Act VI: "Aren't You On The Wrong Campus?"

Solo easily entered Lindt's office and went directly to the porcelain lion. This time he simply pushed it aside, the hollow eye facing the wall. The dark haired agent lifted the carpet and retrieved the files. Flipping through them, the only difference he saw was a check next to today's date. "Delivery completed, I guess," Solo mused as he put the papers back. He'd just pressed the carpet back down when he heard a noise; the shadows of two men could be seen through the frosted glass in the office door.

Immediately he stood and faced them as they pushed the door open. The lead man, a lean looking tough, froze. "What are you doing in here?" he growled, suspiciously eyeing the uniformed custodian in front of him.

"Dusting?" Solo said, trying to look surprised.

The second man looked over the lean man's shoulder, then glanced behind him. "Where's your cleaning cart?" the tough inquired, turning back to inspect Solo. "Hey." He pushed by the lead man and closed the door. "I know you."

"Perhaps from the faculty mixer?" Solo said politely, moving out from the corner.

"No! You're an U.N.C.L.E. agent!"

The first man snapped his fingers and grinned evilly. "Yeah! Napoleon Solo! That's it!" Then they both went for their guns.

"So nice to be recognized!" Solo replied quickly as he kicked the first man's hand away from his holster and jumped on the second man.

They fell in a heap as the first thug recovered his balance and managed to pull his gun just as the office door slammed open and hit him squarely in the face. He went down instantly with a breathy groan.

The second goon had managed to draw his gun, but Solo, had both hands wrapped around the barrel and was managing to keep it away from his body. He heard the door open and the thud of a body, then heard the chilling voice of his partner. "Stop or die."

The wrestling match stopped instantly as the goon felt cold metal pressed behind his ear. The voice alone was enough to stop him, and he released the gun. Napoleon, glad those icy eyes weren't fixed on him, jerked the weapon away.

"What took you so long?" The senior agent snapped as he stood and brushed off his clothes.

"You're welcome," Illya replied, pulling out his communicator. "I'll call for a pick up. And now you've made me lose my student."

"I'm sure we can find you another," Solo replied calmly.

*************

"It's Solo, all right," muttered the man at the head of the conference table as a dignified group watched the images on a screen that had dropped from the ceiling. "I wasn't expecting to see him on this coast." The image view was low as if shot from near floor level and showed a fish eyed view a neat office. The form of Napoleon Solo had just turned towards the eye of the camera and was now approaching it. His hands reached out to the sides of the lens as he moved the camera contained in the porcelain lion to the side. "And whenever he's about there's a good chance that his partner's lurking around, too. Has he been located? What brought them here?"

"We haven't found Mr. Kuryakin yet, and we don't know what information they have, sir. We only got this film moments ago."

"WHAT?" The man roared, pounding the table as he stood. "That film is supposed to be recovered every morning before Lindt arrives!"

"Uh, er, yes, sir. There was a small problem with the retrieval team this morning. The backup team had to be sent in."

"Problem? What problem? Why wasn't I informed?!"  

"We were just going to report that to you, sir. It seem the original retrieval team has, uh .. disappeared."

"WHAT? How can a mere two agents be this disruptive this fast?! Have they been here, undetected, longer than we think?"

"Well, sir, they are Solo and Kuryakin, U.N.C.L.E.'s best and all, and we have kept security at a minimum to keep a low profile . . ."

"That's no excuse! I want them found and brought here immediately!"

The screen behind the man flickered through Lindt's day, then Lindt moving the lion aside, and finally showed Solo again entering the office, but this time the lion camera was turned to face the wall, revealing nothing more.

"Yes, sir! The basement, sir?"

"Well, I certainly don't want them in my OFFICE!" the man roared. The others around the table flinched and tried to make themselves smaller in their seats. "Now do it! I don't need Thrush Central to hear of this incident."

"Yes, sir," the red-faced man squeaked as he scurried out the door. By then, the film showed Solo replacing the lion and two other forms on the floor in a heap behind him.

The head man shook his head in disgust at the film, and turned slightly redder at the shadowy image of Kuryakin talking on his communicator in the background behind Solo. "Turn that off!" he barked, straightened his tie as he calmed himself. The others quietly studied the papers in front of them, glad they hadn't been Carlton Nash's target. They'd each had their turn on that spit in the past.

Only Donald Weddel was not cowed, seated at Nash's right hand with a satisfied smile unwavering on his lips during the tongue-lashing. Now, he cleared his throat. "Mr. Nash?" His strong voice sounded.

Rush, now in control, settled into his massive leather chair with a squeak. The monitor disappeared into the ceiling. "Yes?" He replied civilly.

"In the light of this discovery shall we step up Professor Lindt's recruitment? Our goal can still be achieved of we move quickly."

"Yes. Yes, you're right. I'm sure those two will be out of the way soon. I see no need to abort the plan.

"Yes, sir!" Weddel agreed with a cold smile. "In fact, I have an idea on how to corral the problem."

Now it was Nash's turn to smile. "Go on," he said, leaning back in his chair.

************

The clean up in Lindt's office was quick and efficient. Since most of the professors were in classes and it was rather early in the morning, there were no questions by the university staff. Solo headed to his apartment to catch some long overdue sleep.

Illya had returned to the frat house to shed his running clothes and return to classes with only speculation as to where Reggie had dropped that envelope after Lindt had passed it to him. He had an idea that Wings had to be involved, and knew that his next step would be to find the corporate headquarters and check it out. A feeling of relief washed over him as he realized the Rush dance would have to be put aside as the cover of darkness was the best time to infiltrate the company. But there was still that Man in the Box thing; he sighed at the inevitable. Maybe something would come up, like a shoot out or a torture session. He could only hope. 

