Prologue

The young man stomped his feet to clear the mud from his cleats as he walked to home base, an old, chipped bat slung over his shoulder. When he got to the batter's box he planted his feet, digging them in with a determined wiggle, and turned his ball cap backwards. Pulling the bat off his shoulder he checked the tape on the grip with a squeeze, took a firm grasp and loosened up with a swing. Finally, he settled the bat above his shoulder, raised his elbows a bit higher, and turned his eyes to the pitcher, a furrow of concentration on his brow.

It was a fine summer day and the glare made both the batter and pitcher squint. The pitcher, calmly tossing the ball between his hands, saw that his adversary was ready and raised his eyebrow at the catcher. He nodded slightly in response to some cue and brought the ball to his glove as he turned sideways. Hesitating for a moment as he studied the determined batter, he pursed his lips in thought and wound up for the pitch. In a heartbeat the horsehide whipped towards home base.

The batter's swing was strong, but low, and the ball sailed into the foul zone with a faint pop. The pitcher watched it with interest and turned back to the batter, his face neutral as he unconsciously massaged his glove. He accepted the ball from the third baseman with a smirk, and settled into pitching mode again. The batter snuggled down and raised the bat, his eyes icy on the pitcher.

I'll show you, smartass, the pitcher thought as he wound up. It was a fastball that whipped through the air with a wicked drop at the other end; the batter nicked it again for another foul. The pitcher kept his passive expression, but was furious that this particular batter was even managing to touch his pitches. "Beginner's luck," the pitcher growled to himself. Again, the batter readied himself and the pitcher nodded in response to the catcher's signal.

This time it was an evil curve with a nasty backspin. Again, the bat connected, chalking up another foul. Inwardly, the pitcher was furious. Outwardly, the only clue of his rage was the white-knuckle grip on the ball when the fielder got it to him. I'm better than you, and I'm going to make you remember that. The catcher, unable to get the pitcher's eye for his suggestion, was uneasy as he settled in and tried to prepare himself for the unexpected.

The batter raised the bat, his eyes icy determination.

The pitcher wound up slowly with a tight jaw. As he unleashed the sizzling fastball, his upper lip curled into a wolfish grin.

The catcher knew instantly that the ball was too high, but couldn't move fast enough

The batter, however, had amazingly fast reflexes; the bean ball meant for his head practically burned the air as it passed him at eye level, mere inches from his face. The catcher fell backwards trying to snatch the projectile from the air, but the batter somehow managed to keep his feet as he dodged the missile in an impressively adroit backward maneuver.

A shocked silence fell across the sparse onlookers and field; the pitch was an obvious statement of hate, and many there knew the pitcher wasn't the only one with those kinds of thoughts. After a few tense seconds, someone in the stands clapped. Another yelled, "Play ball, all ready!" The team on the bench grumbled among themselves and glared at the pitcher.

Illya Kuryakin merely regarded the pitcher with slightly squinted eyes as he unconsciously rolled the bat in his grip for a moment. Then he quietly re adjusted his cap and stepped back into the batter's box.

As he set his feet and brought up the bat, the catcher said lowly, "You've been warned, you know. He takes this game way too seriously."

The look the Russian tossed his way was edged in humor. "I've had worse thrown at me," he replied calmly.

The catcher shook his head, not sure if he admired the man or just confirmed his insanity.

The pitcher was chuckling to himself, his eyes twinkling evilly as he readied himself for the pitch. Illya didn't react; he kept his face neutral and calmly regarded the man on the mound. The pitcher's face turned from glee to confusion, then to determination as he set his jaw.

Damn Russkie needs to learn a lesson in humility. The pitcher, trying not to show that he was shaken by Illya's unflappable scrutiny, wound up again and unleashed a hard curve ball, low in the strike zone.

Illya's swing was smooth and calculated, and the connection solid. The ball sailed way into the sky, and the Russian was rounding first base and was well towards second when the pitcher realized it was out of range for the fielders.

Incredulous, the pitcher watched the ball disappear as Illya rounded third. Instantly, he was in motion to take his revenge on the small man for making him look bad in front of his teammates.

Just before he tagged home Illya saw the incoming attacker and launched himself to slide in, hoping to score before the confrontation. The pitcher connected with the sliding agent right on top of home base and they rolled aside in a cloud of dust and swinging fists.

Illya's teammates didn't waste any time in joining the fray, with the fielders close behind. The spectators cheered; some even joined the donnybrook. It was a memorable Sunday afternoon for many.

Act I: "You're Going Back To College, Mr. Kuryakin."

Napoleon Solo, Chief Enforcement Agent of U.N.C.L.E., New York, dropped into his office chair on this Monday morning with a sigh and carefully set down his mug of coffee. He glanced at this watch - 10 minutes until his meeting with Mr. Waverly, and there was no sign of his tow-headed partner. With a mental shrug he flipped open the report in front of him for a quick scan.

Just then the office door opened and in walked his partner, Illya Kuryakin, his hand in the motion of removing his sunglasses. When he saw his dark-haired partner, he hesitated for just a hairsbreadth then completed the act a bit more slowly, tucking the glasses in his coat pocket.

Napoleon's glance up turned into a double take and the snide comment about being late died on his tongue. His partner had a black eye! Solo felt the corner of his mouth turning into a grin.

Illya, ducking his head, moved towards his desk and set down the small stack of books and magazines he carried in with him.

Solo made a show of looking at his watch, leaning back in his chair, and putting his hands behind his head as he watched his partner's every move with amusement. He raised an eyebrow as the Russian moved to his desk; was that a slight limp, too?

 "Well, good morning," Solo said cheerfully.

Illya grunted a reply and plopped into his chair, beginning to leaf through the stack of items he'd brought.

"Rough weekend?" Solo queried innocently.

Illya shot him with a glance. "No rougher than usual."

There was a heartbeat of silence.

"Extra curricular activities get out of hand?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle." Illya continued to leaf through the books, as inscrutable as ever.

Solo opened his mouth again, shut it, and then returned to reviewing the report on his desk. "You aren't going to tell me what happened, are you?"

Illya turned to his partner to reply but was cut off by the intercom. "Mr. Solo, Mr. Waverly wants to make sure you bring the Onofre documents with you," a charming female voice crooned.

