"We'll think of something." Napoleon smiled suddenly. "Hell of a problem to have, though, isn't it?"

  Interlude

  Pipe in hand, Alexander Waverly stared down at the chessboard before him.

  It was his move. He'd ignored the board for most of the day, but now he had to make a decision.

  He had to move his knight.

  His gnarled hand reached for the sculpted Regence piece, feeling the balanced weight of it in his hand, appreciating the 19th century craftsmanship, the inlaid glass eyes, the strength of muscle tone and lifted arch of the neck. All the other pieces were handsomely made, but none had the refined intelligence of the knight.

  The knight was most suitable for the offensive, and as such best used to penetrate into the adversary's camp. It was at its most valuable when waiting on the edge of the battle, not at the outside of the board where its moves were limited. In the center of the game, able to leap in multiple directions, it was invaluable.

  The white knight in his hand was scorched long ago by fire. It had been polished and buffed, and while others may not see the damage, he knew it was there. He had seen the fire. His own palm was scarred as well, from putting out the flame.

  His phone rang, insistent.

  With a frown, he moved the knight to its new place on the board, and took his phone call.

  And he would wait and see what would come of this.

  Part 2

  The Double Dipping Affair

  "We have stood apart, studiously neutral."

  Woodrow Wilson

  June 20, 1965

  U.N.C.L.E. HQ, New York

  "Not with a bang, but a whimper," Napoleon Solo murmured to himself, staring at the intelligence report open before him on the circular table. He was right, Illya. How or why this happened to you, I still have no answer, but he was right. The computer started leaking information two days ago. Wish you were here to see it.

  Alexander Waverly stepped out of the back room to join his top agent, two files held loosely in one hand. "What was that, Mr. Solo?"

  "Just thinking aloud, sir. The words of T.S. Eliot: 'This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper,'" Napoleon quoted, closing the file. "Except in this case, it's Thrush."

  "Perhaps." The wizened craggy face was reflective as the Head of U.N.C.L.E. North America stared at the younger man. "I fear, however, that you may be premature in your analysis. As I once remarked to Sir Winston Churchill, 'This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.' Much as we would wish to read more into this floundering of Thrush in New York, we must not be too hasty in declaring a victory. We are far from that."

  "I agree, sir. I was referring to the one operation only, not Thrush as a whole," Solo countered easily, then changed the topic slightly. "I haven't heard from Illya since you sent him to Norway a few days ago. I noticed that his status is listed as 'off duty'."

  "He is attending a Chemistry conclave," Waverly said, looking through another file.

  Solo nodded. "All he said to me before he left was that you had made arrangements for him to take some post-graduate classes, but he wasn't sure where. Why Norway?"

  "His itinerary is of no concern to you," Waverly said, bluntly.

  "He is my partner, sir," Solo countered. "He is one of my agents."

  "Mr. Kuryakin is mine, to move wherever I see fit to place him. Consider him on special assignment for me. Since you will not be analyzing the information, there is no need for a report to be submitted to you." Waverly brushed aside any further comments and retrieved a third file from his desk at the back of the room. "Before we move on to other topics this morning, there is one footnote on this report on the Thrush New York Corporate Computer submitted by Mr. Kuryakin and yourself that is most... irregular. Have you any subsequent observations to add to explain your decision to countermand my instructions to proceed to destroy the site?"

  "As stated in my report, sir, on further examination of the intel we had subsequently accumulated, it seemed prudent to wait for additional developments before proceeding with the removal of the computer. Both Mr. Kuryakin and myself had reasonable cause to waive the original plan." Solo met his superior's eyes calmly. "You did tell me to proceed at my discretion."

  Waverly sank down into his chair, leaning back in it as he stared across at his Chief Enforcement Agent. "If memory serves me correctly, Mr. Kuryakin was not one of the agents assigned to the task, Mr. Solo. You have yet to inform me why he was brought into the case without first consulting me. A 5-A case is under my authority, by my discretion. Mr. Kuryakin's involvement was to be limited to examining the explosive device that was to be used to destroy the computer, and that was on a need-to-know basis only."