************

It was late in the morning before Solo settled down for some sleep. He dropped off quickly and was happily dreaming of the beach and bikinis when he jerked awake, instantly on alert. All he saw before dropping off again was the broken window over his head and the cloud of gas enveloping him like a shroud.

  ************

Alphonse Lindt wasn't at all surprised to find Mr. Weddel waiting for him in the hall outside his second class of the day. They shook hands, and stepped back into the empty classroom. Weddel shut the door.     

"Professor Lindt, my colleagues at Wings would like to see you immediately regarding their offer of employment."

Lindt kept the satisfied feeling of excitement from his face. Finally, a chance to see the board face to face! He'd already been working on a plan to seize control. Wings only knew about his courier business; how he conditioned the couriers was his secret alone, and could easily be adapted to the board! It would simply be a matter of time before he, Alphonse Lindt, would be in control of Wings Corporation!

Keeping an appearance of being annoyed, he glanced at his watch. "Well, I suppose I could have my assistant take the rest of my classes for the day. Give me a minute to arrange it."

The Wings Corporation had a beautiful building in Point Loma overlooking San Diego Bay. When Lindt was ushered into the opulent conference room the sun was just visible through the tinted windows just beginning its drop to a colorful sunset.

"Professor Lindt." Carlton Nash offered his hand. "Glad to finally meet you face to face. We are very impressed with your courier service, and how you have taken the initiative to improve your financial status in a most interesting manner. Please have a seat and listen to our proposal."

The talk didn't go at all like Lindt had imagined. First, they locked the conference doors. That's when he noticed the large men standing in the back of the room, guns bulging obviously from their belts, and the expressions of fear on the rest of the board members. Only Nash and Weddel beamed with confident smiles. Lindt felt himself begin to sweat.

Before the hour was over, Lindt was dazzled. He knew real power when he saw it and recognized that Thrush was the actual power behind Wings. Mentally putting his own plans aside, he decided to bide his time and align himself with this man in front of him. Carlton Nash would be his ticket to more power than he could ever imagine!

"Now, there's something we'd like you to do for us, Professor," Nash stated, leaning back. "We have a subject for you to condition."

"Condition?" Lindt sputtered. They didn't know that his couriers were hypnotized, did they? "What do you mean?"

Nash's eyes burned brightly as he leaned towards the small man. "How stupid do you think we are? We didn't contact you because of your delivery services. We contacted you because we admire your, shall we say, 'training techniques'. We know all about you, Professor." And then he finally put his proposal on the table. 

***********

When Napoleon Solo finally came around, he wasn't in his room any longer. Instead, he found himself strapped around his chest to a chair with his arms and legs immobilized to the arms and legs of the chair. It was a windowless room with the only light coming from a hooded light bulb hanging from the ceiling. It smelled musty.

"Hello?" He called. "Room service?" The only noise he heard was the gentle humming of the building's heartbeat. He looked down and saw he was still in his maintenance uniform and tried to wiggle free to check his clothing for any of his hidden devices, but was not successful. The buttons alone were ample enough to get out of the room since they were explosive, but first he had to get out of the chair. After a while, he gave up with a sigh and knew he simply had to wait and see what happened.

His hands were becoming numb when he finally heard someone rattle the lock on the door. Solo turned, surprised to see Professor Lindt enter followed by a well dressed man and none other than Donald Weddel.

"Aren't you on the wrong campus?" Solo politely inquired of the professor. Lindt looked surprised, and glanced at Nash.

"We weren't the only ones watching you," Nash informed Lindt. "And I have no doubt that U.N.C.L.E. has been watching other things, too. We need to know what they know," Nash said with a nod towards Solo.

 "And he can help us in other ways, too." Weddel smiled. "Greetings Mr. Solo. This is Carlton Nash and I'm . . ."

"Donald Weddel, Thrush lawyer. Can't think of any job lower on the ethics scale."

Weddel laughed. "So you do remember me! I'm flattered. I promise, though, after today you won't remember much. Too bad. You'll be a great loss to your organization, but a fine addition to ours." Weddel held his chin with his hand in mock surprise. "Oh! But you won't realize you're working for Thrush, either! What a shame. Destroying a mind is such a terrible thing."

"That's enough," Nash snapped. "Professor, all the items you asked for will be here momentarily. Meanwhile, here's the sedative you asked for." A slight, frightened looking man in an ill fitting suit handed Nash a small, black case and scurried away. Nash popped the case open and offered the filled syringe to the professor.

When Lindt lifted the syringe, Solo saw that his hand shook slightly. He tried to meet the professor's eyes, but the man kept his head bowed as he worked and the agent barely felt the needle enter his vein.

Act VII: "What Is The Meaning Of Life?"

After his morning classes Illya returned to the frat house to find it abuzz with activity. The new brothers were to be announced during the afternoon party preceding the Rush Dance. The agent blended in with the others in preparing the house and kept an eye open for Reggie.

Reggie returned, breathless, shortly after noon and oversaw the final house preps. He appeared to be his normal self now, and Illya's careful prodding revealed that Reggie had a completely different idea of where he'd been this morning; his trip to Lindt's office and points there after were completely absent from his memory and replaced with the alternate reality of sleeping in. Soon, the house was filled with Delts and pounding music as the celebration began.