"Will do, Marie, I have them right here," he patted the file in front of him. In a seductive tone he added, "I'll see you soon!"

The girl on the intercom was professional enough not to giggle, but her tone belied her feelings. "Anytime, Napoleon." Solo grinned.

Illya snorted, continuing to scan his books. "Probably tonight over dinner, correct?"

"Why, how'd you guess?" He stood and buttoned his jacket. "Come on, Joe Louis Junior, Waverly's waiting." He picked up the file and waited at the door for his partner to join him, and they both entered the hall and walked side-by-side to their boss's office.

When they entered the large office they found their boss leaning back in his chair at the head of the table, enjoying his pipe. "Gentlemen," he said without looking directly at them. "Please have a seat. Mr. Solo? Did you go over that file that was on your desk?" The head of U.N.C.L.E., New York, waited until the men were seated before giving them a glance. As Solo began to speak, he saw his boss also give the dour Russian a double take; in his peripheral vision he saw his partner sink down a little lower in his seat.

"Yes sir, I did. It looks like California will be getting a new source of electricity within the next couple of years."

"Yes, Mr. Solo, the nuclear power plant in San Diego is well on its way to being completed and licensed as planned."

This caused Illya to sit up, his interest piqued. "San Onofre? Unit 1?"

"You know about this power plant?" Waverly inquired.

"Only what I've read in physics and science journals. I understand how the plants are designed and run, but I haven't been following the building schedules."

"Mr. Solo has all the information you will need, which really isn't much. We have received some alarming intelligence in the past month about Thrush's interest in this particular plant."

This caused Solo to sit up. "Why would Thrush be interested in a power plant?"

"Our question exactly, Mr. Solo," Waverly seconded, relighting his pipe. "And if you think about it, the implications are staggering. Thrush could control the entire power grid of the Southwest as a result, or worse yet, get their hands on the radioactive fuel. They may be selling the plans to another government for the same reasons. We don't know.

"It seems that the U.N.C.L.E. office in Los Angeles stumbled across a Thrush courier in possession of classified documents relating to the site. Some deeper investigation as to where the documents came from have revealed that someone related to the design team is leaking these documents to Thrush. The problem is, the suspects are clever in covering their tracks. Thrush isn't even sure who is supplying the information; they only dealt with the courier. We need to find out who is releasing this information and stop it. The only thing we're sure of is the location of the drops."

Solo and Illya looked at each other and waited for the other shoe to drop. "And where was that?" Solo finally inquired.

"The area around San Diego State University in San Diego, California. There are large physics and engineering communities surrounding the campus, and there are many possible sources of this information. The only other clue we have is the courier who delivered the documents to the captured Thrush agent. Their code word was 'Delts'. We've traced that word to a fraternity on campus: Delta Tau Delta."

"How can you be so sure about that connection?" Illya queried.

Waverly chuckled. "It seems that the courier noticed a symbol on the jacket of the young man he got the papers from. It has turned out to be the symbol for the fraternity."

"The Delts?" Solo repeated as Illya raised an eyebrow. The older agent continued. "A fraternity usually has a trait, something all the members have in common. What is the Delts common thread?"

"Pardon? Oh, sports." Waverly replied, distracted, as he ruffled through the file and slipping out several papers.

Solo smiled. "So the Delts are the campus jocks."

Illya frowned. " 'Jocks'?"

Solo chuckled at his partner's lost expression. "Yeah. Jocks. As in part of the safety equipment they wear?" All he got was a blank look from the blond agent. "The athletic supporter, but not the Booster Club?" Still there was no indication of understanding from his friend. Solo waved to his crotch area and started, "It's a slang term for a jock st.."

"Yes, we get the picture, Mr. Solo," Waverly interjected as Illya's face suddenly showed understanding and he even blushed a little as he immediately returned his attention to their boss.

"So you're going back to college, Mr. Kuryakin, to infiltrate the Delts. You, Mr. Solo, will be his outside contact and back up." He handed Illya his papers.

"Why aren't the Los Angeles or San Diego offices handling this?" Solo asked, even though his expression was that of pleasure.

  "Because they don't have anyone youthful appearing enough with a strong scientific background, especially in physics. Mr. Kuryakin is the best choice in the North American region."

  "So Illya's going to be a jock?" Solo couldn't help but grin hugely, much to his partner's chagrin. "This will be fun to watch! What's his sport?"

"Baseball," Illya said without lifting his head from the documents. "That's why I was told to enroll in an adult city league, wasn't it?" He glanced at Mr. Waverly, who nodded in acknowledgement.

"And how are you liking the all-American sport, Mr. Kuryakin? My scouts say you play quite well."

Illya unconsciously touched his black eye. "The game has interesting strategy, but the differences of opinion can be painful."

Solo gaped. "You got that playing baseball? I wasn't aware it was a contact sport; well, the way most people play, anyway. Why didn't you tell me you were on a team?"

Illya frowned at his partner. "And have you comment on my every play? I hardly think that would have been conducive to my learning the game."

"Well I see you were properly introduced to what, the bean ball?" Solo guessed, waving his finger at Illya's face.

"This wasn't from the bean ball. It was the result of a controversial decision."

Solo opened his mouth, eager to find out more, but Waverly cut him off. "Gentlemen, please! You can discuss Mr. Kuryakin's training techniques on your flight to San Diego." He handed them their tickets, and gave Solo a fat file. "This is what we have on the faculty members and current members of Delta Tau Delta. The individuals with the most relevant scientific background are on the top. Any questions?"

"Where are we staying in San Diego?" Solo asked. "That nice place on the beach?"

 "Mr. Kuryakin will be in the fraternity house. You, Mr. Solo, will be.."

  "In a sorority house?" Solo asked innocently, his partner rolling his eyes.

"Hardly, Mr. Solo. In fact, we managed to get you on-campus housing and a position on campus that would allow you access to all areas."

The dark haired agent's eyebrow peaked. "In administration?"

"No, in maintenance. A custodian, to be exact."

Solo glanced irritably at his partner's snicker.

"And remember the importance of this mission, gentlemen. Thrush in control of a nuclear power plant is enough to give any of us nightmares. Please keep that in mind as you face certain . . . distractions . . . inherent with an assignment like this."

