Act VII : "Totally Organic, But Not Natural."

The emergency room at Yonkers Medical Center was a mess. It was obviously understaffed and over worked. He found the admitting nurse, and she remembered Illya.  

"I've seen beatings, but that guy was bad. I don't know how he kept fighting when he was hurt so badly; tough fellow. There's a couple of guys still here that he tangled with."  

"Where's the clothes he was wearing?"  

"His clothes? We had to cut most of 'em off. We usually put them in a plastic bag under the gurney, and it goes around with him. His shirt was a goner, though. Had to cut lots of parts off." She continued scanning charts. "His clothes didn't transfer with him? It was busy; let's go check the gurney."  

Napoleon followed her through the throng into an exam room where several gurneys were grouped together.  

"It's one of these. Look underneath," she said. "There's a basket under there."  

All the baskets were empty.  

"Can we check the room?" Solo asked.  

"Sure, if it's not in use." She led him back again, and stopped him at the door. "Sorry. Full."  

Napoleon looked through the window at a large, muscular man on the gurney.  

"In fact, he's one of your friend's victims. Shattered trachea and arm. Amazing. He's about three times the size of your friend!"  

Solo was looking around the room. "What about the trash can there? If his clothes were in so many pieces, could some of it been tossed in there?"  

"It's possible. I'll look." She popped in the room as Solo looked at the patient and visualized Illya karate chopping his throat. He wondered what part of Illya this guy broke in return.  

He saw the nurse pull out a long piece of cloth, and bring it to the hall. "This is it. A sleeve. The rest is gone. Sorry."  

Napoleon gently took the sleeve. It was mostly caked with dried blood that cracked and flaked when he rolled it up.  

"Thanks," he said, digging out a business card for his false firm. "Call me if anymore shows up, will you?" He smiled at her.  

"Sure," she replied, tucking the card in a pocket. "Gotta get back to work."  

Napoleon thought about going to the bar where the fight took place, but he decided to take the bit of clothing to the lab instead.  

By the time he got back to the office, it was the wee hours of the morning and dawn wasn't far off. The lab guys were happy to have something different to do. The night shift usually consisted of monitoring cultures and experiments the day shift had started, so they took the torn sleeve with a gleam in their eyes. Solo imagined that it would be put through every piece of equipment the lab had.  

Solo returned to the Intensive Care Unit and plopped down in a chair. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, and the shock of the day's news had worn him out. He propped his chin on his hand, stretched out his legs, and prepared to wait. It wasn't long before he was asleep.  

He was awakened by the smell of coffee. He smiled up at Lizabeth, one of the receptionists at the entrance from Del Floria's Tailor Shop. She had been there for quite awhile now, and had consistently refused Solo's advances. Her steadfastness against him had resulted in a nice friendship. "Hey, there," she said gently. "Thought you may need this. I saw that you checked in last night and never left!" She threw a glance at the prone Russian. "How is he?"  

Solo took the coffee gratefully. "Still unconscious. Still waiting. We'll see."  He sipped the brew gratefully.  

"I'm sorry, Napoleon," she said.  

Just then the door opened, and a distraught looking Jenna entered.  

Oh my God, she looks awful! Napoleon thought.  Lizabeth even seemed taken aback. Solo put the coffee down and stood up. Jenna stopped at the ICU windows and immediately burst into tears at the sight of Illya. With Lizabeth on one side and Solo on the other, they helped her to a nearby chair. Her sobbing was borderline hysteria; her dress rumpled and disheveled, her nails bitten to the skin. Alarms went off in Solo's mind. She had been in a bad way for several days at least.  

"Lizabeth, stay with her. I'm going to get someone." The receptionist nodded, and put a sympathetic arm around the weeping woman.  

Solo went straight to the psychiatric office and got the doctor.  He followed Solo to the ICU, and immediately took over Jenna's care. As soon as they left the room, the ICU nurse approached him.  

"Mr. Solo? The lab wants you to come by."  

With a quick peck to Lizabeth's cheek, Solo retrieved his coffee and headed to the lab.  