  "I realize that, sir." Solo laid his card hand down carefully. "And the report states the source of Mr. Kuryakin's information."

  "I have read your report. Do you wish the file to permanently record that an angel assisted you on this case?" Waverly's words were equally measured, equally dry. "We are not in the habit of subscribing to beliefs of guardian angels bestowing gifts to mere mortals."

  "The report states that Mikhail was believed to have been an archangel, sir, not a guardian angel. That is our working assumption. We are open to any other possibilities that you can suggest. The details of his visit are there—"

  "I read your report." Waverly's eyes blazed, but he said nothing else.

  Solo continued. "The information presented to us by the Thrush computer has proved itself as valuable already. We have affected the closure of the Thrush substation in Canberra, and the Australian satrapy has no idea that the information was leaked from their New York Corporate Computer. There are now ten other investigations underway, all from information gleaned from the same compromised computer."

  "And off the record, Mr. Solo, what is your assessment? Do you personally believe an angel visited our Mr. Kuryakin?" The liver-spotted wrinkled hands were folded together resting on top of the disputed report. Waverly waited.

  Choosing his words carefully, Solo said, "Following U.N.C.L.E. procedures, Mr. Kuryakin reported exactly what he witnessed. I believe that he did witness exactly what he reported, and I countersigned the account, attesting to that. We have passed the report on to you, sir, to be signed for and filed."

  "Thank you, Mr. Solo. You may go," Waverly said, dismissing him.

  "May I ask when Mr. Kuryakin will be back?"

  "When he has completed his assignment."

  "Assignment?"

  "His course of studies. That will be all," Waverly said again, standing and disappearing into his back room.

  Assignment?

  Napoleon walked back to his office thoughtfully. So there was more to this than just Illya acquiring more legitimate post-graduate university credits to his name. But why the secrecy?

  * * * * * *

  Friday, July 9, 1965

  University of Oslo, Norway

  Several weeks into his courses, in the sciences section of the great university library, Illya looked over the rim of his glasses which had slipped down his nose as he'd read the prescribed pages for his next class. There was a hushed conversation going on at a nearby table, and out of habit, he glanced casually to the speakers, then back to his book again. He'd seen three of them before, but they were in the Physics department while he was in Chemistry. The fourth man he'd also seen before, but he was not a student. He seemed more intense, more dangerous somehow.

  It made the spot in between Illya's shoulder blades itch, and he'd learned to pay attention to that particular itch over the years.

  He listened now, concentrating, trying to pick up more of the discussion. The excited words that had carried his way, despite the speakers' attempt at keeping their voices low, produced a phrase that fully secured his attention.

  Baffin Bay.

  Baffin Bay was a body of water between the Arctic and Atlantic Oceans in the far north, bordered on Greenland on one side and the Canadian Arctic on the other, and the sea was ridden with icebergs, making it dangerous to traverse. U.N.C.L.E. Canada had reported Thrush activity on Baffin Island and in the Northwest Territories, but it was unclear what they were doing there. Napoleon had been present at several meetings at the Canadian U.N.C.L.E. office as they discussed the on-going investigation, and Illya wondered now if Napoleon was still working the case in his absence.

  He glanced at them with apparent disinterest as he stretched his neck as though easing the tension from long hours hunched over the library table. These scientists were Thrush, of that Illya was certain now. From what he gathered, they were studying the icebergs and trying to figure out something about them that Illya hadn't been able to put together. Something they had discovered that day had made them very excited, and they were reporting it to this fourth man.

  So, what to do?

  Alexander Waverly had told him that he was there specifically to complete the post-graduate summer chemistry course as a way of adding to the legitimacy of his position of a scientist as well as an agent at U.N.C.L.E. He was not to report to Napoleon Solo, as this was not an assignment. He was not to bother the Chief Enforcement Agent. Yet he needed to report this, at least to Alexander Waverly.