The new brothers were called, given their jackets and a list of ordeals they had to endure to be official Delts. The football boys had physically challenging Keg Toss, the swim team hosted Bobbing for Beers and the baseball representatives monitored the mentally testing Man in the Box.

The Man in the Box duty was all Illya expected and more. The beer was expected. Playing guard to a drunk frat brother in a cardboard box was more than expected, but not really surprising. One by one the new brothers were ushered into the room and told to kneel in front of the Box, which was a good idea because by this time standing in itself was a questionable endeavor. The Man, hidden in the Box, would ask a mind stimulating question like "Have you ever made it past First Base?" and the Pledge would have to respond. The room had at first been packed with ball players suggesting questions and taking turns in the Box, but after awhile Illya was the only chaperone left. By the time the last Pledge was ushered in, the Man, accompanied by his own bottle of Jack Daniels in the now dilapidated Box, was completely unintelligible.

"Whadhesay??" The swaying Pledge slurred. "I can't unnerstan 'im."

Join the club. Oh, yes, that's the point of all this isn't it? Illya thought as he decided to stop this silly affair. "He asked 'What's the meaning of life?'"

The Pledge blinked slowly at the agent, then at the Box, where the sound of snoring could be heard. "Beer?" the boy guessed. "Girls? Beer 'n girls!"

Illya grabbed the boy's elbow and ushered him to the bedroom door. "You got it. Congratulations." When they stepped into the crowded hall, Illya announced that the Man in the Box had left the party. No one seemed to care as 'Wild Thing' began to thrum the air.

With sunset coming soon, Illya slipped to his room and changed into a dark sweater and pants and tried to contact his partner. When there was no response, he contacted the San Diego office directly."We haven't heard from Mr. Solo since the pick up this morning," the woman replied professionally. Then with a questioning voice, "Is that the Beatles I hear?"

"I believe so," Illya replied, acknowledging the noisy background. "Did you get any information from the two that were picked up?"

The woman, back in professional mode, filled him in on the few bits of information they had gotten out of the pair. They were retrieving film from the office and were to take it to the Wings Corporation address.

"So the room was bugged. That means they know who we really are." He glanced at the bedroom door that was trembling from heavy knocking. "Inform Waverly that my cover is blown and these kids are now at risk. I'm getting out of here and am checking the Wings address. Kuryakin out." He didn't wait for a response and clicked the device closed.

"Hey!" A slurry male voice demanded from the hallway. "Whatcha doin' in there?" Female giggling accompanied the question. Illya calmly pocketed the pen as he opened a window and slipped out into the late afternoon.

The rooftop under his window was over the front porch and the window so frequently used as an exit that there wasn't even a screen on it anymore. The agent could hear the party under him and feel the vibrations of the music in his feet. He shook his head again in disbelief and made his way to the edge.

Suddenly he felt something zing through his hair followed by the familiar, muffled sound of a silenced gunshot. Illya dropped and rolled off the edge of the porch, his ungainly fall broken by a group of students. The girls shrieked first in fear and then in delight as the Russian untangled himself from the pair of boys he'd landed on. They didn't appear to have heard the shot; no great surprise with the volume of noise in the air.

"Excuse me," he muttered struggling to get to his feet. Young hands helped him up and he slipped away with a quick thanks going in the opposite direction of the shot. When he was away from the crowd, he prepared for a deadly game of cat and mouse by going over the layout of the area in his head. He eyed a car at the end of the alley, but as he moved to it another silenced shot nipped his arm.

Thrush! I've got to get away from these kids before one of them is hurt, he thought, heading for the canyon he knew was one block over. The zing of another shot buzzed he ear and he began to duck and weave his way to the cover of the canyon. I just need to keep out of their way until dark, he reasoned, diving into the brush of the canyon. As he moved deeper into the cover of the thick mesquite, Illya calculated that the origination of the second and third shots indicated at least two, possibly three, pursuers.  The ping of yet another shot off a boulder near his head made him dive deeper into the canyon, oblivious to the scrapes and scratches from the brush.

The bottom of the small canyon offered good cover and he moved parallel to the campus, away from the shots. He could hear faint music from the streets above, and shouts of men he assumed were the ones responsible for the shots. A glance at the sky between the towering eucalyptus trees above him revealed clouds edged in pink; sunset was near. He settled behind a large boulder to catch his breath and assess his wounds.

 Only a flesh wound, the bullet had grazed his bicep and left a small hole in his sweater, which was edged in blood. The wound itself had stopped bleeding, but he couldn't say the same for the various and sundry scrapes on his exposed skin from the brush. He even found cactus spines in the fleshy part of his palm, which kept him busy as the sun set.

With the darkness on his side, Illya moved back up to the canyon rim. He saw at least three figures moving in the darkness peeking into the canyon from the rim, and was thankful he'd changed into the black sweater and pants. Slipping between watchers, he found his way down an alley and worked his way between two houses until the street was in sight.

A happy group of students on the other side caught his attention, and he quickly combed through his hair with his fingers, flinching at the pain in his bicep. Glancing around, he stepped onto the lighted sidewalk from the dark alley between houses and immediately noticed the foot traffic. On the street cars honked and cruised slowly, boys shouted and whistled while girls greeted each other. Music blared from everywhere, and everyone seemed to be heading in the same direction. The Rush Dance, he thought.

The agent also noticed a pair of solemn men stationed at a corner just as they noticed him and began to move. One spoke into his hand and kept his eyes locked on Illya. Keeping his distance, he crossed the street between cars and was immediately greeted by a group of girls and pulled into their company as they moved across a small lawn to the Rush Dance.