"What we have here is totally organic, but not natural," the technician started.  "It's an oil embedded in the material, I'd say from an outside source, because it's in a scattered pattern on the cloth."  

"Did it come from the person who wore the shirt?" Solo asked.  

"No. It's on the outside. We're running comparative substances now, but the closest we've come up with is some sort of pherhormone."  

"A what?"  

"A pherhormone. A type of hormone meant to attract a sexual partner and sometimes called musk. This one, though, is different. It's human, I think, but there are some subtle differences. It's much stronger than normal, for one."  

A sexual hormone? Solo tiredly ran the facts of what he knew through his head as he ran his hand through his hair. He felt the presence of the lab man next to him. Then it hit him.  

"Can you tell if the male or female made this hormone?"  

"Definitely made by the female. That much I'm sure of."  

Solo rocketed out of the lab to the medical section.  He found the doctor drawing something into a syringe.  

"Is that for Jenna?" Solo asked breathlessly.  

The doctor eyed him calmly. "Yes."  

"Could you take a blood sample before giving her that? I think she may be drugged."  

The doctor hesitated. "She says she hasn't taken anything."  

Napoleon patiently continued. "In the course of my current assignment, I believe that she may have been given something without her knowledge. We need to know what it is. There's also a possibility other tampering, so I would think that a full exam would be in order. And I'd like the results as soon as you have them."  

The doctor nodded.  "First I need to confirm with Mr. Waverly. Then I will keep you informed. Do you want the blood sent to the lab?"  

"Yes," Napoleon replied. "I'll tell them what to look for."  

It was down to waiting now. Tiredly, Napoleon returned to the ICU for the vigil.  

Act VIII : "What A Mess!"

 Solo caught a few hours' sleep in the ICU. There was no change in Illya's condition, but the doctors were confident that there was no danger of brain hemorrhage.  Now it was a matter of the swelling to go down enough, and he should regain consciousness.  

The worried agent went to his office and changed into the spare suit he always kept there, and tried to clean up.  His intercom buzzed around 11.  

"Mr. Solo, please come to Mr. Waverly's office."  

Napoleon acknowledged the summons, checked his jacket and weapon, and left for his meeting. When he arrived, he found that the head lab technician, the psychiatrist and the infirmary doctor also in attendance.  

"Gentlemen," Mr. Waverly opened, gathering pipe and tobacco. "Let's see what we have. It should prove most interesting. Dr. Whitely, please begin."  

Dr. Whitely was the physician from the infirmary. He ran down Illya's symptoms, and the mechanics involved with the production of testosterone in the normal male. He was followed by the lab technician, Dr. Weaver, who summarized his discoveries with the pherhormones and how they tied in with the production of testosterone.   

Solo rubbed his eyes as he listened, and stopped them for clarification. "So, you're saying that this pherhormone is inhaled? And that triggers the production of testosterone which then triggers aggressive behavior?"  

"Yes," Weaver confirmed. "But there's something odd about this particular sample of pherhormone. It has additional triggers, so to speak. It's as if it has been altered to attack a specific genetic marker."  

There was silence as this sank in.  Dr. Whitely frowned. "You're talking about genetic engineering.  That's not possible. The human genome is extremely complex. It would take decades to map it completely to figure out what marker to aim for!"  

"True," Weaver said, "But the whole genome doesn't have to be mapped. You just have to know where the one you want is."  

Solo felt a headache starting, and missed Illya even more. His partner had a gift for explaining these things to him in a way he could understand clearly. "Wait. You're telling me this .. pherhormone ..was designed to work only on Illya's system?"  

Weaver said yes. Whitely looked skeptical.  That was when the psychiatrist, Dr. Ives, spoke up.  

"Maybe I can confirm some of this, " he mused. "It certainly explains some things I noted about Miss Baker."  

It took Solo a few seconds to realize he meant Jenna.  

"When I first examined Miss Baker, I thought she was suffering from stress and depression.  Then Mr. Solo insisted on some blood work and a more thorough exam on her. What I found was the possibility that Miss Baker has been previously conditioned with hypnosis."  

Mr. Waverly's bushy eyebrows shot up as he puffed on his smoldering pipe. "Is that so?" he said around the stem in his mouth.  "To do what, may I ask?"  

