Act I "Even Bones Break in Paradise"

Somewhere in Honolulu, September Eighth

    Illya Kuryakin couldn't see them yet but he could feel their presence. He'd experienced these sensations many times before. Seconds passing slowly. Each sense operating at peak efficiency, his mind alert. He quickly turned into the alley and off the street and out of the hot sun.

    It was hotter than he remembered. The last time he'd been in Hawaii, several months ago, he had been injured, ending up in the hospital and not being exposed to the sun that much. Today,  the tropical sun's damage to his fair skin was the least of his worries. But it was distracting and he needed all the concentration he could muster.

    Then, he heard the footsteps. Kuryakin turned and saw the big Samoan. The man lunged for the Russian but Kuryakin sidestepped him. Kuryakin attempted a karate blow but it only seemed to graze the Thrushman. Did he really have to wear that ridiculous flowered shirt? Kuryakin thought for a moment, not sure why he even bothered to make the observation. The Samoan then nailed Kuryakin with a back handed motion, the impact causing Kuryakin's vision to blur for a moment.

    Illya shook his head quickly and stepped back to avoid another blow. All conscious thought left Kuryakin and suddenly he was an unthinking machine. Virtually in one motion, he dived to the alley, then made a sweeping kick, tripping the Samoan. Suddenly the Russian jumped up, leaned over the big man and hit him hard in the neck.

    Kuryakin stood up straight to collect his thoughts when he heard murmurings from just around the corner of the alley. He couldn't make out the words but the tone was terse. Probably more of this fellow's friends. Only seconds before they would attack and this alley dead ended.

    He reached into the pocket of his trousers and extracted the pen communicator. With a quick motion he had it ready. "Open Channel D. This is Kuryakin. Condition red. Taking Capsule B. Out."

    Kuryakin was swallowing the pill hidden in the communicator as another two large Samoans rushed him. Illya parried one but the other got a solid punch in the stomach, sending him down to the asphalt. Kuryakin was again operating strictly on reflex and not conscious thought. Laying on his back, he had enough strength to kick the man hard in the chest, sending him staggering backwards. Kuryakin got to his feet just in time for the other Samoan to connect with a right cross. But Kuryakin stayed upright and, keeping his hand rigid, jabbed the man in the throat. The Samoan grabbed his throat and made a horrific choking sound and his skin turned blue. His partner was gathering himself for another attack. He grabbed the Russian for a moment but Kuryakin had an angle of attack to the throat. He put every last ounce of strength into the karate blow and heard a sickening crack. The Samoan stared at Kuryakin for a moment before the life exited the man. A second later, he was only two hundred, fifty-eight pounds of dead weight, sliding off Kuryakin.

    The Russian seemed not to notice. He steadied himself and staggered out of the alley, as he walked around the one survivor who still lay unconscious. Kuryakin was not exactly sure what was happening but knew he should keep walking.

***

    Kono Kalakaua leaned over the body of one of the two dead Samoans. The medical examiner was examining the other man while two plainclothes Honolulu Police Department officers checked around the alleyway. Man, who could take two such big guys? Kono thought. Must be some kind of killing machine.

    The screech of the tires broke Kono's concentration. He looked over and saw the door open to the old reconditioned Mercury Marquis. The tall man who exited then ducked under the yellow tape that had been hastily put up to keep onlookers away.

    "What have we got, Kono?" asked Steve McGarrett, the head of Hawaii Five-O, the Hawaiian state police unit.

    "Couple of dead Samoans, boss," Kono replied. "Not much in the way of evidence. They look like tough customers but somebody took them down, but good."

    McGarrett looked in the direction of Dr. Bergman, the medical examiner. "How'd they go down, Doc?"

    "Preliminary examination indicates one had his larynx crushed, the other had his neck broken," the middle aged physician said. "No signs of a gunshot or knife wound. My guess would be some kind of hand-to-hand fight. I'll know more after an autopsy."

    "OK, Doc. Get to me as quick as you can."

    "Is there any other way with you?" the medical examiner said as he motioned to two forensic men who carried body bags.

    McGarrett watched as the men performed their work of preparing the bodies for transport. "Do we have any leads, Kono?"

    "Not a lot. A shop keeper up the street walked by, saw the bodies and called HPD. Chin Ho is talking to him now. No make on these guys. Had no identification but they were carrying some serious heat. Each had a semi-automatic pistol."

    "Two guys with guns but they get killed in some kind of hand-to-hand battle?" McGarrett said. "Doesn't make sense."

    Just then, one of the plainclothes HPD officers came up to McGarrett. "Got a little something," the man said, holding up a small plastic bag with a bit of blue fabric inside. "Doesn't match the shirts on either victim. Doesn't look like it's from a dress shirt. Maybe a golf shirt or some other kind of  casual attire."

    "Get it over to Che Fong in the lab," McGarrett said.

    "Yes sir," the man said as he left.

    McGarrett scratched his forehead. "Kono, see how Chin is coming with the witness. Afterwards, both of you comb this area. Maybe we can turn up something. Anything. I don't like the smell of this one."

    "Right boss," Kono said.

***    

    A quarter-block away, a BMW pulled into a parking space on the street. The driver, a Samoan, rubbed the side of his neck. The passenger took out a cigarette and put it in a holder.

    "Well it appears the local constables got here before we could extract your late co-workers," the passenger said as he lit the cigarette. "That's very unfortunate."

    "Looks like Five-O's involved."

    "Five what? Ah, that special police unit, yes," the passenger said. "Recognize any of them?"

    The driver looked to his left. "At nine o'clock, that Chinese man in the brown suit talking to the other Chinese. That's Chin Ho Kelly, one of McGarrett's men."

    "Chin Ho what?"

    "Kelly. He's half Irish if you can believe that."

    "Go on."

    "About eleven o'clock. The big Hawaiian in the light gray suit, walking toward Chin Ho Kelly. That's Kono Kalakaua. At about twelve o'clock, with his back turned toward us, the man in the blue suit. That's the man. McGarrett. He can be trouble."

    The passenger drew a big drag from his cigarette. "Not as much trouble if we don't find our friend Kuryakin. I should have instructed you to shoot his kneecaps instead of trying to take him by physical means."

    The passenger caught a glimpse of McGarrett as he turned back in the direction of the street. Tall and rigid. The man, eh? the passenger thought. He certainly looks the part.

    "Let's depart," the passenger said. "We won't disturb Mr. McGarrett for now." The German car pulled out and passed by the crime scene.

New York, September Eighth

    Napoleon Solo turned off the computer and put away the last file. It was already past eight and Solo felt the effects of the long day. As he reached for his suit coat, the intercom buzzed.

    "Mr. Solo." It was the voice of Lisa Rogers, secretary to the Number One of Section One. This couldn't be good news -- not at this time.

    "Solo here," he replied, resignation in his voice.

    "Mr. Waverly needs to see you immediately."

    Solo sighed and paused for a moment. "I'm on my way."

    Solo put the suitcoat on and the automatic sliding door for his office opened. Alexander Waverly rarely socialized with enforcement agents. A summons this time of night likely meant an operation had gone wrong. A few minutes later, he entered Waverly's office. Waverly sat at the familiar round conference table, with Lisa Rogers standing at his side, pointing toward a file both were examining.

    The U.N.C.L.E. chief looked up. "Mr. Solo, I need you to prepare to take a trip to Hawaii immediately."

    Solo squinted for a moment. Hawaii?

    Waverly motioned for Solo to sit down. "May I ask why, sir?"

    "It's Mr. Kuryakin. While on assignment in the Far East, he stumbled onto some vital information. A list of twenty-five Thrush moles in various positions of authority -- government, finance, academia. He believed, however, that Thrush was on to him. He switched flights at the last moment and arrived in Honolulu, instead of his expected route."

    "Is he in trouble?" Solo asked.

    "The last contact occurred a couple of hours ago," Lisa interjected. "All we know is he was taking Capsule B."

    Solo arched his eyebrows. Capsule B -- the U.N.C.L.E. amnesia drug. For a second, Solo could relive the pain he once awoke with after taking Capsule B. Even worse was the disorientation. One didn't take Capsule B unless you thought capture was likely and you wanted to ensure you wouldn't reveal vital information.

    "So Illya has been captured then," Solo said.

    "That's what we initially believed," Waverly said. "Over the last hour, however, routine monitoring of news reports turned up something odd. Two men were killed in a less savory area of Honolulu. They had been killed in some kind of fight -- the description made it sound as if they had been dispatched by someone trained in a variety of fighting techniques."

    "Illya, perhaps. Are the dead men from Thrush?"

    "Perhaps, we simply don't know for sure, Mr. Solo," Waverly said impatiently. I want you there quickly, first flight out possible."

