The Tiddly Winks Affair
by Mustang

Part One –This Little Operation Doesn’t Need A Russian Jiminy Cricket

Elegant and sleek, the shiny black Rolls Royce hummed through the dark streets of New York City. Inside, relaxing on the buttery softness of the seats, Napoleon Solo passed a glass of champagne to the beautiful woman seated beside him. Taking it with a smile of appreciation, the diamond bracelet on her gloved wrist caught fire even in the dim glow from the passing street lights as she leaned back to regard him in a thoughtful way. Napoleon caught a whiff of her expensive perfume mixing in a pleasant way with the aroma of the car’s expensive interior.

“Ah, my favorite,” the lady’s purr was even smoother than the Rolls engine in response to Napoleon’s attractive smile. “You guessed, darling. How sweet.”

Solo’s charm fitted him with the same sophisticated elegance as his tuxedo. “Guess? Oh, I never guess, sweetheart. I make it a point to discover those things that will please a beautiful woman.”

“Flattery, Mr. Armbruster,” the lady smiled, “will get you practically anywhere.” She sipped the glass of champagne, giving her companion a seductive glance from beneath her long lashes.

“That’s what I was counting on,” he replied in his most urbane manner as the car pulled to the curb in front of the restaurant, gliding to a smooth, silent halt.

“Pay attention, Napoleon,” his partner’s driest tones sounded in the miniaturized earpiece fitted inside the CEA’s left ear. “You’re supposed to be learning something of importance from Cynthia, apart from the fact that she’s apparently susceptible to some rather heavy handed charm.”

“I don’t need any help from you, old buddy,” Solo whispered as he set the glasses down on the small bar, while his friend’s voice echoed inside his head. He knew Illya could pick up his faint response with the sensitive listening equipment his friend was wearing, even though he couldn’t see him behind the privacy screen in the Rolls. Kuryakin was acting as chauffeur for his partner’s disguise as a wealthy businessman. “I can handle the lady on my own.”

“Not with that corny line,” the Russian’s voice mocked. “I make it a point to discover those things that please a beautiful woman? Is it asking too much for you to remember I have a sensitive stomach? No, wait. No one’s stomach is that strong, is it?  Tell me, from which old movie did you drag that stale line?”

“None of your business, pal. It wouldn’t hurt you to practice some charm on occasion.”

“I think you’ve practiced far too much. There’s no need to lay it on with a trowel.”

Kuryakin opened the door of the limo, his face immobile beneath the chauffeur’s cap, while Solo and his date climbed out. Napoleon sighed, pausing to adjust the cuffs of his well-tailored tuxedo as she walked ahead. Glancing at his friend’s impassive face, Solo said in a dismissive tone loud enough for his dinner companion to hear, “that will do for now, Jeeves. I’ll call when I need you again.” Under his breath he added in an aggravated whisper, “this little operation doesn’t need a Russian Jiminy Cricket. Buzz off before I take a can of bug spray to you.”

“The only thing that needs any kind of spray is that cobra queen you’re currently having dinner with. Have you forgotten who employs her?” The Russian touched the bill of his cap, replying in a voice loud enough for Solo’s companion to hear, “very good, Mr. Armbruster.”

“Not likely with you muttering in my ear, Rasputin.” Solo shot a quick smile of reassurance look at his waiting companion.

“Rasputin was mad.”

“And dead. Something you might want to keep in mind when you make those cracks.”

“You should be glad I’m listening, partner. The last few men your lovely charmer dated haven’t been seen or heard from since. I’d hate to have that happen to you,” Kuryakin retorted softly as he closed the car door. He returned to the car’s front seat, and the limo pulled quietly away from the curb.

Napoleon smiled as he walked up the steps towards his date. “Ah, you do care,” the CEA continued under his breath.

“Not exactly,” the Russian agent’s voice retorted in the familiar, aloof manner. “Merely that I’d hate to have to list your cause of death on all that paperwork as due to an overactive libido. Now, would you mind seeing if you can keep the conversation on track without wandering off into those little side areas of which you seem so inordinately fond?”

Without even breaking stride, Solo slipped his hand under the elbow of his lovely companion and escorted her into the nightclub. While she waited, he handed her wrap to the cloakroom attendant, murmuring into the hidden mike, “I’m warning you, Jiminy, there’s a can of spray with your name on it. Nobody likes a pushy conscience.”

Escorting his companion to their table, the CEA smiled in his polished way. “Cynthia, darling, you’re the loveliest woman in the room. But I’d really prefer to have you all to myself. Are you sure you want to spend the evening here?” Solo firmly ignored the derisive snort from his listening friend.

“Oh, for a little while,” Cynthia returned his engaging smile with an alluring one of her own. “I’m enjoying the myself so much, I must confess I was rather hoping it wouldn’t end, Peter. You’ve made me feel rather like Cinderella. I’m beginning to hope that my coach won’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight. You wouldn’t have some way to make the magic last, would you?”

Napoleon’s expression was smooth, practiced appeal. “I’m sure between the two of us we could find a way. Someone as lovely as you shouldn’t have to disappear when the clock strikes twelve. Dawn is a much better time to end an evening.”

“Why, Mr. Armbruster,” Cynthia batted her eyelashes at him, the epitome of a Southern belle, “whatever are you suggesting?”

He leaned across their secluded table in the romantic low lighting to drop a kiss on the side of her neck. Even without his partner’s warning, Napoleon knew that Cynthia Hunter was a dyed in the wool Thrush agent, but there was no denying she was beautiful, or that the CEA had an occasional weakness for playing with fire. “I was thinking how beautiful the sunrise would be…in the right company.”

She met his gaze with an enigmatic smile, her eyes dark and glowing. “And just where would you suggest we do that?” Her voice was the throaty purr of a contented cat.

“Oh,” Napoleon dropped a strategic kiss, “several places come to mind. The Statue of Liberty,” a second kiss landed on her neck, “the Empire State building,” another kiss, this one on her soft, perfumed cheek, “or my place?” Solo finished, pulling her into his arms and enjoying his job immensely for a few, rather breathless, moments.

When she came up for air, Cynthia murmured, “We could start with the Statue of Liberty, and see how far we made it.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Napoleon agreed.

Cynthia Hunter might be the cobra queen his partner called her, but she was a luscious armful, and Solo enjoyed dancing as an excellent excuse to hold her close. Besides, the senior agent thought with a faint smile, his enemies were rarely this attractive. He intended to enjoy the change as long as possible. And by the time the after dinner drinks rolled around, it was clear the lady was in a most romantic mood.