"Like co-eds," Illya quipped at his partner.

 "And cheerleaders!" Solo added perkily, smiling again.

It was Waverly's turn to roll his eyes. "You are dismissed, gentlemen."

Act II: "Another Crowning."

During the flight, Solo had tried to brief his partner on some of the basic dos and don'ts of college fraternity house etiquette, the major rule being 'don't stick out'. Illya had listened patiently while skimming a magazine and had asked no questions, much to Solo's chagrin.

"Well?" he finally demanded. "Did you hear anything I said?"

"Every word," his stoic partner replied, not lifting his eyes from the periodical. "I'll blend in." Then his eyes lifted, sparkling, and regarded Solo. "You will have more difficulties, I think. When's the last time you cleaned your apartment by yourself?" He chuckled and returned to the print. "Custodian. I must take pictures."

Solo snorted. "You're just jealous because I have such pretty housekeepers." He adjusted his tie and settled back for the rest of the flight.

When they arrived in San Diego they split up at the airport. Illya was to go directly to the frat house, and Solo to the campus administration office to check in with the university president, the only one to know their real identities. Illya changed clothes in the restroom before departing, the first step to slipping into his role as a student.

Solo watched his partner hail a cab at the curb, and had to admit that he looked the part. He'd changed into chino pants and a striped button down shirt that were popular among the 'surfer set' of the west coast, and at the curb when the offshore wind mussed his hair, Illya looked to be barely 20 years old. He smiled briefly. Oh, to be 20 again and know what I know now! the dark haired agent thought with a chuckle. He waited until his partner was whisked off before leaving the terminal himself.

Just before getting out of the cab at his destination Solo slipped off his tie and made himself look a little more casual. He had to look the part of a newly hired custodian to the staff of the university president.

  **************

It was a couple of hours before Napoleon actually checked in with the president. He settled his things in the small apartment on the edge of the campus first after getting the keys from the secretary. He checked out all his equipment – radios, tracking devices, explosives and other items before scattering them about the room. Each device looked like the innocent belongings of any apartment dweller; an alarm clock, a small television or simply buttons on a shirt. It would be difficult to recognize the items for what they were even with a close search.

Satisfied, he ran a brush through his hair and headed off to his appointment.

The secretary, a grey haired, matronly woman, nodded an acknowledgement, and told him that the president was now available. If the dour woman was even a bit curious as to why a mere custodian was meeting with the head of a major university, she didn’t show it. She was all business. Solo thanked her and stepped inside the office.

The president's office was comfortable and overlooked a grassy common area. Beyond that was a street edged with a sidewalk bustling with students. An impressive desk sat off center, and behind it a neatly dressed man rose and extended his hand in greeting.

“Mr. Solo,” the man started as the agent shook his hand. “I am Victor Meyes, the university president. And I must say that it took several meetings with your Mr. Waverly for me to allow this investigation.” He indicated with a sweep of his hand for Napoleon to sit.

“I’m sure it was a difficult decision, sir.” Napoleon offered as he sat. “There’s a lot of people you have to worry about out there.” He indicated the students on the sidewalk with a nod of his head.

“Yes, there’s a lot of responsibility with this position. The welfare of the students and staff is a primary concern. After reading all the information your organization had on the incidents, I have to admit that I was shocked and convinced there had to be investigation. Mr. Waverly’s plan seemed well thought out and the man ..what is his name?”

“Kuryakin. Illya Kuryakin, sir.”

“Yes, Kuryakin. Mr. Kuryakin certainly does have the qualifications but I’m concerned about his ability to blend in. He is much older than the students he’s investigating, and well educated. That is the only part of all this that concerns me. I don’t want him drawing attention that would result in the students around him getting injured.”

“Well, sir, I don’t think,” Solo started, but was interrupted by the sound of a horn honking from outside. Both his and the president’s attention was drawn to the window where they saw a turquoise convertible squeal to a stop at the edge of the lawn.

The car was packed to overflowing with young men, and the girls on the sidewalk scurried out of their way when several of the boys sprang from the car.

The president sighed. “Another crowning.”

“Crowning?” Solo asked as he watched the young men gather at the base of a statue in the middle of the lawn, appearing to be rooting someone on from the direction of the car.

“Yes. It’s messy, but basically harmless. Sort of an initiation.”

“An initiation?” Solo repeated, his attention now drawn to the young man in a baseball cap who was slowly getting out of the back seat of the car. Even without seeing the young man’s face, Solo knew who it was and cracked a grin. “Really? What does the .. ah .. boy have to do?”

As the president spoke Solo saw Illya shaking a can and approach the statue. When he got to the base, he raised the can up and Solo saw his partner’s face from under the rim of the hat.

“They spray the statue of the mascot with beer.”

Just then, Illya held up the can and punched it with a can opener. The spray hit the statue dead in the face, and rained down on the cheering boys as other onlookers scattered to avoid the spray. When the can fizzled out of ammo, the boys dashed for the car, Illya bringing up the rear. He was the last one to leap in the packed back seat as the car squealed away, horn honking. Solo saw his partner toss the can out of the car as it sped away, and wished he could see his expression.

Meyes returned his attention to Solo. “Happens a lot during hazing week at the fraternities.”

Napoleon settled down with a grin, knowing he had some good teasing ammo stored away for the future. “Well, sir, if you’re worried my partner won’t fit in I think you should rest assured that he is, well, experienced in these things and will blend in perfectly.” Well, he’s experienced now, anyway! He thought happily.

“I guess we’ll have to see, but I’m not thrilled about putting the welfare of my students in someone else’s hands. But I see the necessity, so good luck, Mr. Solo.” Meyes stood and stepped towards the door.

“So it’s hazing week, is it?” Solo asked, pleased at the thought of what his partner was going to experience.

“Yes. And as a custodian, you’ll get to see the some of the rituals close up. They are generally harmless but messy.” He opened the door and Solo stepped into the waiting area. “And as our newest custodian, you can go wash off the mascot outside for your first assignment. Good day, Mr. Solo.”

The agents smile disappeared as the door closed in his face. The sound of someone clearing their throat caused him to turn and notice the matronly secretary glaring at him.

