Story originally appeared in "Affairs to Remember No. 1" from Criterion Press

Act I

"A Kiss is Not Forgotten"

 Napoleon Solo had known Illya Kuryakin for many years. But he had never quite seen him in this mood.

 Kuryakin was usually quiet and intense. Over the past few days, however, the Russian had bordered on the defensive. He seemed to be hiding something, or was at least afraid to discuss something with Solo.

 It had begun with a casual conversation at work one morning in New York City. "Do you have any plans for your leave?" Solo asked.

 "Er, well I'm still not sure," Kuryakin said.

To Solo, it was odd Illya would ever stammer over anything. Kuryakin functioned with precision. For almost any question, he delivered a simple, exact answer. "I thought you were going to Paris," Solo said. As the number one enforcement agent of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, Solo had minor administrative duties and he was generally aware of the movements of Section Two, or enforcement, personnel.

 "Yes. It's just, uh, I haven't laid out a detailed plan. Is there anything wrong with that?"

 "Of course not, Illya. I was curious, that's all. No need to make a federal case out of it."

 "Federal?" Kuryakin paused. His American friend had once more lapsed into slang once more.

 "It's not a major issue," Solo said. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

 Kuryakin realized he had overreacted. "No, no need to apologize. The workload has been piling up. I need a little time off."

 Over the next few days, Solo generally avoided the subject directly. Kuryakin was right -- the work load was picking up recently. U.N.C.L.E., a multi-national organization, was charged with an ambitious mission: helping to maintain peace and order in the world. The end of the Cold War might have eased some world tensions, but other problems emerged, especially involving terrorist organizations or criminal gangs. And always in the background was Thrush, the shadowy band of renegades ready to strike anywhere it was in their interest.

 Still, Solo thought Illya was a bit more withdrawn than normal. Solo also knew butting in wasn't the answer. If Illya wanted to talk about whatever was awaiting him in Paris, he'd talk. If not, then there was no point in worrying.

 It was now mid-week. Solo was in his small private office, catching up on his administrative work and reviewing reports on some new enforcement agents. On this day, he wore a dark blue suit. Over the years, Solo had avoided various clothing fads, including casual clothing days. At his desk, a small intercom buzzed. There was no voice but none was needed. Solo was being summoned by Alexander Waverly, the Number One of Section One, the top policy maker in U.N.C.L.E.

 Solo made the short walk to Waverly's office, entering through the automatic sliding door. Waverly, as usual, was sitting at the round conference table, puffing on his pipe. In recent years, U.N.C.L.E. had adopted no-smoking policies like many other offices. For Waverly, though, his office was his sanctuary. While attempts had been made to keep it well ventilated, most U.N.C.L.E. personnel had gotten used to the pipe's odor. Luckily, Waverly's blend, Isle of Dogs Number Twenty-Two, was fairly gentle.

 "Come in, Mr. Solo," Waverly said without looking up.

 Solo sat down at the round table opposite Waverly.

 "Thrush appears to be up to something in the Paris area. We're not quite sure what. However, a number of their personnel have been coming in and out of the city. We haven't been able to intercept any communications, however. The Paris office is quite capable, but I'd like you there to keep an eye on things. If something breaks, I'd like a senior man there."

 "Is there any event currently underway that would draw Thrush's attention?"

 "Nothing dramatic," Waverly replied. "There are no summits, public or otherwise, of major public officials. No special scientific conferences. That's what worries me. We know of none of the usual stimuli for Thrush. Yet, there is too much activity to be routine. I'll send you a report listing the known Thrush operatives who have been visiting the City of Lights."

 "Yes sir. I'll see if I can leave for Paris tomorrow."

 "You might consider taking Mr. Kuryakin along."

 "Actually, Mr. Kuryakin is going to Paris anyway. I'd prefer not to disturb him, however."

 "How's that?"

 "Illya is taking a two-week leave, sir. Actually, he's a bit overdue for a vacation. I know he's going to Paris tomorrow."

 "Oh, that's right. Must be the reunion."

 "Reunion? Reunion of what?"

 "Come, Mr. Solo. You recall Mr. Kuryakin studied at the Sorbonne in Paris."

 "Er, yes, among other places. It's sometimes hard keeping up with all of Mr. Kuryakin's higher education stops."

 "The Sorbonne is honoring a number of people who scored top marks over the years. Mr. Kuryakin was among them."

 Solo thought it odd that Illya hadn't mentioned any of this, and that the Russian had acted a tad defensively when asked about his vacation. Solo, though, mentioned none of this. "Well, if I need to call Mr. Kuryakin, I'm sure I can reach him."

 Solo left Waverly's office and returned to his own. U.N.C.L.E. agents filed reports about where they would be on vacation, including whatever flights they intended to take. Solo spent several minutes shuffling through reports before finding the information concerning the time of Illya's flight the next day. He then picked up the receiver to his telephone and called an outside line. It might take a bit of an effort to squeeze onto Kuryakin's flight, but Solo thought it might be amusing to tease his quiet colleague by suddenly appearing on the same plane.

 Illya Kuryakin was normally punctual but this day he arrived at John F. Kennedy Airport especially early. Kuryakin was at the gate a few minutes before five p.m., even though the flight wouldn't leave until two hours later. He sat in the row of chairs, with almost no one else around. He had on a pair of black, plastic-rimmed glasses, the lenses tinted green. He carried a thick book, and opened it up. Over the next hour, he tried to focus on the subject, quantum mechanics, but his mind wandered. He kept thinking about his days at the Sorbonne and who might be awaiting him.

 Kuryakin closed the book and started drumming his fingers on the cover. The Sorbonne had been so long ago. He had only spent two years there. It had been after his graduation from the University of Georgia in the Ukraine, and the first time he had set foot outside the Soviet Union. Later, Kuryakin had gone on to study quantum mechanics at Cambridge in the United Kingdom. But those days in Paris were special. Then again, she had made them so.

 "We'll begin boarding for TransGlobal Flight Fifty-Eight to Paris," the pleasant female voice said over the speaker.

 Kuryakin shook himself out of the daydream. More than ninety minutes had passed since he arrived at the gate. It was so unlike him to be nostalgic-- about a place or a woman. Then again, she was no ordinary woman.

 Kuryakin took the glasses off and returned them to the case in the breast pocket of his jacket. He had decided to dress comfortably for the long flight, in a navy blue sport jacket and slacks with a turtleneck sweater. Illya heard that his seat assignment was being called to board so he quickly got up. Kuryakin showed the boarding pass to the gate agent. Her blue eyes, which complemented her red hair, glanced quickly at the pass but looked a few seconds longer at Kuryakin's face. She smiled for a second before turning her attention, reluctantly, to the next passenger.

 Illya found his seat in business class, at the front of the main section of the cabin. He had an aisle seat, which was easier to exit when the plane came to a stop. It was also part of his training. If he needed to move fast, he couldn't do so from a window seat. One never knew when he or she might be called upon to use all that U.N.C.L.E. training and experience. Over the years, Kuryakin had, in fact, occasionally had to go into action while aboard a commercial aircraft.

 Other passengers were filing in, but Kuryakin closed his eyes. He felt himself starting to relax. Katarina had sent word she would meet his flight. He began to remember her long and curly raven hair. Growing up in the Soviet Union, Illya had been used to the pale complexion of a people used to long winters. Katarina's hair complemented her dark-complected face. Then, there was her smile, which had melted his reserve when he had first met her in the classroom. Physically, they were quite different. Kuryakin's blonde hair and light complexion contrasted to Katarina's dark looks. But she laughed easily and caused Illya to laugh as well.

 Kuryakin smiled. He had eight hours ahead of him and the other memories were even more detailed.

 Napoleon Solo tried to time his arrival so he could still make the plane but avoid seeing a lot of TransGlobal Flight Fifty-Eight's passengers. The gambit had worked. He hadn't run into Kuryakin at all. And, thanks to a little luck and a last-minute cancellation, he was able to grab a first-class seat. Now, Solo wouldn't have to walk by Kuryakin during the flight.

 As he settled into the first-class seat, comfortably wider than the seats in the main cabin, Solo began to ponder his own trip. While he intended to surprise Illya when they arrived -- and tease him about the Sorbonne reunion -- Solo also knew he had serious business awaiting him. An all-out Thrush operation was no fun. But Solo also found Waverly's lack of information a bit disconcerting. It was rare for the U.N.C.L.E. chief to have so little to offer in the way of background information. Unless Solo came up with some ideas, he would be in a totally reactive mode of operation. Solo preferred to go on the attack instead of waiting to respond to an enemy. Yet, Solo had conducted a check of recent news reports from Paris and Europe. Indeed, there didn't appear to be any kind of gathering or event that would be causing Thrush to go into action. Still, Solo was troubled -- and couldn't help but wonder if Waverly was holding something back. His long-time superior had, on more than one occasion, sent Solo into an operation blind, figuring an agent in the dark would throw off the opposition. Solo hoped that wasn't the case now but couldn't count on that possibility.