    "Absolutely, sir," Solo said. "There may be a problem, however."

    "Mr. Solo, your social life is no concern--"

    "I mean once I get to Hawaii, sir," Solo said. "You may recall Illya and I had some dealings with the state police unit, Hawaii Five-O, on that affair several months ago involving the Q strain."

    "What of it?"

    "Sir, if there's a hint of some major affair going on, Five-O will be in the midst of it. You'll recall Mr. McGarrett's dossier."

    Waverly leaned back in his chair. "I remember. A state policeman who has a penchant for getting involved in major espionage and security matters."

    "Yes, and based on what I know of Mr. McGarrett, I wouldn't be surprised if Five-O isn't involved in investigating those two deaths."

    Waverly looked at Lisa. "There was some notation about a Hawaii Five-O in the report about the dead men, sir," she said.

    "McGarrett knows me, sir," Solo continued. "If we should cross paths, it might impede my actions. Unless--"

    "Unless what, Mr. Solo?"

    "We bring Mr. McGarrett into it, sir."

    "Out of the question, Mr. Solo," Waverly said. "This is an U.N.C.L.E. matter."

    Solo stood up and began to pace. "Mr. McGarrett is quite persistent -- and Thrush is formidable enough without having opposition from them and Five-O. I suggest a dual-course of action."

    "What might that be?"

    "McGarrett knows me. I simply approach him about finding Illya. McGarrett is in a position to mobilize forces in a hurry. If I remember the dossier, McGarrett has the authority to call in help from any local police agency in Hawaii. I go in as the 'official' U.N.C.L.E. representative. Meanwhile, a second enforcement agent could work undercover -- someone not known to McGarrett and who would have a free hand."

    "Who's available on short notice, Miss Rogers?"

    "I believe Miss Dancer is, Mr. Waverly."

    April? Solo thought. It had been a few months since that assignment in Japan.

    "Have her report to me immediately, Miss Rogers. Mr. Solo, you make the necessary travel arrangements then return here for a more-detailed briefing. By that time, Miss Dancer should be present."

    Solo nodded and walked briskly out of the office.

***

    Eighteen minutes later, Solo re-entered the office. He immediately spotted April Dancer sitting at the conference table listening to Waverly.

    "...so it's vital we recover the information that Mr. Kuryakin was transporting. Ah, Mr. Solo, are you set?"

    "There's an early flight in the morning. Even with a stop in Los Angeles, I should be in Honolulu shortly after noon local time," Solo said.

    "All right, we'll get Miss Dancer out on a different flight, but hopefully one that won't arrive too much later than Mr. Solo's."

    "I'm still not entirely clear why Mr. Solo and I are to work totally separately, sir," April interjected.

    "We'll supply you with a complete dossier, Miss Dancer, but there is a Hawaiian State Police official who's rather a determined chap."

    "The gentleman in question already knows me," Solo said.

    “So I’m assigning you, Miss Dancer, to also try to find Mr. Kuryakin. Hopefully, you can operate without interference while Mr. Solo works through official channels.”

    "Have we had any contact with Illya?" April asked.

    "We've attempted to raise him on his communicator but no luck," Waverly said.

    "Assuming Illya was being pursued by Thrush, do we have any idea which Thrush operative we might encounter?"

    "I'm afraid not. It's not much to go on, I admit," Waverly said. "You two work out whatever planning you can tonight."

***

    A few minutes later, Solo and April were walking toward Solo's office.

    "So is this Mr. McGarrett someone we really need to worry about?" April asked as she glanced through the file.

    "Mr. McGarrett has the kind of temper his Irish ancestry would suggest," Solo said. "However, he and his unit are extremely capable. Generally, U.N.C.L.E. doesn't involve local authorities unless it's absolutely necessary. But in this case, I'd rather get McGarrett on our side from the start rather than worry about him becoming a loose cannon later on."

    "It says here this Hawaii Five-O has been involved frequently on espionage related matters."

    "Yes. McGarrett has some ties to a Jonathan Kaye, a high-ranking intelligence officer based in the Pentagon," Solo replied.

    "You said he knows you," April said as they paused outside Solo's office. "Good, bad or indifferent?"

    "Grudging respect," Solo said. "We were pursuing the same item and each wanted to be the first to get it. We eventually reached a compromise, but not without some, eh, incidents."

    April tried to suppress a grin. "So how did you boys settle your disputes? Arm wrestle? Or did you get out the tape measure?"

    Solo, ignoring the gibe, said: "Working together ended up being the pragmatic course of events. You'll find a brief narrative in the file. Anyway, I figure I'll try a similar approach from the beginning this time. But you're our ace in the hole. I'm guessing a single undercover operative might get into some of the seamier neighborhoods, if necessary, without attracting undue attention."

    "Sounds lovely. You're not expecting me to pose as a prostitute are you?"

    Now it was Solo's turn to suppress a grin. "I was thinking you could be a tourist who's gotten off the beaten track. But since you mention it...."

    April rolled her eyes and walked off before he could complete the sentence.

Honolulu, September Ninth

    McGarrett and his second-in-command, Dan Williams, approached the medical examiner's office.

    "I don't get it, Steve," Williams said. "Why did Doc want to see us here in person instead of just forwarding his report?"

    "I don't know, Danno," McGarrett replied. "But it's about average for this case."

    They were now outside the physician's door and McGarrett knocked twice. The examiner opened it. "Glad you two could make it. Follow me, I've got something to show you."

    "Show us? Why not tell us?" McGarrett said.

    "You'll see why."

    Without comment, the medical examiner led them from the office into the morgue area. No matter how many times he came here, McGarrett could never get over how routine death was here. Bodies in, cut up for autopsy and shipped out.

    The medical examiner stopped at one of the metal drawers that contained bodies until they could be sent for burial or cremation, and opened it. In it, lay one of the dead Samoans. The physician, with some difficulty because of the rigor mortis, grabbed the left hand and moved it so the palm was open.

    "Notice anything about the fingertips?" the medical examiner said.

    "No, why?" McGarrett said.

    The examiner reached into the pocket of his lab coat and brought out a magnifying glass. "Take another look."

    McGarrett took the magnifying glass. He did a double take as he looked at the index finger. Not a single line. He quickly scanned the other fingers and thumb.

    "Smooth as glass," the medical examiner said. "Both men."

    "Doc, that's impossible," Williams said. "People have tried to remove fingerprints before and it never worked. It usually left scarring and still left remnants of the original fingerprint."

    "Danny, I know it's impossible," the examiner replied. "But I know what I saw. What about you, Steve?"

    "I never would have believed it without seeing it first," McGarrett said. "It's almost as if the prints had been erased."

    "Details of the technique are beyond me," the medical examiner said as he shut the drawer. "It doesn't figure into the cause of death. I'll get that report over to you shortly. But I figured you better see this."

    "Thanks, Doc," McGarrett said.

    "What does it mean, Steve?" Williams said.

    "It means we're dealing with something more complicated than your average homicide. A lot more complicated."

***

    McGarrett drove the Mercury into his marked parking space outside the Iolani Palace. He and Williams exited the car and walked up the steps.

    "Danno, you get on the horn to the local offices of the CIA, FBI, anybody who might be running some kind of major intelligence operation. I'll call Jonathan Kaye in Washington. Hopefully, he'll ensure we get some cooperation."

    "I'll also send off an inquiry to Interpol."

    "Good idea," McGarrett said. "We're going to need all the help we can get."

    Two minutes later, the men arrived at the Five-O offices. Williams went to his cubicle while McGarrett walked straight to his office. His secretary, May, stopped him.

    "Mr. McGarrett, you have a visitor. He's waiting in your office."

    "Who is it?"

    "Better see for yourself. I think you'll recognize him."

    McGarrett squinted for a moment then opened the door. He saw a dark-haired man, about five-foot-ten or eleven, in a gray suit staring out the window. The man turned around and their eyes met for a moment. "Mr. McGarrett, Napoleon Solo of the U-N-C-L-E. It's been a while."

    McGarrett closed the door. "I might have known. Mr. Solo. Do you know anything about fingerprint erasure by any chance?"

Act II

"Not The Best Choice of Targets"

Somewhere in Honolulu, earlier on September Ninth

    The fireworks in his head wouldn't stop. Loud explosions, throbbing pain. Fragmentary thoughts. Kiev. The Sorbonne. Oxford. Solo. Solo? Russian words mixed with English ones. His eyes opened but the morning sunlight only seemed to make the pain worse.

    He shook his head. One language or the other. I guess English will do. He sat up and looked around the alley. Part of a corrugated box lay over him. He picked it up and put it off to the side. Where was he? How did he get here?