With an almost satisfied sigh, Napoleon paid the dinner bill. His prospects for the evening were definitely intriguing and he speculated on how far he was going to get before his real intentions became clear. What a lucky coincidence that his date seemed to have a penchant for seducing rich bachelors with large bankrolls, he thought as he leaned back in the cushy leather seats of the Rolls. This was the plushest assignment he’d had in quite some time, and he was really beginning to enjoy himself. That was when the voice in his ear said, rather urgently, “I think you should know we’ve picked up a tail.”

Solo leaned forward; ostensibly to pour champagne, muttering under his breath, “you sure know how to spoil the mood. Where is it?”

“About a block and a half behind us. There’s a dark sedan about two cars back. He’s been with us since we left the nightclub. I’m keeping an eye on your interested observer.”

“Works for me, old buddy. You keep him busy and I’ll keep Cynthia busy.”

“You’re already keeping her busy, Napoleon.” Kuryakin’s voice laughed softly. “I don’t think she’s keeping her mind on business any more than you are. But I’d watch my back all the same, if I were you. The lady, most unfortunately, is a tramp.”

“Thanks, Jiminy, I’ll keep that in mind.” Solo whispered as he leaned back, passing Cynthia a glass of champagne, then sipping his own.

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From the driver’s seat of the Rolls, Illya watched the dark sedan following them. As the Russian agent suspected, the mysterious car stayed back, blending into the flow of traffic behind Solo’s car. Aha, thought Kuryakin, I was right. You are following us. Pleased that their plan was working, Illya obliged their shadow by slowing the limo enough to allow them to keep in sight.

The puzzling disappearance of several rich bachelors who had large holdings in major industries involved in the production of weapons grade material was responsible for bringing Cynthia Hunter up on the radar at UNCLE. In each case, she’d been involved, one way or another with the vanished men, and their holdings kept turning up with her name attached at a later date, or in the hands of companies controlled by Thrush.

So far, her date this evening with Napoleon was working exactly as the agents planned. Posing as a wealthy, unattached bachelor, Solo definitely attracted her interest. Now all that remained was to figure out how she’d managed to acquire her current holdings, and what had become of her former suitors.

While he wove through traffic, Illya tried listening to the conversation in the backseat of the limo, although there didn’t seem to be a great deal of talking going on, just a lot of heavy breathing. “You’re supposed to be getting her to talk, not talking her into bed,” Kuryakin reminded his friend in his caustic way.  Truth to tell, the Russian was rather enjoying his role as Solo’s conscience. Especially since he knew his partner wasn’t free to respond for the most part.  With a faint wicked smile, he heard the CEA clear his throat.

“Um…more champagne?” Napoleon sat up and straightened his tie. Although he knew his partner was right Illya’s admonition in his ear had interrupted an otherwise pleasant interlude. Cynthia was extremely attractive, and at the moment, extremely amenable to his less-than-honorable intentions.

Leaning back against the seats, his companion gave him a warm, seductive smile, “trying to get me drunk, darling?”

“I’d never waste champagne on anything so obvious,” the CEA evaded. He deftly poured two more glasses, “at least give me credit for being more original.” He passed a brimming glass to her, “I just don’t want it to lose all those lovely bubbles.”

Sipping her glass, the lady regarded him with a pensive air for a few moments. “I have to admit, Peter, you’re certainly not at all what I’d been led to expect. I heard you preferred your holdings in Europe. Monte Carlo, wasn’t it?”

“Ah yes,” Solo agreed, as he silently thanked his partner for his thoroughness in providing a plausible, but not easily verifiable, background for the man he was impersonating. “Monte Carlo. Lovely place this time of year.”

“But now you’re back.” She swirled the glass gently, her look was sharp and inquisitive, at odds with her languorous manner. “And here we are. I have to wonder why?”

“Why not? You’re reputed to be a fascinating woman. I had no idea you lived in New York.”

“I was living in London when I first heard about you. And interestingly enough, you have a townhouse in London, but our paths never crossed there.”

“London is a cold, damp town. I try to spend as much time avoiding it as possible.” The lies slid off his tongue with practiced ease as he reached for the bottle to refill her glass. “So you can imagine my surprise when I found out someone as fascinating and utterly charming as yourself lived right here in good, old New York.”

“I see.” There was another long pause while Napoleon met her gaze with what he hoped was a bland, innocent stare. Then she gave him a brilliant smile. “How very flattering. Still, I’m quite certain there are any number of wealthy women who would jump at the chance to go out with you. So, what is it you’re really after?”

His smile never wavering, the CEA responded in his suave way, “companionship. I was looking for a lovely lady to take out to dinner, and here you are.” He leaned one shoulder back against the seat as he lifted his glass with a small toast in her direction, “and you certainly fill the bill.”

“I find the lonely hearts angle flattering, but rather hard to believe. You don’t look at all like the type who ever spends his evenings alone.” Her dark eyes were amused, but there was a faint suspicion in her silky voice.

Solo answered with an effortless shrug, “Which shows how much you know. If you could only see how many nights I’ve spent by the fire, alone in that big, empty mansion. It would probably break your heart.” Reaching over, the CEA took her free hand in his own and dropped a light kiss on the back of it, his eyes meeting hers in a soulful way.

It wasn’t easy, Napoleon thought with a certain virtuousness, to ignore the sharp crack of laughter in his left ear. Illya was listening again. Firmly, he concentrated on his dinner companion. Time to shift the ball into her court. “Besides, the last I heard you were engaged.”

“Unfortunately, that’s all over.” The amused look vanished from her face as her eyes dropped to her glass.

Napoleon watched her expression in a covert manner. “So I heard. Some sort of accident, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. He was skiing, there was an avalanche and he vanished. It took the searchers several days to find him.”

“How sad.” Not to mention amazingly convenient, thought the CEA, hiding his cynical smile. Just like all the others. One thing was sure, Cynthia was a hell of an actress. “Poor devil never had a chance, huh?”

“No.” She lifted her eyes with a faint air of tragedy, to meet the expression of polite interest on his face. “That has a rather permanent way of ending a relationship. I’ve been alone ever since.”

“And if a body was bruised and broken, everyone would think it was a result of the avalanche,” observed the cold, unemotional voice in the CEA’s ear. “Easy enough to explain away anything that would raise questions under normal circumstances.”

Very nicely done, Solo admitted silently, not allowing his suspicion or the faint chill that Kuryakin’s remarks sent down his back, to show. But don’t overdo the tragedy, sweetheart. “Well, there you are then,” a bright smile covered his real thoughts. “I didn’t want to intrude on your grief any sooner. Now that you’re available, I thought I’d look you up.” The senior agent dropped another light kiss on her free hand. “And you’re more beautiful than I hoped.”