 "Would you like something before the flight?" It was a stewardess, looking at Solo.

 He looked at her blonde hair and fetching figure. He smiled slightly and she returned it. "Not right now," he said. "But I'm sure I'll need something before the flight gets too far along."

 Flight Fifty-Eight was three hours out of New York. The dinner service had been completed and passengers in the main cabin were starting to relax and a few had even begun to sleep for the evening. Kuryakin closed his eyes but he wasn't ready for sleep yet.

 The memories were coming back again.

He was back again at a library at the Sorbonne, studying with Katarina at a long table. Both had a small stack of books. Katarina closed hers, turned and spoke softly to Kuryakin.

 "How do you do it, Illya?" Katarina was saying as if it had just happened, instead of taking place years ago.

 The young Illya looked up. "I don't follow." This younger version of himself spoke English but with a much more pronounced accent.

 "You  go through this material like a machine. You are relentless," she said.

 "Entry into this school was very hard to obtain. So was the scholarship that is financing my studies. It is my responsibility to make the greatest use I can. Also, winters in Russia are quite long. You get used to reading and studying." He smiled.

 "Yes, but you are also in one of the great cities of the world. They call this the City of Lights, but the only light you see is the one you read by."

 The young Kuryakin closed his book. He already knew the essential materials and was only brushing up on a couple of points. "All right. What would you like to do?"

 "I think you know."

 "Yes, but we won't see many lights doing that, either."

 She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "You will never know until you try." He paused but she knew his resistance was breaking down.

 "I thought you had a roommate."

 "Somehow, she is busy and will be staying somewhere else tonight."

 "And you thought I was thorough."

 Kuryakin suddenly was back in the present. He was taken aback at how vivid the memories were. He hadn't thought this much about his time at the Sorbonne in years. Yet, each smell, each taste and each kiss was relived as if it happened yesterday.

 Illya shook his head slightly. Much had happened since then. How different would she be? They had exchanged e-mail messages over the past few weeks. He recalled the first she had sent, to his personal e-mail address. "Coming to the Sorbonne ceremony?" was the title of the message. He had called it up and saw it was from Katarina. Apparently, she had inquired with school officials about Kuryakin's present whereabouts. As an U.N.C.L.E. agent, he maintained a basic, everyday cover as the employee of a non-existent company. It had been a shock receiving e-mail in the first place. It arrived shortly after he had been notified about the reunion, intended to honor high-ranking students of the past half-century. Kuryakin hadn't been planning to attend when he had checked his personal e-mail. At first, he was almost afraid to respond. But he couldn't help himself. He moved the cursor to the "reply" icon and clicked on it.

 "Dearest Katarina," Kuryakin had typed in the responding e-mail. "Am unsure if schedule permits visit to Sorbonne. Will you be there?" He then clicked to send the message on. The next day, Kuryakin had received another e-mail from Katarina. It read: "My primary interest in Sorbonne is whether a certain classmate will be there. Please consider it. Love, Katarina."

 Kuryakin had paused at the computer terminal. He could not help himself as he again clicked on the "reply" icon. "Am overdue for a vacation," he typed. "Visit to Paris may be best remedy."

Since then, they had exchanged perhaps a half-dozen messages, with Katarina insistent upon being at DeGaulle Airport to greet Illya. In the end, as that day many years ago, his resistance melted.

 Feeling tired, Kuryakin set the seat back. Sleep came easily.

 Flight Fifty-Eight arrived around mid-morning in Paris. As usual, Kuryakin had traveled light. He had little trouble clearing Customs, though it was tedious. He had one small carry on bag which contained toiletries, including shaving cream and a razor. He had shaved and brushed his teeth about an hour before arriving in Paris, and was feeling about as refreshed as one could after flying for several hours.

 The luggage pickup area was quite busy, but Kuryakin had no trouble finding his one suitcase. He began to look around when the woman's voice cut through the din.

 "Illya!"

 Kuryakin turned his head to the right. There was Katarina in a tan skirt cut down to the knee with a matching jacket. Illya guessed she weighed at most only a few pounds more than she did in school. The hair was still raven, and her smile just as devastating.

 Illya broke out into a smile, something he didn't often do. He walked quickly up to her. They stood a foot apart for a moment.

 "It's been a long time, Katarina. You look quite well," Kuryakin said, extending his hand for a handshake.

 Katarina placed both of her hands on the side of Kuryakin's face, pulling him toward her. She kissed him hard, then let go.

 Kuryakin was actually breathless. "And you look well, too," she said.

Then, Kuryakin focused on something behind her. It couldn't be. But it was. Napoleon Solo in a gray suit was standing a few feet away as if he were admiring the scene. Kuryakin's mouth opened as if he were about to say something but no words came. Solo began to walk by the couple. But he paused for a moment, smiled, then raised his right hand. He gave Illya a thumbs up sign. Then, Solo, who was carrying a soft suitcase and a small carry on bag, resumed walking, quickening his pace with each step.

 Katarina had turned around and caught Solo's walk -- though she missed the thumbs up gesture-- as well as Kuryakin's look of utter surprise.

 "Friend of yours?" Katarina asked.

 "Not at the moment," Kuryakin said.
 
 

Act II

"Uncle Alex is Being Manipulative"

It took an hour before Solo checked into his hotel room. He was a bit tired, but decided he should get over to the U.N.C.L.E. Paris office and check in. Solo took a cab but got out about two blocks away. He walked the rest of the way and was satisfied he wasn't being followed. He then found the tailor shop. Upon entering, he saw it had changed little from his last visit. The shop, in fact, looked nearly identical to the interior of Del Floria's, the tailor shop that was the enforcement agents' entrance for the main U.N.C.L.E. office back in New York.

 Solo uttered a catchphrase in French and the man operating the clothing press nodded his head. Solo went into the changing booth, pulled on the hook in the wall and the hidden door panel opened.

 Just as in the main New York U.N.C.L.E. office, Solo was now in the main reception area. A brunette woman sat at a desk. On the desk top there was a display of the familiar U.N.C.L.E. badges necessary to get around the headquarters without setting off alarm systems. The receptionist reached for a yellow badge with the number eleven on it.

 "Welcome, Monsieur Solo. Did you have a pleasant flight?" she asked as Solo bowed down so she could pin the badge to the lapel of the gray suit.

 "Routine, though my arrival was a bit extraordinary," he said.

 "Monsieur Raymond is expecting you."

 Solo walked past the reception desk and an automatic sliding door opened. U.N.C.L.E. Paris had a similar layout to other U.N.C.L.E. offices and Solo knew where to find the head of the station.

 The door to Philipe Raymond's office opened. It was like a smaller version of Waverly's office in New York, with a similar round conference table. In fact, U.N.C.L.E. Paris maintained a separate office, a twin to Waverly's in New York. But aside from some computer equipment, it was only used when a member of the policy-making Section One was in town. Most often, that was Waverly, but some of the other Section One leaders came by from time to time.

 Raymond stood about six feet tall. His black hair had started to thin and was already graying at the temples. He projected a sense of energy and warmth. "Napoleon, glad you could make it," Raymond said in English, with a noticeable accent.  "Monsieur Waverly notified us you would be involved. Is Illya going to be with you?"

 Solo smiled momentarily, thinking of the scene at the airport. "Officially, Illya's on leave. But, as it turns out, he is also in Paris on some personal business. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't drop by. For the moment, though, it will be just me."

 The two men sat down at the conference table. A secretary brought in coffee and Raymond and Solo exchanged brief pleasantries. "I checked into a hotel nearby and came directly here. I figured I should get up to speed with you before I do anything else."

"Actually, I could use the help. At least a dozen Thrush operatives have entered Paris within the last ten days," Raymond said. "They're good men and we haven't always been able to keep them under surveillance."

 "What about potential targets? Mr. Waverly indicated there were no obvious ones."

 "Perhaps, although there's an affair at the Sorbonne -- the Universities of Paris -- that might figure into the situation," Raymond replied.

 "What's that?" Solo said.

 "The Sorbonne is honoring outstanding students of the past fifty years. There's perhaps a roster of two hundred dignitaries that have been invited. These were people who scored among the highest marks ever recorded. I've gone over the list and it's quite impressive. At least two French ministers, a British diplomat, several high-ranking executives from major European companies."

 Solo was puzzled but tried not to let on. "Sounds like a high-powered school reunion. Tell me, do you have the complete roster?"

 Raymond picked up a clip board that was on the round table and handed it to Solo. "To be honest Napoleon, I've not ready all the names. It didn't take long to understand there were a lot of V.I.P.s."