     “Well. I guess I’ll be going, then.” Solo said smoothly as he gave her is brightest grin and turned to go. The woman merely followed him with her eyes and then returned to her typing.

Act III: "Can't I Just Attend The Event Of Next Week Twice?"

The agents had previously agreed to meet once a day in a different part of the campus. Their first meeting, the day after their arrival, was to the south side of the cafeteria just after the lunch rush.

Solo was pushing a large trashcan on wheels when he spotted his partner poking at a tray of food at a distant table next to an overflowing trash can. He maneuvered the box on wheels near Illya’s table and shook out a trash bag.

“Enjoying lunch?” He said lowly, working slowly.

“Is that what this is?” Illya growled. “How do American students get so big on a diet of beer and ..” he frowned at the lumpy mass on his plate. “What ever this is?”

Napoleon wanted to keep this scene in his mind: Illya turning his nose up at food! “You don't have to use the meal pass, you know. I take it the fraternity lifestyle doesn’t lend itself to borscht making?”

“Funny, Napoleon. And do you know what I found at the fraternity house when I got there yesterday?”

Solo hesitated. His partner found something out already? This may not take very long after all!

“A goat,” Illya said amazingly before his partner could reply. “There was a live goat in the living room.”

Solo returned to his work, taken aback. “Was it a girl goat?” Was all he could think to ask.

Illya dropped his fork in disgust. “I didn’t check. And thank you for ruining my appetite. It seems one of the pledges has to take the goat everywhere with him all week.” Illya pushed the tray aside and flipped open a notebook, trying to appear to study. "I am amazed these kids come away with any education at all."

"Well, they manage and they make sure to keep everything in perspective with plenty of fun along the way. I guess you stoic Russians don’t have fraternities?”

“Not like this. At least I’m spared all the ‘hazing’ rituals because I’m listed as a transfer student. I do have to, ah, ‘oversee’ some of the events, though. The baseball house brothers are in charge of one of the events.”

“Which is?” Solo prompted, driven by Illya’s disgusted tone.

“Something about a Man in a Box,” the blond agent stated. “I didn’t ask any details.”

“Sure it’s not Genie in a Bottle?” Solo said hopefully, eyebrow raised.

“Napoleon, there are no females involved here, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He slapped his notebook shut. “What am I saying? Of course that is what you are thinking."

“Look, Illya. You can get the job done and at the same time learn how to have just plain, innocent fun." Solo said grinning at his partner’s unease. "You can learn how to loosen up!”

Illya stood and fixed his icy blue eyes on the dark haired agent for a second. “If I wanted to be loose, I could study you. Now I must get to class.” He turned and walked away from his sputtering partner, the corner of his mouth curled into a satisfied grin.

  *********************

The rest of the day passed rather quickly for Illya. He found it difficult to effectively inspect the campus as he found various frat brothers, cooing girls, or some mix of both usually surrounded him. He developed a theory that the letterman's jacket he wore acted like a people magnate. The interesting new addition to the house had caused a stir in the sororities, too.

"Do you always greet new Delts to the campus like this?" He inquired to a determined blonde that he couldn't seem to detach from his arm.

"Only the cute ones," she purred. "Do you have a date for the Rush Dance tomorrow?"

"Um. I think I may be busy .. " he started, but a house mate, Reggie, he recalled, pounded the agent on the back with a ham hand.

"I don't think so, brother! It's the event of the week and all the house will be there to welcome the new members."

Illya, after recovering his balance, replied, "Can't I just attend the event of next week twice?"

The group around him laughed loudly at the comment and the entire crowd moved like an amoeba towards the frat house. Reggie, football team member and Delts vice-president shooed away the non-Delts in the group, which happened to be all female, when they got to the house. "We have Delt business to attend to, ladies, so we'll meet with you later!"

The girls pouted and reluctantly let go of the various arms they had clung to possessively, regrouping into a giggling pack of pony tails mini skirts as they moved off the porch and towards their own houses.

"Let's go, men, the master awaits!" Reggie directed the group into the house. Illya followed obediently.

"The master?" Illya asked one of the beefy teens.

"Yeah, it's the annual opening pep talk from the advisor, Dr. Lindt. It's not too bad, really." The kid seemed rather blasé about the whole thing.

"Oh," Illya replied. He hadn't met Dr. Lindt yet and decided it was a good opportunity to do so.

"And he usually brings food!" The boy added.

When they entered the house, the living room area was packed and the younger members were moving around closing the drapes. Black lights and lava lamps seemed to egg on the rowdiness of the crowd as they munched on cookies that were set around the room in abundance and washed it down with beer from a lone keg in the corner.

"OK, Delts, settle down! Come on, men!" Reggie was standing on the stairs slightly above the crowd and next to another beefy Delt. "Jimmy has a few words for you, so grab a brew and close your yaps!"

Illya wondered about that combination of actions as he chewed a cookie and accepted the cup of foam pressed into his hand. Jimmy was the Delt president and all Illya could see in the weird light was the glowing white of his teeth, letter on his jacket and foam of the beer.

"Welcome back, boys, for another year of Aztec sports domination!"

The crowd cheered and beer rained down. Illya raised an eyebrow at the head butting ritual of the football crowd.

"Soon we will add more to our ranks, making the Delt House the envy of them all!"

Again, the comments were accented with boisterous cheers, rude noises and spraying beer. As they were cheering Illya noticed a man descending the stairs behind Jimmy and Reggie. He was dressed in dark clothes and hard to see in the shadows, but there was a reflection of light in his round glasses where his eyes would be on a pale face. The agent wasn't able to place him at all, and tried to get closer through the pressing crowd for a better look. The man came to a stop next to Jimmy and stood with his hands clasped in front of him. He was very small next to the hefty Delts.

Reggie motioned with his hands for the group to settle down, which it did eventually. When all was fairly calm Lindt stepped down and stood in front of Reggie and Jimmy.

"Hello, boys, and welcome back!" Cheers and raised glasses. "It's good to see you all back and ready for a new year!"

