It was getting harder to breath as the temperature was rising rapidly. April Dancer was bound and gagged and put in what could only be described as a sweatbox...something that looked like it was out a B- 'War in the Pacific' movie.

Except this wasn't a prison camp, nor was she surrounded by foreign guards...this particular box was used to smoke meat and it was in the far corner of a property owned by a man named Big Bill Henderson.

The man was a rich Texan, known for garnering his wealth through acquiring land owned by poor dirt farmers and once the land was bought for a meer pittance, oil was discovered.

It happened again and again, enough to warrant the attention of U.N.C.L.E. as it was suspected he had T.H.R.U.S.H. ties.

April Dancer and Mark Slate were assigned to the mission by Alexander Waverly and April had wormed her way into Henderson's good graces until her cover was blown.

Here she was being fricasseed...no that wasn't right, she was being smoked. April was perspiring heavily and now that her wrists were damp; she was able to work her way out of the the ropes binding them. She freed her ankles and slowly rose; feeling a bit lightheaded. She fumbled in the dark and heat, looking for the cuff of her bellbottom pants and ripped the hem open, from there she slipped out a thin flat piece of metal. April worked it through the ever so narrow gap between the metal door and the frame allowing her to lift the lever holding the door shut.

She kicked the hot metal door open and the fresh air hit her with a whoosh of coolness; staggeringout the opening, and had the good sense to close up the smoke box after her.

It was time for payback….

She moved slowly towards the house, hiding along a row of hedges and keeping out of view.

April spotted one of Henderson's lackies...or perhaps 'good old boys' was a better name...with his cowboy hat, checkered shirt and boots. In his holster was a Browning pistol...not exactly T.H.R.U.S.H. standard issue, but popular in the state. Leaning against an oak tree was a Remington bolt action rifle and as the man bent his head forward, leaning to strike a match against the sole of his boot; April grabbed the rifle and knocked him out with the butt.

"Sorry darling,you're going to have a terrible headache later," she whispered as she relieved him of his pistol. She pulled his jacket off, using it to cover up what was left of her clothing as she was soaked from perspiring and left things a bit too revealing for her taste.

A gril still had to have some propriety regadless of her situation…

Suddenly April felt faint; she stood, wobbling in place before she fell to the ground.

.

"April luv wake up!" Mark Slate called out to his partner.

"Mark?"

"Who else?"

She sat up, wide-eyed, looking at her surroundings. They were both dressed in bathing togs, playing on a red checkered blanket, on what looked like a pristine white, sandy beach.

"I figured I'd better wake you before you got too bad a sunburn."

"Sunburn?" She asked, feeling quite disoriented.

"April what's wrong with you? You feeling all right luv?"

"I had the strangest dream. I dreamt I was in some sort of sweatbox being smoked like a side of beef...it was all so vivid. I was in Texas and …

Mark looked strangely at her. "Mr. Waverly just notified me we're heading to the States tomorrow, Texas to be precise...to a ranch owed by a fellow named Big Bill Henderson, seems he's been stealing people's land; suddenly striking oil there and…"

"Oh darling, that's exactly what I dreamt! I think I need to contact Mr. Waverly and beg off this assignment as in my dream it wasn't going too well."

"April you're afraid of a dream?"

"No Mark dear but I feel like I've been given a warning...why ignore it for once."

"Whatever you stay luv. Do you think it's this guardian angel of yours looking out for you again?"*

Dancer slipped into her beach robe and rose from the blanket, not saying a word at first.

"Maybe darling, maybe…"