This time her smile was definitely far warmer and inviting. “And you are every bit as charming as I’d heard, Mr. Armbruster. I must admit I find your offer quite intriguing. Why don’t we just skip that silly old Statue of Liberty and go to your apartment? I’m sure the sunrise is spectacular from there.”

“And so is the fall from your balcony,” admonished Illya’s cool voice. “Remember, Napoleon, it isn’t the fall that kills you; it’s that sudden stop at the bottom. Oh, and your shadow is still behind us. Just about two cars back. He’s good, and quite tenacious.”

Ignoring his partner’s snide remarks, Solo took the two empty glasses and set them on the small bar. “An excellent suggestion, my dear.” With very little effort, he angled her body when he kissed her so he could see out the rear window. And his partner, as usual, was right. Another car remained persistently behind them, about two cars back.

Sitting up, her lovely face slightly flushed, Cynthia patted her hair back in place and gave him an innocent smile.  “Would you mind too terribly, darling, if we stopped by my apartment first? I need to take care of a bit of… unfinished business. I promise you, it won’t take long.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him in a flirty way.

“Only if it’s just a little bit of business. I wouldn’t want you to be so distracted by business that the glow went out of our evening.”

“Oh, don’t worry, darling, I promise this won’t take any time at all.” Her smile was dazzling, and made Solo wonder what she had in mind. It was disquieting to remember the disappearances of the other men. But they’d all had one thing in common. The last person they’d been seen with was the lovely woman seated beside him. He hoped his partner was keeping an eye on their mysterious tail.

Part Two – Who’s Going To Watch The Cobra Queen?

Watching the car behind him, Kuryakin trusted his friend wasn’t so involved with the romantic aspects of the evening that he’d forgotten what his dinner companion represented. If nothing else, their current shadow proved the woman was up to no good. And the memory of the three businessmen who’d disappeared under extremely mysterious circumstances was all too clear in the Russian agent’s mind.

Napoleon’s order for a change of direction surprised him, but Cynthia’s remarks didn’t. A cold glitter appeared in Illya’s blue eyes. She was starting to take the bait they’d so carefully dangled, believing his partner the wealthy playboy that his cover story had set him up to be. The lure of the supposed fortune from weapons grade material was too strong for her to resist. With a wolfish grin, Kuryakin checked traffic for the Rolls’ trailing mystery car; time for him to keep a very close watch on their shadow.

The Rolls pulled smoothly to the curb in front of an elegant apartment building. Turning with a smile to Napoleon, Cynthia held out a hand invitingly. “Would you like to come with me? I promise this won’t take long. I certainly wouldn’t want to risk the bubbles going flat in our champagne.”

The senior agent returned her smile in his charming manner, knowing an invitation when he heard one. “The champagne can wait,” Solo said as he climbed out of the car, “we can always open another bottle.”

“Napoleon,” the voice in his ear hissed in an irritable way, “you do realize this could be a set-up? It’s got trap written all over it in big, red letters.”

“I thought that was the idea,” Solo whispered with a laugh. “Besides, old buddy, I’ve got you to watch my back.”

“And your shadow is still behind us.” For not the first time, Illya wished his partner wasn’t quite as casual about potential danger as he tended to be. “I can watch him, but who’s going to watch the Cobra Queen?”

“That will be my pleasure,” the senior agent murmured as he watched the shapely Thrush agent climb the steps of the building in front of him. “And believe me, pal, it will be a pleasure.” And he smiled at the exasperated sigh from his listening friend.

Watching Napoleon escort Cynthia Hunter into the building, Illya saw the mysterious black sedan pull up to the curb about a half a block from the apartment building. Driving on, Kuryakin turned the corner and stopped. Checking to make sure he was still attached to his listening device, the Russian slipped from the limo and silently returned to the corner, settling in to wait and watch the mysterious sedan.

It didn’t take an Einstein to know the occupants of the second car were in the pay of Thrush and were probably waiting for the signal to move in on what they believed was Cynthia’s latest target. With any luck at all, thought Kuryakin, he and his partner would be able to turn the tables on the clever lady and find out exactly what had become of the missing men.

In the meantime, he could only hope that Napoleon kept his mind focused on business, instead of seduction. Cynthia Hunter might be a beautiful woman, but her file at UNCLE headquarters was quite extensive, and not at all pretty. Despite her rather obvious interest in his partner, Illya knew she wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of both of them if she had even the slightest suspicion of his true identity. It was more important than ever that for once, Solo concentrate on the problem at hand, and not let her distract him.

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True to his word, Napoleon was keeping a very close eye on Cynthia, in spite of her entertaining attempts to divert him. And that, he thought in a rather noble way, was hardly an easy task. She’d floated across the apartment to skillfully mixed them drinks at her small bar.

“Just a little something to keep you happy until we can have some more of that delicious champagne,” she murmured as she handed one to Napoleon. Seating herself beside him on the couch, Cynthia sipped her drink, then set it down on the coffee table. Sliding into his embrace, she offered in her husky voice, “are you sure you wouldn’t rather spend the rest of the evening here?”

Napoleon had to admit that the offer was beginning to sound more and more tempting. “I thought you wanted to watch the sun come up,” he murmured against her scented hair.

She sighed enticingly, leaning her head back on the sofa in definite invitation, watching him through half-closed eyes. “There are… other things that we can do in the meantime.”

He answered between the kisses that he traced down her slender throat, “true. How about a fast game of tiddly-winks, or maybe a hand or two of Old Maid?”

Cynthia chuckled, “all interesting possibilities. But I had a much more delicious game in mind.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with an intensity that definitely made her proposal interesting.

“Really?” Napoleon cleared his throat, keeping his mind focused on business was becoming a real effort. Things were definitely heating up.

“Really.” She stood up, smiling in an enticing fashion. “Why don’t you just enjoy your drink? To coin a very old phrase, I’m going to slip into something more comfortable.” With a rustle of her silk gown Cynthia drifted across the room, trailing a cloud of expensive perfume. “Don’t go away, I’ll be right back.”

Leaning back on the sofa, Solo sipped the drink in an absentminded fashion, listening to the mocking voice in his ear. “Tiddly-winks, Napoleon? Do try for a little more originality. At the very least, I’d have guessed that Spin-The-Bottle was more your style.”

“Hey, you pick your games and let me pick mine.” the CEA retorted in a whisper.

“It sounded to me as if it was the lady who was selecting the kind of game she wanted to play.”

“I’m always open to suggestions.”

“In that case, might I suggest you find a more businesslike game to occupy your time than the one you both seem to have in mind? Especially since your mysterious car has parked about a half a block from the apartment.”

“Now that is interesting. Any sign of the occupants?”

