Font of Life Part 2

by Rosywonder

Solo and Kuryakin begin to investigate Bolt Enterprises, as Illya and Therese discover the true implications of Bolt's intentions for their unborn baby.

CHAPTER 5

Sabi gave them a lift to the airport; she had spoken to Mueller and managed to obtain some tickets on the lunch-time flight to London. Napoleon stared out of the window at the grey, featureless landscape passing rapidly by them on the autobahn. Illya had been non-committal about whatever he knew, and he had grudgingly accepted the fact that the Russian was waiting until the right time to share anything with his partner. The memory of the last week made Solo feel frightened of his own behaviour; it was hardly believable that he should allow himself to sink to the level where he was totally vulnerable to attack, or to be unable to account for how he had got home on several evenings. It was also nothing short of miraculous that Kuryakin had managed to find him in the middle of an immense city like Berlin; no doubt he would get to the bottom of that little mystery before long.

It was only on the drive from the airport north to Liverpool that Illya had finally spoken to Napoleon about the mess that his life appeared to be at the moment. They had crawled through the unending urban sprawl that was the West Midlands, and were heading up the new motorway towards the North West. Motorways were a relatively new phenomenon in England, and the service stations, few and far between, were expensive and dull, serving expensive, bad food to the captive audience forced to use them. They sat at a table with two rather indifferent coffees, the Russian agent staring out of the window at the monotonous sight of traffic going up and down the three-laned concrete road. At last, he turned to Napoleon, running his hand through his hair, as he did, Napoleon knew, when he was worried or concerned about something.

'Thank you for being so patient with me, Napoleon', Illya said slowly. Napoleon continued drinking his coffee, black to bring his thoughts back to some sort of sane organisation.

'I don't know why you're so worked up' Napoleon said quietly. 'You haven't made a fuck-up of your life, have you? I presume from this little journey we're making, you and your beloved think there's something to be salvaged from this sorry mess'. Illya smiled reflectively.

'Don't be so hard on yourself. Just listen to what I have to say, then you can decide what you want to do about it. Whatever you decide, I'll go along with it. If you want me to turn the car round and retreat back to Germany, that's fine; if you want to continue, that's fine too. Only think about it first. Believe me, Napoleon, and I never thought I would be giving you this sort of advice, your happiness and perhaps your life depends on it'.

Illya began to relate what Therese had told him that morning. He found it hard to talk about such a personal subject, even with his partner, someone he had shared the most intimate moments with, who knew and understood him perhaps, better than anyone else, although he was beginning to believe that his wife had known him in a previous life, so well was she able to read him. But this wasn't about him. And it was not the easiest of news to convey either.

Illya wondered what Napoleon's thoughts about children really were. He had been seemingly delighted by his partner's news about the baby, and had delighted in winding him up about how it would be after the he or she was born. However, he had rarely discussed his own feelings about fatherhood, even after he had become engaged to Jo. Illya had met Napoleon's own parents a number of times, when he and Napoleon had been working in Canada. His father was a second generation Italian- American and a lawyer specialising in criminal law. He was a highly intelligent, gifted orator who had taken on and won some difficult cases as a public defender. He had what people called a 'penetrating' mind, and could be intimidating, Illya thought, at first sight. However, Illya and he had hit it off almost instantly, and they had spent a long time discussing the Soviet Union and its Gulag system, until Solo Senior was dragged away by Napoleon's mother.

Marie-Bernadette Solo was French, from the Charentes region. Fabian Solo had met her before the war, when she had come to Montreal for a holiday with her aunt and uncle who lived there. She was quintessentially French, from her exquisite taste in décor and clothes, to the wonderful cuisine which she served whenever they visited. Bernadette treated Illya like a younger son, even babied him, so Napoleon thought, giving him all sorts of special treats from the kitchen, and attempting (and failing) to improve his appearance. Napoleon's grandparents had moved to Montreal when he was a child, but they had kept their nationality as Americans, thinking that they would return one day, when things were better. They never did, and so their son and grandson had grown up, the child and grandchild of alien families in a foreign land. Napoleon liked to think that it gave him some understanding of Illya's background, but his young life was a settled and happy one, an only child growing up in an affluent, safe and secure environment. Illya imagined that the Solos would welcome a grandchild, but he was also sure that they had long ago accepted that, with their son's lifestyle, the possibility might be a remote one. One thing though, he was absolutely sure about, was that they would love Josefina.