 The list was alphabetical. Solo went straight to the K's. Illya's name jumped out at him.

 Solo handed the clipboard back to Raymond, pointing to the Kuryakin entry. "You can add U.N.C.L.E. agents to the roster."

 "My word. So you are right. This is why Illya is coming to Paris?"

 "Partially. A personal reason is involved, as well. Could you have your people check this list for someone else? I only caught her first name -- Katarina. I'm guessing she's of Mediterranean descent. She was a little dark complected for central Europe, perhaps she is from a Mediterranean country, or maybe--" Solo paused.

 "Or what, Napoleon?"

 "Well, this might be a little crazy, but maybe of gypsy descent?"

 "Gypsy?"

 "Just check it out. Just a little hunch of mine."

About ninety minutes later, Kuryakin entered the Paris tailor shop. The attendant recognized him but acted quite surprised the enforcement agent was coming through. The attendant knew Kuryakin wasn't scheduled to visit but he made no move to block Illya from entering.

 Kuryakin came into the reception area. "Monsieur Kuryakin, we weren't told you were coming also," the secretary said.

 She handed him a yellow badge with the number two on it. "Is Mr. Solo here?"

 "Of course. He's in Monsieur Raymond's office."

 "I think I know the way."
 
 

 Inside Raymond's office, Solo was standing and stretching his legs while Raymond sat at the table. Solo held a copy of the research report that had just been copied. Just then, the sliding door opened and Kuryakin walked in.

 Kuryakin started to speak but Solo spoke first. "Eh, Philipe, could we borrow your office for a few minutes?"

 After the past few minutes of discussion, Raymond guessed that Solo and Kuryakin would probably need some privacy. "It's almost lunchtime. I'll step out for a bite and let you two have, what is it you Americans call it? Ah yes, quality time." Raymond then stood up and walked out of the office.

 Kuryakin began to speak just as the door closed. "What was the meaning of tailing me to Paris? Don't you have enough work to do?"

 "Actually Illya, I was sent to Paris by Mr. Waverly. For a minute, he sounded surprised that you were on leave but then he told me about the reunion."

 "Reunion?"

 "Yes, at the Sorbonne. Mr. Waverly seemed to know all about it."

 "But I didn't talk with him about it. I filed the necessary paperwork to indicate where I could be reached. In no way, however, did I mention going to the Sorbonne. And even if I did, it was no business of yours."

 "Yes, it was a bit much of a joke on my part. But the way Mr. Waverly sounded, it was as if you had told everyone but me. And you have been just a little secretive about this trip. Still, I wasn't quite expecting the scene at the airport. Not that I disapprove, mind you." Solo began to smile. "Just a bit surprised."

 Kuryakin drew a breath. He had been deeply annoyed but not really angry and the annoyance began to pass. "As you can tell, it was a personal matter. I had not planned on coming to this affair, then I heard from..."

 "From Katarina Delgato, who, like you. is one of more than two hundred students of the Sorbonne being honored this weekend."

 "Napoleon, there was no need to check up on her. I said this was a personal matter."

 "Actually, I just wanted to play a hunch. It was obvious at the airport you two were not strangers. Also, this reunion at the Sorbonne may play into why Mr. Waverly sent me in the first place. Have you seen the guest list? It is quite impressive. Diplomats, business leaders and, of course, U.N.C.L.E. agents."

 "I hate to admit it but I am confused. Why should the Sorbonne affair be of interest to U.N.C.L.E.?"

 "Well, Monsieur Raymond has been coping with the influx of at least a dozen Thrush operatives over the past ten days. There's no obvious target except the gathering at the Sorbonne."

 "So that's why Mr. Waverly sent you?"

 "Not exactly. He made a big point of saying there was no known target. Yet he also made a point of telling me you were going to the Sorbonne reunion."

 "You think Mr. Waverly was being manipulative."

 "He's sent both of us blind into situations on occasion when he thought it would help the mission. I suspect -- but only suspect -- he wanted us both around. Then, you made plans to come here independently. So, he sends me to Paris, supposedly alone. He doesn't tell me about the Sorbonne reunion specifically, but makes sure I know about it. Yes, I'd say Mr. Waverly was being manipulative."

 "What was the hunch you mentioned?" Kuryakin said, with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

 "Well, once I began to focus in on the Sorbonne I thought I'd see if your old classmate was among the invitees. Turns out she was. But the real hunch was that she might have a bit of the gypsy in her. And she does. Might that have something to do with your rather extensive knowledge of gypsies?"

 Kuryakin bit his lip. Over the years, he had dropped bits of knowledge about gypsies and, in a few cases, that information had proved valuable on U.N.C.L.E. assignments. But it was never something Kuryakin talked about very much. Solo had always assumed Kuryakin had met gypsies in Russia or Eastern Europe and never really gave it much thought beyond that.

 When Kuryakin didn't answer, Solo started to recite some of the facts he had just learned. "Katarina Delgato, scientific prodigy discovered by an academic traveling in Eastern Europe. The academic somehow convinces the gypsy tribe that Katarina's talent is such she must study in the finest schools in Europe. As a teenager, she separates from the tribe to attend  preparatory schools. When she reaches college age, she studies at Harvard, Oxford and, of course, the Sorbonne, also known as the Universities of Paris. Considered one of the leading scientific minds in the field of physics. Currently based at a European think tank in London where she works on a variety of advanced scientific projects. At the Sorbonne, she was initially considered a bit wild and undisciplined. But somehow she buckled down to become one of the most brilliant students in the centuries long history of the school."

 Kuryakin  stood silent. Solo continued. "I don't intend to research the matter further, but I would like to hazard a guess about something. I suspect she encountered an incredibly disciplined, but maybe a little withdrawn Russian. And I would further suspect both became better, more rounded people because of the experience."

 "What if I said you were all wrong?"

 "Am I all wrong?" Solo asked.

 "No, but it was tempting to tell you that anyway," Kuryakin said. "So what do we do now?"

 "You, do nothing -- at least officially for U.N.C.L.E. Since Uncle Alex wants to play it cute, I suggest we act like nothing has changed. I'll help the Paris office try and head off what Thrush is planning. I think we have to assume it's either a kidnapping, assassination or multiple kidnappings or assassinations. Further, I think we should probably add your classmate to the list of potential targets. Which gives me an idea."

 Kuryakin sighed. "You're not going to involve her in one of your schemes."

 "No, nothing like that." Solo paused. "Well, there's not enough time to devise a fancy scheme, anyway. No, I think you and Ms. Delgato should simply enjoy yourselves. However, I would suggest you perhaps take in more of the social activities than you two might have planned. There are a number of parties and, as guests, you'll be able to move around quite freely. If something does break, you can be the beachhead, so to speak, until the cavalry arrives.

 "Mixing your metaphors, aren't you?"

 "Maybe. Just keep your old classmate out of harm's way. Guard that body."

 Kuryakin rolled his eyes.

 Fifteen minutes later, Kuryakin was outside the tailor shop and hailing a cab. He recalled the story he had told Katarina while sitting in a booth at a coffee shop in the airport.

"Unfortunately, my employer insisted I drop off some papers at our Paris office," Kuryakin had told Katarina. "The office manager is expecting me. He needs the material to show a customer."

"Illya!" Katarina replied. "I've thought of nothing but this for weeks and you're dashing off. What kind of business are you in? I thought you were on vacation."

"My superior likes to squeeze every bit of work out of me that he can," Kuryakin said. "But it should not take long." He glanced at his watch. "We could have a late lunch."

Katarina smiled. "I intend to hold you to that. Where should we meet? How about your hotel?"

"Well --" Kuryakin paused. "All right. I have a reservation at the Hotel Calliou. It's near the Sorbonne. I need to go there now and drop off my luggage before I drop by the office. How about one forty-five for lunch?"

 "All these years and you're running off already," Katarina said.

 "Only for a bit, I promise."

 "This has nothing to do with that man you were watching, does it?"

 "You have watched too many Western television programs."

 Katarina smiled. "And you are too mysterious for your own good. I will see you at the hotel. But don't be late. A gypsy does not like to be kept waiting."

 "Yes, ma'am," Kuryakin said in an exaggerated manner. Katarina nodded at the joke.
 
 

  Kuryakin now thought about his just-completed conversation with Solo. Illya had trouble remaining mad at his friend for very long. And Solo was correct. Katarina's career as a physicist had blossomed in the years after she had left the Sorbonne. It was as if she had found herself in Paris, then applied herself at other prestigious universities. Her work dealt with all sorts of sophisticated areas, including aerospace systems. Literally, Katarina Delgato was one of the most brilliant women on the planet. She could be as much a target as anyone else attending the Sorbonne gathering this weekend.

