For the first time in three weeks, the night sky above Illya's mountain hideaway was clear. Donning a hat to disguise himself, in case he was observed from a distance, he went outside and set up his telescope. Stargazing would give him something else with which to occupy his time. Illya had brought many books and journals with him on his enforced retreat, but he was getting through them a little faster than he'd thought.

He'd also brought with him, what he'd thought, would be enough food to last him a month; along with hunting and fishing equipment. At first, Illya had hated his imposed seclusion but it had quickly grown on him. It had been a very long time since he could spend quality time with his own thoughts. Although he couldn't relax fully, as to do so could prove fatal, the Russian found himself feeling much less stressed.

Only one person knew Kuryakin's location and he was fairly sure his partner wouldn't give him away. Illya knew that, even under torture, it would take a long time for Napoleon to break. . . Hopefully.

Illya fetched a mug of coffee from his cabin before settling down on a groundsheet. Looking up, he chose an area of sky and aimed his telescope. He loved being away from the city, where the stars were obscured by the artificial street lights. Out here he could see so much more in the night sky and he wondered if there was anyone out there looking back.

It was a matter of pride to Illya that the U.S.S.R. had won the race into space, ahead of the U.S.A., but he truthfully would still be excited had it been the other way around. Mankind was reaching out, and it didn't really matter which nation got there first. Of course, the race to reach the moon was still on-going and, naturally, he was rooting for his countrymen.

After an hour of scanning the skies, Illya was ready to head back inside. He was just climbing to his feet when he heard a branch snap amongst the trees nearby. Readying his Special, Illya darted into the cabin and ensconced himself behind a corner. A few minutes later, he heard someone enter. Holding his breath, he waited until he sensed the intruder was near before jumping on his back and pushing him to the floor.

"Who are you?" Illya growled, pushing his gun into the trespasser's head.

"The Queen of England," Napoleon Solo replied, sarcastically.

"I should have known it was you blundering through the forest."

Illya quickly released his partner, but didn't re-holster his weapon. He couldn't be certain yet that he was safe. Napoleon would have to say one of the two security phrases he had before Illya could know. One phrase would tell him that all was well, while the other would let him know Napoleon had been compromised and the enemy would soon be there.

"Couldn't you have taken your vacation somewhere more civilised?" Solo asked, as he straightened out his clothing.

Illya smiled and lowered the gun, but still didn't put it away. He would need to hear another phrase from Mr Waverly before he would feel secure enough for that.

"I take it that it is now safe to bring the microfilm back to New York?"

"Waverly will confirm it," Napoleon told him.

Illya lifted the rug beneath his feet and prised open a section of floorboard. Inside the void within, in a dismantled state, was his communicator. It took a matter of seconds for him to assemble the device and open a channel.

"It is good to hear from you, Mr Kuryakin," the Old Man said, by way of greeting. "Your cousins are missing you."

"Thank you, Sir," Illya replied, as he finally tucked the Special away. "I shall be back amongst them all very soon."

"Ready to go home, Tovarisch?" Napoleon asked after Illya had closed the channel. "My car is about a mile away."

"More than ready," the Russian replied. "The sooner I get this microfilm inside HQ the better. I still don't see why I needed to hide out here with it."

"It seems Waverly suspected a mole within U.N.C.L.E.," Solo told him. "He concocted all of this to catch them out."

"How?"

"Well, he figured that if you went into hiding with information valuable to Thrush, the mole would do everything they could to find your location. Nothing was written down, but rumours were deliberately started. It took three weeks but we finally gathered enough evidence to apprehend the mole."

"Who was it?" Illya asked.

"Peter Haynes, from maintenance," Napoleon replied. "Thrush had offered him $150,000."

"So this is unimportant," Illya stated, as he retrieved the microfilm from the cubbyhole in the floor."

"Totally," said Napoleon. "Come on, let's get you home."