A few minutes earlier, Wo Fat and Chow Lee were in a rear cabin watching over the sleeping Kuryakin.

Wo Fat glanced at his watch. "Ingstein should be starting now. Let's give him fifteen minutes. I'll signal the men on deck. You and they will go in and shoot everyone except Ingstein. We must act quickly. He is to show them the vial and then replace it a metal container. We must wait until that is done before we attack."

Wo Fat sat back in a chair while Chow Lee stood watching Kuryakin. Suddenly, there was a roar from the front of the yacht.

Dan Williams was keeping watch on the Stevens from one of the helicopters, observing the yacht with a pair of binoculars. But it was hard to keep a good view because of the helicopter's movements.

Then he saw what appeared to be a flash. He blinked his eyes a couple of times and took another look. There was a plume of smoke.

Williams turned to the pilot and gestured to get closer. "Copter two to copter one," Williams said into the radio. "The Stevens is on fire. Repeat, the Stevens is on fire. Over."

"Read you and confirm, copter two. Let's move in," McGarrett replied over the radio.

Kuryakin had been awake for several minutes before the explosion but didn't want to tip off his captors. They had laid him down on a bunk. Despite being bound, he figured he had to make a move now. Wo Fat was the closest man, so Kuryakin took his two bound hands and struck the Chinese man in the face. It was difficult to use much leverage but Wo Fat had been caught by surprise. Kuryakin got in one more quick blow; Wo Fat seemed dazed.

Chow Lee, the tall Chinese, now was reaching for his gun. Kuryakin somehow lurched himself head first into the tall man's midsection. He could feel Chow Lee lose his breath but the man was still conscious. Chow Lee was already starting to strike Kuryakin again.

Just then, Kuryakin saw a sight that was both slightly ridiculous and glorious. Napoleon Solo, in a big white suit and hat, crashed into the cabin, leaned over and struck a karate blow to Chow Lee's neck. Just for good measure, he delivered another, although the man was already unconscious.

Solo helped up Kuryakin and quickly undid his bonds. "I think you should consider going back to your old tailor," Kuryakin said weakly. The beating he'd received had taken more out of him than he had guessed.

Solo peeled off the fake mustache. "It's what I get for trying a discount store. I was hoping I'd find you in one of these cabins."

From outside, they could hear helicopters buzzing by. "Put down your weapons!" It was McGarrett's voice.

Solo got Kuryakin's attention. He pointed to himself, then pointed up. They stepped over the unconscious Wo Fat and Chow Lee and exited the cabin. They glanced back, the cabin was starting to catch fire. They had no time to waste.

There was no one in the stairs to the upper deck. Solo poked his head. There was no one at the helm. The crew of Asians were all deck, engaged in a fire fight with two helicopters. The men on deck as well as the men in the helicopters were firing machine guns at one another. Solo took off two more quarter moons from the gold chain and hurled them up into the air and onto the deck where they exploded into flame. At least one of the Asians was now on fire as well. Solo quickly tore off the remaining quarter moons and threw them too.

"Let's go!" Kuryakin yelled from down below. "Or we'll be well done."

"Any sign of survivors?" Solo asked as Kuryakin got up.

"Can't tell. I take it you incinerated the Q strain," Kuryakin said.

"If I didn't, that is one tough bacteria."

The two men dived over the side and began to swim. There were scattered gunshots now as one or two crew members insisted on carrying on with the fight. They swam for around another minute, then dived below the surface. They were perhaps three or four feet under the water when they felt the impact of the explosion.

The next day, Solo stretched out in his hospital bed. He was still a bit dizzy from the concussion but he had suffered no broken bones. In the bed next to his, Kuryakin was still napping. He had required more bandages primarily because of the beating he had received at the hands of Wo Fat's lackey.

There was a knock at the door. "It's Alexander Waverly," the voice said from the other side.

"Please enter, sir," Solo said.

Waverly registered surprise when he saw Kuryakin was still asleep. "Oh, I'm sorry.."