 A taxi stopped on the narrow street. Kuryakin spoke flawless French, instructing the driver to head for the Hotel Calliou.
 
 

Had Kuryakin glanced back as the cab arrived, he would have noticed a beefy man wearing a beret. He held up a copy of Le Monde but he wasn't reading it. Instead, he spoke into a small communications device hidden inside the newspaper.

 In French, he whispered into the device: "Subject has left U.N.C.L.E. offices. It is unclear whether he has received instructions or not."

 "We should assume he is now assigned to this affair," a voice replied. "All agents should take proper care. Liquidate if necessary."

Act III

"Reflections in a Hotel Room"
 
 

 Kuryakin had tried to avoid the obvious tourist hotels but wanted more service than a small bed-and-breakfast. He had checked and found a perfect compromise. The Hotel Calliou was a four-story, century-old hotel on the south bank of Paris, just a few blocks from the edge of the university. He looked at his watch. It was now one-thirty local time, about fifteen minutes before he was to meet Katarina. Enough time to make a quick change of clothes.

 The front desk clerk was an older gentlemen. Kuryakin guessed him to be in his late fifties or early sixties. Perhaps he was the proprietor, perhaps not. "Room three-twelve," Kuryakin said in French, asking for the key.

 "Oui," the clerk said. "Madame Kuryakin has already arrived."

 Kuryakin looked up but did his best not to look surprised. There was no sense tipping off the clerk that something was amiss.

 "Excellent," Kuryakin replied. The Russian walked by the desk and up a nearby set of stairs. The hotel had no elevator. Kuryakin's walk was brisk as if he were in a hurry to meet Madame Kuryakin. In a way, he was.

 Reaching the third floor, Kuryakin looked around the hallway. No one was in sight. He walked several steps to three-twelve, took his key and eased it into the lock, attempting to open the door as quietly as he could. His senses were alert. Unfortunately, Kuryakin had been in such a hurry to deal with Napoleon, he had left his U.N.C.L.E. pistol in the hidden compartment of his suitcase that was now in the hotel room. Airport security had gotten to the point that it was impractical for agents to wear their guns in shoulder holsters aboard commercial aircraft.

 Kuryakin opened the door, then dived to the floor to avoid a thug who might be at the doorway. He landed, rolled a short distance and was on his feet, all in a few seconds. But there was no thug. In fact, for a long moment, there seemed to be no one else present.

 Then he saw the tan dress on the floor.

 Kuryakin went back to the door and eased it shut. He then walked over to the dress, which lay in the middle of the floor. Looking up, he saw the bathroom door was shut. Through the door, he could hear running water. Kuryakin neatly folded the dress. The room wasn't especially large but it comfortable enough, with space enough for a large, king-sized bed and a desk complete with a computer hook up; Kuryakin guessed it had probably been quite the job to rewire the old building to accommodate the laptop computers travelers now lugged with them. He laid the dress on top of the desk.

 The water stopped running inside the bathroom. The door opened, revealing Katarina clad only in one of Kuryakin's dress shirts that Illya had hung in the closet.

 "You are a few minutes early -- as usual," Katarina said.

 "And you are not exactly dressed appropriately for dinner," Kuryakin replied.

 "I am not especially hungry."

 "Katarina it has been a very long time. This is a bit abrupt."

 "Are you telling me you haven't thought about those times here in Paris?"

 "I have thought about them a great deal. But how do you know I'm not married?"

 "Are you married?"

 "No, but it was tempting to tell you that anyway."

 Katarina paused for a moment and smiled. "I see you still wear the ring."

 Kuryakin looked down at his left hand. On the ring finger, there was a modest gold band. "Yes. In most countries, the wedding ring is supposed to go on that finger."

 "But you have never removed it."

 "I keep it as a reminder of more innocent times."

 Katarina pulled Kuryakin toward her and kissed him hard. They separated for a moment.

 "I guess I'm not hungry, either," Kuryakin said.

 The heavy-set Frenchman had completed yet another walk around the block containing the secret entrance to the U.N.C.L.E. Paris office. He looked at his watch. A few minutes before three. His observation watch would end in another hour. There had been no activity to speak of since he had reported Kuryakin's whereabouts.

 "Pardon me, monsieur," said a voice behind him.

 The Frenchman turned around. It was an American in a gray business suit. The heavy-set man guessed the American was perhaps a bit shorter than he, just about average height.

 "Do you have the time? My watch seems to have stopped," the American said in passable French, though his French accent wasn't the most smooth.

 Suddenly, the Frenchman recognized the man. Napoleon Solo, the top enforcement agent in U.N.C.L.E.'s Section Two, who often worked with Kuryakin.

 Before he could bolt, the Frenchman suddenly lost all his breath. Solo had used his right hand to jab the Frenchman's stomach. Then, a second later, the Frenchman felt a pain in the back of the neck. The world turned dark quite quickly.

 Solo and Philipe Raymond stood while the French Thrush operative began to regain consciousness. The Thrushman was propped up in a chair, his head lolling to one side. He groaned as he began to awaken.

 "Monsieur, it's now about three forty-five," Solo said. "You worked that street just a little too long. Our security officer kept noticing you popping up on the hidden cameras we have to monitor the exterior of this facility. We checked tapes made a few hours ago. You seemed quite animated when you saw Mr. Kuryakin get into his taxi.

 "What is this?" the Frenchman said. "I do not know what you are talking about."

 Solo continued. "Of course you had phony identification on you but Mr. Raymond here recognized you as one of the Thrush operatives who have been streaming into Paris. Andre Poppin. Relatively low-level talent, mostly used for surveillance. I'll be blunt, monsieur. I don't have much time to play endless interrogation games. I want to know what Thrush is planning, especially if it involves the Sorbonne gathering."

 Poppin sneered. "Why should I make it easy for you?"

 "Actually, you would be making it easy for yourself. As I said, I don't have time for games. If you don't talk, we'll simply have a drink together and drop you off at the Paris Hilton. It took some doing, but we were able to get a room in your name."

 Poppin's eyes squinted. He said nothing.

 "Monsieur Raymond's people here have an interesting drug they've been wanting to try. It's derived from a gas the U.S. military developed some years back. The military called it "will gas," because it broke down an enemy's will to win. The gas was a bit unstable and never was a practical weapon. Anyway, there's an experimental serum version that's not as strong. We'll give you some and you'll be perfectly happy to accompany me to the bar of the Paris Hilton. We'll have a pleasant drink and you'll go up to your room. Your Thrush colleagues may wonder what is going on."

 Poppin still said nothing but a bead of sweat began to show on his forehead.

 "Thrush will then hear a rumor about a transfer of fifty thousand American dollars to a certain Swiss bank account," Solo continued. "With electronic transfers, we could probably make the transaction yet this afternoon. And, of course, the account will be in the name of one Andre Poppin. I doubt Thrush will approve."

 Poppin again played innocent but was quite unconvincing. "I still have no idea what you are talking about!"

 Solo replied immediately in a chilly tone. "Monsieur Poppin, I may or may not be able to stop what Thrush is planning. Regardless, within forty-eight hours, you will be dead. I'll have a bit of paperwork to do, but you will be measured for a casket. As I said, I don't have time for interrogation games. Shall we start? Or would you prefer a cocktail over at the Hilton?"

 Illya and Katarina lay naked in the bed, holding each other. The light in Kuryakin's hotel room was fading as the late-afternoon sun began to set outside.

 After a long silence, Katarina spoke. "Do you know why I was attracted to you back in school?"

 "You needed help on a test?" Kuryakin said.

 Katarina smiled. "No jokes, just for once, Illya. I think it was because we were both so isolated. I from the gypsies and you from your people. You were one of the few people who could understand that isolation. You -- it was almost as if you thrived on it. Me, I was scared to death. I had been told I was some kind of prodigy, a school like the Sorbonne did not come easy, certainly not right away."

 "As I recall, you did not seem to act very scared."

 "That was my defense, I guess. The other members of my tribe were very much against me going away. Things have not changed that much. A gypsy views authority with much wariness. Yet, Papa insisted. He said it was fate and fate could not be denied. When I met you, you showed it could be done."

 "And I thought it was my magnetic personality."

 "You joke, but that was part of it -- even if you keep it hidden. You didn't make it very easy for people to get to know you."

 "I felt strong obligations to those who made it possible for me to study in the West."

 "I know," Katarina said. "Those obligations were eventually what kept us apart. You were scheduled to study in England, while I had to continue my studies elsewhere in Europe and in America."

 "That is the way of things," Kuryakin said. "We mean to stay in contact. Unfortunately, many of us only get together at reunions or funerals."