"I believe that she was conditioned to seduce Mr. Kuryakin. "  

Solo about fell out of his chair on that note. "What? But she's engaged to someone else! I thought a hypnotized person couldn't do things that went against their personal moral beliefs."  

"True, Mr. Solo, true. But there may have been some sort of attachment or attraction to begin with. Also, I gave Miss Baker's clothes to the lab, and they confirm that they are loaded with that pherhormone. It appears that she may be the source of it, but I haven't found any conclusive results from her blood work. I'm not familiar with the genetic marker field."  

"So," Solo mused, "Is she making the pherhormone? Or has she been programmed to apply it daily somehow?"  

Dr. Ives shook his head. "I don't know."  

Weaver added,  " But based on the amounts on her clothing, it's possible that she applies it in a spray, like a perfume."  

Solo stood. "I'll check her apartment. It may still be there, if that's the case."  

"I fully agree, Mr. Solo. You may proceed with that assignment.  I already have other agents looking for Dr. Engleberg."  

"Speaking of Engleberg," the lab tech added, holding up the manual Solo had taken from the castle, "I have a theory about why we are seeing this at all. I think this pherhormone is being field tested."  

The racks of monkey cages and labeled corrals immediately came to his mind. "That's what's in that manual, isn't it? A record of field tests in animals."  

"It looks like it."  Weaver agreed, flipping open a page. "I read your field report. Were these the number sequences you found on the corral fences?" He shoved the book over to Solo, who glanced at the pages.  

"Yes. That's the sequence."  

"Well, according to these records, the good news is that once the subject is removed form the pherhormone, he returns to normal. If it was on his clothes, like the piece you gave me, it would continue to stimulate testosterone production. Mr. Kuryakin's apartment may have to be checked for residue."  

Solo cracked a grin as he started for the door. "I think he'd appreciate that."  

Jenna's apartment was on the sixth floor of a secured building. Solo had to produce his U.N.C.L.E. identification to get in the building, and to her room. When the manager took him to her place and opened the door, she was shocked at what she saw.  

"What a mess! This is highly unusual for Miss Baker. She's usually as neat as a pin. " The woman clucked her tongue as she glanced around. "Don't step on anything, now." She stated before leaving.  

Solo knew as soon as he saw the room that he probably wouldn't find anything; it appeared that someone had beaten him here. As soon as that thought struck him, he nonchalantly crossed the room, then flattened himself against the wall by the windows. He peeked out, and studied the street.  There was some foot traffic on the sidewalk, and some people waiting on a bus bench, but only one figure standing still, leaning against the wall by the bus stop.  He was lighting a cigarette, but Solo saw him tilt his head up towards Jenna's window. Solo grinned to himself.  

"So," he mumbled. "I have an admirer. Maybe they didn't get what they wanted from here after all. "  

He left the apartment, and planned his trap for the tail. Walking briskly down the sidewalk, he made sure the man was on the same side of the street before he turned down a busy street with lots of storefront stores and bistros. Being lunchtime, it was quite crowded. Solo stopped at a vendor's window and bought a hot dog, then moved slowly away, just keeping within the tail's sight. Stopping by a storefront with an empty bistro table out front, Solo put the food down and stepped back into the store doorway.  

The tail skidded to a stop when he saw the hot dog on the table. He was glancing around the street when Solo stepped from the dark doorway and shoved the barrel of his U.N.C.L.E. special into his back. He kept the gun hidden from the general public with his body.  

"Nice day for a walk, isn't it? Come on, let's go." He pushed the man along to the first alley, then directed him to walk to the end. Solo shoved him up to the wall, removed a gun from his waistband and stepped back, his U.N.C.L.E. special aimed at his stomach. He glanced at the handgun he had retrieved. "Thrush, I see. Where's Engleberg?" Solo snapped.  

"Who?"  the man sneered in reply.  

Solo shot him in the foot. The silencer made only the merest 'pop', but the man screamed and fell to the ground and rolled around. "I'm not in the mood," Solo snapped at the whimpering man. "One of my friends is seriously hurt, and another a mental wreck. Tell me, or your knee is next." He raised the gun to accent his words.  