  Illya slipped the heavy text into his briefcase and left the room, finding an empty classroom down the corridor as all classes were over for the week. A quick call on his transceiver with Alexander Waverly left him with instructions to see where these Thrush scientists were based.

  Illya quickly passed through the virtually empty evening campus, still an hour away from sunset at 10:30 pm at this time of year, and returned to his dorm. Various parties were in progress, as it was a Friday night and many of the students felt this was an appropriate way to spend their weekend time. Illya's room was the far end of one hallway, near a stairwell, and away from the floor lounge at the other end of the hallway.

  As he unlocked his dorm room, the door across from him opened and an older man—a student from Austria—stuck his head out to glare down the hallway at the source of the loud raucous music.

  "It better stop by eleven," the man said to him in heavily accented English. "It is what the rule book says."

  Illya nodded briefly in agreement, then the man retreated to his room and Illya entered his own. The rooms locked, and he checked the device attached to the back of the door, hidden beneath a jacket on a hook, and it confirmed that no one had opened the door since he'd closed it.

  He changed quickly, putting on darker, more nondescript clothes. While the weather had been in the upper 70s during the day, it tended to get cooler at night, so he chose a black T-shirt and dark jeans, a look that many on campus wore on the weekend. He put a light jacket over it, to hide his holster, stuck several chocolate bars in one pocket, since he had not yet eaten dinner, and a used paperback book he had just started in the other. Generally it just helped him fall asleep at night, but it might prove useful in other ways.

  As he left the dorm building, he could see the Thrush agents across the campus square exiting the library. They were still talking excitedly, hands gesturing, and he followed them at a distance, stopping once—when they did—to chat briefly with two men from Uganda who were also in his classes. When the Thrush agents moved on, he said his goodbyes and continued to trail them until they entered a local restaurant to order a meal.

  Deciding he might as well take the opportunity to eat, Illya requested a table for one and was seated across the small restaurant from them, but he was in direct sight so he could continue to monitor them. The book came in handy as he pretended to read as he ate slowly, still trying to listen in to as much of the conversation as he could catch. Their voices were too low, though, and he heard nothing.

  He finished his dinner and his wine, and noting they had not yet paid, he slipped into the single restroom and activated his transceiver, quickly being put through to Alexander Waverly. "Sir, I have been following what I believe are four Thrush agents. Three are scientists, one is an unknown. I have overheard them discussing Baffin Bay, which I believe is an on-going investigation Napoleon Solo is monitoring."

  "AND YOUR CURRENT STATUS, MR. KURYAKIN?" Waverly asked.

  "Observing them, sir. I have followed them to a local restaurant. I am requesting permission to contact the Oslo U.N.C.L.E. office, so that they may continue the surveillance." There was silence for a moment, and Illya glanced down at his transceiver. He was about to check the connection, when Waverly spoke.

  "PERMISSION DENIED, MR. KURYAKIN. YOU ARE TO CONTINUE SURVEILLANCE ON YOUR OWN AT THIS TIME AND DETERMINE THE IDENTIFICATION OF THE FOURTH THRUSH AGENT. REPORT TO ME WHEN YOU HAVE DONE SO." The line was disconnected.

  Frowning, Illya tucked the transceiver back in his pocket. He returned to his table and paid his bill, choosing to wait outside in the shadows, as it was after eleven and was almost full dark.

  When they did not come out, he went inside on the pretence of having forgotten his book there, but the restaurant was empty and closing, and he realized they must have left another way. He searched the area for several hours, but could not locate them. If Napoleon had been here, we would not have lost them, he thought, frustrated. But Napoleon was not there, and he was alone.

  He did not like working alone anymore, Illya realized, surprised at the revelation. For a man who took pride in his independence, it took some time for him to accept the thought and not consider it a flaw. Napoleon said it was not about being 'dependent' on someone, but being 'interdependent', being mutually supportive, and Napoleon said he did not consider it to be a weakness but a strength. Napoleon subscribed to the belief that "two heads were better than one". Illya agreed, as long as they both had guns and plenty of ammunition.