    As he stood up, he saw a window of the building he had been laying up against. He caught his reflection. A face stared back at him, but he didn't recognize it. The blonde hair was dirty and unkempt. The face had a day's worth of stubble on it. The blue eyes seemed faded, but he concluded that was probably his imagination. Solo. He closed his eyes and shook his head again. Was that a name? Probably. Mine? But the pain broke his concentration.

    Absent-mindedly, he glanced at his watch. Five fifty. He looked at his clothing. The blue jacket was wrinkled and the white golf shirt didn't look so white. He knew -- somehow -- he was in Honolulu. Chinatown perhaps? He had more questions than answers. One of them was how to satisfy the hunger he was starting to feel when the pain in his head subsided.

    The footsteps suddenly caused his mind to focus.

    The bearded man was tall, over six feet tall, and wore a loud, colorful Hawaiian shirt. The blue pants were dingy.

    "Hey brother, how about a loan, eh?" he said.

    The blonde man didn't pay attention to the words. Somehow, he knew to ignore them. Instead, he tensed and watched the tall man's hands. As the knife emerged from his pocket, the blonde man was already moving. A karate blow to the wrist caused the tall man to drop the knife. The bearded man screamed in pain for a moment and then lunged. But the blonde man sidestepped the big man's attack and landed another karate blow, this time to the back of the neck.

    The bearded man turned around and rubbed his neck for a moment. "Brother, you're in for it now."

    But just as the words were out of his mouth, the blonde man already was moving again, this time jabbing his larger opponent in the stomach. The bearded man doubled over and the blonde man pressed his advantage, pounding him in the back. The big man collapsed onto the ground.

    The blonde man stood for a moment, feeling fear throughout his entire being. It wasn't the attack that scared him. It was his own reactions. How did I do that? What kind of man am I?

    He took a deep breath. "My friend, I think you should develop better manners," his own voice said with a trace of a Russian accent. It was almost a reflex. Why the hell did I say that?

    The big man remained doubled over on the ground. The blonde man turned and walked away, listening to see if his opponent would attempt a rear attack. But he heard no signs the big man was even getting up. So the blonde man kept walking into the bright light of the street.

***

    "Fingerprint erasure?" Solo said.

    "Erasure. Fingerprints obliterated. Fingertips as smooth as glass," McGarrett said. "I've got two dead bodies with no fingerprints."

    "Thrush," Solo replied.

    McGarrett squinted. "Excuse me?"

    "Thrush. An international criminal organization. Takes many forms, many guises, utilizes many strategies. But one consistent method is the use of a medical procedure to -- as you put  it -- erase the fingerprints of their foot soldiers. Especially expendable personnel. The grunts in Thrush's army, as it were."

    "You expect me to buy that?" McGarrett said warily.

    "Until this case occurred, would you believe the idea of fingerprint erasure?"

    "Touché," McGarrett said. "What does this Thrush want in Hawaii?"

    "You remember Illya Kuryakin, my associate?"

    "I think a couple of my men might remember him a little better. I think he used some kind of stun gas on them to discourage them from tailing the two of you as I recall."

    Solo strained to avoid grinning. "Yes, something like that. But he also eventually alerted us to the fact your old friend Wo Fat was involved in that auction of the bacteria."

    "Yes, but I'm sure you're not here to relive old times," McGarrett said. "So what's up with Mr. Kuryakin this time?"

    "He obtained a list of top Thrush moles around the world. People who have worked their ways into various positions of trust. All working for Thrush. They're anxious to get that list back. We're more anxious to secure it. My guess is those two dead Thrushmen attempted to kill Mr. Kuryakin. That's why I'm here."

    McGarrett walked past Solo, snapping his fingers but saying nothing for a few seconds. "Is that all?" he said. "Why involve Five-O? At least I assume that's why you're here."

    "Mr. McGarrett, time is of the essence. Five-O has a way of being persistent once it's involved in an affair. That's to your credit. My superior was a bit cool to the idea of making a formal request for assistance from Five-O. But I figured I'd rather save time and trouble and bring you in from the start."

    McGarrett had a half smirk on his face. "Laying it a bit thick, aren't we?"

    "Maybe," Solo said. "Are you declining the request?"

    "No," McGarrett said. "But I also know you're a bit tricky. Is there some angle you're not telling me about?"

    Solo wasn't surprised by the lawman's reaction. For a second he debated whether to tell McGarrett about April Dancer but decided against it. "I've told you quite a bit of confidential information already."

    You also didn't answer my question, McGarrett thought, deciding not to voice it. "OK, Mr. Solo. Five-O will provide assistance, for now. But don't get too cute, eh?" He went over to the desk and flipped an intercom switch. "May, get Danno and the others in here. As soon as possible, please."

***

    Out in the palace's parking lot, a man who appeared to be a tourist stepped into the black BMW parked across the street from the Iolani Palace. The Samoan driver stared ahead and took no notice. The other man opened the glove box and pulled out a small communications device.

    "What is it?" said a voice from the other end.

    "Sir, it appears Mr. Solo has just entered the Iolani Palace. I can only presume he's in with Five-O," the ersatz tourist said.

    "How very predictable," the voice replied. "This may heighten our difficulty. Let's leave them alone for now. Come back to base and report. I think we need to step up our efforts to locate Mr. Kuryakin."

    The tourist nodded. The driver, still looking forward, started the car and drove off.

    On the other end of the conversation, a middle aged man turned his communications device. The man’ss once good looks sagged with age and the effects of years of alcohol and smoking. He put a cigarette into a holder and lit it.

    "Ah, Mr. Solo," Anton Fleming said to himself. "I was rather hoping you'd show up."

***

    "Gentlemen, I believe you recall Mr. Solo of the U-N-C-L-E," McGarrett said as his staff entered the office. "His partner, Mr. Kuryakin, has gone missing but Mr. Solo believes he's somewhere on this rock. U.N.C.L.E. has requested our assistance."

    Kono and Chin Ho looked at each other for a moment. McGarrett noticed but let it pass.

    Solo took some photographs from a file folder he was holding and gave them to McGarrett. "This is the most recent photograph we have," he said.

    "Danno, make as many copies as you need and get on the horn to HPD for distribution," McGarrett said, handing all but two to Williams. He gave the others to Kono and Chin Ho. "These are yours. Hit the streets and check your contacts. If he's hiding, I doubt he's on Waikiki. You may need to check the lower-rent parts of town."

    "What do we do if we find him?" Chin said.

    "Radio in first. Mr. Kuryakin may be pursued by a criminal organization called Thrush," McGarrett said.

    "You're kidding, right?" Kono said.

    McGarrett said nothing, but looked at Solo.

    "It's no joke," Solo said. "The two bodies you found without the fingerprints were part of a Thrush attack group. Their expendable personnel are subjected to some kind of procedure that eliminates their fingerprints."

    "Little drastic isn't it?" Chin said.

    "Thrush is a drastic bunch," Solo said. "One more thing."

    "What might that be?" Kono asked.

    "It's likely Mr. Kuryakin will be suffering amnesia."

    "How can you be certain of that?" Chin said.

    Solo took a small pill from the pocket of his suitcoat. "It's called Capsule B. Causes amnesia for up to seventy-two hours. We received a brief transmission from Mr. Kuryakin from Honolulu that he was taking Capsule B. Assuming he did so, it would last at least another thirty-six hours."

    "Excuse me," Dan Williams interjected. "Sounds a little far-fetched to me."

    "So are men without fingerprints," Solo said.

    "OK, gentlemen, let's move it," McGarrett said. "Danno, you stay in the office. I want you to get back with the feds. It's possible they might have picked up radio transmissions or other communications with this Thrush organization. Mr. Solo, I'd like to discuss something with you for a moment."

    The three men left the office. McGarrett walked over to the door and closed it. "What are your plans, Mr. Solo?"

    Solo looked McGarrett in the eye. "Check into my hotel then start my own search. Why?"

    "Five-O always grants cooperation to any law-enforcement agency, even unconventional ones like your own. I'm not sure I buy into Capsule B, or whatever you call it. But I know U.N.C.L.E. overall has a good reputation. Still, don't mistake cooperation for being a sucker."

    "No, no, no," Solo said. "As you said, U.N.C.L.E. can be unconventional. But my goal is pretty simple. I need to secure Kuryakin and that list."

    "All right," McGarrett said. "A simple goal. But be careful regarding unconventional tactics, Mr. Solo. I'm just a cop and I don't like it when people get too tricky."

    Solo sighed. It was about what he expected. "I'll be at the Ilikai if you need me," he said.

***

    April Dancer looked around the intersection. She spotted a restaurant marked "Chop Suey" and walked inside. She stood for a moment before a waitress came up. "You want a table or a booth?"

    "A booth, please," she said.

    The waitress squinted at her for a second before leading her to the first booth. As April sat, the waitress gave her a menu. "Just coffee," April said.

