"He's had his physical, Alexander. That's what I want to talk to you about."

  Waverly slammed the folder shut and swiveled to face the physician. "Oh, very well. I can see that I will get no peace until you have made your report. What is the problem? It was my understanding, from both Mr. Solo's and the CIA's accounts of the incident, that Mr. Kuryakin's injuries were minor."

  Lawrence slid into a chair. "They are, relatively speaking."

  "Is he field certified?" Waverly demanded. "That is my primary interest."

  "No," Lawrence said testily. "Of course not. Outside of the fact that he just came back from a very stressful mission—"

  "You know I cannot involve myself—"

  "Let me finish, Alexander. He is also suffering from smoke inhalation, and his lungs aren't in the best shape." Lawrence could see he had the U.N.C.L.E. chief's full attention at that. An agent who couldn't breathe, couldn't fight or run. "He'll need a few days on antibiotics, as the CIA report indicated. I'd say he'll be field ready inside of a week."

  Waverly's face relaxed. "Excellent. Then I see no reason for concern. Nor for this meeting for that matter. You could have included it on your regular report."

  "There's another issue we need to resolve. It has to do with the discussion we had before you assigned Kuryakin to this mission."

  The U.N.C.L.E. chief rose. Lawrence noted the reaction with a touch of appreciation. As old as Waverly was, decades removed from his own days in active field work, he still was an agent deep at heart. When he perceived a threat, his first move was to open ground, to gain maneuverability, to be free to strike. Now he looked down at his chief physician from his full height. "If you are referring to your decision to pull Mr. Kuryakin for a psychological evaluation after the mission, we had resolved that issue."

  Although no field agent, Lawrence had been around the breed long enough to know how to attack in force. "He had second thoughts, Alexander. On the mission. In the Soviet Union."

  Waverly turned, his anger plain. "Do you know what you are saying? Have you proof?"

  "He told me not an hour ago. In my office."

  Waverly's fist came down on the desk, startling them both. Lawrence looked at it, and then back to Waverly.

  "Was the session recorded?" Oddly enough, Waverly actually sounded resigned.

  "Of course." Lawrence said, surprised. "You know that—"

  Waverly cut him off abruptly, and hit the intercom button to his secretary. "Get me George Dennel. Immediately."

  "Alexander—"

  "A moment, Samuel."

  The intercom whistled and the Security Section chief came through. "Dennel here, sir."

  "Mr. Dennel. I want the security films for Section Six for the entire afternoon."

  "Section Six. Yes, sir." Dennel hesitated. "Is there a problem I need to be aware of?"

  "Section Six, Mr. Dennel. In my office. Immediately." Waverly cut the connection.

  "That's not the answer, Alexander. Sweeping the problem under the rug won't make it go away."

  "What, exactly, did Mr. Kuryakin say to you? Precisely."

  "I asked him if he had any problems related to the mission. He indicated he had some concerns regarding working 'against' his country. But he went through with the mission, and on consideration, he had recently decided that he did the right thing." Lawrence tried to read Waverly's face, but the U.N.C.L.E. chief had turned away from him.

  "He said nothing else?"

  "No." The intercom buzzed, and after a moment, Dennel appeared in the room, several tape cases under his arm.

  "This is all of Section Six, Mr. Dennel?"

  "Yes, sir." Dennel looked from Waverly to Lawrence in confusion, then at Lawrence's gesture, began stacking the canisters on the table.

  "Very good. You will log this as a malfunction in the recording equipment, Mr. Dennel. That is all."

  Dennel swallowed. "Yes, sir."

  Lawrence watched Dennel leave and then looked through the reels, finding the one for the medical section. He held it loosely in his hands, thinking of the hesitant confession it held. "What are you planning to do, Alexander?"

  "I did not notice anything in the CIA medical reports, or the general debriefing, concerning this," Waverly said thoughtfully.

  Lawrence snorted. "Do you honestly think Illya would say a word at Langley? He wouldn't even take the antibiotics he was given there. That's why he was avoiding me—he had dumped them."