  But perhaps, despite Napoleon's beliefs, this "interdependence" had become a weakness anyway, for he found himself stalled, wanting to talk to Napoleon, to bounce ideas off him, to listen to his thoughts. And, he kept coming back to the fact that Napoleon was not there, he was on his own, and that's just the way it was.

  Illya walked around Oslo most of the weekend trying to see if he could locate the Thrush agents all the while playing the role of a tourist. Part of Sunday afternoon he spent on a bus tour of the city with four women from one of his classes—two from Italy, one from France, and one from Switzerland—who insisted he accompany them. He amused himself by pretending to act as he had often seen Napoleon act, flirting and speaking with great bravado, but gave up after an hour as it was too much work to do that and yet keep a sharp eye out for the Thrush agents.

  Two male classmates and a professor joined them for dinner at a restaurant near the university, and for three hours they sat around the table and discussed chemistry and science and he reveled in being able to converse with likeminded scientists in a common language. He was—to them—just a fellow chemist sharing ideas. It was refreshing.

  As he raised the glass of vodka to his lips, he paused for a moment, brought back to his previous KGB assignments as a dancer in the Kirov Ballet as a watchdog, or watching scientists out of the country at conferences. There had been many days of parties and dinners like these, and he had for a time felt at home and made friends among the dancers or scientists, even though his first agenda was always before him as a 'babysitter' for the KGB while his Russian countrymen were outside of the Soviet Union.

  He finished off his vodka. Obviously, he was not like these chemistry students after all, whether he was KGB or U.N.C.L.E. He had daylight hours left to search for the Thrush scientists, and that was his first duty. He said his goodbyes and set out again on foot, but returned to his dorm room that night without any success.

  * * * * * *

  Monday, July 12, 1965

  Monday morning, as Illya completed an assigned experiment in one of the university labs and was cleaning up, he saw two of the Thrush scientists pass by the lab room door's window. He poked his head out the door and saw which lab they entered, then grabbed his notebook and followed them.

  "Sorry I'm late," he said, walking over to them, looking down at his notes. "I thought I was supposed to be in 203, but there's no one there. I must have taken down the room number wrong. Is this the lab for Professor Heinkel's class?"

  "No, you are in the wrong place," one of them answered, standing between him and the experiment.

  "Are you sure? Professor Heinkel said 203, I thought, but maybe it was this room, 208. Sometimes my 3s and my 8s look the same. I shouldn't write so quickly, but it's all very exciting and—"

  "I told you I saw him!" From the doorway behind him, the fourth Thrush agent had appeared and had his gun held out before him. "Zadkine," his former last name was said in disgust. "Kuryakin. He is that Russian U.N.C.L.E. agent."

  Illya spun, flinging his clipboard at the other two agents as he drew his own weapon. There was a standoff, both men pointing their guns at each other as two of the Thrush scientists fled the room, and the third man continued to adjust the Bunsen burner on the lab table. Illya had his back to the window, trying to position himself in a way to keep his eyes on both men.

  "We must go!" the fourth man said from the doorway to the Thrush scientist. "Hurry!"

  "One minute," the scientist hissed back, still doing something out of Illya's view. "There." He glanced over at Illya, and then left the room. The fourth man closed the door with a bang, leaving Illya inside.

  He glanced to the lab experiment, the burner still on, then started after them, but he had only taken a step when there was a brilliant flash of light and then a deafening explosion in the room. The concussive force knocked him backwards like a massive fist smashing into his solar plexus, and he crashed back through the lab's window, arms windmilling as he fell.

  * * * * *

  Athens, Greece

  Napoleon Solo stepped out of the government building into the heat of July. The dry meltemi winds were blowing, offering some measure of relief, but the dust in his face was aggravating.

  Solo was there to monitor things as a potential crisis loomed. Tensions had increased between Prime Minister Georgios Papandreou and King Constantine II. Since early in the year, the 76-year-old Papandreou and the King had ceased speaking to each other and with Thrush holding a summit meeting nearby, the area was as hot politically as the temperature.