    The waitress muttered under breath. April caught the word "tourist" but couldn't make out anything else. It was probably just as well. April put her handbag on the seat next to her and withdrew the pen communicator. She waited for a moment and then the waitress came up.

    "You want anything else?"

    "I'll let you know."

    As the waitress left, April set up the communicator for sending. Looking around the nearly deserted restaurant, she spoke into the small microphone softly. "Open Channel L. Napoleon, are you there?"

    A few seconds passed. "Solo here."

    "Where are you?"

    "At the Ilikai. I was just getting ready to head out and look for our LBG.”

    “Our what?”

    “Never mind. A sort of nickname Illya picked up on an affair several months ago. How is it going?"

    "No luck whatsoever," April said. "This isn't exactly the tourist district. I've gotten more lewd propositions than leads. How did it go with the authorities?"

    "Five-O will help with the search. Mr. McGarrett and his men are a little wary. They're a pretty straight forward bunch and view U.N.C.L.E. with a little skepticism. I'll probably do some searching in the more tourist-oriented areas, then check back with McGarrett."

    "Lucky you," she said.

    "I am the chief enforcement agent, you know. Solo out."

    April closed up the communicator and took a sip of the black coffee, making a face as she did so. "I think battery acid would be smoother."

***

    It was hot and he still wasn't sure where he was going. He knew he was in Hawaii but still had no idea why. Just ahead, a short woman of Asian descent was carrying two large bags of groceries. She wore a long, brightly colored sun dress. She stumbled, spilling a loaf of bread and some other items from the bags.

    The woman started to look for a spot to put the bags down so she could pick up what she spilled. By now he had come up behind her. "Allow me," he said, as bent over and held up the loaf of bread.

    "Oh, thank you, mister?"

    His head throbbed as he tried to think of his name again. "I'm not exactly sure," he uttered.

    The woman looked puzzled as he put the loaf of bread back in one of the bags. He quickly bent down and retrieved the other items. "I'm sorry, but did you say you weren't sure of who you are?"

    He squinted for a moment. "I'm afraid so."

    "You don't have any identification on you?"

    He shook his head for a second. That's simple, why didn't I think of it? He fumbled through the pockets of the sport coat and found a small wallet. He took it out and found some money and identification cards inside. He found one with a New York driver's license inside. The name read "Illya Kuryakin." Well, that'd explain why I was half-thinking in Russian. He also found a business card.

    "May I see that?" the woman asked.

    Kuryakin handed her the card. She read aloud, "Illya Kuryakin. Consultant. Hargrove Trading Company. New York City. You're a ways from home Mr. Kuryakin. If you don't mind me saying so, you look a little haggard. Are you all right?"

    "I have quite a headache but I seem to be fine otherwise -- physically at least."

    "I'm Mary Kanoke. I run a small shelter a few doors down. Maybe you should rest."

    "No, I couldn't impose," Kuryakin said.

    "Nonsense," she said insistently. "At the very least, have a shave and wash yourself up. You look as if you had been sleeping in the streets."

    "Actually, I did."

    "Mr. Kuryakin, please, I insist. If you don't know who you are, you might need help. Really, I insist."

    Suddenly, Kuryakin felt dizzy and his head started to ache even worse. "All right, but I won't stay long."

    Mary Kanoke started to walk and Kuryakin followed her, his steps a bit unsteady.

***

    The day hadn't started out well for Thomas Lanaii. He thought he found the perfect pidgeon, a scruffy, scrawny little blonde man. Looked like another homeless man who could be rolled. Who would figure he could fight like some kind of demon?

    Lanaii scratched his beard when he saw something that got his attention. A brunette lady tourist just wandering around here in Chinatown. Some kind of yellow dress, cut just above the knee. Tight dress, too, he thought. He guessed she was maybe five-and-a-half feet tall  Probably with a handbag full of dough.

    She was coming his way and didn't seem to notice him. This time, he'd take no chances. Lanaii reached into his pocket, took out the knife and locked the blade into place. Nobody else was around -- a perfect set up. He crouched in the doorway of a shuttered shop.

    Just before the tourist woman reached him, Lanaii stepped in front of her, holding the knife up. "OK babe, be cool. Go to that alley behind you."

    The woman looked at him coolly but said nothing. She walked backwards, but kept facing him. He pointed again toward the alley. She kept moving backwards and in a minute they were in the alley.

    "What do you want?" she said.

    "Just give me some money, babe. I've had a rough morning."

    "I'm afraid I can't do that," she said.

    "Babe, I'm going to have to cut you if you don't..."

    Before he could finish the sentence, the woman struck a karate blow on Lanaii's knife hand. The combination of the blow and the element of surprise caused him to drop the weapon. Almost instantly, she followed up with a jab to the ribs, keeping her hand rigid, and using her fingertips almost like a dagger. That caused Lanaii to grab his ribs and he doubled over in pain. The woman kneed his forehead, sending him backwards.

    The woman stood in front of Lanaii, waiting for any sign of counter-attack. But Lanaii just lay in the alley, breathing heavy.

    "Say uncle," the woman said.

    "What?"

    "You heard me."

    "OK, OK. Uncle!" Lanaii said, just now starting to catch his breath. "First the scrawny little guy and now you. Geez, this is not my day!"

    The woman's eyes narrowed on Lanaii. "What are you talking about? What little guy?"

    "I dunno, he was a little short, but musta went to karate school or something like you."

    "Describe him."

    "Uh, blonde guy. Kinda scruffy, like he'd been sleeping in alleys. Hadn't had a shave in a while."

    "You met him and ended up like this?"

    "Close enough," Lanaii said.

    "Where'd you see him last?"

    "A few blocks west of here, I guess," Lanaii said. "I saw him walk off that way," he added, pointing east. "I wasn't about to follow him."

    April Dancer walked off without further comment, leaving Lanaii to heal his ego by himself. As she got out to the sidewalk she casually took her pen communicator from her handbag and sent another message to Solo.

    "Napoleon, this is April. I think our missing employee is somewhere near the Chinatown area. Just ran into a would-be mugger. Apparently he tried to nail Illya, who apparently fought back. Pretty effectively, too, based on his comments."

    "Just how did you ascertain this?" Solo asked.

    "He just tried to mug me."

    "What was the result?"

    "If he's smart, he'll find a new line of work," April said. "I'm going to see what I can turn up."

    "All right," Solo said. "I'll get in touch shortly with Mr. McGarrett. Between the two of us, we can find Illya. Solo out."

    April returned the pen communicator to her handbag and kept walking. A half-block back, there was a shiny new BMW parked in the street. The Samoan driver reached to the glove box and took out a communications device. "Get me Mr. Fleming," he said. "Tell him there's another U.N.C.L.E. he needs to worry about."

Act III

"My Name is Illya?"

     Solo, sitting in the driver seat of his rental car, put his pen communicator back into the breast pocket of his suitcoat. He had been driving when April's message came through. He was tempted to travel straight to the Chinatown area himself but was only a few blocks from the Iolani Palace. After having established the "official" relationship with Five-O, he decided it wouldn't be worth keeping McGarrett in the dark at this stage. Plus, Solo reasoned, McGarrett could still marshal more resources in a hurry. So he switched lanes and made a quick turn and headed to the palace.

    The U.N.C.L.E. agent found a visitors parking space with surprising ease. He jogged up the palace's exterior steps, then went up to the second floor and the Five-O office. As he entered, Solo walked by the three cubicles. Only one was occupied, that of Dan Williams, the second in command. Solo walked up to that cubicle and gently knocked.

    "Is 'the man' in?" Solo said.

    "What's up?" Williams said warily.

    "I might have a lead on my associate. I heard he may be in the Chinatown area," Solo said, avoiding mention of another U.N.C.L.E. agent in the area.

    "That so?" Williams replied. "Come on, let's check in."

    Solo followed Williams to the office door. The secretary was away and Williams knocked.

    "Enter," McGarrett said.

    The two men did so. McGarrett was by himself in shirtsleeves looking outside his office window. He turned around, squinting as he saw Solo.

    "Steve, Mr. Solo said he has a lead. Says Kuryakin may be in the Chinatown area."

    "Really?"

    "There was a report of a blonde man in the area, looking a bit scruffy," Solo said. "Sounded like it was worth following up."

    McGarrett picked up the receiver to his telephone and dialed a number. "Central dispatch? This is McGarrett. Patch me through to Chin Ho Kelly." A few moments of silence followed. "Chin? Steve. Our friend from U.N.C.L.E. says he's heard a report his associate may be in your sector."

    "Well, that fits," Chin said, talking into the receiver on his police radio unit in his car. "A couple of shop keepers recognized the photo. Said he looked like he hadn't shaved but said it was definitely the same man. I was just getting ready to call you with the information."