"We were wondering when you'd show!" squealed one.

"Oooh, you look so sophisticated in black!" Crooned another who hooked his elbow.

"You here with anyone in particular?" A third one breathed in his ear.

"Ladies! Good evening. Ah, yes, in fact I'm supposed to meet her inside." He glanced back and saw his followers joined by three more, their eyes intent on him. "And I'm late!"

 "Well, then, let's go," the girl on his arm pouted. "I'd be very upset if I was your date and you missed me!"

"Uh, yes." Was all he could think to say.

"Maybe we can change your mind!" A fourth squealed as they moved along. The others agreed heartily.

Illya allowed the gaggle of giggling girls to surround him and move him like an amoeba into the dance hall via a  side door. The crowd was in the midst of swaying to the Doors' 'Light My Fire' with throbbing strobe and black lights accenting the pounding decibels. The place was packed, and a banner proclaiming the Rush Dance flashed in refection to the strobes.

The girls couldn't resist and began to dance as soon as they hit the crowd allowing Illya to slip away to the side crowd with a smile. The girls simply shrugged, some throwing a kiss, and began dancing with each other.

Illya found a corner where he could see if the goons had followed him. 'Light My Fire' gave way to Mick and 'Ruby Tuesday' and the bodies slowed to the sway of the slower tune enabling the agent to see the half-dozen burly men as they waded though the crowd towards him. Eyeing the double doors of the main entrance he quickly calculated that he could just make it to the doors ahead of the thugs. What happened then would have to be decided when he got there. He moved that direction, his white blonde hair starkly visible with each flash of the strobe.

As he made his way through the pressing crowd Illya felt hands on his face and body as he moved along and simply ignored the cooing girls and forward suggestions. It was difficult to be polite, especially when one hip-hugger clad, braless, bare-midriffed blonde beauty pressed right up against his back and squeezed his buttocks in appreciation as she whispered a suggestion in his ear followed by a tickle with her tongue.

Non-plussed, Illya simply stopped, turned and gently but firmly moved her back with his hands on her shoulders. She batted her eyes at him as he said, "Sorry. Look me up in another decade," and melted back into the crowd as her pink lower lip poked out in a pout. "They must take a class to learn that behavior because I'm sure they didn’t learn it from their mothers," he mumbled as he reached the double doors.

The opening rift of 'These Boots Were Made For Walkin'' followed Illya out the door, Nancy's voice still clear outside when the doors closed where a different kind of crowd gathered. There were several clusters of kids, smoking, drinking and laughing in more private conversations. Illya hatched an idea the second he saw a loud circle of football frat brothers off to one side of the large front lawn that included his new friend, Buck. He headed in their direction.

"Hey, brother!" They greeted, shoving a beer in his hand. Their dates, clinging to their massive arms, smiled brightly at the blond agent and passed giddy glances to each other. Illya glanced to the doors and saw the first of the goons push his way out as Nancy Sinatra sang, "These boots are made for walkin' and that's just what they'll do…" 

"Hey," Illya said to Buck, who happened to be the biggest guy there. "I heard the Arizona guys talking about this year's team," he started.

"They expressed lots of FEAR, I'm sure!" Buck boasted to the roars of his buddies as he slapped Illya on the back.

Managing to keep his feet, Illya joined the laughter for a second then said, "Well, no, not exactly. In fact, they said the defensive line looked like a bunch of .. um, what was the term? Oh, yes, I remember: Chorus girls."

"WHAT?!" Roared the beefy letterman. "We pounded them into the ground last season!" His cohorts agreed lustily.

"Where are those chumps?!" A second large guy growled.

"Well," Illya turned to look and waved vaguely at the front doors. "Just inside. They also said your game book looks like a kindergarten reader so you'd understand it. Oh, there they are now!"

Brushing the girls off their arms like so much lint and dashing the beers to the grass, the lettermen huddled with Illya in the center.

"We'll show those jokers defense!" Barked Buck. "Shuttle Formation, move on three! BREAK!" With a unified roar and clap they made a line on the grass between Illya and the regrouping Thrushmen.

"Looks like they don't think you can hurt them," Illya noted. "Look!"

About nine Thrush goons had gathered into a line, their eyes locked on Illya, who had stepped slightly aside to be clearly visible. The Thrushies grinned wolfishly as they began to move in his direction.

"HUT!"

The goons blinked in surprise, their attention diverted. "You keep losin' when you ought to not bet!" Emitted from the dance hall.

"HUT!" 

They stopped in confusion, their eyes now on the hunched linemen. "What's right is right, but you ain't been right yet!" Nancy wailed on.

"HUT!"

The line charged with a collective roar as the goons' mouths dropped in unison. They froze like deer in headlights as the wall of muscle and letterman jackets pounded towards them. Illya allowed himself a satisfied grin as the players mowed over the hapless Thrush, reversed, and did it again. He dashed into the darkness to the sound boisterous cheers, howls and squealing girls and Nancy saying, 'Are ya ready boots? Start walkin'!'  

Act VIII: "I Think We Can Ditch Them If They're On Foot!"

The low murmurs of voices and the squeak of chairs were the first thing Napoleon Solo noticed when he became conscious of his surroundings. He was no longer in the dark basement; when he cracked open his eyes he found he was in a bright, windowless office. The room was simply but completely furnished in a business style office.