"OK, OK! The only place I know of is a warehouse on the East side. Corner of 63rd and Commercial. Don't know any names, but that's where I got my orders." The man ground his jaw in pain. "I need help, here!"  

"I'll get your help," Solo growled, pulling out his communications pen. "Open channel D," he spoke into it.  

"Hello, Napoleon." Lizabeth's voice crooned, causing him grin slightly. "You want Mr. Waverly?"  

"No, I don't need to speak to him yet. Just have a pick up in an alley off of Main," he gave her the directions.  

"I'll inform him, Napoleon, " she said calmly. "And you may like to know that Mr. Kuryakin is conscious now."  

"Thanks, Lizabeth. That's the best news I've had today!" Solo grinned.  

Solo stayed with the wounded Thrush until the car picked them up and whisked them back to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. Solo had the Thrush taken to interrogation, and decided to drop in on his friend.  

Illya hadn't moved much, but the exposed eye was open, the swelling down. The bruises, however, were sorely evident.  Solo saw the merest twitch of a smile on the corner of his partner's lip when he bent over the bed.  

"Hey," he said cheerily. "You napping again?"  

Illya moved as if to try and sit up, but stopped with a groan. "Evidently," his friend whispered. "Did I get hit by a bus?"  

Solo smiled. "Hardly. You don't remember taking on a room full of construction workers?"  

Illya shut his eye briefly.  "I don't remember leaving the building," he croaked softly. Then after a second, "Did I win?"

Solo chuckled. "If winning means you're alive, then yes.." Then, seriously, he asked. "Illya, do you remember your kidnapping?"  

The blond agent was quiet for a moment. " Some of it ..."  

Solo continued. "You said a woman was there. Can you describe her?"  

The Russian blinked slowly. "Short blonde hair, green eyes, plays sax…"  

Solo rolled his eyes in frustration. "Illya, you're describing Jenna! Trust me, my friend, the sooner you forget her, the better." Solo placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Think…the kidnapping.."  

Illya was quiet for a moment. "Isn't in my report?"  

"I'm sure it is. But I need to know now."  

Illya was quiet so long that Napoleon thought he had fallen asleep with his eye open. Finally, he whispered, "Um, late 20's,  shoulder length auburn hair, trim. Wore a suit." Illya's words were almost unintelligible by the end.  

"Do you remember anything else?"  

"I .. don't ..." and his eye drifted shut as his breathing became soft and steady.  

"Sorry, Mr. Solo. The sedative must have kicked in," the nurse said quietly as she approached the bed and adjusted Illya's pillow and I.Vs.  

"That's OK. Thanks." Solo left the ICU and the building, headed for the warehouse district.  

Act IX : "He Doesn't Need To Know This!"

He scoped out the warehouse from the outside, and there wasn't any sign of activity. The only vehicle was a newer sedan parked on the corner.

Solo creeped up to the windows, but couldn't see much inside. If this was a Thrush operation, it was temporary. There was nothing permanent looking anywhere inside.  He found an open door and entered. It took him almost and hour to check the entire interior, but found nothing. He was stumped.

Napoleon was about to retreat and see if the goon had given up any more information when he heard a car pull up outside. He scrambled for cover, and tried to discern where the arrival would enter. The tack-tack-tack sound of a woman's heels came from off to Solo's right, followed by the slam of the building door. He risked a peek, and saw the same woman from the castle in Turin. Illya's kidnapping friend, Solo thought, comparing the description. She disappeared out of Solo's sight and the heel sounds stopped. He heard the groan of a door, the hollow sound of heels on stairs, and the banging of a door closing.

Solo was mystified. He hadn't seen a door in that area…

He let himself out of his hiding place and went to where he thought the woman went. He studied the walls carefully. There were several partial walls in this building, remains of previous remodeling. Solo looked carefully, and ran his hand over the freestanding wall. With a little pressure, he discovered that a metal seam was not as solid as it first appeared. He pushed the wall next to the seam, and the section gave as if counterbalanced. Pushing harder opened a space enough to reveal a stairway going down! A basement!