    "Good, Chin. Well, at least it appears our U.N.C.L.E. friend is on the up-and-up," McGarrett said, his eyes locking in on Solo. "Get Kono to help you. Let's not overload the sector with HPD men just yet, if indeed Mr. Kuryakin is being pursued by this mysterious Thrush organization. I don't want to provoke them into doing something rash. McGarrett out."

    "I guess I'd better head out there myself," Solo said.

    "Just a minute, Mr. Solo," McGarrett said. "I think it's time you leveled with me. You didn't answer my question earlier. Do you have another man, another operative here in Honolulu?"

    Solo looked McGarrett for a moment. He had wanted to give April Dancer as much flexibility as was possible. But he decided it couldn't be avoided any longer.

***

    Mary Kanoke walked through the makeshift dormitory. Only a couple of the dozen beds in the large room were filled with napping men. Her clientele would come by closer to dinner time. The main problem was the ones who tried to sneak in their Mad Dog or other high-alcohol wines favored by the alcoholic homeless. It was a losing battle sometimes but she had the occasional victory, a person who picked themselves up and put their lives back together.

    This new one, the blonde man she brought in today, didn't seem to fit that mold. She assumed he, too, must have been an alcoholic, so hazy about who he was. Yet, in the couple of hours she since brought him here, he had shown none of the signs of craving alcohol. And his clothes, while dirty, had not been slept in for much more than a day; she had seen people who wore the same clothes for months on end. He wasn't like that. He even had some money and identification on him. Perhaps this Mr. Kuryakin had been injured?

    Kuryakin came out of the bathroom into the large room with the cots. His hair now combed and faced shaved, Mary Kanoke thought he was quite handsome. And his blue eyes were striking.

    "Ah, Mr. Kuryakin, you're looking better already," Mary said.

    "Thank you very much. I feel better. At least my head seems to have stopped hurting."

    "Perhaps you should rest," she said.

    "No, I really do feel better. I was wondering if I could use your telephone. I thought I should call this Hargrove Trading Company. I assume it's my employer, though I really don't remember anything about it."

    "Uh, you want to call New York from my telephone?"

    Kuryakin reached for the wallet and took out a twenty-dollar bill. "Here's a downpayment. Maybe if I called it would help me remember. If it is my employer, maybe they're looking for me."

    "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound like a penny pincher. It's just my budget to run this shelter is so modest. I'm afraid I have to rely on donations."

    "That is quite all right...."

    "Mary Kanoke. Please, feel free to use the phone."

    Kuryakin gave her the bill and she led him to a small, modest office in the front of the building. He again reached for the wallet and took out the Hargrove Trading card and dialed the New York City number.

    "Hargrove Trading," said the woman's voice on the other end.

    "Wanda?" Kuryakin said. How did I know that voice? he thought.

    "Mr. Kuryakin," the woman said. "The head office has been looking for you. Where are you?"

    Kuryakin looked at Mary. "The Bethany Homeless Shelter," she said.

    He repeated the name. "I'm afraid I must have hit my head. I know your name is Wanda. Are you my employer?"

    "A couple of representatives from the head office are in Honolulu looking for you right now."

    Kuryakin again looked at Mary and she gave him the address. Kuryakin repeated it to Wanda. "Stay there, Illya. I'll notify our representatives."

    "Would that be Solo by any chance? I thought Solo might be my name until I saw this business card."

    "Please, just stay there. We'll explain it all to you later." She hung up.

    Kuryakin grimaced at the telephone receiver before hanging it up.

    "What's wrong?" Mary said.

    "I don't know, she sounded anxious or something," Kuryakin said.

    "Well, if one of their employees is missing, that shouldn't be surprising."

    "I suppose. Anyway, they suggested I wait here," he said. He looked around the small office and noticed a cabinet in the wall. He looked at it closely and saw the handle was loose. "I'm sorry, but do you have a screwdriver?"

    Mary looked at him for a moment. "I, er, have a small toolbox I keep in the back."

    "Never mind," Kuryakin said, reaching into a pocket, pulling out a Swiss Army knife and locking its screwdriver into place. He quickly tightened the screws on the handle.

    "Why are you doing that?" Mary asked.

    Kuryakin stopped himself. "I'm not sure. Somehow, it seemed right, as if...."

    "As if what?"

    "A passion for orderliness, I suppose."

    "Perhaps you're merely an orderly person," she said.

    He looked around the office. "Well, since you've shown me so much kindness, perhaps I can repay it."

    "Oh, you needn't bother, Mr. Kuryakin."

    "Really, it's no bother," Kuryakin replied. "I feel as if I'm used to handling tools or something. Perhaps if I did a few minor tasks, more of my memory might return. In any event, it's the least I could do."

***    

    "Not a man, but a woman," Solo said. "Her name is April Dancer."

    "A dame?" McGarrett said.

    "I think the last time I heard that word was reading Raymond Chandler," Solo said. "In any case, she's quite capable. We decided -- actually I decided -- to split forces. I would take the official route, she would take the unofficial path."

    McGarrett slammed his fist on the desk. "I told you to play straight with me, Solo!" he said. "You have to play all the angles, don't you? Well, you can be a little too smart for your own good, mister!"

    Solo found himself having to control his own emotions. He knew from McGarrett's dossier that he had been in Naval Intelligence and was familiar with the ways of espionage. But he also had that damn hot Irish temper.

    The agent's thoughts were cut off by the whine of the pen communicator in his pocket. Not the best time for this to happen, he thought.

    McGarrett stopped in mid tirade and Solo used the sudden silence to take the device from his suitcoat and answer the call. "Solo here. I'm under observation by the local authorities, so this had better be good."

    "Communiqué from Number One of Section One."  It was the voice of Lisa Rogers, Waverly's secretary. "Subject called in on the Hargrove Trading telephone line. Acknowledge."

    "Acknowledged," Solo said.

    McGarrett and Williams could only stare as the man seemed to be talking into his pen. But the voice showed it was clearly some kind of sophisticated device.

    "How much are the local authorities aware of?" Lisa asked.

    "Enough," Solo said. "What have you got?"

    "Subject sounded as if he were in good shape but clearly is under influence of Capsule B. He reports his location as Bethany Homeless Shelter. Address follows." She then read the address.

    "All right. Contact Miss Dancer. She's probably closer than I am now, anyway. Solo out."

    Solo replaced the pen. "OK, McGarrett. You know it all now. Do you want to continue this debate on methods and strategy?"

    "Danno, double-check that address and get on the horn to Chin and Kono," McGarrett said.

    "Right, Steve," Williams said as he left the office.

    "I'm not done with you yet, Mr. Solo," McGarrett said. "But I suggest we table this matter until we've secured your associate from this Thrush."

***    

    April Dancer rounded the corner and saw the front of the Bethany Homeless Shelter. It looked as if it had once been some kind of neighborhood store. Given the age and dinginess of the large display window, she guessed it had been some time since this had been much of a neighborhood. She hurried across the street. A couple of homeless men were just outside, sharing a small bottle of alcohol. They leered at her but she ignored them. As she entered, she noticed a small office at the front and could see a large common area where there were bunks for the people who stayed here. A short woman, with black hair and olive complexion was tidying one of the empty bunks, got and up and turned to April. "May I help you?"

    "Yes, I'm looking for an Illya Kuryakin," April said. "Are you in charge here?"

    "Yes, Mary Kanoke. I run this shelter. Mr. Kuryakin is in the back."

    As if on cue, Kuryakin came out, cleaning his hands with a rag. "I've got that washing machine running now, but I suspect you'll have to get a new model soon..." The blue eyes focused directly on April. He stared at her for a moment, his mouth open. "I'm sorry, but don't I know you?"

    "Illya, it's April. April Dancer," she said.

    "Is Napoleon here?" Kuryakin said, then shook his head. Why did I say that name? he thought. "I mean...."

    "Yes, Napoleon is here. Napoleon Solo."

    "I knew it. I knew my name wasn't Solo. I know him, don't I. We..."

    "Don't say any more," April said. "We need to get you out of here."

    "I beg your pardon, miss," Mary Kanoke said. "I don't understand any of this. I knew Mr. Kuryakin was not one of my average, eh, boarders, but I can't just let you take him away without some kind of documentation..."

    "It's all right, Mary," Kuryakin said. "I don't remember everything, but I know she works with me. Everything will be fine."

    "You're sure?"

    "Yes. I don't know why, but I am sure."