When he moved, he discovered his wrists were cuffed together behind the back of the chair he sat in and the chair was sturdy enough to discourage moving. In fact, it was a well-padded, rather comfortable chair placed against a wall facing the front of a large desk. The only door was to his right and closed.

The voice he'd heard was coming from the frightened looking man behind the desk. The poor man had a white-knuckle death grip on a phone receiver as he was whispering desperately in the mouthpiece, and kept throwing the agent wide-eyed glances as he spoke. Solo was sure the man would run out screaming if he said 'boo'. The wooden nameplate on the desk labeled the poor soul as William Grabert, Financial Officer. Below that was a familiar stylized wing logo.

After a string of whispered "Yes, sir!" Mr. Grabert hung up the phone and began shifting papers around on his desk nervously. "Um," he said, making a pile with the papers. "Er, Mm .. Mr. Solo, you aren't to go anywhere."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Solo replied with a grin. "Can you tell me .."

"I can't tell you anything!" Blurted Grabert. "I mean, I have nothing to tell you."

"Ah," Solo nodded. "Not even the time?"

"The time?" Grabert looked slightly relieved. "Uh, I .. well, sure." He glanced at his wrist watch. "It's just past 4:30."

"In the afternoon?" Solo looked around the office. "There are no windows."

"Oh, right!" Grabert laughed nervously. "Morning. I like to start early." He returned to his papers, a bit more in control.

"I see," Napoleon said slowly. "No coffee, I assume?"

 "No. No coffee." Grabert began to work again.

"Anyone else here?"

Grabert stopped again and gave him a nervous grin. "There's always someone here, Mr. Solo."

"Ah." Solo nodded. Again, Grabert returned to shuffling papers and Solo surveyed the room looking for a camera. He noticed a narrow heating vent over Grabert's head and squinted to see if there was anything mounted in the vent. He didn't expect to see a pair of blue eyes looking back at him between from behind the grate. He raised his eyebrows and settled back with an 'it's about time!' expression on his face. He saw the eyes glance at Grabert, then saw his partner holding him a small, round capsule between his fingers.

"Hey," Solo said, making noise to cover the plunk of the capsule on the carpet. "Don't they serve breakfast here?"

Exasperated, Grabert looked up, not noticing the small cloud rising behind his chair. "Look, Mr. Solo, I'm not here to keep you happy, I'm here to .. to .." Like a marionette whose strings were suddenly cut, Grabert fell forward on the table, his orderly piles of paper fluttering to the floor.

"I'll be back," Illya said as he disappeared.

Solo waited patiently, and within minutes the office door cracked open and allowed his partner to slide in.

"What took you so long?" Solo nagged as Illya unlocked the cuffs. The dark haired agent rubbed his wrists and stood.

"I'm sure they were expecting me so I had to be cautious. I didn't come here to find you."

"Just a bonus, I supposed. Expecting you? How do you know that?"

Illya quickly relayed his escape from the Rush dance and subsequent journey to the Wings Corporation Headquarters. Checking the halls, he motioned Solo to follow.

"How did they know where to find you?" Solo whispered.

Illya glanced back at him, hesitating before he replied. "Either I was recognized or someone told them." He ducked into a dark conference room, Solo on his heels. "It turns out Lindt's office was wired for video."

"So they recognized me and you," Solo reasoned, but the lingering look his partner gave him was not lost on him. "You don't think I told them, do you? The drug/hypnosis thing didn't work on me, either."

"How do you know?" Illya said. "From what I've seen, they place a whole new memory in place of the treatment. We both may be remembering false events. We both have been exposed to the conditioning," he paused. "And some of us for a longer period than others."

Solo straightened at the implication. "You don't think I was affected, do you? That's ridiculous! We're both conditioned against that very thing!"

"Yes, well, you're probably right." Illya brushed him off and peered out of the window.  "Can we get out of here, please? I got something from another office that we need to check on." He pulled out a small measure of explosive putty and began forming an exit hole on the plate glass window. It was still dark enough outside to escape without being seen.

"What is it?" Napoleon asked, following his partner to cover behind a sturdy chair. The "pfffftt!" of a burning explosive ended with a "pop!" and a section of the glass dropped out to the grass one story below.

"A list," Illya said, heading to the new hole. He crawled out to a very narrow ledge outside and began to slide his way over to a nearby drainpipe. His partner was on his heels the whole way.

"A list of what?" Solo steadied the downspout as Illya made his way to the ground. He joined his partner on the grass moments later and they dashed to the cover of the landscaping.

They crouched behind a flowering bush as Illya oriented himself. "It looks like a list of new supervisors for the San Onofre power plant. They have a training class today in San Juan Capistrano." He rose to dash off.

Solo mulled that over then tugged his partner back by the sleeve. "And why does that interest us?"

"Because it was in the envelope I saw Reggie deliver to Lindt. There was a distinctive stamp on the front I recall seeing when Reggie first got the envelope from Lighten's car, a gold seal of some sort. The training is supposed to start later this morning, so we have to hurry."

They moved quickly through the brush to where Illya had parked his transportation. They stepped to the sidewalk, and the blond agent stepped up to a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Solo stopped in his tracks.

"You've got to be kidding," he said unbelievingly as he studied the car.

"It was the best I could do on short notice," Illya replied brightly as he opened the door. "Besides, it's economical on gasoline!"

Reluctantly, Solo glanced around. "Couldn't you have borrowed a sporty, red convertible?"