Illya found himself staring at the reflection in the round glasses and after an undetermined time noticed that he hadn't heard a word Lindt had said, but instead had tuned in on the melodious rhythm of his speech. He blinked hard, shook his head slightly and glanced at the faces close to him. He had no idea how long they had been standing there, but the once rowdy crowd now seemed mesmerized, their eyes glassy and locked onto Lindt. Illya immediately turned back to face the man so he didn't stand out from the crowd, but his mind was racing.

They are hypnotized! He realized immediately. He glanced at the remains of the cookie in his hand and slipped it in his pocket. He hadn't eaten the whole thing, and thankfully U.N.C.L.E. routinely conditioned agents against the influences of hypnotism. Drugs, however, were another thing and he was glad he ingested only had a small amount of the cookie especially if his suspicions were correct.

Illya began to focus on what Lindt was saying. It was a repeating statement: 'Now's the time for you to listen, and these orders to be followed.' The agent had no idea how many times the statement had been repeated, as he had focused on the rhythm rather than the words. Lindt then raised his hands and said loudly, "Remember, Delts, and act when called! Now let's hear it for the Aztecs!"

That phrase snapped the crowd from its reverie, and they all cheered loudly. 'Louie, Louie' started playing loudly in the background, and the windows and doors were flung open to the evening air. As the party burst into action, the Delts seemed completely unaware as to what had just happened. Illya watched Lindt step from the stairs into the crowd and disappear.

Illya fought his way through the massive bodies in the direction Lindt had gone, but was unable to catch him. By the time he got to the back door and stepped out, all he saw was a dark sedan pull away from the curb. He cursed his luck. Meanwhile, the air throbbed with the loud music inside the house as the Delts partied on.

  *********************

Napoleon Solo entered his apartment with a sigh of resignation as he dumped his windbreaker on the worn chair. He’d had a full and busy day ‘cleaning’ the offices of the top five faculty members in his stack of files. There hadn’t been anything even remotely suspicious in the science professors’ offices, save one locked journal stuffed far back in a drawer of one office. When Solo had picked the lock he was both disappointed and delighted at what he found; this particular professor had a thing for several students over the years and there were some pretty revealing entries in there! No wonder he kept it at work rather than home! The agent had a difficult time tearing himself away from that distraction.

Other than that he couldn’t believe how boring these men were. He’d just unbuttoned his work shirt and was pouring himself a scotch on the rocks when he heard his communicator warble. He snatched it from the pocket of his shirt and opened it

“Solo here.”

“Find anything interesting in the trash today?” His partner’s voice asked curiously. Solo could just see his smirk.

“Well, depends on what you call interesting, but, no, nothing relevant to the case.” He could also see his partner’s cocked eyebrow at the reply.

“Well, I certainly have,” Kuryakin said.

“Could you speak a little louder?” Napoleon asked, hearing a chorus of 'Barbara Ann' being sung along with a very loud record in the background. “I hear proof that those boys aren’t music majors.”

There was a thump and Solo overheard Illya say, “No, thanks,” and “excuse me”, then a definitely feminine voice said, “Hey, honey, where you off to?” Now it was Napoleon’s turn to raise his eyebrow at the pen device. Then he shook his head when he heard Illya say, “Excuse me, I have to go over there.” Leave it to my partner to reel them in then run away, he thought with a grin.

Finally, the bang of a door lessened the noise. “OK, I have a name for you to check out.” Illya started.

“Is it that of the lovely voice you just brushed off?” He asked playfully.

Illya snorted. “Hardly. But I do have a contingency lining up to escort me to the Rush Dance,” he added in retaliation. “I hate to accept one and then run out on them.”

Solo’s humor dried up. “Such problems. What’s the name?”

“All I have is Lindt. He teaches in the Psychology Department and coaches the tennis team. I think his first name is Alphonse. Everyone here just calls him Dr. Lindt.”

“Why the interest?”

“Well, he just hypnotized the entire house, en mass.”

Solo’s jaw dropped, but he recovered quickly. “Really? Well that is something. I'm not even sure he's in our pile of files here. How did he do it? I mean, I get the impression that those boys don’t concentrate on much except their sport.”

“That’s the other thing,” Illya said. “I have a cookie to get analyzed, so I need to get it to you. Meet you at drop point in a half hour? I’ll give you the details then.”

“OK, see you there.”’ 

“Kuryakin out.”    

Leave it to Illya to get a whole new angle on the case! Napoleon thought as he put the pen away and changed clothes for the meeting.

Act IV: "Eureka!"

It was well after sunset when the pair met at the base of Monty Montezuma, the college's brass mascot. Solo sat on the bench closest to the statue, and became aware of his partner emerging from the darkness almost immediately. Illya strolled to the bench and sat, then bent over to adjust his socks.

"You're late," the blond agent growled.

"And you're grouchy. What do you have?"

Illya pulled a lumpy envelope from his pocket and put it on the bench between them, then stood and stretched as he spoke. "This is what's left of the sample. I suspect it contains a chemical that relaxes the subject and makes them more susceptible to hypnosis."

"Nice parties at your place."

"Group hypnosis does tend to keep the rowdiness down."

"So how did they pull that off?" Napoleon queried as he squinted at the remains in the envelope, then tucked it in a pocket.

"The only thing that would work the way this did is if the group had been pre-conditioned." Illya pretended to fiddle with the buttons of his letterman's jacket.

Napoleon frowned. "Why?"

"That's what I'll find out. Meanwhile, get what you can on Lindt."

"Certainly. And you keep yours grades up, hear?" he chided playfully with an evil glint in his eye and a wag of his finger.

Illya snorted, then Napoleon saw him freeze as his eyes locked on two figures approaching out of the darkness from the other side of the common area. Solo's hand instinctively went to his holster, but Illya stayed his partner's hand with a wave of his own. "Until tomorrow, then," the Russian mumbled and abruptly walked off in the opposite direction.

Solo turned and heard before he saw that the two giggling girls in lime green mini dresses and white boots were hard to miss, even in the dark. He leaned back on the bench with a smile to enjoy the view as they walked by.

"Let's walk faster!" The blonde whispered.

"No! It'll look like we're chasing him!" the brunette replied, aghast. "You sure he doesn't have a date yet?"

"Well, no one has said so. And if he was my date, everyone would know!" They giggled again, and the tapping of boot heels increased as they followed the trail of the blond Russian.