“Nothing so far, but the night is young. Maybe they too are waiting for the games to begin. I hope you plan on winning this game of yours.”

“Not to worry, old buddy, this happens to be one game I play well, and…” Abruptly, Napoleon realized he wasn’t feeling quite right. The room seemed to be filling with an oddly colored light, and starting to take a definite spin. “And I think…” he tried finishing the sentence as he stood up. Something was wrong, the CEA was sure of it, but his thinking was beginning to cloud. He could hear his partner’s voice in his ear, but it sounded as if Illya was a great distance away and fading fast.

In an odd, detached way, Solo realized he was lying on the floor, although he had no notion of how he’d gotten down there, Cynthia’s beautiful face floating above him in a tantilizing way. He could see her smile, and with a great deal of effort, he tried reaching for her but his muscles no longer obeyed him. As his eyes slid slowly closed he sank effortlessly into the darkness.

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Although Kuryakin was definitely alarmed by the sudden break in communication with his partner, he was also occupied with a few problems of his own of a far more physical nature. His attention diverted from the black sedan when he realized that something was wrong with Napoleon, it became obvious that was an error for which he was about to pay. His observation post spotted, Illya found himself caught up in a rather brutal struggle. His attackers were both larger and stronger than the Russian, and all that was keeping him upright was grim determination.

Backed into a dead end alley, Kuryakin put up a fight, leaving one of his attackers clutching what was, with any luck at all, a broken arm. But the larger of the two men was still standing, and although he was eying the slighter agent with a cautious respect, neither man had much doubt about the eventual outcome. Still, giving up was not something the Russian did well.

The Thrush agent grinned at Illya, and Kuryakin returned his smile with one equally cold. Overconfidence had lead to the downfall of other, larger men in the past and the Russian agent steadied himself, waiting for the attack. His opponent charged, attempting to pin him against the brick wall, but Illya had no intention of allowing himself to be crushed. At the last possible moment, he slid to one side, striking a crippling blow with the full weight of his body on the vulnerable back of his enemy’s knee, collapsing his opponent’s leg underneath him as the man slammed into the wall.

While his enemy crumpled in sudden pain, Kuryakin started to follow up with another savage kick to his adversary’s lower back, aiming for the unprotected area under the ribs, but his plan was pulled up short as the second man caught the Russian around the shoulders, yanking him backwards off his feet. Illya slammed to the pavement hard enough to drive most of the air out of his lungs, and before he could recover both men were on him, pinning him to the ground in spite of his fierce resistance.

An odd smelling gas struck his face, making his senses whirl, and Kuryakin went limp. Although he seemed to have lost control of his muscles, the agent remained conscious enough to be aware of being pulled upright by the two other men. Through the odd, fuzzy confusion in his head he heard a woman’s voice saying, “two for the price of one. This must be my lucky night.”

Another, deeper voice murmured a question that the dazed Russian couldn’t make out, but the female voice responded quickly, “no. We’ve done too well to mess things up by being careless. I don’t want any unexplained bodies lying around to raise awkward questions. Besides, he might prove useful, so let’s keep him alive for now. Hurry up and put him with his employer, you don’t have to be too careful about it.”  

Clinging to the edge of consciousness, Illya was aware of his hands being quickly secured behind him. A strip of tape was roughly plastered over his mouth before he was lifted and dropped into a large trunk. Landing hard on his side, Kuryakin was not able to avoid the edge of the opening as it clipped the side of his head, finishing the job the gas started. Sliding into the darkness, he thought he felt another body beside him, but he was too close to passing out to be sure. It was the last thing he remembered for some time.

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Drifting up to the surface again from strange, multicolored dreams, Napoleon opened his eyes and winced at the light. Involuntarily, he closed them, hoping the light wouldn’t be so bright the next time he decided to try that maneuver. He lay still for a few moments, letting his mind start to function, trying to recall what had happened.

He remembered starting to pass out in Cynthia’s apartment, but after that things were blank or fuzzy… mostly blank. As the cobwebs in his head began clearing, Solo realized he was lying in a rather awkward position, his hands behind him, secured with what felt like heavy tape, and another piece of the same material covered his mouth. Where was he? The thought flittered through the cloudiness in his head. Deciding he had no good answer to that question, it would be necessary for him to open his eyes.

Repeating his first attempt, but this time with more caution, Napoleon was rewarded by not having the instant stab of pain. Pleased by his small victory, he opened his eyes wider to inspect his prison. Not that there was a much to see. Lying on his side on the cold concrete floor of what appeared to be either a garage or some sort of storage area, the CEA realized he had company. Lifting his head slightly, he identified his fellow prisoner. Illya lay secured a few feet away, his eyes closed, his face cut and bruised. It would appear his friend had gotten the rougher part of this assignment, thought Solo.

Squirming in an awkward fashion across the room, Napoleon was able to get his hands into position to yank the tape off his friend’s mouth. His action elicited a faint groan from the Russian. The senior agent’s efforts were rewarded by the sight of the bright blue eyes fluttering open to regard him in a dazed way.

“Wha…?” Illya looked up at his partner, who was seated beside him. “Napoleon? What are you doing here? And where is here?” Meeting the exasperated expression in his friend’s eyes, Kuryakin grinned, although it hurt his face to do so. “Oh yes, I suppose you could answer me better if I removed the tape, right?”

The Russian hesitated, his expression solemn, as if giving the matter serious consideration, but a devil lurked in the blue eyes. “Of course, if I do that, I’ll just have to sit here and listen to your complaints. And for who knows how long? You must admit it is rather tempting to leave matters as they are.” Correctly interpreting his companion’s expression, Illya nodded, “oh very well. I suppose you’re right.” Struggling awkwardly into a better position, he managed to pull the tape off his friend’s mouth.

“Ah.” Napoleon wriggled his mouth, “much better.” He glanced around their prison. “Wonder where they brought us?”

“I was rather hoping you’d have an answer for that. Perhaps to wherever they brought those missing men.” Illya’s glance roamed the room in his usual restless manner. “I seem to remember someone saying they wanted us alive.”

“Well, there’s a cheery thought.”

“They weren’t specific as to why they wanted us alive, Napoleon, or for how long. And unless I miss my guess, the person I heard was your date for the evening.”

“Damn,” Solo looked slightly chagrined. “I should’ve known she wouldn’t like the Statue of Liberty idea.”

“Maybe your suggestion of games to play wasn’t appreciated.”

Struggling back till he could lean against the wall, Solo observed, “Considering we never even got to try, I don’t think that was the problem.”

“I think she had a far more deadly game in mind than you did.”