    Just then, the front door opened again. Kuryakin started to yell, but three large Samoans wearing gas masks, tossed glass globes into the room. They seemed to contain some kind of milky liquid but as they broke on the floor, a thick plume of white smoke spread throughout the room. April, reaching under her dress pulled out a small-caliber pistol. She got off two shots, wounding the first Samoan but then began to cough as the smoke filled her lungs. Another Samoan came up and clipped her on the right temple. The combination of the blow and the gas caused her to collapse. Mary Kanoke was already on the floor unconscious. Kuryakin attempted to strike at the attacker, but the Samoan easily sidestepped the blow. He then hit Kuryakin on the back of the head, sending him to the floor. The Samoan grabbed Kuryakin and the small Hawaiian woman while his cohort came up and carried off April in his arms.

***

    Chin Ho and Kono pulled up outside the shelter, noticing the BMW parked out front.

    "Little pricey for this neighborhood, don't you think Chin?" Kono said.

    "Yeah," Chin said. "Maybe this Thrush bird likes expensive cars. Get down the license plate just in case. Then send for some back up."

    Kono took a notebook out of his suitcoat and quickly jotted down the number. He started to pick up the radio sender when smoke started billowing from the shelter. Two large men with gas masks emerged, the first stuffing a brunette haole into the back seat of the BMW, the second carrying Kuryakin and a Hawaiian woman.

    The two police officers burst out of the unmarked Ford. "Five-O! Freeze!" Kono said as both he and Chin drew their weapons.

    The first thug pulled out a gun and fired while his partner continued to put Kuryakin and the Hawaiian woman in the car. Kono squeezed off  two shots, the second striking the man in the head, blood spurting everywhere. The other man fired three shots from his pistol, causing both Chin and Kono to duck. That gave the man enough time to get into the driver's seat by getting in the front passenger door and squeezing over. The BMW's engine roared to life and its tires screeched as it drove away. Chin and Kono each got off a shot but stopped firing for fear of hitting any civilians.

    Kono went back into the car as Chin rushed into the shelter. "Central, need an APB on a black BMW, late model," Kono said into the police radio. After reading off the license plate, Kono continued. "Also patch me through to McGarrett. I don't think he's going to like this."

Act IV

"Cigarettes Can Be Very Bad for Your Chest"

    The tires of the Mercury screeched as it stopped. McGarrett got out of the car and immediately spotted Chin Ho Kelly talking to a uniformed HPD officer.

    "What have we got, Chin?"

    "Two Samoans, one dead and the other about to get that way. Kono nailed this one," Chin said, pointing to the corpse on the sidewalk, "while there's another inside. Doc is here already and is with the other one, along with some paramedics. It's pretty strange."

    "Strange? How?" McGarrett asked.

    "Looks like he got wounded in the shoulder. Shouldn't be a fatal wound, but the paramedics are having a tough time."

    Solo and Dan Williams came up behind McGarrett. "What do you mean a tough time?" Solo said, his voice edgy.

    "He's shaking all over. Like I said, he shouldn't be hurt so bad. We didn't shoot him, we just found him in there."

    "Poison," Solo said.

    "What the hell are you talking about?" McGarrett said.

    "It's a Thrush assault team. In some cases they're given a slow-acting poison. They only get the antidote if they make it back from the attack."

    "What?" McGarrett said.

    Solo ignored him and went inside the shelter. He saw two paramedics and another man, presumably a doctor, working on the big Samoan. Kono stood off to the side.

    "I'm losing him!" the physician said. "I don't understand it!"

    The Samoan was shaking but he was still awake. As Solo leaned over, the man's eyes narrowed on him.

    "He's ingested some kind of poison, doctor," Solo said.

    The Samoan started to grin. "Fleming is going to get you, man...." The eyes became glassy and the mouth just stayed open. The physician briefly attempted to massage his chest but quickly gave up.

    "What do you mean he ingested poison?" Doc said.

    "When you do the autopsy, you will need to screen for an usual toxin. Oh, and you might want to check for fingerprints. I suspect you'll find them like the other cases you've investigated recently."

    Doc looked over to McGarrett and Williams who were approaching the body. "Steve, who is this man and what the hell is he talking about?"

    "Better do as he says, Doc," McGarrett said. Then he turned toward Solo while pointing at the corpse. "What did he just say, I didn't catch it."

    "Fleming was going to get me," Solo said.

    "That's all?" McGarrett asked, skepticism in his voice.

    "He didn't have to say any more," Solo replied. "Anton Fleming, a major Thrush operative. I once killed his twin brother, also an employee in that firm. I encountered Anton Fleming some months back. I was lucky to get out of the encounter alive. Apparently he must be the one who's been chasing Illya."

    McGarrett looked at Solo warily but said nothing. He turned toward Kono. "OK, give it to me again. What happened?"

    "Chin and I pulled up. We thought the BMW looked a little out of place, so we got down the license plate. Before we could do anything else, all hell broke loose. Two big Samoans come out. One of them stuffed a haole woman in the car, the other brought out Kuryakin and a Hawaiian woman. She apparently runs this place. Name's Mary Kanoke. I got the Iron Brain checking her out now to make sure that's correct. Only a couple of homeless guys were here at the time and they were sleeping off the Mad Dog. They don't remember nothing. Chin and I fired at the car but it got away quick. We came in to see if anybody else was hurt. That's when we found this third Samoan, the one who just expired. He was lying there with a slug in his shoulder."

    "And it wasn't your shot?" McGarrett said.

    "No way," Kono said.

    "Then who shot him?"

    "Kono," Solo interrupted. "The haole woman. About five-and-a-half-feet tall, brunette, wearing a yellow dress?"

    "Hard to be sure about the height since she was being carried horizontal," Kono said. "The rest sounds right."

    "That was Miss Dancer," Solo said. "I think if you recover the slug in this fellow on the floor, you'll find it was a .22. It's a small weapon she carries in a stocking holster."

    McGarrett squinted. "You people never run out of tricks, do you?"

    "As you said before, McGarrett, let's postpone the debate over tactics," Solo said. "We've got to move fast."

    "For once, I'm in agreement," McGarrett said. "Danno, get on the horn to the bureau of motor vehicles. I want to know everything there is about that BMW."

    "Right, Steve."

    "Doc, a fine-tooth-comb job on this one," McGarrett said.

    "Aren't they all?" Doc said.

***

    It began as all black. Then there was a spot of light off in the corner. Gradually, the spot grew and seemed to change color, from gray to green to blue and finally yellow. By the time the black was gone, there were some sounds. Footsteps. Maybe someone pacing.

    Kuryakin opened his eyes, tried to move but found himself immobilized. He looked around and saw he had no shirt on and was tied to a chair. He looked to the side and saw two women: Mary Kanoke and the woman who called herself April Dancer. They, too, seemed to be stirring. Then, he looked ahead and saw a tall, aging man in a white suit and bow tie. He had a cigarette holder in his mouth but no cigarette was in it.

    "Ah, Mr. Kuryakin, at last," the man said.    

    Kuryakin stared at the man but nothing was coming back. "Who are you?"

    "That's no way to treat an old adversary," the man said. "Unless, of course, you took that damnable Capsule B."

    "Capsule B? What's that?"

    The man let out a laugh. "I do believe you mean it," the man said. He began to pace slowly. "Must be rather potent stuff. Well, in that case, I am Anton Fleming, a member of a firm that competes with your own."

    "The Hargrove Trading Company?"

    Fleming laughed harder this time. "My dear boy, the extent to which U.N.C.L.E. turns its agents into guinea pigs. No, you are a member of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. And you have something I want."

    "I'm sorry, I still don't know what you're talking about."

    Fleming reached into the breast pocket of his suitcoat and took out a gold cigarette case. "I am a representative of Thrush, a group with a rather ambitious agenda. We have a number of people in our employ in various fields of endeavor. Politics, business, the media. Somehow, you got a list from one of our satraps in the Far East. Does any of this sound familiar?"

    "Sounds rather fanciful," Kuryakin replied.

    "Quite. I suppose it is," Fleming said as he opened the case and took out a cigarette, then replaced the case in his pocket. "Nevertheless, we want that list. You eluded us in Tokyo, managed to switch flights to Hawaii at the last minute. Rather adept maneuver, but one of our operatives managed to get on the plane as well. As it happened, I was stationed here in Hawaii. You briefly eluded our man on the plane, didn't even get your luggage at the airport. Rather a risky maneuver. We didn't find a firearm on you, so I suppose it must have been in the luggage. Probably some kind of secret compartment you U.N.C.L.E. chaps are so fond of."

    Something was familiar about the man's manner, Kuryakin thought. He certainly likes to hear himself talk at any rate.

    Fleming took out a lighter from his pants pocket and lit the cigarette. "Does any of this mean anything to you?"

    "I'm afraid not," Kuryakin said. He wasn't exactly lying but little bits of memory were starting to come back again.