Napoleon, after cocking his head at the comments and to further appreciate the amount of leg showing as they disappeared up the walk, shook his head at the conversation and grinned. Illya needed a lot more training in the feminine mystique, but the way it stood now made surveillance of his partner a lot more entertaining!

When the girls were out of sight Solo stood casually, and then strolled towards his room. When he got there he went through the files he had stashed away and pulled the paperwork on Lindt. It was a thin file towards the bottom of the stack that really didn't have much to it. Napoleon pursed his lips; maybe there was a reason Alphonse Lindt only gave the university what it wanted and nothing more; all the agent knew was that it was time to check out Professor Lindt's office. He plucked the communicator from his pocket and opened it up.

"Open Channel D," he requested.

"Yes, Mr. Solo?" a husky female voice replied.

"Give the local lab the heads up that I'm on my way to drop off a sample for them to examine, will you Ruth?"

There was a low, sultry giggle on the other end. "How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"Ruthie, your voice always makes me tingle," he replied with a smile.

"You, Napoleon, are a tease," she said with humor. "And the San Diego office will know immediately to watch out for you." The double entendre was delivered with a chuckle.

"Thank you, my dear. Too bad you aren't here to tell them in person."

"So, is it sunny and warm there?" She said with a sigh. "I could use a beach day!"

"Can't we all? Maybe when we're through here..."

"Is that Mr. Solo?" The familiar voice of Mr. Waverly sounded over the pen. "Good heavens, woman, don't you have a message to deliver?"

"Yes, sir," Ruth said smartly.

"Mr. Solo?"

"Yes, sir?" he replied, unconsciously straightening his tie.

"Has Mr. Kuryakin made any progress?"

"Yes, sir, he has. It seems there's more to the Delta Tau Delta fraternity than meets the eye and the advisor, Alphonse Lindt, needs a little more investigation."

"Really? Lindt, Lindt . . . I don't recall that name from the briefs."

"He's not connected with the hard sciences in any way, as far as our notes say. I'm just going to check out his office."

"Certainly, certainly." Solo could tell by Waverly's distracted tone that his mind was working overtime. "Let me know what you find. I'll have our resources dig deeper here."

"Yes, sir. Solo out." He closed the pen and donned his dark blue maintenance uniform and headed for the door.

  *********

 Alphonse Lindt tried to relax in the overstuffed chair of his luxurious penthouse apartment. Absently swirling a crystal snifter of brandy as he looked out over the sparkling lights surrounding the lake below him, he tried to keep the Cheshire cat grin at bay as he enjoyed the elated feeling of success that he felt. Finally, his little 'project' was going to get him somewhere and he could finally upgrade to the stately beach house in La Jolla he had his eye on.

When he'd started his entrepreneurial courier project using the unwitting students of Delta Tau Delta so many years ago he never thought it would bring him to this point! A Board position at Wings Corporation! It was over and above what he'd hoped, but only a start to the plans he had.

There was more to Wings Corp. than the public knew. Their negotiator, Mr. Weddel, had offered him a delectable package. True, his project had gotten him this penthouse and the yacht moored in San Diego Bay, but with Wings behind him there would not only be money, but power. He'd had a taste of what Wings was capable of when Mr. Weddel had first approached him.

Lindt knew that Wings Corporation was the corporate sponsor of the college and other entities in the San Diego area, and was mildly surprised when he'd been contacted to run furtive courier services for them almost two years ago, and greatly delighted at the price they were willing to pay. In fact, Wings had made sure he was their exclusive courier; and with a little peeking at what his boys were delivering, Lindt had figured out where Wings was looking to expand before the fact and had invested in the company at the right times. Over the years, his investments proved solid, and he was making money hand over fist! The fact that Wings was about as crooked as it could get didn't bother him one iota. For them not to be getting caught with all they did, he knew Wings must have their hands in just about everything south of Los Angeles! What power and influence they must have!

Wings had noticed his success, and was impressed. Rather than cut him off, they had decided that they wanted the self-starter on their team. Enter Mr. Weddel with the proposition. There was only one thing he had to do before he accepted the offer with a clear mind: He needed to find out a little more information on the major stock holding organization that Mr. Weddel had mentioned. Thrush, was it?

He threw back the remaining brandy and deposited the snifter with a decisive thump. Since it was the Thrush members that had decided to draw Lindt into the Corporation, he decided he'd better know all he could about them. After all, they would be working for Alphonse Lindt someday, and it was best to know your competition!

**********

Solo slipped stealthily into the Psychiatry building and easily entered Lindt's office thanks to his massive ring of campus keys. Neat as a pin and classily decorated, Solo immediately got the impression that this was a man who thought highly of himself. Lindt wasn't a department head, as the office size indicated, but wanted everyone who entered here to think he was worthy of such a position.

Numerous academic certificates were on the walls intermixed with collectable art. Bookshelves displayed bronze and sculpted statues and very few books. This man sure likes to surround himself with nice things, Solo appreciated mentally as he began to search.

It didn't take long for Solo to come up empty handed. Lindt wasn't one of those scholars that amassed written material; save the row of textbooks on a lower shelf, reading material was at a minimum. "Either he has a photographic memory or not much about his chosen profession interests him," Solo mused as he stood back to visually survey the room again. Keeping in mind the obviously fastidious nature of Lindt as suggested by the room as a whole, Solo examined every detail carefully. He was almost ready to dub the search a bust when he noticed something odd in one corner of the room where a shiny ceramic lion with jeweled eyes and of Chinese descent sat majestically on the floor in one corner.        

Behind the lion the agent noticed the frayed edge of the carpet, which should have been tucked neatly away. Immediately he was on his knees as his hands maneuvered the surprising light lion aside. Porcelain! He thought with appreciation. Nice! With the statue aside and now out of mind, he picked at the frayed edge and was rewarded when it peeled out of the corner easily. Underneath, the padding had been removed and in its place was a small stack of oversized folders. "Eureka!" Solo smirked as the retrieved the items and sat at the desk to read.