“Uh-huh,” the senior agent was looking around their prison, but his gaze returned to settle on his partner. “And just how did I wind up with you for company?” Solo demanded with mock sternness. “You were supposed to be watching my back.”

Illya leaned back against the other wall, “I was until two very large, rather rude gentlemen interrupted me. But,” he shrugged, “that was about the same time you hit the floor. Unfortunately, I have yet to develop the ability to be in two places at once. I was rather occupied myself at that moment.”

“So I see,” Napoleon regarded his partner’s battered face in the dim light. “What do the other guys look like?”

“I believe one of them has a broken arm,” the Russian remarked in his coldest voice. “Most regrettably, I didn’t have time to finish off the other one and they managed to get me down. I don’t remember a great deal clearly after they sprayed some sort of gas in my face. Except the woman’s voice. I’m certain it was Cynthia Hunter.”

“Big surprise.”

“Indeed.”

Shifting his shoulders, Napoleon flexed his hands, testing the strength of the tape around his wrists. It was quite strong. “Let’s see if we can find out where we are,” he suggested.

“We might as well,” Kuryakin agreed “Who knows how long it will be before someone decides to come for us? I wouldn’t want you to get bored.” Glancing around their prison, Illya remarked, “not exactly the most secure place I’ve ever been in. I wonder where everyone’s gone off to?”

 “I suspect we’re about to find out,” Solo remarked, as they heard the sound of a key being turned in the lock of the door.

Part Three – I Still Have Scars From The Times Your Planning Was A Little Off

Two men entered the room, one of them wore a cast on one arm, the results of his battle with the Russian. “You called it,” Solo remarked to his partner. Jerked to their feet, they were shoved out the door as Napoleon smiled in his charming manner at their guards. “I don’t suppose you guys would like to give us a hint where we’re going?” His only answer was another rough shove from the guards. “I didn’t think so,” he admitted.

“Not overly talkative,” Kuryakin observed.

“Shut up,” ordered the guard with the cast. “I owe you for this, so don’t tempt me.”

“Pity you didn’t break both of them,” Napoleon remarked in a casual way to his friend, “then Godzilla there wouldn’t have had anything left to threaten you with.”

“You heard him,” the other guard stared at Solo in an unpleasant, threatening way. “It goes for you too.”

“Now, now, boys,” the CEA’s grin was unrepentant. “You don’t want to bruise the merchandise. Cynthia might not like that.”

The only response from the guards was another shove, this one hard enough to make the senior agent stumble slightly. “No sense of humor, either,” Napoleon pointed out.

“Not a requirement in their line of work,” the Russian sneered, “no more than brains, evidently.”

The man with the broken arm grabbed Kuryakin by his shoulder and hauled him half around to face him, “I warned you once…” he began, raising his good arm in a threatening manner.

“You know,” the Russian said in his soft, disinterested voice, an expression of mild interest on his cold face. “I’m beginning to regret not having broke the other one when I had the chance.”

The man gave Illya a look of baffled fury. His partner, temporarily distracted, forgot to watch Napoleon. It was the opening Solo was watching for, and he immediately thrust his leg between the other man’s, tripping him neatly and sending him stumbling into Illya’s guard.

Even with their hands tied, both agents were quick to take advantage of any situation. Although Napoleon’s balance was still a little shaky, he managed to deliver a couple of solid kicks to his guard, sending the man staggering back, before being slammed against one of the walls in the passage with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. Pinned against the wall by the guard’s arm across his throat, Solo struggled for breath as the arm slowly, deliberately pressed tighter, the Thrush agent’s grinning face inches from his own. He was just beginning to black out when Cynthia Hunter’s voice interrupted, “enough.”

Released from the hold across his throat, Napoleon gulped in air while he was yanked upright. A quick glance told him Illya had received similar treatment; his partner’s face was pale beneath the bruising. With an effort, Solo managed his usual cocky grin, “there you are, Cynthia. I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I’m not usually one to complain, but I’m afraid that last drink of yours was just the tiniest bit too strong.”

She returned his smile with a cold one. “What a pity. I must’ve measured wrong. Oh well, darling, better luck next time.”

“Now, that cheers me up. I can’t wait till the next time. Maybe we’ll get to the Statue of Liberty after all.”

“I’m afraid not, darling. You and your companion,” Cynthia shot a quick glance at the silent Russian, “won’t be going that way anytime soon.”

“Really?” Solo’s dark eyebrows arched. “Did we have other plans? You’ll forgive me if my memory is a little shaky… that Mickey Finn you slipped me must’ve eliminated a few gray cells.”

“Ah, what a pity. Well, you might not have any other plans, but I do.” Cynthia’s smile deepened in a venomous way. “You’re going some place where we’ll have time to persuade you to gladly sign over your majority shares in that arms corporation to me.”

“Will I?” Napoleon continued to regard her with a look of amiable interest. “I can’t think of any particular reason why I’d be tempted to do such an obviously stupid thing.”

Her glance slid once more to Kuryakin. “Well, if you aren’t feeling particularly cooperative, we have ways of…how shall I put this? Persuading you. And I don’t have any qualms about using whatever’s necessary to obtain your signature.”

“Now that sounds suspiciously like a threat,” Solo observed in a mild tone.

“Not a threat, darling,” she corrected. “A promise.”

“Is that what happened to all your other relationships?”

“When they’d served their usefulness, it hardly seemed practical to keep them around.” Cynthia shrugged with cold indifference. Her dark eyes as hard as stone, she continued, “but enough about me. It’s time we were moving along. This was only a temporary arrangement till we could dispose of the limo. Now, there’s two ways we can do this, easy or difficult. And I can tell you that the boys here would prefer difficult.” Her glance slid to the two guards and the cold smile returned to her face. “For some reason, they seem to feel you and your chauffeur have been less than cooperative so far.”

The two agents exchanged a glance, their communication almost telepathic. “In that case,” Solo shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t think we have any choice but to accept your gracious offer.”

Giving a half-smile that made her face even more cynical, Cynthia nodded, “very well. I’m afraid the ride won’t be as comfortable as the limo, but I’m sure you’ll understand why. Have a lovely trip. I’m looking forward to renewing our acquaintance later.” Then she jerked her head at her two assistants, and they forced their prisoners out the door.

--------------------------------------------------

Pushed into the back of a delivery van, the two agents waited until the vehicle lurched into motion before setting to work on freeing each other. “Nice of them to use duct tape,” Solo observed, as he felt his partner’s fingers patiently working the edge of the tape up until he could get a firmer grip on it and begin loosening the CEA’s wrists.

“Given the conditions much easier than a set of handcuffs,” agreed the Russian when Napoleon returned the favor and freed his hands. Pulling his arms in front of him, Illya directed an inquiring look at the senior agent, “now what?”