 Katarina let go of Illya and sat up in the bed. "You know, my work is satisfying. But there are two things I miss: those days I was just another gypsy and the time we were together here in Paris. I went back to Eastern Europe when Papa died a few years ago. He had a grand old gypsy funeral. His tribe -- what used to be my tribe -- treated me nicely enough. But it was clear I was now an outsider. Then, I was notified of this gathering at the Sorbonne. I wondered if you would be there. I decided I would try to make sure you would."

 "I'm glad you did," Kuryakin said. "But my work keeps me on the run. I'm really in no position to make commitments."

 "What is it you do, anyway?" Katarina said. "I was able to get an e-mail address for you from the Sorbonne. But all I know was you worked at a place called Hargrove Trading Company."

 Hargrove was Kuryakin's basic cover. "I am supposed to be an international businessman but I am really a spy," he said.

 Katarina reached back, took her pillow and playfully hit Kuryakin with it. "Mysterious to the end, aren't you?"

 "We should probably get dressed," Kuryakin said, changing the subject. "Tonight is this welcoming party and it is a black-tie affair I understand."

 Katarina edged closer to him. "That is not until eight." She kissed him again. His right arm reached around and he held her close as they embraced.

 "A space what?" Philipe Raymond asked Napoleon Solo.

 "Space laser cannon," Solo said in Raymond's office. "An orbiting weapons system. The idea has actually bounced around for some time."

 "I recall your American president Reagan talked about some kind of system like that in the 1980s."

 "Yes, it was nicknamed 'Star Wars,' after a popular American movie," Solo said. "There was a similar system in development some years back, an affair involving U.N.C.L.E. Some scientists were kidnapped by a fellow masquerading as a cleric. He called himself Brother Love, if I remember correctly. Anyway, I was able to dispatch the provocateur before things got too far along."

 "How do we know Poppin is telling the truth?" Raymond said.

 "We don't -- but we also don't have time to investigate further."

 Raymond paused. "We know the woman physicist is with Illya. Who is the second target Poppin mentioned?"

 "Professor Guy LeGuerre, a resident of Paris. And I checked. He is on the list of people being honored. I suggest we check his whereabouts."

 Raymond activated the intercom. On the other end, a secretary acknowledged the call. "Professor Guy LeGuerre of Paris. We need to check, if possible, his current whereabouts. Discreetly, please."

 Solo continued. "I think we'd better call New York and Uncle Alex."

 The two men left Raymond's office and walked a short distance to the U.N.C.L.E. Paris communications room. A woman sat at a control console. "Channel D to New York, top priority," Raymond instructed her.

 Ninety seconds later, the connection was made and Alexander Waverly was at the other end. The communications employee had set up a conference call so that Waverly could be heard by anyone present in the room.

 "Number One of Section One here. What is your report, Paris?"

 "Sir, this is Solo, Number One of Section Two. Mr. Raymond is with me. We have reason to believe that a gathering of the Sorbonne is the target of the bird men. Repeat, believe target is the Sorbonne. However, it also appears a bit of deception is involved."

 "How is that Mr. Solo?"

 "We intercepted a Thrushman. His information was delivered under duress but we believe it to be accurate at least to a point. While we detected an influx of Thrush agents, so did various other agencies. This was intentional. Repeat -- intentional. Security for various diplomats and government leaders who are on the invitation list has been beefed up. Moreover, most of those officials are not scheduled to arrive until Saturday. In reality, there are two targets but neither is a government official. The guest list also includes two people with significant scientific backgrounds."

 "And who might they be?"

 "One Professor Guy LeGuerre and one Katarina Delgato, distinguished physicist. I believe you may be familiar with her, sir." This was Solo's way of acknowledging Waverly's less-than-candid approach to this affair.

 Solo continued. "We are seeking to establish Professor LeGuerre's whereabouts.  Miss Delgato, we believe, is in the company of an U.N.C.L.E. agent. This particular agent has been made aware that Thrush is in the vicinity and that Miss Delgato was a potential target. But we haven't had the opportunity to brief Mr. Kuryakin since we interrogated our Thrushman."

 "Besides your interrogation, is there any evidence actually pointing to the Delgato woman or Professor LeGuerre as targets?"

 "Only circumstantial evidence, sir. Both have expertise that could be useful to the completion of a space-based laser weapon. No such weapon is known to be in development but a preliminary study of recent scientific journals suggests some potential breakthroughs are close. Of those attending the Sorbonne gathering, Miss Delgato and Professor LeGuerre are the only ones with expertise directly applicable to such a project."

 "What is your suggested course of action, Mr. Solo?"

 "We could attempt to whisk Professor LeGuerre and Miss Delgato to safety but that may only postpone an attempt. My suggestion is we play out the hand. Both potential targets are invited to a party tonight, the first event related to the Sorbonne reunion. As I indicated, other potential targets won't be there yet. Based on the information from our interrogation, it appears the kidnapping will take place at tonight's reception. That is when Thrush expects more relaxed security, compared to tomorrow night,when all the various diplomats and other government leaders show up. My specific suggestion is U.N.C.L.E. have a presence at tonight's party, but nothing too obvious. I can be on the inside while Monsieur Raymond maintains a small force of men nearby. I believe whether Illya shows at the party or not, he'll be close to Miss Delgato, sir. Either way, he should be prepared for trouble. We will seek to notify him directly of the additional information we've received."

 There was a pause from the other end. "Very well, Mr. Solo. Please encourage Mr. Kuryakin to escort Miss Delgato to the party. If we are to use bait for Thrush, it would look better if both targets show up. Waverly out."

 Raymond looked at Solo. "A bit of a cold attitude, isn't it?"

 Solo was silent. He certainly couldn't debate Raymond on that point.

Act IV

"An Old Fiend Returns"

 Kuryakin fumbled with the cufflinks to his tuxedo shirt. Katarina was in the lavatory and called out to him. "I'll need to go by my hotel to change into my evening dress," she said.

 Illya looked at his watch. It was now six-eighteen p.m. He felt vaguely guilty spending nearly the entire afternoon here. He wondered if Solo had made any progress on the assignment. Kuryakin had begun to dismiss the thought when the telephone rang. He leaned over to the bedstand and picked up the receiver. "Hello, Kuryakin here."

 "Cousin Napoleon here. I thought I'd better use a conventional means of communication in case Miss Delgato is nearby."

 Kuryakin frowned that his friend had guessed so correctly. Or had it been a guess? No, Illya thought, Napoleon can be sneaky but he wouldn't stoop to having a listening device.

 "Yes, that was a proper move," Kuryakin finally replied.

 "I can't explain here, but you should consider Miss Delgato a probable target, not just a possibility," Solo said.

 "What do you suggest?"

 "If you're going to the reception tonight, please proceed. If you weren't planning on going, alter your schedule so you go. Uncle Alex's orders."

 "I see," Kuryakin said in an emotionless voice.

 "I will explain more at the reception. Philipe Raymond is pulling a few strings to get me an invitation. Keep a close eye on her, Illya. Solo out." The connection broke off before Kuryakin could utter a response.

 Kuryakin put the receiver back, then sat down on the bed. He still hadn't fixed the cufflinks and still needed to put on his tie. But he couldn't think past Solo's terse remarks. Earlier in the day, when Solo had thrown out the idea that Katarina might be a target, Kuryakin hadn't considered it a real possibility. Then again, most of the day, Kuryakin hadn't really been acting like an U.N.C.L.E. agent.

 Katarina then opened the bathroom door. She was wearing the dress that Kuryakin had folded so nearly a few hours ago. "Who was that?" she asked.

 "It turns out someone from my office has been invited to be someone's guest at the reception tonight. He said he might need me for a few minutes."

 "That's quite a coincidence," Katarina said. "Wouldn't be a fellow spy, would it?"

Kuryakin smiled. "Yes, I think he wants me to be your bodyguard for the evening."

 "Is your friend a little slow?" Katarina said, smiling.

 "Not this trip," Kuryakin said. "Let me finish up here and I'll get you to your hotel."

 Solo and Philipe Raymond remained at the U.N.C.L.E. Paris office. They sat at the round table in Raymond's office, looking at a diagram of the university building that would host the reception.

 "On such short notice, I'll only be able to post nine or ten agents," Raymond said. "My other operatives are either elsewhere in France or neighboring countries."

 "Well, we don't want to scare off the opposition, anyway. Mr. Waverly didn't say as such, but it sounds like he wants us to capture or disable as much of the opposition as we can. That means letting the Thrush birds in long enough to attempt the kidnapping."

 A phone on the table rang. Raymond answered. "Oui. Thank you very much."

 "What was that?" Solo asked.

 "Professor LeGuerre has been located by one of our agents," Raymond said. "The professor seems to be on his way to the reception. At least he is headed that way and he is dressed in a tuxedo."

 "Two pieces of bait. Were you able to get me in to the reception?"