    April Dancer, tied up in a manner similar to Kuryakin, opened her eyes. "What? Where are we?"

    "Ah, Miss Dancer," Fleming said between puffs. "I'm so glad you could make it. I was rather hoping I might snare Mr. Solo but that wasn't to be. Still, we have the both of you."

    Fleming snapped his fingers. Kuryakin began to focus on his surroundings. They were in some kind of storage room. From the far wall, a door opened and a Samoan entered, walked past Fleming and came up behind the Russian.

    "From what we know about Capsule B, the duration can vary. It's supposed to last at least seventy-two hours. But I have a theory that strong shocks may bring the memory back to the surface. For example, this cigarette. I know I smoke too many. But imagine if it were used, say on Mr. Kuryakin's chest. Might do the trick, don't you think?"

    Fleming now held the cigarette holder between his right forefinger and thumb. As he started to walk toward Kuryakin, the Samoan clamped his hands down on the Russian's shoulders so he wouldn't squirm. Kuryakin clenched his jaw while Fleming showed only the slightest hint of a smile.

***

    Solo sat nervously in the chair opposite McGarrett's desk. His fingers tapped on the chair's armrest. McGarrett seemed not to notice, going through the papers on his desk.

    Dan Williams came through the open office door. "Steve, got that information from motor vehicles. The car is registered to a Cardinal Enterprises. It's supposedly some kind of export firm down by the harbor."

    McGarrett looked up and caught the hint of recognition in Solo's eyes. "Cardinal, eh? Our bird men are being pretty cute themselves." Just then, the telephone on the desk rang. "McGarrett," he said into the receiver.

    "Steve, Che. I looked over the weapons you recovered from the two dead Samoans. They don't match up against any pistol made by any established manufacturer. They held cartridges that were the equivalent of a .42-caliber weapon."

    "They don't make .42-caliber weapons," McGarrett said.

    "Exactly," Che said from the police lab. "Not a whole lot else to report. Oh, we did get the bullet out of the shoulder of the one dead man. Definitely a .22."

    "Thanks, Che," McGarrett said. "Good work."

    Solo rose from his chair.

    "Where do you think you're going?" McGarrett said.

    "I think it should be obvious," Solo replied.

    "By yourself? That's suicide."

    "You forget I'm an U.N.C.L.E. agent. If we can, we go back for our own. So I am."

    "I can have you held for forty-eight hours for withholding evidence," McGarrett said.

    "You're going to have to stop me yourself," Solo said, turning his back to the two lawmen.

    Dan Williams, still standing by the desk, tensed but McGarrett shook his head slightly. Williams relaxed as Solo walked calmly out of the office, then began to hurry as he headed for the steps.

    "Steve, we can't let him go in there by himself," Williams said.

    Before McGarrett could reply, Chin and Kono were coming in the office. "He looks like he's in a hurry," Kono said. "What's up?"

    "We got a lead on that BMW," McGarrett said. "Danno, you and Kono get on the horn to HPD. See if they can get us some jump suits, the kind maintenance men might wear. For Kono, you'd better get extra-extra large."

    "What's up?" Williams said.

    "Mr. Solo isn't the only one who can make a fancy play. Get moving."

***

    Fleming withdrew the burning cigarette from Kuryakin's chest. It was now nearly burned out. He looked at the half-dozen burns on the Russian. He had never yelled, only gritting his teeth and uttering an occasional swear word under his breath.

    The Thrushman glanced at the women. April Dancer remained cool and collected. The Hawaiian woman was another matter entirely. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She had awoken during the middle of the session and screamed. She was now sobbing but silent herself.

    Fleming motioned to the Samoan who let go of Kuryakin. "Well, I may need to refine that theory after all," Fleming said. "Capsule B may be more potent than I realized."

    At that moment, a small light above the door flashed. The Samoan walked over, opened it slightly and peered out and closed the door. "It's Solo. He's talking to Henry."

     "Gag them. This room is supposed to be sound proofed but I'll take no chances," Fleming said. "He may or may not be alone."

    Mary Kanoke tried to yell but the Samoan forcibly gagged her first. He quickly followed suit with April, who attempted to resist but was tied too tightly to do so effectively. Kuryakin, who had almost passed out from Fleming's torture, offered no resistance.

***

    Solo walked through the front door of Cardinal Enterprises. Only one man was at the front counter of the modest front office. Another large Samoan, Solo thought. His twin brother hired Bulgarians as thugs. Apparently Anton likes Samoans to supply his muscle.

    The Samoan looked up. "What do you want?"

    "Perhaps some assistance. I was looking to ship some machine tools to China."

    "We don't do that. Go someplace else."

    Solo gazed at the Samoan. Had he reached down just then?

    "Perhaps I was misinformed," Solo said.

    "Why don't you leave?"

    "All right. By the way, do you have the time? My watch seems to have stopped."

    "No."

    Solo moved his left wrist in front of the Samoan. "I mean look, it says twelve-twenty and that was at least two hours ago..." The watch ejected a small jet of fumes. Solo stepped back but the Samoan just froze. Solo started to reach for his U.N.C.L.E. Special when a door behind the counter swung open. It was Anton Fleming holding a large, though unfamiliar, looking gun.

    "Mr. Solo, haven't you stopped using that silly parlor trick yet?" Fleming said "I'm so disappointed in you."

    Solo withdrew his hand from the suitcoat. "What's the matter, Fleming? Are you running out of toy soldiers?"

    "Between your friend Mr. Kuryakin and these blasted Five-O chaps, it has taken quite a toll on my small satrap, Mr. Solo." Another big Samoan came out from behind Fleming. "Take his gun, and bring him in here. Then see if you can wake up Henry from that silly stun gas Mr. Solo used."

    "Think Five-O is coming?" the Samoan said.

    "Mr. McGarrett will probably be here sooner than later." Fleming replied. "But we need to get that list now. I'm afraid I'm going to have to be less subtle than originally planned."

    The Samoan shoved Solo into the storage room. He saw Fleming's three gagged prisoners. He walked up to Kuryakin and inspected his injuries. "Illya, are you all right?" he said, not sure if the Russian was conscious or not.

    The Samoan yanked Solo away and took him to another chair. The big man shoved Solo down into the chair and began tying him up.

    Fleming came up to Kuryakin and took out the gag. "This lad turned in quite a performance. Not even a peep as I applied a burning cigarette to his chest."

    "Perhaps you didn't ask politely," Kuryakin said weakly.

    Fleming's eyes lit up as if they were spotlights. "Then again, perhaps my theory about a shock did bring your memory back."

    Kuryakin only stared at Fleming, his clear blue eyes fixated on the Thrushman.

    "If I recall the dossier correctly, however, Mr. Kuryakin doesn't break very easily during standard coercion. Unfortunately, I do not have time for more sophisticated techniques. However..."

    "However, what?" Solo said.

    "Miss Kanoke over here isn't used to such persuasion. Unlike Mr. Kuryakin, Miss Dancer or yourself Mr. Solo, she has no training."

    "She can't help you," Kuryakin said.

    "Ah, but you can, Mr. Kuryakin," Fleming said as he reached for his cigarette case.

***    

    Henry took a drink of water from the cooler as he sat back down at the front counter. Just as he started to relax, two men came in the door. A large Hawaiian and a short, thin haole with light brown hair. They wore jumpsuits and carried tool boxes.

    "This Cardinal Industries?" the haole said.

    "What do you guys want?"

    "Heard your electrical system was on the fritz," the Hawaiian said. "Came to fix it."

    "Don't know what you're talking about. Now get the hell out of here man!"

    The haole put his tool box on the counter and started to open it. "We've got a work order."

    Henry rose to confront the haole. Before he could say anything, the haole had a gun in the Samoan's face.

    "What's your name?" the haole said quietly.

    "Henry," the Samoan said.

    "Good night, Henry," Kono said as he hit the Samoan from behind.

    Kono and Williams grabbed the Samoan's arms to prevent him from falling to the floor. Kono held on as Williams went around the counter. Williams strained as Kono let go, but still managed to ease the Samoan to the floor.

    "Be sure to add resisting arrest when you book him, Danno," Kono said as Williams yanked out a telephone cord to use to tie the man up.

    "Me? I thought you were going to book him."

    "Hey, that's why you got the No. 2 job."

    Williams reached into the tool box still on the counter and pulled out a walkie talkie. "Williams to McGarrett. Come in, over."

    "McGarrett here, over."

    "We're in," Williams said.

    "OK, Danno. That's not a very big building. They can't be too far away. You've got two minutes, then we send HPD in. I just hope it's not too late already. Out."

    Kono had been walking around the front office as Williams talked to McGarrett. In a low voice, Kono said. "There's only one door, and this is it, bruddah," he said, pointing to the door.