“Now,” Napoleon steadied himself in the swaying vehicle long enough to clear a small hole in the painted over rear windows on the door and peer out, then sat back down, “we wait. I want to see just where our hostess has been hauling all her old boyfriends to dispose of them.”

“Ah,” Illya leaned back against the other wall, resting his head against it and closing his eyes. “The elephant’s graveyard.”

“What?”

“You know, Napoleon, that legendary place where all the elephants go to die.”

“I’d prefer not to think of myself as an elephant, if it’s all the same to you, pal. But I think I know what you’re getting at. You mean did she dispose of all of them in the same place? Or with the same method, or something like that?”

“Close enough.”

“And that’s what we need to find out. She says she’s disposed of all of them, but how exactly?”

“Are we looking for bodies?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. What we’re really looking for is her little set up. I don’t think the Beagle boys up there are behind this little operation; they’re too much the brainless muscle types. So that means my date is getting her support from somewhere else. We need proof of her connection to Thrush, and enough information to shut the whole thing down.”

“And contact headquarters when we have what we need.” Kuryakin opened one eye to regard his partner in his usual somber fashion, “I don’t suppose you still have your communicator on you?”

“As a matter of fact,” Solo reached into the concealed inner pocket of his tux, “I do. It seems our fair Cynthia is the trusting type. I guess I looked so much like a millionaire she never suspected.”

“That’s one possibility.”

“There are others? Name one.”

“She was so sure of herself, she didn’t bother worrying.”

“If she’d been that sure, she’d have just killed us on the spot.”

“Perhaps.”

“I hate that tone of voice,” Solo looked at his partner with a disgruntled expression. “It usually means you’ve thought of something I didn’t. All right, out with it. What else?”

Closing his eyes again, the Russian said, “oh, nothing much. Just that she’s been so successful, she isn’t worried about getting caught, no matter who you are.”

“You’re full of cheerful thoughts this evening, aren’t you?” Solo eyed his partner sourly.

“Just trying to be practical.”

“Well, knock it off, Jiminy. I have my own way of doing things, you know.”

“And I know they sometimes go slightly awry.” Kuryakin smiled.

“Your trusting nature is your finest quality,” muttered Napoleon. He started to say more, but the van took a sudden lurch, and the ride became far more uncomfortable.

“Dirt road,” observed Illya.

“Or pretty poor pavement,” the CEA grabbed on to a piece of the frame to steady himself. “Obviously, they aren’t too concerned about what shape we arrive in.”

“They probably would view it as a plus if we were unconscious whenever we get to where we’re going.” Kuryakin braced himself to minimize the bouncing, “and the way this van is bouncing around it doesn’t seem all that impossible.”

“Hmm, maybe we should oblige them.”

“Now it’s my turn, Napoleon,” Illya eyed his partner mistrustfully, “you’ve got that look in your eye that means you’ve thought of some sort of plan that will probably get us both killed.”

“You know your problem, old buddy? You worry too much. Not good for your blood pressure.”

“Some of your plans are even harder on it. Remember that time in Calcutta? That little plan of yours nearly got us both done in.”

“The plan was fine, the timing was just a little off, that’s all.”

“I still have scars from the times your planning was a little off.”

“Now, now. They work, don’t they?”

“Humph.” Steadying himself against the jolting of the truck, Illya looked out the back door with care. “Saying your plans work is like saying an explosion of dynamite was successful because it leveled everything for several miles, when all you wanted to do was flatten a shed.” He peered out into the darkness for a few seconds longer before continuing, “we appear to be out in the countryside somewhere. Evidently, Cynthia likes her privacy.”

“Stands to reason,” Solo agreed. “If you’re busy eliminating people, you’d hardly want an audience.”

Illya returned to his position leaning against the side panel, “plus, you’d need somewhere to dispose of the bodies without attracting a lot of nasty attention and awkward inquiries.”
 
“Which leads us back to our original question. We still need to find out where and how our little birdie is disposing of her former love interests.”

“Time for your plan,” Kuryakin remarked in his impersonal way, “we’re slowing down.”

“Well, first things first,” Napoleon stretched, “let’s take care of Tweedledee and Tweedledum and then we can take it from there.”

A cold smile appeared on his friend’s face, “This time I may break that goon’s other arm.”

“No time like the present to tidy up loose ends.”

And both men braced themselves as the van began to slow to a stop.


Part Four – You’ve Been A Rather Neglectful Hostess

It took little effort to overpower the guards once they’d been slammed to the ground by force of the van doors being kicked in their faces. Quickly rounding up their weapons, the two enforcement agents deposited their former guards, securely tied, in the back of the vehicle and took time to survey their surroundings.

“Impressive,” Solo observed as he regarded the dark windows of a large house. “Obviously, Cynthia’s little business is paying off handsomely.”

“Have you ever noticed how the villains always seem to live a good deal better than the rest of us? Doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?”

“Indeed it doesn’t. You don’t suppose they have a union, do you? Remind me to bring that up at the next meeting for salary increases. Shall we see what the interior of this little chateau looks like?”

“After you,” Illya waved a hand towards the nearest door. “Of course, if the place is wired, you may be setting off all manner of alarms.”

Napoleon started forward, then hesitated, giving Illya a sharp look. “Oh, trust you to think of that. And here I thought you were feeling generous. I should’ve known you wanted me to test for any possible booby-traps.”

Kuryakin slyly grinned at Solo, “I’m getting cautious in my old age.”

A contemptuous sneer was the CEA’s only response to his partner’s remark. But he moved cautiously through the underbrush, his dark eyes alert for any signs of a trap. All joking aside, both agents knew their enemies were not at all inclined to make their job any easier.

Moving with stealth across the darkened garden beyond a broad terrace, neither man saw any signs of activity, although Kuryakin touched his friend’s sleeve once and pointed upwards to the wall of the building. Following his friend’s signal, Solo spotted a camera mounted on the wall in a small alcove. Anyone stepping on the terrace would be in the camera’s lens. “Aha,” the senior agent whispered, “my little dinner companion is not without some interesting resources. How much do you want to bet that anyone stepping on the terrace also triggers the lights?”

“It would be logical,” Illya whispered back. “Which means we’ll need to find a different way inside.”

“I knew walking across the terrace and opening the door was just too easy,” Napoleon grinned.

“You’re an incurable optimist, Napoleon,” the Russian retorted dryly. His sharp gaze traveled around the building’s perimeter before resting on a window partially concealed behind some shrubbery. “That window looks promising,” he pointed out. “We wouldn’t be nearly as obvious, and if we’re lucky, it leads into an unoccupied room. We can’t wait too long, Cynthia’s going to get suspicious when her two bouncers don’t appear with us in tow.”