When he had finished talking, there was a silence between them, but not an unpleasant one. Illya got up and fetched them another cup of the indifferent coffee, pushing it towards Solo carefully. Napoleon picked up the coffee and sipped it. He looked at his watch.

'Well' he said slowly, 'we'd better get a move on, otherwise they'll be a terrible traffic jam to sit through if it gets to rush hour'. Illya's face broke into a grin momentarily, changing back to his usual unreadable expression as he jumped to his feet. 'I'll drive' Napoleon shouted above the traffic, as they exited the building; 'my delicate constitution's had enough of your break-neck speeds on the roundabouts to last me at least till we get back to the safety of blocks'.

Illya made a phone call to Therese before they set off. His university days in Cambridge came in useful for coping with everyday life in England, including the mysteries of the public telephone box. There seemed to be a tremendously complicated system involving four large pennies and pressing button A or button B, and Napoleon was glad he didn't have to do it. Eventually he came out of the red box with a beatific smile on his face, and handed over the keys to the car.

'You'll have to stop being so cheerful all the time when we get back to New York' Napoleon said, 'nobody will recognise you, especially with all that hair'. Illya gave him a winsome look, and got into the car.

'I'm quite sure I will return to my usual miserable self as soon as I start work with you again, Napoleon, and no doubt it will also be 'sans cheveux longs' as well, if Waverly has anything to do with it' he replied wistfully. 'Anyway, if you think my hair is long, wait until you meet the brother in law' he added, sitting back and closing his eyes.

xxxxxx

Therese heard the car pull up on the gravel in the drive, and ran to the door, shouting to Fernando as she wrenched it open. In seconds he was in her arms, his head buried in her hair.

'Uh-hum, if you've quite finished the love scene from 'Gone with the Wind . . . .' Napoleon said acerbically, as he slammed the door shut. Therese extricated herself from her Russian and almost skipped towards him to hug him. Napoleon never ceased to admire the sheer joie de vive with which she did everything. Whenever he had called at their house, she seemed to be in several places at once, sorting out photographs, or playing some interesting tune on one of their musical instruments, or in the garden, or in the kitchen. She was incredibly graceful and sweet too; if they went anywhere, people soon gathered and even the most miserable of their colleagues seemed to be charmed by her sense of fun and affirmation of life. However, Tess's sense of stillness and calm was a large part of who she was, and in some senses, the strength of the marriage. She really was the perfect partner for the serious, cerebral, rather vulnerable man standing smiling despite himself, in front of the house. Now, where was his perfect partner, he wondered.

As if she knew the exact thought running through his mind, Therese got hold of his hand and pulled him back towards the gates at the end of the drive. Across the road a large expanse of flat, sandy beach stretched to the distant shore, with an immense, perfect blue sky overhead. In the distance, the green-grey hills of Wales could just be seen; and at the edge of the sea, a lone figure was standing, looking out towards the rolling, blue waves.

'There. You see her?' Therese said simply. She let go of his hand, and he walked across the road and started to move toward the distant figure; slowly at first, and then, when she turned, quickening his step, then running at last.

Illya had reached the gates and stood with Therese, gazing at them getting nearer to each other. She could feel a kind of tension in his body as Napoleon drew closer, as if he was willing something to happen. She turned towards him.

'Let's go in and leave them, shall we?'. He sighed; a deep satisfying sigh, nodded, and holding her hand, returned to the house.

xxxxxxx

'Will Christmas be enough time?' Napoleon asked, as Marisa McCaffery continued to supervise the passing of the pasta through the machine by her two daughters.

'It depends, Napoleon, what sort of wedding you want', she said, without looking up. 'No, Illya, don't be so gentle; put your back into it!' she ordered. Napoleon leaned back on the kitchen wall, watching his partner's mother in law instructing him in the making of pasta. Napoleon knew, of course, how it was done, and could turn his hand to a variety of dishes fairly easily, but it was amusing watching this petite woman bossing the serious Russian, head bent in concentration, in the culinary arts. He seemed to be getting the hang of it, though, even though he appeared covered in flour, even in his hair, where he had unconsciously run his hands through it.

In the end, the reunion had been sudden and intense. They knew that, whatever the future held for them, their need for each other was all-encompassing, without compromise. A commitment had to be made. They had decided to see if they could marry soon, in England. The McCafferys were delighted, the Irish relatives relieved at only having to traverse the Irish Sea to get there, and Napoleon's parents, after they had recovered from the shock, had readily agreed to be wherever they wanted them. Not surprisingly, they had never taken the engagement too seriously, knowing their son, but, after speaking to Jo on the phone, Bernadette in particular, knew that at last he had chosen well .