Solo pulled out his gun and started down the stairs. It was a long, dark descent, and he could hear voices ahead of him. They seemed to be arguing.  He moved slowly down the hall, and stopped at the point where he could understand what they were saying.

"I can't believe you haven't found it yet! I knew it was a bad idea to let her have it. I didn't want one drop of that substance out of your control! We have to get it back!" That was a woman's voice.  

"We know where it is. It just may be a bit difficult to get to. But even if U.N.C.L.E. gets it, they won't figure it out. No one has my level of understanding genetic engineering.  As soon as these field tests are done, I will negotiate with you. I have to finish the testing first."  

Something slammed on a table. "This is much to methodical for me. It works. I don't want this opportunity to slip away from me, you hear?" The woman was angry.  

Just then Solo felt something hard poke him in his side.  Then a warm breath touched his ear. "Why don't we get closer so you can hear better?" a man suggested, shoving Solo down the hall. "Drop the gun."  

Solo did so, not able to see his captor clearly in the dark. "Well, the rats certainly are large in this building! I'll just have to tell my broker I've decided not to lease.."  

"Shut up. Walk."  

Solo shrugged. "Whatever you say." He walked to the open doorway where a surprised woman and man turned his way. "Well, Dr. Engleberg! Care to introduce me to your friend here?"  

The doctor smiled when he recovered from the surprise. "Well! Napoleon Solo! We've never had the chance to meet in person, but I know all about you!"  

Solo smiled, his hands up in the air. "I'm flattered. And this is ..?" he turned his attention to the angry woman.  

"I don't have time for this," she spat. "Tie him up. I don't want the entire U.N.C.L.E. force of New York after me. You'll be released when we are finished here."  

"What? No torture like you did to my partner?"  

She glanced at him with narrowed eyes. "Don't tempt me," she growled.  

"Oh, please, Miss Oreole. There's no reason to be so nasty. You'll get what you want soon, then you can advance in your organization as quickly as you desire."  

"Ah!" Napoleon said brightly, understanding. "You're doing this on the sly, aren't you Miss Oreole? Using Dr. Engleberg's formula to further your career? Was she the highest bidder, Doctor?" The guard jerked Napoleon's arms down and began to tie them behind his back.  

Engleberg chuckled. "Yes. Substantially higher than anyone else."  

"Really? What's her plan?" He was counting on the scientist's megalomania to manifest as bragging. He wasn't disappointed.

"Well, the next step was to prove the effect on humans. Since she knows about how U.N.C.L.E. agents are conditioned against most chemical agents, she wanted to test it on one of them first. We had it narrowed down to four of you in the New York office; Miss Oreole wanted to pick the target since Thrush has had her working here. All we had to wait for was to see which one of our pre-selected four showed interest in a particular lady that worked in close proximity. That way we could see how Formula T affected a human male in his working environment. "  

"Shut up, will you?" Oreole barked. "He doesn't need to know this."  

Engleberg laughed.  "There's no way he, or anyone, can reproduce this or inoculate against it! That's the beauty of it! And it worked perfectly, didn't it?"  

"I wouldn't know," Solo admitted. "I was in Italy, inspecting labs. So, how does T. Philo Milos fit in? And the nuclear delivery system in you suggested to Illya?"  

Engleberg waved a hand lightly. "Milos was just a courier. Brought me the list of names and my down payment from Miss Oreole before I left for New York. You were on that list, too, Mr. Solo. I was surprised Mr. Kuryakin showed himself with a lady first, knowing your history! We didn't even have a chance to get blood from you for the genetic match," he sighed. "And the nuclear delivery system was just to get U.N.C.L.E.'s attention. Otherwise, you would have ignored me."  

"And you had Illya's clothes taken from the hospital, didn't you?"  

"Yes. But not that it would matter. I'm the only one who can engineer the substance. And I have a photographic memory, so there's no procedure written anywhere! It's all up here; " the scientist tapped his forehead.  

And if you die, no one can copy it, Solo immediately thought.  