 "Oui. The gentleman in charge of tonight's affair was a bit -- how do you say? -- miffed, but he will cooperate."

 "Good. I've got to dash to my hotel and change clothes. I'll go directly to the reception from there."

 "I hope by that time I'll have our agents stationed outside the hall. As it turns out, we'll have six men and four women available for duty, plus myself. I think you've worked with many of them over the years."

 "Fine. Let's hope this works."

 Kuryakin and Katarina emerged onto the street from Katarina's hotel. Her lodging, as it turned out, was a short walk from Kuryakin's hotel. She had put her hair up and changed into a burgundy evening dress and wrap. Kuryakin felt for the U.N.C.L.E. special hidden under his coat. Yes, it was still there. Normally, he would not be this fidgety. Then again, he usually didn't have a personal relationship with someone he was guarding.

 Katarina sensed this. "Is there anything wrong?"

 "I don't go to fancy dress balls all that often," he said. "Let's try to get a taxi."

 They passed several people as they walked toward the curb. A taxi cab veered across traffic in Illya and Katarina's direction. Kuryakin thought that service was too good to be true. He reached for his U.N.C.L.E. Special pistol but in the next instant felt a blow to his head. "Illya!" Katarina screamed but to Kuryakin it sounded as if she were thousands of miles away. He felt something pushing him but he was too groggy to respond.

 The rear taxi door opened. A tall Thrushman was behind Kuryakin and Katarina, shoving them inside. There weren't that many people around and the tall Thrushman was quick enough that if anyone were watching they wouldn't be sure what they had witnessed.

 Kuryakin, now crunched up in the back seat, fumbled for his sleeve, touching one of the cufflinks which was really an experimental homing device. Solo had used a similar device in a recent affair and it had worked well. Before he could do anything else, the Thrushman reached across Katarina and hit Illya on the head again. This time, Kuryakin was out cold. The cab pulled off into the Paris traffic.

 Solo was at the reception wearing his basic black tuxedo and matching vest. He was by himself, scanning the large hall the university was using for the occasion. It was eight-twenty and Illya was late.

 Just then, his pen communicator whined, the signal that someone was trying to reach him.

 Solo ducked over to a spot toward the back of the hall, where there were relatively few people. He took out the pen, made the necessary adjustments to begin receiving and transmitting. "Solo here."

 "Napoleon, it's Philipe. Thrushmen attempted to seize LeGuerre. He was walking perhaps a half block from the hall when two Thrush birds made the attempt. Luckily, the U.N.C.L.E. man tailing him saw it and responded. LeGuerre is not hurt but my man is wounded and is being attended to. Is the Delgato woman there?"

 "Negative, nor her escort," Solo said. "Let me attempt to raise him. Solo out." Solo made another adjustment. "Open Channel L, Mr. Kuryakin." Nothing. If Illya's communicator were working, but he wasn't answering, the signal would be established. But there was no signal of any kind. That meant Illya had turned off the communicator altogether -- which Kuryakin wouldn't do knowing that Thrush was present -- or the communicator had been broken.

 Solo stared at the pen and felt sick. Poppin, the coerced Thrush informant, had managed a small piece of disinformation. Rather than trying to kidnap Katarina and LeGuerre during the reception, the trap was to be sprung en route to the Sorbonne. Solo guessed that Thrush had probably intended Poppin to get caught. After all, he had seemed a bit obvious and hadn't moved around the block outside U.N.C.L.E. Paris very much -- making it easy to see him on the external cameras. Solo now surmised there was a second or even a third surveillance operative watching the U.N.C.L.E. office. In all likelihood, another Thrushman had followed Kuryakin to find Katarina.

 Solo shook his head. Damn it, he thought to himself, I should have anticipated that.

 He looked to his watch to see what time it was. But something else caught his eye. It was the cufflink.

 Solo remembered the recent Fleming affair over in London. The experimental homing device in the cufflink had brought help just as things were turning nasty. Solo and Kuryakin had both been issued sets of the experimental devices for field tests. Was Illya wearing his? It was a thin hope but the only one Solo had. He made another adjustment to the pen communicator. Yes! Kuryakin had activated the homing device. It was only an audio signal, which would get louder the closer you got to the homing device. It could be picked up by any U.N.C.L.E. pen communicator, however. Judging from the signal, Kuryakin must still be close by.

 Solo muted the signal and called Raymond back.

 "Raymond here."

 "Philipe, Illya and Miss Delgato have almost certainly been kidnapped. However, Illya activated a homing signal. It's only audio but can be picked up on any standard U.N.C.L.E. communicator."

 There was a pause at the end other end. Presumably, Raymond was instructing one of his men to listen to the signal. "Yes, we are receiving it."

 "I'm on my way over. Solo out."

 Kuryakin awoke with his head throbbing. He tried to move but could not. With some effort, he opened his eyes and saw he was sitting down on the ground, his back propped against a wall, his arms extended forward and tied together. He could feel his feet were bound as well. He looked around. Katarina was next to him, bound the same way. They were in a cellar of some sort. Yes, a wine cellar.

 Katarina was conscious. "Illya, thank God you're awake. When that man hit you so hard..."

 "Are you all right?"

 "This dress will never be the same but this is not much of a trauma for a gypsy. But who are these men?"

 Kuryakin paused. There was no sense worrying about security at this point. "In all likelihood, they are operatives of a criminal organization called Thrush. They probably believe you can assist them on one of their enterprises."

 "Ah, Monsieur Kuryakin. Succinct and to the point, as always."

 The voice came from the other end of the cellar. There was only a dim light above Kuryakin and Katarina. Still, Illya knew the voice, though it had been years since he had heard it. Still, there was no doubt in Kuryakin's mind. He glanced over at Katarina, who was nervous. Kuryakin breathed deeply and calmly. He knew Victor Marton liked to make an entrance. So Kuryakin just waited.

 After the proper pause, Marton stepped into the light. "Nice to see you again, Monsieur Kuryakin. It has been a long time, not since that Merlin business, eh?"

 Katarina squinted at the tall, middle-aged man in the three-piece suit. His dark hair and mustache were graying. "You know Illya?"

 "Yes, Miss Delgato, our paths have crossed. I don't know how much your old classmate has told you, but he is part of an international organization designated as the U-N-C-L-E. His firm and mine, so to speak, are competitors. After our last encounter, I was taken prisoner by U.N.C.L.E. Luckily, I was able to escape a few weeks later while being escorted to Washington, D.C. for interrogation by United States intelligence agencies. You can always count on bureaucrats to be unsatisfied with someone else's interrogations. They all want a crack at you and the men guarding me were not very bright. Since then, I have, as the Americans say, laid low for quite some time."

 Katarina looked at Illya, remembering his cryptic remark a few hours earlier. "Is this what you meant when you said you pretend to be a businessman but are really a spy?"

 Illya was silent. Marton continued. "We were never entirely sure whether Monsieur Kuryakin had been formally assigned to protect you or not."

 "I hadn't," Kuryakin interrupted.

 "But after dropping by U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in Paris, we had to assume you were aware of our interest in Miss Delgato."

 "At the time, it was only a possibility," Kuryakin said. "There were a great many potential targets attending the Sorbonne reunion. My interest in Miss Delgato was of a personal nature."

 "In any event, I made certain one of my less useful people would be captured by your Monsieur Solo. It was a bit tricky, of course. I had to inform this operative of enough genuine information -- that Miss Delgato and Professor LeGuerre were our targets -- so that U.N.C.L.E. would believe him. But I had to give him slightly different details instead of the real plan. Hence, U.N.C.L.E. was prepared for trouble at tonight's reception, while we intended to strike just prior to the event. The plan worked up to a point. Unfortunately, we did not succeed in getting the professor. However, we did a better job of bringing you here."

 "Who is this Solo?" Katarina said.

 "The gentleman you saw briefly at the airport." Kuryakin said. Then he turned to Marton. "Why kidnap Katarina, exactly?"

 "Do you recall Star Wars, Monsieur Kuryakin? Not the movie, but the proposed defense system?"

 "Yes, a series of laser weapons stationed in outer space. There were always a great many technical questions and with the end of the Cold War, it was not high on the United States' list of priorities."

 "Well there has been some progress toward answering some of the technical questions. There have been reports in scientific journals and such. What has been unreported is that Thrush scientists have had their own set of breakthroughs. However, I'm told, we lack sufficient talent in the field of physics and related fields. Hence, our interest in Miss Delgato and Professor LeGuerre. While getting both is our preferred choice, I've been led to believe the services of either one would cause us to make great progress toward a laser cannon that could be put into orbit. Technical matters are not my specialty but I'm told that Miss Delgato is one of the leading minds in this field."

 "What makes you think---"Katarina began fuming.