***

    Fleming lit the cigarette and inhaled. "So what will it be, Mr. Kuryakin? Shall you tell me or shall I give this Hawaiian woman the same treatment I gave you a short time ago?"

    Mary Kanoke's eyes were wide with fright. April Dancer, tied up in the chair next to her, strained but still couldn't budge her bonds.

    "I swallowed it," Kuryakin said.

    "What?"

    "I put it in a special capsule and swallowed it. I think I would have noticed if it had passed through my system. So I can only conclude it's still in my digestive track."

    Fleming showed a smile. "I'm sure my associate can remedy that, Mr. Kuryakin."

    Suddenly, the door burst open. "Freeze! Five-O," a large Hawaiian man said, his gun pointed.

    The Samoan drew his weapon but couldn't get off a shot before Kono fired. The big man grabbed at his rib cage but still managed to return fire. The pistol got off a volley of shots, one of which barely missed Kono and caused him to retreat. Fleming, though, wasn't waiting. He sprinted to the rear of the room where he opened a door and ran out. The sound of the door closing again caused the Samoan to look back for a moment. Just then, Williams and Kono moved forward, firing their weapons. The large man was hit in the chest and fell forward.

    Mary Kanoke was shaking noticeably after witnessing the quick burst of violence. Kono went to her first, removing the gag. "Oh my God! What?!"

    "We're police, it's OK," Kono said.

    Williams got to Solo and started to untie him. As his bonds fell to the floor, Solo bolted, spotting a small table where his U.N.C.L.E. Special lay. He grabbed it and ran to the rear door.

    "That damn fool," Williams said.

    "C'mon, Danno. We gotta get the others free," Kono said. "Man, the Russian looks like he's been worked over."

***    

    Solo thought he had caught a glimpse of Fleming running left after going outside. As he started in that direction, the U.N.C.L.E. agent could hear the wail of sirens. McGarrett, most likely, he thought. Scanning around quickly, Solo saw Fleming running in the distance, apparently out on a small pier. Solo put on a burst of speed. The figure ahead of him seemed to be breathing heavily, as though he was tiring. Fleming kept moving but Solo was gaining. Twenty-five feet away. Twenty. Ten.

    Fleming turned and Solo dived for the Thrushman. They both flew backwards, Fleming landing on his back and Solo on top of him. The impact caused Solo to fall away and Fleming kicked the agent in the head. Solo was dazed, allowing Fleming to get back up.

    Solo raised his gun to fire, but Fleming kicked out his hand before Solo got off a shot. Solo rolled to the side as Fleming tried to connect with another kick. The agent was now standing, but a bit wobbly. Fleming rushed but Solo managed to sidestep him and strike a karate blow at Fleming's back. Solo knew he hadn't been able to get much force into the blow and he was proven right a moment later as Fleming rushed him again, wrapping his hands around Solo's throat.

    "Why do you live?" Fleming said. "You should have died long ago!"

    Solo broke Fleming's grip as he struck the Thrushman's arms from below. Fleming staggered back, more surprised than hurt, giving Solo an opening. The agent punched Fleming in the cheek, and Fleming stepped backwards.

    Solo now pressed his advantage, striking Fleming in the stomach. Suddenly, Solo noticed that Fleming had on a carnation in his lapel. A real carnation wouldn't have stayed there with all this fighting. Unless it was a fake...

    The burst of gas clouded Solo's vision before he could hold his breath. He fell backwards, landing on his backside on the pier. Fleming rubbed his mouth with the back of his left hand, wiping off some blood. He calmly bent over and found Solo's U.N.C.L.E. Special and aimed the weapon at its owner.

    "That stun gas trick isn't exclusive to U.N.C.L.E., old chap," Fleming said as he aimed the gun.

    The screeching of the car tires was loud. "Freeze!" McGarrett's voice.

    Without looking McGarrett's way, Fleming shot in the direction of the voice and began to bolt. Dammit, Solo has the most phenomenal luck, Fleming said.

    Fleming was running to the edge of the pier when he felt a bullet rip through his shoulder. He dropped the gun and  fell over the side, still hearing another two shots before he hit the water.

    McGarrett came up to Solo, who already was shaking off the effects of the gas. Solo got up without a word and rushed to the edge of the pier. He saw nothing but waves of ocean. They stood there for a minute, perhaps two.

    "He's not coming up," Solo said.

    "It didn't look like a fatal wound. And you're welcome," McGarrett said, putting the gun back in his shoulder holster.

    Solo continued to watch while McGarrett went back to his car and got on the police radio. "Central Dispatch, this is McGarrett. Seal off the harbor area. All points on a Caucasian man in a white suit. Wounded. He went into the water. Get some divers over here ASAP."

    McGarrett went back to Solo.

    "Anything?" McGarrett said.

    "I'm afraid not," Solo said. "Some vermin are a little hard to remove."

    "I've got divers. He won't get far."

    "Far enough, I suspect," Solo said.

A hospital in Honolulu, September Tenth

    "I'm very sorry you had to witness all that," Kuryakin said, sitting up in the hospital bed. His chest was covered in ointment used to treat burns. "You really didn't have to come here."

    "I had to make sure you were all right," Mary Kanoke said. "That object you had hidden. What came of it?"

    "Uh, it came out all right in the end, if you get my meaning," Kuryakin said.

    "I'm sorry. You were very brave."

    "No, just very stupid for getting you involved."

    "Really, Illya, do not apologize. You were not responsible."

    Before Kuryakin could speak, Napoleon Solo, witnessing the scene in the corner of the room, spoke up. "Actually Miss Kanoke, U.N.C.L.E. owes you a debt of gratitude for helping out Mr. Kuryakin." He reached into the breast pocket of his suitcoat and extracted an envelope. "As a result, here is a donation for the shelter. You're free to use it as you see fit, but I understand your washing machine may need replacing."

    "Yes, how did you know?" Mary said as she took the envelope.

    Solo looked in Kuryakin's direction. "I think it was his idea. Anyway, you'll find a check for five thousand dollars."

    Mary kissed Solo on the cheek, then leaned over and did the same for Kuryakin. "Is there any chance I can see you before you go?" she said to the Russian.

    Kuryakin looked at her for a moment but it was Solo who spoke. "Actually Mr. Kuryakin will only be here another day or so. You'll also find in that envelope a certificate at one of the local restaurants. I believe two can use it."

    "I don't know what to say," Mary said.

    "Say yes," Solo said. "As senior enforcement agent for U.N.C.L.E., I'm ordering him to take you out to dinner. So you might as well accept."

    Kuryakin sighed but said nothing.

            "Well, you know how to reach me and I'm sure I can make arrangements to take a night off from the shelter," Mary said. "I'll see you later, Illya."

    After she left, Kuryakin looked warily at Solo. "Why did you do that?"

    "She's pretty attractive. What are you complaining about?"

    "It's not that," Kuryakin said. "I can handle my own social arrangements if you don't mind."

    Solo headed toward the door. "I sat in on her debriefing session. Somehow there was a certain lilt to her voice when your name came up. I figured it was the least I could do for the both of you."

    "Where are you going?"

    "I've got to head back tomorrow. I'm working on my own arrangements for my last night in Honolulu. See you when you get back to New York," Solo said as he closed the door.

    In the hall, Solo saw April Dancer coming up toward Kuryakin's room. "So how is he?" April asked.

    "His normal obstinate self," Solo said. "How did you fare with the doctors?"

    "Oh, just a routine examination. No lasting injuries of any sort."

            "Are you doing anything tonight, April?"

    "Well, actually, I was supposed to meet someone here and go out for a date," she said. "Sorry."

    "Oh?" Solo said. "Who?"

    Solo then heard footsteps. Steve McGarrett and Dan Williams were approaching but from opposite directions. McGarrett looked at Williams. "Danno, I thought you were off duty."

    "I am," Williams said. "I'm here to pick up Miss Dancer."

    "April, please," she said.

    April walked away from Solo and toward Williams. "I understand you're a native of Hawaii. Is that true?"

    "Yes. I thought I'd give you a quick tour of Honolulu before we went out to dinner."

    April took his arm and they walked off. McGarrett and Solo watched as they went to an elevator and got in. A tall African American man in a lab coat came up from behind. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I'm looking for Dr. Freeman."

    "What?" Solo said. "I'm sorry, I think he's on a different floor, doctor."

    "Sorry, my mistake," the man said as he walked off.

    After a moment, McGarrett spoke up. "Don't feel too bad, old man," he said.

    "Why's that?" Solo said.

    "Danno is the strong, silent type. Gets them every time. Excuse me, I've got to debrief your partner, if you don't mind." McGarrett went into Kuryakin's hospital room and shut the door.

    Solo frowned. Who said Hawaii was a paradise? he thought.

THE END