That's enough bragging, doctor. We have a job to complete, then you can leave." The brisk tone of the woman made it clear that the conversation was over. She nodded to the guard who pulled Solo out into the hall. Oreole marched past them, and the guard pushed Solo to follow.  

"So," Solo started conversationally. "Won't having sexually aroused males around you be a problem rather than an asset?"  

She laughed shortly.  "Sexual power is the only power a woman has in this world! And Thrush is all about power, Mr. Solo. I'll have the big boys falling all over me. Imagine the army under my command!" When she glanced over her shoulder, Solo saw a maniacal gleam in her eye. "Your partner fought well in that bar against incredible odds. You should have seen it! A dozen men that stimulated could wipe out hundreds! And it would be my personal army!"  

"I see," Solo replied. "So you'd be like a Queen Bee, wouldn't you? Or should that be Queen Thrush?"  

She stopped at an open door way, and stood aside with arms crossed. "I never thought of it that way, but yes!" she grinned, indicating with a nod of her head that the prisoner should be put inside.  

The guard shoved Solo inside. "Good bye, Mr. Solo. You are merely an annoyance, and I don't need U.N.C.L.E. coming down on me as an agent killer. Not yet, anyway. And like Dr. Engleberg said, you have no information that can harm me, so I will simply leave you here. You'll be able to escape, I'm sure, but we don't want you to leave before us.  Frank will be here in the hall to shoot you if you escape too soon."  

"So the next time we see you, you'll be the leader of Thrush?"  

She grinned. "First Thrush, then the world. I don't think small. Good day."  

Frank closed the door and Solo heard it lock. Solo glanced around the room, then flopped to the floor and brought his arms around to the front of his body. "Good thing I brought my own toys," he said quietly as he slipped a thin saw blade from his shirt collar and sawed off the rope binding his hands. Then, she moved aside the hollow heel of his shoe. Inside were three small thermal grenades. He took one, jammed it into a space in the doorjamb next to the lock, and pulled the pin. Then he leaped behind a small table for cover.  

The explosion was loud and smoky and blew the door off the hinges. Solo charged the hall and found frank struggling to his feet. The agent let loose with a flying kick right into the guard's jaw, and he fell back. Solo grabbed the rifle and faced down the hall. Two more men rounded the corner, and Napoleon mowed them down effortlessly. He moved quickly down the hall, checking each room as he passed. There weren't many, and they were all empty. Damn! he thought. They got away!  

He ran up the stairs and through the counterbalanced door into the empty warehouse.  He pulled out his communicator pen and immediately suggested a hit on the Italian castle. Engleberg would need a lab to produce this agent; in fact, there had to be one here in New York since he was so rapidly able to manufacture the substance for Illya. And there was a still sample out there somewhere, too.  

He heard the squeal of tires outside, and dashed for a window. He saw a low, red sports car pull away with his quarry in it. Making for the first door he could find, he dashed out into the daylight, slamming the door open and startling a young man across the road. Solo immediately noticed the man's motorcycle; he also had a helmet in his hands and was frozen in surprise in the action of taking it off.  

Solo ran to him, yanking out his U.N.C.L.E. identification. "I'm taking your bike! Official business!"  

The young man then unfroze and said, "No way, man!"  

Solo raised the rifle. "I don't have time to argue! Off!" And the man jumped off.   

"OK! OK!"  

Solo grabbed the helmet, threw it on and fired up the bike. As he accelerated around the corner and in the direction of the car, he patted his shirt pocket. The thermal grenade was still there.  

Napoleon shot to the main street, just seeing the sports car turn a corner.  He followed, trying to come up with a plan as he tried to catch up. How could he get close enough to toss the grenade in the car? And what if the windows were shut?  

He kept just enough distance to keep out of sight; Oreole and Dr. Engleberg still weren't aware that he was free, and he had to hope they left the city if he were to use the grenade. After a few minutes, he realized they were, in fact, heading out of the city. Solo's brain began to work harder.  