Before Illya could reply there was a gunshot and the glass of the passenger door shattered. "Too late!" the Russian yelped as he jumped in and fired up the puny engine. Another shot forced Solo to dive through the broken window as his partner peeled away from the curb. Several pings sounded on the side of the car as they sped off, and Solo looked nervously behind them.

"I hope they aren't chasing us in a car. I think we can ditch them if they're on foot!"

"Just hang on," his dour partner replied, intent on escape as the tiny car squealed around a corner. Several more jig-jags and a jaunt the wrong way down a one-way street finally convinced the agents that they hadn't been followed. Illya slowed and parked the vehicle on a dark street. "I saw a few guards on foot outside the building, so I'm sure they didn't get to a car. We're clear."

Solo surveyed the surroundings carefully as they exited the Beetle and only saw the slumbering form of an ill-dressed bum in the doorway of a closed business. He wrinkled his nose as the thought of what he would smell like. "Nice part of town you selected. How do you propose we get to San Juan Capistrano since now that they know to look for that?" He swept his arm in the direction of the insect shaped car.

"Train." Illya said simply, combing his hair with his fingers and straightening his jacket. "That way. Do you need a gun?"

"As a matter of fact," Solo replied, patting his pockets, "I do." His partner tossed him a small revolver that was usually strapped to the Russian's ankle. "Don't lose it. I paid for that one myself."

Solo examined the weapon. "Figures. Bare bones style." He tucked the gun in his waistband.

"Ingrate," the blond grumbled as they moved off in the early morning darkness towards the train station.

They obtained tickets for the first train of the morning and watched the sky lighten over the eastern hills with the rising sun as the Pacific Ocean sparkled in the dawning light. Surfers dotted the shoreline as the train raced north.

"That looks kinda fun," Solo noted as the surfers rode the waves to shore.

"You don't like swimming," Illya pointed out.

"I could like it if there were surfer girls waiting for me on shore." Solo reasoned.

"I should have figured that," Illya concluded. "I'll be back," he then said. He rose, and walked the aisles. "Looks clear," he said on his return. He pulled out a paper from an inside pocket. "Here's the list. I remember some of these names from the journals I've read. They are going to be the top level managers of the Onofre plant on completion."

Solo perused the list. "Sounds like a perfect group to have on your side if you're interested in controlling the plant."

"Exactly." He pointed to a subtitle on the page. "And it looks like this is the first of a series of meetings. Lindt's technique would be perfect to obtain that goal based on what I've seen of the Delts."

As his partner spoke, something suddenly didn't seem right to Solo, and as uncomfortable as it made him, he couldn't seem to push aside the feeling of suspicion surrounding Illya. He was holding something back, his instincts told him. "Why didn't you tell me about the gold seal on the envelope?" he said, trying to sound casual.

"I only remembered when I saw it in the office," Illya responded without hesitation as he folded the paper.

Solo reached over and took the paper. "And how did you find this list and me in that entire building?"

Illya let the paper go without resistance. Solo saw his eyes shift in his direction as he tucked the list away.

"I could hear your inane chatter a floor away," he said slowly. "And like most powerful businessmen, they put themselves on the top floor."

"True," Solo replied, then fell silent. The rest of the ride had a palatable feel of tension. Solo was battling with a nagging feeling of suspicion centered on his partner, and found himself questioning where the Russian's loyalties really were. There was so much to his past that was unknown, and for the last few years there has been no indication of betrayal, but Illya Kuryakin was a smart man. Was he aloof for a reason?

He shook his head, alarmed at the thoughts, and tried to push them aside, but they wouldn't go completely away. The only thought that came forth was, who else would like to have information on a nuclear power plant in the United Stated, especially one so close to the coast and approachable from the sea? Only one other group came to mind: Russia.

Act IX: A Spy In The Ointment

Little alarms were going off in Illya's head; he knew there was a problem brewing. Napoleon had been unusually quiet during the train trip, and was still that way on their arrival at the small, seaside town. He'd noticed the looks and tone of the comments he'd made towards him, and figured the paranoia had to have been planted in his partner's mind. To what end? He thought, now suspicious of the fact that they hadn't been aggressively followed. And has this train of thought been planted in my mind as well? The closer they got to the small hotel where the training was to take place, he heavier the agent's feet felt. Why do I feel like I'm walking into a trap?

The agent also knew that his careful attitude would now be read as suspicious by Solo. Mentally, he made the decision to focus on the detail at hand, which was to stop Lindt and dismantle the Thrush hierarchy disguised as the Wings Corporation.

The listings for the hotel events told him where the training was to be held, and they decided to let Lindt come to them. The hotel itself was high on the cliffs overlooking the sparking Pacific Ocean, and the conference room was on the first floor level and had generous windows taking advantage of the view. Side doors opened to a patio and there was a small lawn edged in hedges between the patio and the cliffs.

The agents made there way to the hedge, and found that they had a clear view of the conference room. They laid flat, waiting, the air thick with tension between them.

"Napoleon," Illya asked lowly, deciding to take the bull by the horns. "I'm not sure your mind is on your job here, and I think Lindt has something to do with it."

The look his partner locked on him gave him a chill. "I don't think Lindt has anything to do with it. I just realized some things that I never put together before," Solo checked the weapon Illya had given him as he spoke.

"Like what?" Illya asked, his own gun hand itchy. In his peripheral vision he saw the conference room beginning to fill.

"Like, why is your background so sketchy? And why are you so tight lipped about your personal life? You're too good of an agent to be let go by the Russian government."

