They said the wail could be heard from throughout UNCLE HQ.
Some though it might have been a ghost of a slain agent, reliving his last moments again and again.
Others though it was the scream of an enemy agent, frantic from questioning.
Still other thought it might have been a reaction of a new truth serum that the guys in the lab had been experimenting with.
There was even a whisper that someone had just received their first paycheck and saw the withholding stub.
The truth was much less exciting, but still interesting.
"Napoleon, come out."
"No." Napoleon had taken refuge in a dressing room.
"You have to." Illy rattled the door knob, but it was locked. "You are being childish."
"No, I don't and, no, I'm not. I'm the CEA and I'm turning the assignment over to someone else. You."
"Mr. Waverly said it required your experienced touch and as you are fond of saying, you are the senior agent."
"Illya, please. Help me?"
"We've been through this again and again. They know me. I would be shot on sight."
"I'll be shot on sight, probably just before I blind everyone."
"You are undercover and you must fit it."
"How? I'm glowing."
"Do I have to get Mr. Waverly?"
"Are you alone?"
Illya looked at the very attentive women hovering around the door. "Ladies, if you wouldn't mind."
"But, Illya…"
"I won't say a thing…"
"Please."
Like a good partner, Illya ushered them out. "Everyone is gone, except me."
"You wouldn't lie to me."
"My job isn't worth it."
The door to the dressing room opened. Napoleon was resplendent in a large afro, a day-glo orange shirt and the pant… "The tag called them Horoscope Fun Jeans"
But Illya couldn't hear him over his screaming…