"We suspect that Glock Drugs has been infiltrated by THRUSH, and that operatives passing as pharmacists are substituting legitimate drugs with mind-control chemicals," Mr. Waverly told Illya. "Your assignment is to pose as a lab technician there long enough to find out if these suspicions are true and, if so, to bring the operation to an end."
The following morning, Illya found himself standing on the corner in front of the drugstore, wearing a white lab coat. The store was inside a red brick building which had a large white marquee with red neon letters in front stating its name and the fact that it had been established in 1885. Right underneath, the large windows at the front of the store were littered with notices, messages, and cards taped to the glass, but the store's interior could still be easily seen.
Entering the laboratory at the back of the store, Illya immediately caught curious glances from a couple of young women in identical white coats. "You must be a new hire," one of the women remarked.
"Why, yes, I am," Illya replied pleasantly. "My name is Phil. Phil Culkin."
"Nice to meet you, Phil," the young woman replied with a smile. "I'm Peggy."
Illya got right to work. Measuring dosages, counting pills, and putting them in small plastic cylinders reminded him very much of the chemistry labs at the university he'd attended back in the Soviet Union. He got so caught up in the pleasant routine that he almost forgot why he was there until a stocky, partially bald man wearing spectacles who seemed vaguely familiar entered the lab.
"I don't remember ever seeing you here before," the man grumbled.
"I am here to replace a technician who called in sick this morning," Illya replied smoothly.
As the man looked at his suspiciously, Illya suddenly realized why he seemed familiar. The last time he'd encountered him, the man had been very thin with a full head of hair and no spectacles. He was none other than Clive Durham, a THRUSH operative whom Illya had encountered in a previous mind control scheme who'd alluded capture that particular time.
Quick as a flash, the Russian's hand slipped into the pocket of his lab coat, where he silently pressed a button on the small communication device hidden there. Within seconds, Napoleon entered the store with a gun pointed right at Durham. "This gig's up!" he announced.
With a store full of employees and customers staring in open-mouthed wonder, the two UNCLE agents quickly had Durham handcuffed and ready to be led away.
"We apologize for the disruption," Napoleon told the shaken cashier at the front of the store. "The pharmacy department will be closed until further notice while its inventory is being examined. We're sorry for the inconvenience, but your customers will just have to get their prescriptions filled elsewhere until this issue is resolved."
"Of course, sir," the young woman, who looked to be in her mid-twenties, stammered. "Whatever you say."
Napoleon gave her a disarming smile, and after a moment, she smiled back.
Illya knew that his partner would be paying another visit to Glock Drugs very soon.