“True,” Solo agreed, “as a matter of fact, I’m beginning to get nervous that she hasn’t shown up so far. Let’s see if that window is as easy to jimmy as it looks.” And he slipped through the shadows towards the small window, his friend following silently behind.

--------------------------------------------------

As they’d hoped, the window was not wired like the terrace, and the Russian’s clever fingers quickly opened it. Pushing it up, Solo slipped in. Illya followed silently behind him into the darkened room. The two men glanced around curiously, orienting themselves in the semi-dark.

“Well, that was easy,” Napoleon remarked. “Wonder where we are?”

“It would appear to be a library of some sort.” Reaching into the inside pocket in the front of his fitted uniform jacket, Kuryakin pulled out a small penlight and thumbed it on. Using the narrow beam of light, he glided over to a large desk, flicking on the small table lamp. Glancing at the various papers laid out on the desk, he  began sorting through them. “Bills, statements, looks like Cynthia is doing quite well for herself,” he commented over his shoulder.

“Any sort of damning evidence?” Solo joined his friend at the desk, opening other drawers and rifling through the material.

“What did you have in mind?”

Napoleon looked up with a quick grin as he shuffled through a stack of papers from one of the drawers. “Oh, I don’t know. Power of attorney, little pieces of paper signing over stock options to her, a signed confession, drivers licenses, body parts, stuff like that.”

“Hardly likely she’d leave such goodies lying about in plain sight,” Kuryakin murmured as he sifted through the rest of the papers on the desk. “Nothing extraordinary here.”

Solo turned his thoughtful gaze on the rest of the room. “Wall safe?” he suggested.

“Sounds logical, but where?”

His partner’s flashlight rested on the large portrait over the fireplace as Napoleon asked, “shall we try the obvious?”

“Why not? Most Thrush personnel are not known for their resourceful nature.” Illya crossed to the picture and began a rapid examination, sliding his sensitive fingers along on the underneath side of the frame. “It seems the preferred place for the unimaginative. Now what’s this?” There was a soft click and the frame swung open like a small door.

“Bingo,” Napoleon whispered.

“Indeed,” said another voice, and the room suddenly flooded with light. Cynthia, wearing a black jumpsuit, stood in the doorway, a very practical looking weapon in her hand, and two very displeased guards by her side!

“Ah, there you are,” Solo said in a calm tone of voice that hid his chagrin. “You know, I was beginning to wonder where you’d wandered off to, sweetheart. You’ve been a rather neglectful hostess.”

“Oh, I’m so dreadfully sorry, darling,” Cynthia’s smile was chilly. “I would’ve dealt with you sooner, but I had to waste time finding my men first. They seem to have gotten slightly misplaced.” She moved into the room and gestured with her gun, “put the weapons down on the table, Peter, dear. I would hate to have to kill you too soon.”

“No more than I would,” the CEA responded. His glance slid briefly to his silent partner, but left with little choice they followed her orders. “You know, if you’re trying to win me over with charm, Cynthia, I should tell you that this isn’t the best way to go about it.”

“Charm you, darling?” the woman gave a slight, hard laugh. “Oh no, Peter. I hate to disillusion you, but it’s only your fortune that interests me. Unfortunately, you and your friend have been most difficult and caused me a great deal of trouble.”

Solo gave a slight bow, “we do our modest best.”

“I’m sure you do, darling. And, if it’s any consolation, you’ve been quite good at it.”

“Well now, that does make me feel some better.” He looked at his partner, “how about you?”

Illya gave a brief, cold shrug. “Moderately. However, I would’ve been far happier to have found all that incriminating evidence.” His eyes met Solo’s and the brief look telegraphed a message.

Cynthia looked between them. “Is that what you were after? Proof that I’m a wicked, evil woman?” Her smile widened. “So near, and yet so far,“ she said mockingly. “I hope you find it consoling in your last minutes to realize you almost found it.”

“Regrettably, no.” Napoleon shrugged. “Close, but no cigar has never suited me, actually. I find I prefer winning.”

“Not this time, my dear,” her gun lifted in a threatening manner. “We do have some business to attend to, so if you’d be so kind…” she indicated a door at the far end of the room. “Please don’t try anything foolish, Peter. One of my men will be here with your chauffeur. Any lack of cooperation on your part will result in a great deal of pain on his. And I can assure you that my man will enjoy inflicting it. Probably a great deal more than you’ll enjoy being forced to watch. It can be quite unnerving, I assure you.”

One of Cynthia’s men shoved Kuryakin on to a straight-backed chair, where he was securely tied. “Don’t worry about me,” the Russian said. “You’ve got more than enough problems of your own.”

“Very true,” Cynthia agreed as she followed Solo and her other guard through the door. “Your driver is most astute, darling. You do have problems of your own.”

Forced out the door by his guard, and closely watched by Cynthia, Napoleon considered his options for turning the tables on the pair. Since she hadn’t bothered to search him, Solo felt comfortable knowing the small, explosive cufflinks he wore would create the perfect surprise, if he could keep them distracted just a little longer.

As they walked down a long hallway, Solo remarked, “It seems you’ve gone to a great deal of trouble just for my benefit, Cynthia.”

Her soft, cold laugh floated in the hall. “Oh, not for you, darling. For that lovely fortune of yours.”

“Well,” Napoleon did his best to sound humble, “far be it from me to get your hopes up. It’s not that much of a fortune, really.”

“Several million dollars is more than adequate, Peter dear. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m a greedy woman.”

No, that would be your employer, thought the CEA. Aloud, he retorted, “you should be accumulating quite a tidy sum by now, if the reports are correct. All those fatal accidents to your fiancés and boyfriends.”

“A girl can be so unlucky sometimes,” she agreed with a nasty chuckle as they halted in front of another door. With a slight motion of her gun, Cynthia ordered, “Inside, please. And don’t try anything funny, darling. Remember what will happen to your chauffeur if you do. You don’t strike me as the kind of man who’d let someone else suffer unnecessarily.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Solo retorted. “I’ve got his best interests at heart, believe me.” And he entered the room, glancing around curiously. The area was not all that large, but it was equipped nearly as well as the computer rooms at UNCLE, all the latest high tech equipment. Obviously, her success rate had earned the confidence of the Thrush high command. “Quite some little set up you’ve got here, Cynthia. All the comforts of home. Is this your entertainment center?”

“You might call it that,” she admitted. Her charming smile changed to something far more malicious. “Unfortunately, all my former…er…acquaintances found it far less entertaining than I did.”

“Was that before, or after, you forced them to sign their assets over to you?”

