The two men walked the pathways of Savannah, Georgia's Bonaventure Cemetery looking for the prearranged meeting place for their rendezvous with their contact. The brunet carried a beautiful bouquet of lilies of the valley while the blond was empty – handed save for a cup of black coffee. It had been a beautiful afternoon though now, clouds were starting to drift in to fulfill the weatherman's promise of rain later on in the day. Every once in a while one or both of the men would stop to admire the statues that marked many of the graves on either side of the paths.

"I read that this cemetery was established in 1846. The Tillandsia usneoides is quite beautiful and give this place a brooding, haunting look, does it not?"

"I might think so, Illya, if I knew what that was."

The Russian smiled, "Sorry. That is the Latin name for Long Moss; that is what those long, silvery – gray skeins are hanging from the oak trees."

"Ah. I know it as Spanish Moss. Look, there's the Bird Girl sculpture. The angel sculpture should be fifty yards beyond it."

They arrived minutes later at the grave marked by an angel that looked down upon them with an expression that could be interpreted as compassion or condescension. Stepping forward, they read the marker. "So," Illya read, "Here lies Civil War Confederate Brigadier General Claudius Charles Wilson."

A female voice on their right added, "Born in 1831, died in 1863." Stepping out from behind an obelisk was a red – haired woman dressed casually in slacks, low – heeled slingback pumps and a knee – length trench coat. "Only thirty – two years young and so highly – ranked."

Napoleon nodded. "Impressive."

"Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, I take it?" After they flashed their ID the woman said, "I am Valerie O'Shea. Tell me why you are here showing such interest in Confederate war heroes."

Napoleon answered, "Dear lady, we were guided here by a little birdie who said you would give us something to bring home to our uncle."

"And, does this 'little birdie' have a name?"

"Mikhail Sukharov, but you also know him as Seamus Boyle."

She sighed heavily. "So he did defect last week. And his grandmother and her cat have been relocated to a safe haven?"

Illya spoke up, "They have been. What do you have for us?"

"Me."

Illya gaped. "Excuse me?"

"Me," she repeated. "If what you say is true, you now are in possession of THRUSH Central's financial records. I know the names of twenty THRUSH covert operatives currently serving in seventeen countries' governments. Take me to Mikhail and I will gladly tell your organization what I know."

The Russian was suspicious. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"Mikhail and I are lovers. We want to be out of espionage so that we can live the life we want. He told me that THRUSH would never allow us to retire, but if we defected to UNCLE, we had a chance at that life. He told me that if he was successful in his attempt, he would send UNCLE agents here to get me. We must go now; my next check – in is in forty minutes. They will send someone to look for me when I fail to make contact."

Napoleon placed the flowers on the grave and gestured with his arm that Valerie and Illya should walk ahead of him. "Let's go." As they walked toward the Bonaventure Road exit he thought, If we get any more THRUSH defectors, Mr. Waverly's going to have to build a hotel.