Illya could feel sweat beading on his forehead. "Napoleon, think. Think hard. We've been partners for years now. Have I ever given you reason not to trust me?"

Solo, his eyes clearly burning with what Illya interpreted as hate, glared back. "No. But that doesn't mean anything if you're a double agent. In fact, that would strengthen your position." Suddenly, Illya saw the muzzle of his own gun mere inches from his face backed by the smoldering eyes of his partner. "And now I have proof."

"You have nothing," Illya replied evenly, his eyes cool. "You have suspicion planted in your mind, and that's all. Think, Napoleon. Think about all these past years. You have to trust me!"

*************************

On the other side of the patio in the conference room, the gathering had moved from the refreshment table to the large conference table. As the men sat, Lindt and Nash entered and stood in the back of the room, nodding approvingly at the food consumed and drinks accepted. One man stood and introduced himself as the head of personnel at San Onofre, and gave a brief history of the plant.

As he spoke, Weddel entered the room quietly and sidled up next to Nash. "So far, it's going how we planned," he whispered to his boss. "We avoided any dirty business at the Headquarters, and they are here now, somewhere."

"Is security here?" Nash asked softly.

"Yes. They are posted at inconspicuous spots with explicit instructions not to shoot unless shot upon."

"Fine. Are you sure he won't shoot at us?"

Weddel chuckled. "We have Solo so paranoid that he'd shoot his own mother but the impulse to run will be too much. The fight or flight reactions were high in him."

"And you're sure the no shooting at us thought was also implanted?"

"Yes. We will be safe, and he'll take out his partner for us, neat as a pin. Our hands will be clean. U.N.C.L.E. with have a hard time finding their wayward agent. He'll be so paranoid that they won't be able to get within a mile of him."

Nash glanced at Lindt. "Even with all the study we've done on his method, it's still difficult to place one's own life on it, isn't it?" he mused out loud. "And you watched the whole procedure? He hasn't backstabbed us? Planted anything unknown in Solo's mind?"

"I was there the whole time." Weddel glanced around. "We're clear. And all these men here have had a good first dose of Lindt's compound based on what's gone from the table, here."

"Good. I'll leave you to monitor things here. I'm going back to the office so I'm not around when things happen."

"I'll keep you informed." With a quick handshake, Carlton Rush left the building.

Donald Weddel settled into a comfortable chair in the back of the conference room to oversee Lindt's first treatment. When the psychologist was introduced and stood, a sudden shouting match outside drew everyone's attention to the patio. Weddel jumped in his seat then had to keep the smirk from his face when he looked outside.

Two men had leaped to their feet from behind the bushes, engaged in a shouting match. Startled at first, the talk in the room sputtered to a stop as all eyes turned to the windows. A blond man and a dark haired man were in a bitter argument, the details muffled due to the windows and distance. Suddenly, the dark haired man pointed something at the blond, and a loud "crack!" was heard. The blond flew backwards out of their sight.

"Oh my God! He shot that man!" yelled one of the supervisors. Before any of them could move, the dark haired man turned and ran.

"Call the police! Stop him!" The group scattered, most of them going to the windows.

Weddel stopped the men trying to leave. "We've called the police already. Please, stay put. They will want statements!"

A few men pushed the patio doors open and ran to the hedge. "He's on the beach! He's not moving! He needs help!"

Weddel made his way to the hedge with Lindt by his side. The looked over the cliff to the beach below to the body sprawled on the sand. Weddel had to fight to keep the grin off his face, but Lindt looked scared, his eyes wide open in fright. Calmly, Weddel put a hand on Lindt's forearm. "Just as we planned," he said lowly. "Good work. Thrush will be pleased."

Lindt swallowed and nodded nervously, looking a bit more relieved.Act X: "Have We Got A Deal For You!"

Solo ran until he was sure he was safe. It was difficult to focus on the one thought placed in his mind, and that annoyed him to no end. The annoyance was short lived, however, when he thought about the alternative. If it wasn't for the U.N.C.L.E. conditioning, he wouldn't be able to focus on anything, and that gave him a chill. His partner had managed to get him back on the right track when he was on the verge of total engulfment.

Illya, he thought as he shook his head. I hope he convinced the audience he was dead, because he sure convinced me! Dragging his thoughts back to focus again on his mission, he pulled out his communicator pen and contacted the San Diego office to complete the second part of their plan.

The nagging feeling of paranoia was always there in his mind, but mostly manageable now that he was well aware of it. His first stop was to be the Medical section to clear his mind. His second stop was going to be to the hospital to spring his partner.

********************* 

When he finally roused himself, Illya discovered he was in a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance. He ached all over; the decent from the cliff had been mostly controlled, the last part had been a freefall. His head was throbbing, so he figured it probably took the brunt of the fall. He wiggled his fingers and toes, satisfied, then became aware of the stinging pains in his upper arm and side.

"You're a lucky man," a voice said. "I've taken dead bodies from the bottom of those cliffs."

The agent focused on the face speaking at him and felt a blood pressure cuff on his arm. "Lucky is a point of view," he mumbled in return.

"Well, as far as I can see, you only have scrapes and bruises. Witnesses said you were shot, but I don't see where. The police will want to talk to you at the hospital."

"I'm sure they will." He took a moment to relax. Napoleon should be arranging his removal from the hospital and a cover story about his horrible demise from the fall. He decided to take advantage of his last minutes of life and get some rest.