Just at the edge of town, he slowed at an intersection and saw a young boy on a skateboard, blowing a bubble with gum. Solo cocked his head as idea sprang to him. He accelerated over to the boy, pulled $10 from his pocket and shouted over the motorcycle engine, "I need your skateboard and your gum! Here!" he handed over the money. The boy's eyes got huge, and he immediately handed over the board. "And the gum! Stick it on here!" Solo indicated the top of the skateboard as it sat across the seat in front of him. The boy slapped the pink wad of gum on the board, and grabbed the cash. Solo sprang away on the motorcycle in pursuit.  

The road became curvy, and descended down the side of a long valley. Solo could see the sports car ahead of him. He stopped for a second, took the grenade out, and stuck it in the middle of the gum, which was on top of the skateboard, then took off. The sports car was going at a leisurely pace and with the cornering ability of the bike he soon caught up. He hung back until there was a straightaway, and raced by the car, glad for the helmet. If they didn't recognize his clothes, he would be all right. Soon, the car dropped behind him, and no gunshots rang out. Solo heaved a mental sigh.  

When he was well ahead and around a long curve, he slowed and turned around, and held the skateboard at his side, waiting. He felt his heart pounding. "This one's for you, Illya," he whispered as the car leisurely rounded the curve and entered the straightaway. Solo revved the bike, and headed towards it. Mentally, he did a count down, then pulled the grenade ring and slowed the bike as he threw the skateboard ahead of him so it rolled at the front of the oncoming car, then accelerated past the car, going the opposite direction.  

He saw the startled look of Miss Oreole behind the steering wheel, and the 'O' shape of Dr. Engleberg's mouth as he raced by. Oreole swung her head back to the road too late; the low bumper of the car had caught the skateboard and the grenade under it.  

"…two…one.." Solo counted down and turned his head in time to hear a dull roar, and see the car engulfed in a fireball. Red and chrome auto parts flew everywhere as Solo headed back to headquarters.

Epilogue : "The Case Is Closed!"

One week later, Napoleon was pushing a grumpy Illya down the hall of the medical section in a wheelchair.  

"I should be able to walk," the blond agent grumbled. "My legs weren't broken."  

"Oh, quit griping and be happy they even let you out of bed! Think of it as a forced vacation."  

"My idea of a vacation doesn't include hospitals," he mumbled. "Where are you taking me, anyway? Going to push me down some stairs or something?"  

"Don't tempt me, by friend. Your attitude leaves a lot to be desired. You'll be happy to know that the castle where your 'treatment' was invented has been cleared out, and no sign of any experiments remain."  

"That's great, I guess." Illya replied. "I still don't remember any of that week. The last thing I remember is going to the jazz club."  

"And let's hope it stays that way," Napoleon filled in quickly.  

"And Jenna left so quickly," Illya said, sounding puzzled. "Didn't even say goodbye. Is anyone going to tell me what happened?"  

"I certainly hope not. Trust me, you don't want to know. And just ignore those looks you'll probably get. Keep your same aloof expression, and it will all pass."  

"What will pass? What did I do, Napoleon?"  

"Someday, I'm sure Waverly will let you read the report. It, and the sample recovered from Jenna's purse, have been classified top secret and sent to a government lab for study.  With Dr. Engleberg dead, the case is closed. No need to think about it any more."  

Exasperated, Illya sputtered, "I can't think about it! I don't remember it! Do you know how frustrating…ouch!" The Russian had turned his head too quickly to yell at his partner and paid the price. He raised his hand to his throbbing head, and whacked himself in the forehead with his cast. "Ow!"  

Solo had to bite his lip briefly to keep from laughing. He stopped the wheelchair at the end of the hall. He made sure all levity was gone from his voice before he spoke. "Well," he said. "I was going to take you to the Research level to get some reading material, but it's probably safer for me to bring it to you. Besides, I think the elevator is closed for cleaning."  

"Can't I read it in my office?"   

"No. It's still off limits until they're sure the residue of the chemical that affected you is gone from there, too."  

"Your office?"  

"No! There's not enough room for me in there, then."  

"The empty office next to yours?"  

"Nope. Residue."  

Illya cocked his unbruised eyebrow at him. "No one's going to tell me anything, are they?" he said in an exasperated tone.  

Solo rolled his friend back towards the infirmary, shaking his head. "Not in this lifetime, my friend, not in this lifetime."  

Finis