The top folder contained a list of names separated by years, the current year on top. Solo easily recognized the list of Delta Tau Delta members along with Illya's fake name penciled in on the bottom. There was one check mark next to his name in a column topped with today's date. The rest of the other names had at least two and up to four checks next to them. "Cookie treatments?" The agent mused out loud. Some names had asterisks after them; usually those names also had the most checks and were listed in more than one year. "Delivery missions?" he wondered, impressed by the detailed record keeping. Then again, he wasn't surprised after what he'd deduced from this office.

The last page was a list of dates with check boxes. One date was for the next morning and had no checkmark after it. "Delivery dates, I bet," he surmised out loud as he put that file aside and moved to the next.

The letterhead caught his attention immediately. WINGS CORPORATION surrounded with a stylized set of bird's wings. The papers were a written offer of employment that lacked actual wage numbers but lots of percentages of Wings, Corp. income. He didn't know much about the company, but the name typed below one of the signature lines rang a bell: Donald Weddel. Removing his belt buckle that was actually a camera, Solo photographed the contract and the list of names and moved to the last folder.

This was perhaps the most impressive of all the folders. Lindt had kept amazingly detailed records of his investments, and the total in the 'Net Worth' column was staggering. "Either he invests his professor pay very wisely, or Dr. Lindt has a lucrative side business going here. Very lucrative." He photographed the sheets, replaced his buckle and carefully stacked the folders back in their corner hidey-hole. He gently replaced the lion and patted it on the head. "Good boy," he said with a smile, and slipped from the office.

He didn't notice that one hollow eye of the jeweled lion eyes held a tiny camera that had just recorded the sentiment.

Act V: "What's Your Contribution Been So Far?"

It was just past dawn when the two agents met again. The handsome, dark haired Napoleon was rubbing his eyes tiredly as he nursed a steaming cup of black coffee when the wiry Russian jogged up to him in a grey sweats with 'UCSD' emblazoned on the front. Illya kept the hood of the sweatshirt up over his head as he stopped behind his partner slumped on yet another park bench.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Illya puffed as he began some stretching exercises. "It looks like it's wearing you out."

"It's not the meetings, it's the night life," muttered the senior agent.

"Well, then, keep your mind on the job instead of the dating pool," Illya quipped.

"I am, I'll have you know. I've been doing your and my homework."

"Finally. Payback for all those reports I've done for you."

"Well! Aren't we contrary this morning!" Solo quipped in reply. "Youth and exuberance wearing you thin?"

"Not exactly, but trying to watch for odd behavior is quite a challenge. Odd behavior seems to be the norm in that place." Illya sounded perplexed and determined at the same time.

"Maybe this will help. I have the lab results on the cookies."

"Already?" Illya replied, surprised. "You got them in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, that and a roll of film developed. What's your contribution been so far?" Solo growled.

"Sweat, obviously. What did you find out?"

"You were right about the cookies. They were laced with a tranquilizer that the lab guy says would make someone much more susceptible to hypnosis. I also searched Lindt's office and got pictures of some hidden documents."

"What kind of documents?"

"Here's a copy of everything for you," Solo slipped an envelope from his breast pocket and handed them to Illya, who slipped it under his sweatshirt. "Basically it's a list of Delts that I assume have been hypnotized and used as couriers, Lindt's investment records and an offer of employment."

Illya frowned as he continued to stretch. "Could you see if they were related somehow?"

Napoleon pinched the bridge of his nose to clear his tired and fuzzy mind. "I saw a several dates correlate between what I think are courier runs and Lindt's investments. I think Lindt has peeked at some of the documents and made investments based on the information. He makes money on the courier operation, too. Quite the self employed individual."

"Any links to Thrush or is he working alone?"

"There's where the employment offer comes in." Solo explained what he'd seen.

"The Wings Corporation?" Illya questioned with a frown. "Never heard of them. But Donald Weddel is the sure indication that Thrush is involved somehow. He's their top counselor, isn't he?"

"Yup. Donald Weddel has drafted the biggest contracts for Thrush to date. Graduated top of his class from Harvard Law School and is known as a tough litigator. Since he's involved, there has to be something big cooking."

Illya was thoughtful for a few seconds. "So, Lindt isn't Thrush yet?"  

"We can't even be sure if he knows who Thrush is, but it looks like they'd make a good team." Solo sighed. "Look those over. And I think there's a delivery scheduled for today so keep your eyes open." He stifled a yawn.

"I could say the same to you. Get some sleep. I can't afford to have my only back up fall asleep at the car."

"'At the wheel', you mean. And your heartfelt concern is overwhelming. I've managed to save your behind many times just fine." Solo waved his partner off with a tired flick of his hand. "Go. You have Rush Week duties to attend to."

Illya rolled his eyes in displeasure. "Yes. It's been so much fun so far."

As Illya jogged off towards Fraternity Row Napoleon Solo headed to his apartment to rest his eyes. He knew how tired he was when he wasn't amused at the thought of what Rush duties his partner may have to encounter.

  **********

 When Illya returned to the frat house, he received a hopeful gaze from the goat staked by the back door. The agent paused. "Trust me, that grass is better eating than anything you'll get in there," he said lowly as he passed. When he entered via the kitchen door, there wasn't much motion. Many of the occupants were up but barely awake, proving the time honored theory that most college students would sleep until noon if allowed. The only other person that seemed to have his act somewhat together besides Illya was Jimmy, the house president. He was posting a paper on the refrigerator.

"All right brothers, here's the timetable for the day. The Rush Dance starts at six so we need to at least try and stay on schedule."

"When are the new brothers being announced?" One bleary eyed boy mumbled, his head resting in his hand at the kitchen table.

"It's on here. Two o'clock." Jimmy spied Reggie coming down the stairs and intercepted him as Illya eyed the schedule. He groaned inwardly as he saw his name listed as one of the attendants to the Man in the Box, scheduled for 2:30. The only good thing about the detail was that he knew it couldn't possibly be too difficult to learn his duties, and it probably involved beer. Probably only involved beer. Then he began to wonder how beer could be involved with a Man in a Box. . .

The phone ringing disrupted his thoughts. As he turned he saw the receiver batted off the wall by a fumbling, not yet awake brother. "What?" he grumped in the mouthpiece. "Just a minute. REGGIE!" He let the phone drop and it hung there, swinging gently back and forth against the wall like a pendulum.