 "They can do it," Kuryakin interrupted.

 "Monsieur Kuryakin is an added bonus. Information about U.N.C.L.E. is always of interest to Thrush. We will depart in the morning."

 Four cars and a van sat parked on a road in an area full of country estates on the outskirts of Paris. The cars were full of Raymond's men who had followed Kuryakin's homing signal. Solo and Raymond sat in the back of a van along with a woman who was monitoring the homing signal on a portable communications console. They were about three-quarters of a mile from where they believed the signal was originating. According to the maps, there was a large house, surrounded by two or three acres of property.

 "We don't have many options, Napoleon," Raymond said.

 "I know, but I would think the odds won't be very good for Illya or Miss Delgato if we rush the place in force."

 "Oui, but I do not like the odds if Thrush gets hold of Miss Delgato either," Raymond said.

 "All right. Give me one hour before you rush the place."

 "Napoleon ---"

 "One hour, sooner if it looks like Thrush is moving them out."

 Raymond sighed and looked at his watch. "Very well, it's 11:17 now. But aren't you a little overdressed? That tuxedo is a little over the top under these circumstances."

 Solo buttoned the jacket then folded the lapels over. It turned out the lapels had hidden Velcro. The lapels overlapped, covering the white dress shirt and providing camouflage at night. "Do you have hiking shoes here?" Solo said. "I'd say size ten ought to do it."

 Raymond reached in the back. The van, in fact, had some assault equipment, including clothing items like hiking shoes. "You're in luck. Black. Even matches your outfit," Raymond said. "He handed Solo a small backpack. "Some standard supplies which could be of use."

 Solo nodded. "Merci, Philipe."

 "I just hope Monsieur Waverly extends mercy to me if this doesn't work."

 The tall Thrushman who had struck Kuryakin sat in a chair about three feet from Illya and Katarina. He didn't say a word, he only sat there holding a pistol.

 Kuryakin turned to Katarina. He didn't care if the Thrushman heard every word. "I'm sorry," he said to the gypsy.

 "For what? You did not kidnap me," Katarina said. "If you're concerned about concealing your work, well I can't say I'm that surprised. That Hargrove Trading Company sounded awfully vague. But what did you mean they can make me talk?"

 "Thrush has awfully sophisticated techniques at its disposal, I'm afraid," Illya said. "Contrary to what you say, it is my fault. I should have been a professional tonight. Instead, I acted like a schoolboy."

 "Illya, shut up. It is not your fault--"

 "Enough," the Thrushman said. Kuryakin and Katarina fell silent. Katarina, though, gazed at Kuryakin and his eyes met hers. If she had been displeased about Kuryakin's secrecy, it was clear from her eyes that she still had affection and love for him.

 The estate was walled off. Solo spent several minutes studying it. It didn't appear to have electrified wiring at the top. Just to be sure, Solo reached down to the ground and tossed a pebble, which sailed harmlessly over the wall. Solo guessed the wall was about six feet high. He moved back several feet and made a running start. He planted his feet near the base of the wall and jumped. He caught himself at the top of the wall for a moment, then swung his left leg up, followed by the right. He lay atop the wall momentarily, then lowered himself over the other side and dropped to the ground.

 Solo lay still for a moment to get his bearings. No one was nearby and he heard no sounds. He crawled on the ground until he spotted the mansion. Unfortunately, there was no ground cover nearby, only a grass field between him and the large house. He took out his pen communicator and tested. Judging by the strength of the signal, it had to be coming from the house. Solo's eyes had adjusted to the darkness. It appeared to be a two-story home and there would likely be a cellar of some kind, perhaps a wine cellar. Solo guessed that would be the spot where Illya and the woman were being held. If they somehow got free, they'd have to make it upstairs. On the other hand, if they were being held upstairs, they could always try to jump out the window. No, a cellar would be the best bet.

 Solo studied the exterior for a few minutes. Some outside lights had been installed in the front. It would be next to impossible to enter there.

 He heard a noise. Off to his left, there was a guard wearing a jumpsuit and a beret and carrying a standard Thrush rifle. Though he couldn't make out all the details, Solo guessed the jumpsuit was probably a standard Thrush uniform. The guard hadn't seemed to notice Solo yet. The man was alone, and only about ten feet away.

 Time was running out. At best, Solo had perhaps thirty-five minutes before the deadline he had agreed with Raymond. Solo got on his knees and started to position himself much like a track runner ready to start a race. Solo took off, covering the ten feet in seconds. The guard didn't turn around until an instant before Solo tackled his legs. The man hit the ground hard and Solo struck a karate blow before he could start to yell.

 Solo lay beside the now-unconscious guard on the ground.  Still no other guards. He looked around. He guessed the house was about fifty feet away. Near the house there finally was some brush. It would be a bit of a job dragging the guard that distance, but Solo had little choice. He slipped the backpack off, unzipped it and dug through the contents by feel. He took out a small kit and opened it. Inside were a syringe and containers of fluid. The fluid was a knockout drug which would keep a subject unconscious for four or five hours. He injected the guard in the arm and stowed the kit away in the backpack. Solo then put the guard's rifle and his own backpack on his shoulder. The U.N.C.L.E. agent then crouched down, dragging the guard behind him. He only hoped he could reach the bushes before any other guards arrived. Solo felt a great sense of relief when he got to the brush. Immediately, he began to strip the guard of his uniform.

 Five minutes later, Solo had the jumpsuit on over his own clothes while the guard dozed away, hidden in the brush. Solo checked his watch. It was 11:56, twenty-one minutes before the deadline. He hid the backpack in the bushes, though he removed the syringe kit. It was small enough that he could stuff it in a pocket of the uniform.

 Solo walked around the house to the well-lit front. The best strategy, he felt, was to simply act as if he owned the place. So he walked boldly to the door. Two more men, wearing guard uniforms like the one Solo had appropriated, were standing watch.

 As he approached the door, the guards looked at Solo but made no moves. "I have to report," Solo said. The two men didn't respond but they made no move to stop him. He went through the doorway and found himself in a large front room. At the rear there was a stairway leading upstairs. A single guard was coming downstairs. His uniform had an emblem on the sleeve in addition to the standard Thrush logo. That could mean he was an officer of some sort.

 "What are you doing here?" the Thrushman said.

 Solo bluffed. "There may be some activity outside the wall. There are some funny noises, someone may be out there."

 "U.N.C.L.E. agents?"

 "Perhaps," Solo said.

 "Mr. Marton should be notified. He just went downstairs again to be with the prisoners. This way."

 The guard walked a few steps. Just behind the stairs there was a hallway and a door. When the guard reached for the knob, Solo struck a karate blow. The man fell, face upwards, to the floor. Solo struck a second quick blow. He then took out the syringe kit and injected the guard. Looking around, Solo saw a second door and peered inside. It was a lavatory and the U.N.C.L.E. agent stuffed the guard inside.

 Solo now prepared to open the cellar door. He first unzipped the jumpsuit and reached into his tuxedo jacket, withdrawing his U.N.C.L.E. special with the built-in silencer. Whatever happened, the first seconds would be crucial. The guard had mentioned the name "Marton." It had to be Victor Marton, a wily operator, just the kind who would devise the disinformation that had fooled U.N.C.L.E. But Marton was not a man of violence, at least not gunplay. Marton left that to his lackeys. Solo guessed there would be at least one other Thrush operative to deal with and he would try to take that person out first.

 Solo opened the door as quietly as he could. He took the first few steps slowly. He could see two men: Marton and a tall Thrushman dressed in plain clothes. At the rear end of the cellar were Illya and Katarina. Marton was standing and talking while the tall Thrushman sat in a chair across from the captives.

 "Our timetable has been moved up, my dear people. Your escort will be here in a half-hour or so. I'm sorry the accommodations were not more pleasant but your quarters will be upgraded at Thrush Central."

 Solo was now at the bottom of the steps. Marton had his back to Solo. Solo's eyes met Illya's. Solo nodded his head in Marton's direction.

 "You know Napoleon Solo is coming up behind you with a gun," Kuryakin said.

 "Please Monsieur Kuryakin, I had thought better of you," Marton said.

 The tall Thrushman, however, couldn't help getting out of his chair and glancing back. Solo fired just as the tall man turned. His shot struck the gunman in the center of his forehead. To be safe, Solo fired a second shot into his chest. The man immediately fell. In the same instant, Marton started to move but froze when he saw Solo aiming.

 "Another inch, Mr. Marton and you're history," Solo said. "Any sound from you and you're dead."

 Marton nodded.

 "Now, very carefully," Solo said. "I want you to untie this lovely couple. You've kept them long enough."

 Marton obeyed. He knelt down and untied both Kuryakin and Katarina. They stood up and rubbed their arms as the circulation returned after being stuck in the cramped position.