  "Good." Waverly was calmer now, purposed. "I will review the session in question. It may be that there is not a problem."

  "I think he could use some counseling, Alexander."

  "Absolutely not. Do not make more of this than there is."

  "Me? I'm not the one that had the head of Security pull the surveillance films for an entire section."

  "A section is a good compromise. Obviously I do not want to pull them for the entire headquarters. But if I pull only the medical complex films, the focus becomes obvious. In Security and Personnel there are frequent breaches of confidentiality among the less classified employees, and films are often classified from the Security section."

  "Alexander, Illya needs some professional counseling. He referred to the Soviet Union as his own country. He's a defector and an American citizen and an intelligence agent under frequent surveillance. Innocent at the remark sounded, it could be construed as an indication of a double agent. He could be arrested by the FBI for very little more than that statement. And once they have a reason to reopen his case, he'd have to prove his allegiance. He can't be put through that. There's a limit to how many times, and in how many ways, a man has to prove himself, and Illya has been pushed enough. U.N.C.L.E. can't afford the risk, either. A little counseling is small insurance against that event."

  "He said this to you." Waverly replied coldly, ignoring his physician's argument. "How interesting that Mr. Kuryakin would raise this issue with you, when it was you who broached the concern prior to the mission. Perhaps you wish to reopen your original agenda. Certainly, he has not had these sorts of conversations with anyone else."

  Lawrence kept his temper. "You can watch the films and see for yourself that I didn't put any words in his mouth. It was as much a surprise to me as it was to you. I'm not pleased that my concerns were accurate."

  "Yes, of course." Waverly sat down, looking troubled. "I regret that remark, Samuel."

  "He hasn't turned, Alexander. He's not even considering turning. It may be that he's not compromised at all. But you're not unaware of the problems defectors have in acclimating. And sending him on a mission against the Soviet Union, in conjunction with the CIA, his own worst personal nemesis, outside of Thrush - well, it is no wonder he had some troubling moments. What concerns me more is that Illya was completely unconscious of the fact that he had referred to the Soviet Union as his country. He isn't acclimating as well as we'd like to think. And if he made a remark like that, among people who could compromise him—"

  "Mr. Kuryakin is never so careless."

  "I know he's been through some grueling interrogation sessions. But the CIA is still mole hunting, and they aren't always blatant."

  "Yes, I quite agree." Waverly sighed thoughtfully. "Perhaps it is best that Mr. Kuryakin is not field certified at present. He might do better away from Headquarters for a time."

  "If you are thinking of sending him back to the Grahams, I'm not sure if that's going to be the answer."

  "Perhaps not, but as you said, Mr. Kuryakin needs a short period of convalescence. It is best that he take it away from Headquarters. Even when he is out of the field, he tends to overwork in the labs or in his Section Two duties. In Washington, he is suitably supervised as to personal and professional considerations and is safely out of the way of any potential personal mistakes."

  "In other words, they look after him and keep him from compromising himself. I don't have a problem with him recuperating there for a few days. I just don't think he's going to get past his acclimation problems merely by vacationing with his adopted family. What this boils down to, Alexander, is that he hasn't accepted his defection. He hasn't completely closed the door on his past life, or thoroughly embraced his new one. Yes, it is a gradual process, but you know as well as I do that most defectors—especially those who've come under the kind of circumstances that Illya did—do a lot better with some professional help. I don't think you are doing Illya any favors by pretending that he is the very picture of the happy defector."

  "Mr. Kuryakin simply cannot afford the luxury of appearing as anything else at the moment. I will study the film in question, Samuel, and make my decision. But based on your description, I believe Mr. Kuryakin was, as you say, simply put in an awkward position in this mission and temporarily regressed. Rather than jump to any unwarranted extremes, I will treat the situation as I have outlined for the moment."