********************

When Alphonse Lindt arrived at his home that night, he was ecstatic. There was no end to where Thrush could take him! Working with Carlton Nash had been a real eye opener and he was glad he'd decided to throw in with him, at least temporarily. After he was in tight with Thrush, Nash would simply be another rung to climb over to get to the top.

Gleefully, he poured a congratulatory drink for himself and retired to the living area to admire the lights of the city below. With a satisfied chuckle, and he reached to snap on a small lamp on a chairside table.

"Don't. I like the mood."

The voice made him jump nearly out of his skin, and the crystal glass fell to the floor and bounced on the thick carpet.

"Hey!" He yelped as two figures rose from his overstuffed chairs. "But .. but.. you're not supposed to.."

"To what?" Solo inquired.

"Be alive or be sane?" Kuryakin finished.

"Uh...wha, what d-d-do you want?" Lindt stuttered, completely aghast to see the two agents in front of him. The hospital had said the blond one was dead, and the other one should be out of his mind with paranoia! He sank onto the couch, his knees unable to hold him anymore.

The dark one, Solo, smiled a disarming smile. "Have we got a deal for you!" he began, rubbing his hands together.

Lindt began to sweat.

********************

The two agents escorted Lindt to the Wing Corporation late the next day and walked right through the reception area without a hitch. Now that the agents were supposedly out of the way, security had been reduced to the outside perimeter, and even that was light.

Dr. Lindt was nervous but managed to get the agents to the basement without interference. Getting Nash down was more problematic, but with a little coaching from Napoleon and a chilling glare from Illya, was able to concoct a reason for the Wings President to come down, alone, after most of the staff left for the day.

He marched into the room, obviously irritated. "OK, this had better be good . . " His tirade was cut short by Solo's gun in his back and Illya's quick movements. He was gagged and restrained to the very seat that had held Solo within seconds. His eyes burned with fury.

"Now," Solo began, holstering his weapon. "We can start. Dr. Lindt here has agreed to help U.N.C.L.E. in exchange for keeping out of prison and the gas chamber, and you are going to help us bring down Wings. You won't remember any of this any way, so I guess we just may as well get started!" He withdrew a syringe from his pocket and handed it to Lindt who then began to implement his part of the bargain with shaking hands.

Meanwhile, with access to Nash's office, Illya began the process of planting incriminating evidence against Thrush, starting with Donald Weddel. With the papers the agent was stashing in Weddel's office, Thrush and Nash would want him eliminated as soon as possible. And the paranoia and drive to liquidate Wings and flee would be so strong in Nash, Thrush wouldn't know what hit them.

The only thing left to do was pick up John Lighten, the Onofre Design Team member who leaked the plans, and that was done with a phone call. Word of his arrest would only bolster the paranoia being planted in Nash's mind and Kuryakin couldn't help but smile at the simplicity of the plan. No explosions, so shootouts, no grand exit, but a satisfying end anyway. Numerous bandages covering various minor scrapes, a slight headache and a chance to make the U.N.C.L.E. softball team; there could be worse endings to a mission!

It took all night to plant the concocted evidence throughout the building and destroy the internal security surveillance tapes, which would add more paranoia fuel to the fire. When dawn was near the tired agent joined a frazzled-looking Lindt and a pleased looking partner in the basement.

Napoleon sighed a satisfied smile. "I love a happy ending," he noted. "The San Diego Office has cleared out Lindt's home and office. Nash is going to believe his own mother is out to get him!"

Illya nodded and yawned. "All I want is a good breakfast and some sleep."

"You are just too easy to please. Doctor? Are he ready?" Lindt nodded and they began to untie Nash. "He's going to find himself in his office, convinced he's stayed up all night piecing together Weddel's betrayal." Solo chuckled. "That's one lawyer whose shoes I wouldn't want to be in," he consulted his watch, "in two hours!"

Lindt and Solo escorted the drowsy man to his office, sat him in his chair, and signaled Lindt to wake him up.

With a few words, Nash blinked and shot to his feet. His eyes wide with surprise. "You will not regret telling me all this," he growled at the three of them, extending his hand. They each shook it solemnly in turn. "When Weddel is out of the way and I relocate, I'll repay you. Good day, gentlemen." By sitting and turning to his paperwork, they were dismissed.

The three of them walked down the hall. "He's going to spend the rest of his life hiding. Now that I've showed my obvious willingness to cooperate, do you think U.N.C.L.E. may want to swing a deal?" Lindt asked hopefully.

"Maybe," replied Solo. "But until then, be happy to have a single prison cell."

"Oh, Napoleon. I think U.N.C.L.E. could be persuaded to take an interest in the Doctor's work," Illya said lightly. "All he needs are some special cookies to start with."

Lindt brightened. "Really? Perhaps you two would like to work with me . . "

They each grabbed an elbow of the Doctor and propelled him out the front doors. "Don't start," Illya said. "By the way, Nash said he was going to repay us. How?"

Napoleon smiled as the walked down the drive and met their ride from the San Diego office. "It seems that we'll know when Carlton Nash has made his dash to safety, wherever he perceives that to be, when the Delts suddenly get a very large donation from an anonymous local businessman. And with the holdings Wings has, the Delts should be in party favors for a long, long time."

"Great." Illya shoved Lindt in the waiting car loaded with agents and slammed the door. "The beer industry will be very pleased." The car sped off and another took its place and waited for them to get in.  "By the way, did I ever have time to impart on you the insight I picked up from the Man in the Box, and whether I should include it in our final report?"

Solo gave his partner a perplexed look as they slid into the backseat and headed to the airport.

FINIS