Reggie shuffled into the kitchen, eyes droopy with sleep, and he grabbed the receiver. "'low?" he asked sleepily. Illya was about to go to his room to look at the pictures, but something about Reggie's face stopped him.

With the receiver to his ear, the once droopy eyes had suddenly widened and unfocused. "Yes," he said quietly after a minute, then listened a bit longer. Without another word, he hung up and stared at the phone for a few seconds, then shook his head and continued on with his morning routine as if nothing had happened.

The unfocused look was familiar to the agent. It was the same look the group had when Lindt had spoken to them the night before. When Reggie went upstairs to change, Illya raced to his room, locked the door and spread out the photos. After studying them a few minutes, he came to the same conclusion as his partner: There was a delivery scheduled for today. Quickly, he changed into casual clothes and grabbed his books, stuffing the photos between the pages as he went down stairs. Not seeing Reggie, he asked around and was satisfied that the boy was still upstairs. Illya sank onto a lumpy couch and automatically opened a text book.

"What're doin'?" A huge brother mumbled as he flopped on the couch next to the agent, who bounced roughly as a result and had to grab the notebook on his lap to keep it from launching from his lap.

"Studying?" Illya replied brightly.

"Oh. Yeah. Gotta try that sometime." The big boy covered his yawning mouth with a huge hand. "You passed Algebra already?" The jock asked.

"I think so," Illya replied, thinking 'when I was ten years old!'

"Then you can help me pass it this time," the giant stated. "Coach says if I can get a 'D' this time I can keep playin'"

"If I may ask," Illya said after a moment, "how many times have you taken Algebra?"

The beefy boy frowned and held up his hand, counting out four fingers. "Three. Actually, I'm not sure. Coach keeps track for me."

"Three times." Illya repeated calmly. "OK, then, I know where to start."

The boy looked confused. "Where?" he asked curiously.

Illya looked at him carefully. "Why, at the beginning, of course," he said slowly.

The big student smiled after a moment and clapped the agent heartily on the back. "I knew you looked smart!" he said happily, not noticing he'd nearly unseated his new tutor. He stood and offered a ham-sized hand.     "I'm Buck. I'll get with you later, OK?"

"Fine," Illya replied as he accepted a handshake that swallowed his hand completely. He was relieved when he saw Reggie coming down the stairs. "Gotta go, Buck. See you later."

"OK!" Buck headed towards the kitchen as Illya fell in to follow Reggie. There was a lot of foot traffic heading to the campus but following the jock was easier that he'd expected because the boy stayed to the edges of the campus, sometimes going the opposite direction of the crowd.

When Reggie got to the intersection of two streets he pulled out a stack of colored papers from his notebook and, starting with the first parked car on the corner, began putting papers under the windshield wipers. He continued on methodically, car by car, and when he got to the eighth car Illya sidled up to the first car and read the paper. It was a flyer for the football team's opening game the next night with Arizona State. Although the flyers seemed innocuous, the agent suspected the distribution to be a cover for an exchange.

He was right. When Reggie reached the last car parked on the curb, Illya saw an envelope appear out of the car window as Reggie placed the flyer under the windshield. The student then tucked the envelope in his notebook and crossed the street. As the agent shadowed his movement from mid block, he was able to see the license plate of the car as it pulled away from the curb. Memorizing it, he continued to follow the student as he pulled out his communicator.

  ****************

Solo's pen warbled for his attention as soon as he stepped from the shower. He wrapped the towel around his waist and snatched the nagging pen from his pile of dirty clothes on the floor.

"Solo here."

"Did I wake you?" The Russian accented voice sounded hopeful.

"Almost. That was my next destination."

"I hate to shatter your sweet dreams, but the drop is going down and I have an idea who the recipient is. We're headed to the Psych building."

"Lindt. Any idea who passed the papers?" His partner passed on the license plate number and car description. "I'll run it right now. You keep an eye on that kid." Solo adjusted the pen, and spoke into it again. "Open Channel D."

**********

Nearly a half hour later Illya's pen called him. "Kuryakin."

"Where are you?" Solo's voice asked.

"I'm in the quad area south of the Psych building sitting on a bench. My target has been sitting on another bench with an open text book, but I don't think he's studying."

"What makes you say that?"

"Napoleon, I've lived with these boys for a while now. Unless he's been hypnotized to study, I doubt any of those kids have developed that habit."

"Maybe he's a changed man." Napoleon's voice was right behind him.

Illya didn't jump from surprise, but instead calmly closed the pen and raised his eyebrow at his partner as he turned to glance at him. "A herd of elephants would be quieter than you, Napoleon."

"And you're as obvious as a horse at an opera sitting here and not even giving the pretty girls a look." Solo said quietly as he smiled at a passing pair of co eds. "I have the car registration information. Does the name John Lighten sound familiar?"

Pretending to read his text book, Illya replied, "The scientist? He's part of the design team at San Onofre. Looks like we found the leak."

"I wonder what he's leaking now?" Napoleon mused.

"One way to find out. I saw Reggie over there slide an envelope under Lindt's door, then he came out here and sat down. Doesn't look like he's going anywhere."

The agents stood to move to the Psych building when Solo pushed Illya back down on the bench with a hand to his shoulder. "Hang on a second. Look."

Both agents watched as Lindt stepped from the building and glanced around. His eyes stopped on Reggie, and he walked up and greeted him with a handshake. When the boy rose to his feet, they saw the professor pass an envelope to him and pat him on the back. They parted, Lindt heading to the main campus and Reggie walking the opposite direction along the front the Psych building and away from the agents.

"Back to work," Illya mused, standing again.

"I'll check Lindt's office to see if he recorded anything," Napoleon said as they moved off.

Illya moved easily now, as the crowds had thinned with the start of classes. He ducked his head to slip on his dark glasses when he bumped into someone. "Oh, pardon me," he turned and said automatically. The man he'd bumped scowled at him and moved to button his jacket closed, but not before the agent saw a glimpse of a shoulder holster beneath. The man continued on without comment, and Illya noticed a second similarly dressed man walking with him.

The agent turned slightly and watched the pair enter the Psych building where Napoleon had disappeared moments before.