“I see you’ve heard some of those ugly rumors.”

“Rumors? Not the truth?”

“On the contrary, darling, all too true. But forced them to sign? After my men finished with them, they were eager to sign, believe me. It’s amazing the cooperation a little ‘persuasion’, properly applied, will generate. I make a little wager with myself about how long they can hold out. For some reason, I’m willing to bet you’ll be one of the harder ones to crack.” Cynthia leaned against one of the consoles, enjoying herself, and waiting for some sign of fear. “Still, I find these little sessions so amusing. After I’ve gotten what I want from you, maybe I’ll bring your chauffeur down here and entertain myself with him for a little while before I dispose of the pair of you.”

“No.” Napoleon shook his head, an odd little smile playing around his mouth, “no, I really don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

“Really?” It was clear she felt in control of the situation, but his reaction puzzled her. “And why not?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s a bit of a grouch even on his best day, and not a heck of a lot of fun when he’s unhappy.”

Cynthia laughed. Given his current circumstances, Solo found less to enjoy about the sound than he had earlier in the evening. “Oh, too bad. Any other reason?”

“I don’t think we’re going to be around long enough to accept your kind invitation to party,” the CEA smiled, palming one of the explosive cufflinks.

“I’d venture to guess that you’re being overly optimistic, darling,” the woman’s smile hardened.

“Funny, I didn’t think so,” and with a sudden flick of his fingertips, Napoleon shot the small explosive directly on to the console of the computer, where it made a most impressive flash and explosion. Catching his distracted guard squarely on the neck with a savage blow, Solo whirled like a cat to deal with the female Thrush agent as the man toppled towards the floor.

In a rage, Cynthia fired at Solo, but her shot went wide, hitting her own man before Napoleon grabbed her arm, forcing it up behind her, and wrenching the gun from her grasp. “Now, now,” he admonished, “nice girls shouldn’t play with loaded weapons.”

“You…you,” she stammered with fury, “you’re not any millionaire! Just who are you?”

“Now, I resent that,” Solo laughed softly in her ear. “I could be. As a matter of fact, you thought I was, at least for a little while. Let’s just say that this is the point in the game where you get to holler, ‘uncle’.”

“I should have guessed,” Cynthia twisted futilely in his grip, ladylike poise forgotten as she endeavored to escape. “A lousy UNCLE agent.”

“Alas, too true, although I think I resent the part about lousy. I happen to be a very good UNCLE agent. The name’s Solo, by the way, Napoleon Solo.”

Her rage only increased. And judging by the stream of invective that poured out of her, she recognized the name only too well. “Judging by your reaction, I see you’ve heard of me. But such naughty words are hardly becoming in a lady! Besides,” Napoleon reminded her, ”you called me charming, remember?”

“I should’ve killed you while I had the chance!” Cynthia snarled, as she continued to struggle to escape his iron grip.

“Such a violent temper. It’s a good thing I saw this side of you before I had the chance to really get serious,” Solo admonished with a mocking grin. “I’m afraid the next time I’ll have to find someone else to play games with, you want to play just a little too rough for my tastes.” Giving her a slight push towards the door, he continued, “as much as I’d like to continue this little love fest, it’s time I was collecting my partner. Let’s go, sweetheart.”

In the room upstairs, Illya had been twisting his hands carefully in the ropes that held him to the chair. Trust Napoleon to go off and leave him tied up like a Christmas package! Keeping his eyes on his guard, the Russian began to flex his wrists, stretching the rope a little at a time, gradually loosening it.

Napoleon liked to believe he could win over any woman, but Kuryakin wasn’t convinced that Cynthia was all that susceptible to his partner’s charm, and the Russian knew his friend had a tendency to be slightly overconfident on occasion.  As Illya pointed out to Solo, he was a careful man and wasn’t counting on Napoleon’s good looks and smooth ways to win the lady over.

The Russian agent’s sharp hearing caught the sound of someone in the hallway, and unconsciously he tensed, hoping his friend had succeeded in outsmarting their enemies, and considering his options if Solo hadn’t managed some clever escape. The door opened, and as Cynthia entered the room, Illya felt his heart start to sink. But when she twisted suddenly, shoving the door aside and screaming to her remaining agent, “he’s an UNCLE agent! Shoot!” Kuryakin knew her plans had gone awry.

As Napoleon dove through the door behind the traitorous Thrush agent, he snapped off a quick shot at the guard, but his main intention was focused on reaching Cynthia as she made a grab for his special, still lying on the desk. Catching her around the waist he tossed her unceremoniously across the room, where she landed in a most unladylike heap on the sofa. Wasting no time on the niceties, Napoleon rather rudely delivered a knockout blow to the malevolent agent, who was struggling up to attack him. But his effort cost time, giving the remaining guard a chance to aim. The first shot plowed into the sofa just above the CEA’s head.

Unfortunately, the man had forgotten about Kuryakin, who suddenly exploded from the chair behind him, tackling him around the knees to drive him forward to the floor. A swift punch from the Russian provided the finishing touches and the guard stretched out, unconscious.

“Very nice,” panted Solo, pushing his hair back from his eyes as he stood up.

“What took you so long? I was getting very tired of sitting here doing nothing while you were doing your best to charm the Cobra Queen. Which,” Illya added with a certain amount of relish, “rather obviously wasn’t working.”

“Hey, I got here in time, didn’t I?” Napoleon defended himself as he walked over and picked up their weapons. He tossed Illya’s gun to him, and the Russian deftly caught it, slipping it away in one smooth motion. “Besides, we accomplished what we set out to do. Put her out of business.”

“Perhaps.” Kuryakin admitted as he began tying up the unconscious agents. “But we still need information on her setup, Napoleon. I do hope you didn’t destroy anything of importance in that other room.”

Recalling the smashed console and the small fire that seemed to have started, Solo shook his head. “Of course not,” he lied calmly. Then changing the subject, the CEA said, “I guess it’s about time we called in the troops.”

“It would seem the logical course,” admitted his partner as he stood up and surveyed the room. “And I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Really?”

“Well, for once you’ve managed an assignment without any major damage to either myself or the equipment.”

“Um…yeah.” Grabbing his partner’s elbow, Napoleon firmly steered the Russian outside while he pulled out his communicator. Why spoil the illusion? he thought. If they hurried, he might even be able to get Kuryakin away from the building before Illya realized there were a few problems. And if the reinforcements arrived in time, they might even manage to salvage some of the equipment. “Well, like I told you, old buddy, I’m perfectly capable of keeping on the straight and narrow without any Russian Jiminy Cricket.” And Solo tried not to look too hurried as he opened Channel D.

The end

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