Alexander Waverly motioned his agents to sit down, in his usual way.

On the round table, there were files. Three files. As usual.

The Old Man filled his pipe, methodically, keeping silent. Then, he considered them, still silent.

It wasn't unusual.

Generally speaking, it meant trouble. Evil plots, apocalyptic devices...

Waverly's face was somber, his bushy eyebrows knitted. He fiddled with his pipe, still considering them, still silent.

Generally speaking, it meant... big trouble.

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin didn't mind. It was their job. Dangerous, exciting, gratifying...

No, they didn't mind.

Usually.

Napoleon Solo raised a discreet eyebrow. Illya Kuryakin curled the right corner of his mouth. They exchanged a quick, knowing look.

A rat. They smelled a rat. Both of them.

Waverly's pale eyes were sparkling. And there was this smile. A ghost of a smile but...

"I guess you heard about the Villa Medici, gentlemen?"

"Roma..." Napoleon hissed.

"The French Academy in Rome... It was in the Palazzo Mancini. Napoleon...", he peeped at his partner, "THE Napoleon - moved it in the Villa Medici in 1803. He wanted to give young French artists the opportunity to see and copy the masterpieces of the Antiquity, and..."

Waverly raised a hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Kuryakin, thank you."

Usually, Napoleon would have smirked at his know-all partner but there were the sparkling eyes. And the smile.

"The current Director of the Academy is the Count Klossovski de Rola, also known as..."

"Balthus...", Illya whispered.

"... exceptionally allowed a young American artist to join the Academy. Her mother is French and they're distant relatives. But it isn't the point. The young girl is Doctor Quint's daughter. Doctor Quint...", Alexander Waverly peeped at his Russian agent.

"He's a physicist. He works on light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation... L.A.S.E.R... laser. He's conducting promising research and..."

"Thank you, Mr. Kuryakin. Yes, promising research... She'll leave for Italy next week. Thrush might take the opportunity to abduct the young lady... I want you... both of you... to keep her safe, for two weeks, in Roma. Then our Italian agents will take over."

Finally... Napoleon Solo couldn't help smiling. Bodyguard in Roma...

'Of course, gentlemen..." He paused and grinned, "you"ll have to work undercover."

Here we are... Illya thought. The Old Fox was obviously enjoying himself. The Russian summed up the possibilities... Driver? Gardener? Tennis instructor... probably not. Pool boy... No. Of cause Napoleon would be a diplomatic correspondent... a reporter... an artistic advisor...?

"So, gentlemen, I had a conversation with the headmaster who looks after the Academy pensioners. We don't have so many opportunities. Undoubtedly, the best one..."

Pause.

"...is quite unusual. And... interesting."

New pause.

Window cleaner? Kitchen aid?

"You'll be ... models."

Napoleon's mouth opened in an inarticulate protest. Illya creased his nose.

"Models... Sir... You mean... Models?"

Alexander Waverly pushed the files towards his agents.

"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin, models. Miss Quint is a talented sculptor..."

Pause.

"She asked for some photos of her models. Of course, she's very concerned... I scheduled an appointment for you... Both of you... with our photograph..."