"It's all right, sir," Solo said. "Illya needs the rest more. I'm sure we can talk softly enough not to wake him."

Waverly sat down in a chair between the two beds. Despite the warmth of the Hawaiian climate, he was wearing another of his usual tweed suits. "And how are you getting along, Mr. Solo?"

"Still, a little dizzy. I have to admit I don't remember much beyond the explosion on the Stevens."

"Not that much to tell. The men from Hawaii Five-O were in helicopters that had rescue equipment. They helped fish you out. A specially equipped ship from your Coast Guard managed to prevent that flaming hull from going down."

"Did we destroy the Q strain, sir?"

"Absolutely," Waverly said. "Believe me, if you hadn't you wouldn't be here now. No, that incendiary device did the job."

"What about those on board? I have to admit those things were a little more powerful than I thought, sir."

"We found a few bodies of crewmen. Also, the Mafia man. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no sign of either that Wo Fat fellow or Dr. Egret. And, to add to our troubles, Emory Partridge managed to slip away. He had made his appearance in Honolulu with the intent of distracting the authorities. But when everyone heard about the explosions, surveillance got a little lax."

"Wonderful," Solo said discouragedly.

"Quite all right, Mr. Solo. You succeeded with the primary objective. We went through what was left of Ingstein's things. If there are any records of his work developing the new Q strain, they won't be easy to find."

"One more thing, sir. Just how did you encourage Jonathan Kaye to see things your way? I was under the impression he was insistent the U.S. people try to recover the Q strain."

"Oh, Mr. Kaye is not an unreasonable man, Mr. Solo," Waverly said. "I think I helped him to realize that it might not be the best public relations if it somehow Wo Fat seized the bacteria out from under the nose of the U.S. I think he came to see that it would be much easier to try to destroy the bacteria than try to retrieve it. After all, it was not an officially authorized project. There would be quite a bit of explaining to do."

Solo nodded and smiled. "Yes sir."

Waverly got up. "I must be off. I understand you both will only be here in the hospital another day. I suggest you stay in Honolulu another week afterwards. I'd say you've earned it."

"Thank you, sir."

Waverly turned around and left the room. Solo realized after all the years he had worked for Waverly, he never could predict his superior's mood.

An hour later, when Kuryakin was awake, the U.N.C.L.E. agents had two more visitors: Steve McGarrett and Kono Kalakaua from Hawaii Five-O.

"My superior tells me that your old adversary wasn't found," Solo said. "I'm sorry about that."

"Unfortunately, Wo Fat makes a habit of pulling off miracle escapes," McGarrett said. "Still, this has to rank as a substantial setback. I doubt he'll be back soon."

"Boss, the flowers," Kono said.

"Go ahead, Kono," McGarrett said.

Kono left the room. When he returned a moment later, he was holding a pot with flowers. He stood and extended the flowers as if he were giving them to Kuryakin.

"Uh, thank you," the Russian said.

Solo had spotted the one fake in the bunch but it was too late. The plastic flower in the midst of the real flowers squirted water in Kuryakin's face. Kono's large hands obscured a container and tube.

The normally stone-faced McGarrett grinned and Kono broke into a big smile. "Had to get you back for that watch trick," Kono said.

Kuryakin fumed. "Beaten, drowned and now humiliated," he said. "I have never been a big fan of the American sense of humor." He turned toward Solo. "And the watch was your idea, after all."

"I think I'll let you gentlemen resolve this dispute amongst yourselves," McGarrett said. "You did pretty good work out there. I have to admit I was a bit nervous. Come back, anytime, but preferably not on business." He shook Solo's hand immediately. Kuryakin hesitated but went ahead and shook anyway.

McGarrett and Kono left but McGarrett paused. "Aloha," he said and then closed the door.

Solo looked at Kuryakin. "You have to admit, he really did surprise you."

Kuryakin threw his pillow in Solo's face. "Next time, I'll get a private room."

THE END

Dedicated to the memory of Morton Stevens. WJK, Indianapolis, 2/7/97

The End.

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