 "You know you cannot possibly escape," Marton said.

 "Mr. Marton, I'd love to engage in repartee but I don't have time." Solo then clipped Marton on the head. As the Thrush chieftain crumpled to the floor, Solo struck a second blow to the back of his head.

 "That was a bit artless," Kuryakin said.

 Solo looked at this watch. "In about two minutes, Philipe Raymond's men will be making a frontal assault. I thought you and Miss Delgato might like to get out of the way. And yes, you're welcome."

 Katarina glanced back and forth at the two men. "Is he the man at the airport?"

 "Come on, we'll make proper introductions later," Solo said. He handed the rifle to Illya. Then, he bent down and took the dead Thrushman's pistol and handed it to Katarina.

 "Can you handle that?" Solo asked.

 The gun was an automatic. Katarina extracted the clip, looked it over and slid it back in the grip. She then cocked the weapon. "Gypsies get to see weapons at a young age. What do you think?"

 Solo frowned. "Ask a silly question."

 The trio made it up the stairs. They began to make their way to the back of the house when they heard gunfire from outside. It had to be Raymond's squad of men rushing the estate. Solo saw one of the guards at the door come inside. The man was running and stopped in midstride. Solo shot him twice before the guard could raise his weapon.

 "Out the back," Solo said.

 Thirty seconds later, the three found a rear door. Two guards were rushing toward them. Kuryakin raised and fired the Thrush rifle. The men scattered, and so did Solo, Kuryakin and Katarina. Solo found some brush on one side of the rear door  and Kuryakin and Katarina did likewise on the other side.

 Solo peered around but had to duck when a shot whizzed past his head. Another shot came close. Solo identified the source and fired three shots in that direction. He heard a groan and it sounded as if at least one shot had hit its mark. A few feet away, the other guard was shooting at Kuryakin and Katarina. The gypsy woman fired this time, hitting the Thrushman on her first shot. The guard grabbed his shoulder and winced in pain. Kuryakin got up, kneeled by the guard and hit the man with a karate blow to knock him out.

 Solo came up to Kuryakin and Katarina. "Stay alert but it sounds like the shooting is dying down," Solo said. Then a sound came from the distance from behind the house. Solo looked in that direction. There was some kind of auxiliary building, like an old garage. It stood more than a hundred yards away from the house. That seemed to be the source of the noise.

 "What's that whine?" Kuryakin asked.

 "Sounds like a helicopter," Solo responded.

 Before anyone could say anything, the garage's roof opened up like a huge jack-in-the-box. A large helicopter emerged. Solo ran toward the garage but the copter was already in the air. It appeared two people were inside. He couldn't tell for sure but in the passenger seat it appeared it was Victor Marton. He was waving good-bye.

 Kuryakin and Katarina came up behind Solo. "I'm afraid it was your host," Solo said. "He must have recovered more quickly than I thought he would. I have the sickening feeling we're going to discover some kind of secret passageway from the house to that building."

 "Ahoy!" a voice said from the house. It was Philipe Raymond, accompanied by two U.N.C.L.E. agents. "We've secured the house. Are you all right?

 Solo waved and yelled back. "We're all accounted for," he said. "We have two wounded Thrush birds, and another asleep in the bushes. At least one of the wounded should survive with some medical attention."

 Raymond turned and motioned to someone in the house. Out came two agents trained in emergency medical procedures.

 Solo, Kuryakin and Katarina walked slowly toward the house. "Who was in the helicopter?" Raymond asked

 "An old friend of ours, Victor Marton. I'm afraid he gave us the slip," Solo said. "I knocked him out but had to leave him. He must have regained consciousness and made a run for it after you rushed the place."

 "But Miss Delgato, you are safe, oui?" Raymond said.

 "Yes, quite so. But if you don't mind, I would like a few explanations."

 On Saturdays, there was usually only a skeleton crew at U.N.C.L.E. Paris. On this Saturday, however, the office was quite busy. There had been additional arrests of Thrush agents in the morning as the result of interrogations immediately following the previous night's raid. Reports were being filed and some Thrush material seized at the mansion was being examined. And the Sorbonne Affair was considered important enough that Alexander Waverly himself had arrived that morning for a debriefing session in the large office reserved for use by Section One leaders.

 "I'm very sorry you were captured, Miss Delgato," Waverly said. Despite it being a weekend, Waverly was wearing his usual tweed suit. "My intention was to head off Thrush prior to the attempt as we did with Professor LeGuerre. Normally, I would expect someone in the company of an U.N.C.L.E. agent to be relatively safe."

 Kuryakin was silent. Solo, on the other hand, squinted in Waverly's direction.

 Katarina Delgato, who was wearing a light blue dress, was the most demonstrative person in the room. "No apologies are necessary Mr. Waverly. From what I understand Illya's briefing was somewhat incomplete. Actually, from what I gathered from Mr. Solo before this meeting, Illya was officially on vacation."

 "Oh, Mr. Solo told you that, eh?" Waverly said, glancing in Solo's direction.

 Solo squirmed but Katarina was undaunted. "Yes, we had a brief discussion just before this meeting. He didn't have time to say much, though based on his comments I gather Illya came to Paris not expecting to be involved in a mission. During our captivity, I felt quite reassured by his presence. I would say he did an outstanding job of protecting me, under the circumstances."

Waverly paused then replied. "There are times when it's necessary to send an operative with less than a full briefing," he said. "But all U.N.C.L.E. agents are thoroughly trained to react in times of trouble."

 "Well, there were no problems with Illya's reactions and you can quote me on that," Katarina said.

 "Yes," Waverly said, sensing he should not press the point any further. "Mr. Solo, should we assume that Victor Marton got away?"

 "Unfortunately, that appears to be the case, sir." Solo said. "I thought I saw him in the helicopter and regardless, he wasn't found anywhere in the mansion."

 "Indeed, that is quite unfortunate. Also, it appears we now have to worry about Thrush efforts to develop a space weapon. Do you consider that a satisfactory conclusion to the affair, Mr. Solo?"

 "Well, we captured more than a dozen Thrush operatives between last night's raid and follow up actions by Mr. Raymond's people this morning," Solo said. "We at least know of the project's existence and that it has reached some kind of plateau that is beyond the ability of their scientists. I'd say at the very least we've bought ourselves some valuable time, sir."

 "Hrmph," Waverly groaned. "I suppose you are right. Still, I would have preferred having Marton in custody. Very well, gentlemen. I'm leaving for New York tomorrow morning. I'd say you've earned a couple days of rest here, Mr. Solo. Mr. Kuryakin, you're free to resume your vacation. I'll see you both when you get back to New York." Waverly stood up and exited the conference room through the automatic door.

 Katarina broke the silence after Waverly left. "That's a rather demanding superior you both have," she said.

 "He's a bit of a perfectionist," Kuryakin replied.

 "Well, I'm sure you both have things to do," Solo said, standing. "Hopefully, we can avoid calling in Mr. Kuryakin for the rest of his vacation."

 "Thank you, Mr. Solo," Katarina said, also rising from her chair. "Perhaps we could all go out to dinner before you go back to New York. "

 "I'd be delighted but only if it's convenient for you. I depart for New York on Tuesday," Solo said.

 "It might be convenient by Monday night," she said, gazing at Illya.

 "Well, Illya knows how to reach me to make the arrangements. I'll take my leave in the meantime."

 "Uh, Napoleon, could we confer on a matter first?" Kuryakin said as he stood up.

 Katarina looked confused and Kuryakin sought to reassure her. "It will only take a minute. Could you wait for me in the office next door?"

 "All right, but don't be long," Katarina said. She turned and left the room.

As the automatic door closed, Kuryakin turned to Solo. "What was it you said to Katarina before the meeting with Mr. Waverly?"

 "I just wanted to reassure her that you were following orders by not disclosing your U.N.C.L.E. affiliation and that you were on vacation as far as you knew," Solo said.

 "She understood all that last night."

 "I just wanted to reassure her, that's all," Solo said. "A number of years ago, I had an old flame. My work came between us. I know Katarina is quite fond of you and you seem to feel likewise toward her. I just didn't want the Sorbonne affair to get in the way of that relationship."

 Illya smiled slightly. "Well, I do have to go." Kuryakin, dressed in a black suit, white shirt and black tie, turned toward the door. It slid open and Kuryakin paused in the door way. He turned toward Napoleon.

 "Thank you," he said. "But don't let it go to your head." He then turned back and walked to the office where Katarina was waiting.

 Solo smiled after Kuryakin left. He reached into the breast pocket of his navy suit and withdrew an address book. Somehow, Solo had the feeling Illya would be busy all the way through Monday, so Solo decided he'd better make his own plans while he was in Paris.
 
 

THE END

The End.

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