  Lawrence rose. As much as his reservations troubled him, he had to admit that, professional psychologist or not, Waverly had steered the young Russian defector successfully through some very rocky times. As a physician, he could give his professional opinion, quote the standard chapter and verse, balanced by his own perceptions of Kuryakin. But Waverly had knowledge and insights to the young man's character that perhaps no one else shared. "Very well, Alexander. A few more days' delay, and a bit of rest with his family, certainly will do Illya no harm, and probably the rest will do him good."

  "I will see that the young man is informed of his ... 'vacation'." Waverly nodded at the physician in dismissal.

  As Lawrence left, he looked back to see Waverly holding the tape reel in his hands.

  12:20 p.m.

  Waverly snapped off the tiny film viewer.

  That had certainly been...definitive.

  Not enough to convict any normal person. But more than sufficient to cause Kuryakin to be detained and questioned by the CIA. Enough that his U.S. citizenship, obtained under such unusual means, could be reviewed and perhaps rescinded. Losing it would irrevocably cripple Kuryakin's career as an American agent: a tragedy for Kuryakin and a political embarrassment for both the U.S. Senator who had helped him obtain the citizenship and for U.N.C.L.E. who had sponsored the Russian agent.

  No, Kuryakin had hardly appeared the picture of the happy defector.

  Damnably frustrating, when he, himself had done everything necessary to help him achieve that state. Interfered more in Kuryakin's personal life than he cared to interfere. Worried more about him—

  Waverly stood abruptly and rewound the film, his movements abrupt and angry. Perhaps he should have sent Kuryakin to the Grahams when he was sixteen. What had the Soviet Union ever done to inspire this damnable loyalty, compared to what he himself had done?

  But that was unfair. Kuryakin did trust him, had enough faith in his plans and his actions that he had been willing to put aside his own reservations in favor of trust in his superior. Any man was entitled to a few minutes of reflection over his actions and the source of his faith. Any man, except a transplanted Soviet agent working in the United States in 1965.

  Waverly sighed, then pulled out Kuryakin's well worn dossier from a specially locked file. He paged through it, reacquainting himself with his reasons for championing this particular young man, and the future that he had planned for him. He found it helped him regain his perspective, when the problems of dealing with his Soviet acquisition seemed more troublesome than the agent was worth.

  Kuryakin was still worth something yet. A valuable asset, in the language of their trade. Too valuable to discard for a momentarily lack of discretion. He looked over the notes he had made in the past year, summaries of Kuryakin's skills when partnered with Solo, and sighed.

  Solo. First Solo, and then Lawrence. He had fended Lawrence off, but Solo would be harder to deal with.

  He was putting the reel back in its can when it occurred to him that Kuryakin had not been the only agent making indiscreet comments today. Solo had rapidly become almost as strong a source of influence in Kuryakin's life as he himself was. He had allowed that to happen. Needed that to happen. But if Solo chose to use that influence to cause Kuryakin to re-evaluate his affiliations, at a point when Kuryakin had already begun questioning—Waverly almost jammed a finger punching up the relevant files on his console.

  The security system tracked personnel movement throughout HQ at every moment. Although the cost of computer access prohibited making that information generally available except to Waverly and the chief of security, Waverly could, with the touch of a few buttons, identify which badges had been in which locations, and at what times, throughout any given day. Although, as in Waverly's office, the CEA could turn off his recording system, he couldn't turn off the badge system. Within a few moments, Waverly had displayed on his console some very incriminating information.

  After leaving Waverly's office that morning, Solo had then gone to the Section Two agents' office, taken Kuryakin from there into his own private office, where he then turned off the security system.

  Not at all unusual or unlikely in most instances. In fact, the actions were probably fairly automatic for Solo, who typically worked on highly classified cases with his partner, cases where their discussions could and should not be recorded on film.

  But in this instance, Waverly doubted they had been discussing a mission. Rather, he suspected that Solo had been informing Kuryakin of one particular outcome of a case.

  But the discussion, whatever it had been, had not lasted long. According to the security system, Kuryakin had left Solo's office after only a few minutes, and gone to his lab. Where he was now.

  That also was telling. If Solo and Kuryakin were working on a case, the younger agent would surely have stayed longer. If Solo had made some minor inquiry, Kuryakin would then have gone back to his desk. That he had chosen to go to his lab, his private lab, rather than his very public office, especially since he had no experiments extant, told Waverly he had gone there to find privacy not available at his desk.

  Waverly nodded. He would indeed have to send Kuryakin away for a few days. The sooner the better. But before then, he would have to find out what had been said to the young man. Whether his heir apparent had indeed discussed a certain confidential matter with his field partner. And what action, as head of U.N.C.L.E., he had to take.

  The costs of this case were certainly greater than even he had anticipating having to pay. And the bills were coming due in areas he hadn't expected. But he still had enough resources to cover them.

  12:30 p.m.

  The phone in his lab rang, and he stared at it for a full three rings before conscience forced him to pick it up. He was on duty. "Kuryakin here," he said cautiously.

  "Oh, Mr. Kuryakin. I've been searching for you. I thought you might have left the building for lunch."

  "I have been here in my lab," he said testily.

  "Now, don't get shirty, Illya," Heather McNabb replied less formally. "It's just that you know how Mr. Waverly gets when he wants someone and I can't magically conjure them up. Security said you were in the building, but I called the Section Two agents' office, and then I called Mr. Solo's office and—"

  "Should I report to Mr. Waverly?" he interrupted.

  "No, he doesn't want you here. He wants you in Washington."

  "Washington? Does he know that I am not—"

  "He knows you're off the active duty list, but he checked with Dr. Lawrence, and got the okay for this. It's only courier duty. Since you're at loose ends here and have the security clearance, we thought you might as well go—it makes more sense than taking another agent out of the field."

  "Yes, of course," Illya said, not able to keep a touch of bitterness from his tone. For a top Section Two agent, he spent a lot of time on courier duty. Not that courier work could be done by just anyone—the security clearance needed was quite high. But it almost seemed inevitable that whenever he wasn't in the field, whenever he was pulled from active duty, he immediately got put back on courier duty. The fact that it did make sense didn't make the feeling of being sent away any less strong. "When should I report?"

  "It's rather short notice," Heather warned.

  "Of course."

  "Illya." Heather's voice held a touch of reproof. "It's only that agent Nicols took a bullet in the shoulder this week, and Christa, the agent scheduled for this run got diverted to his assignment. So we need someone to take Christa's run. And we didn't think you'd mind, after all, your—"

  "—family is down there. Yes, I know. I don't mind, Heather. When do I leave?"

  "If your mission reports are done, Mr. Waverly would like you to leave within the hour."

  "My reports are in Mr. Solo's hands."

  "Good. I'll make the plane reservations. You'll be home for dinner, Illya," Heather sounded cheerful. "And Mr. Waverly would like you to stay there for a few days. He may have another assignment for you. You'll have at least two or three days off, though. After you get there, you can consider yourself on leave until we contact you again. Just don't go too far from Washington HQ. Mr. Waverly may need you on short notice."

  "Right." Kuryakin hung up the phone and sighed. It wasn't that he didn't want to go. Not ten minutes ago, he had been staring at the walls of his lab, feeling them close in on him, yet not wanting to go back to his office for fear of meeting Napoleon there. He wasn't ready to deal with Napoleon. The idea of getting away, legitimately, was starting to seem very attractive. But that made his being sent away all the more suspicious. Of course, in some respects, his reassignment did make sense. Lawrence had pulled him from the active duty list only in the last two hours. Shuffling of assignments in response to injuries was all very common, and a slightly disabled Kuryakin was the perfect foil to pick up that duty. Very logical and convenient. Perhaps too convenient?

  As a spy, he was well aware of the importance of camouflage—how often in his profession one threw up two balls to disguise the throwing up of a third. A shell game of decoys, played by masters, and he was one of the shells shuffled around. The question was, was he the reason the shells were being shuffled, and the others the decoys, or was he merely a convenient decoy of the moment? It was possible in this instance that he would never really know. Not, of course, that it was supposed to matter to him.