'Josephine! Quel nom!' she had said, 'but, ma chere, are you sure you want to take him on? He is a difficult man, bien sur, and I can say that, being his mother!'. Jo glanced across at Napoleon and smiled. And to think that she had nearly walked away from that.

'Oh yes, I think I can handle him' she replied.

Waverly had been surprisingly reasonable about the delay in them returning. It appeared that there might be quite a lot of work they would need to do in Germany which would keep them busy in the next few weeks. Illya could return to work, starting in Berlin, and David Mueller had spoken to Alexander Waverly and persuaded him that it would not be an extended holiday for either of them. Illya had also spoken to Waverly about Fernando.

Ever since their little adventure together in Mallorca, Fernando had been increasingly sure that he wanted to join UNCLE. Illya had done his best to act as Devil's advocate, presenting all the difficulties of the job in as black a way as he could, but deep inside him he felt, pretty compellingly, that this man might make a very good agent. Of course, to look at him, as he said to Napoleon, one wouldn't think he was suitable, but then, he was hardly one to comment on that. After speaking to Waverly, it had been agreed that Fernando would come to New York for a formal interview, and before that, investigations into his personal life would be made.

'You do realise they will pry into everything about you?' Illya had said to him, as they sat in the garden on the evening of the 'reunion'. 'There are many things I love about my job; my partnership with Napoleon, the work in the lab, the travel, and many other things I won't bore you with now, but their interference in your personal life is something you have to accept, and it's total' he added. 'It's hard sometimes to keep your individuality, so just be warned'. Fernando had nodded, lying back on the grass, his hair splayed out like a fan behind him. Illya hoped they didn't knock too much individuality out of him, but his old life, his attitudes and most of all his appearance, would certainly have to change, he thought, rather sadly.

Illya also rang Sabi to give her the news. She was characteristically thrilled, and pleased that they were coming back to Germany for a while before they all returned to New York.

'I will have to rush out to get my wedding outfit' she said enthusiastically. 'By the way, darling, you'll have to think about a little disguise if you're going to get anywhere near the charming Dr Engel, Illyusha. Do you want me to organise it?. Illya sighed.

'I suppose so. Thank you Sabi. I imagine Rudi will be involved in all of this?'.

'Naturlich, darling'.

They lay in bed on the night before Illya and Napoleon returned to Germany, with the sound of the sea, a different sea to Mallorca, gently ebbing and flowing into the darkness of the room. Without any clothes, Illya could see the changes in his wife's body, making him treat her gently, afraid to hurt her.

'It's alright, you won't damage either of us' Therese had whispered, as he lay between her opened legs, his hair dampened by their lovemaking. Illya rolled back onto the bed, and began to kiss her breasts, adopting his usual position. Therese, with a smile, lay on her side, pushing back the wild hair from his face. 'So I'll see you back at home, corazon. And don't get hurt, or let this Rudi do something awful to you in Section whatever it is. I don't want to open the door to someone I don't recognise, right?'

'Mm. I'll try and restrain him. You two should meet some time; I think you'd get on'. By the way, apart from wedding preparations, what are you going to be up to? I'm expecting Fernando to give me a full report when I get home'. Therese put the light on and sat up. Her husband's stubbly, suntanned face stared at her from the sheets. 'What's the matter?' he said, a slight frown passing across his brows.

'It's Fernando. He's so young, Illya, and I think he thinks this is some sort of adventure out of a James Bond novel that he's having'. Illya sat up and pulled her towards him.

'He's not that young, you just treat him like that' he said quietly. 'I have tried to give him an honest idea of what it's like, as much as I'm allowed to, but I have to say that I think he's probably 'ideal material' as they say. I know your family is worried about it, but if he decides on this, and he's accepted, then isn't that what you all wanted, for him to find something he really wants to do?'.

Therese looked sharply at him, then kissed him and put the light out.

'I suppose so' she said quietly. 'Just remember, back in one piece and no weird haircut, OK?'.

xxxxxxxx

'Welcome back, Napoleon, and ah, Mr Kuryakin, it's good to see you again. It looks as if marriage agrees with you, ja?'. Illya was getting a little bored with being told this, but looking in the mirror at the apartment at the happy, relaxed man who stared back at him, he supposed it was true. He also supposed he would have to endure the same mantra once he returned to New York. David Mueller also appeared to have suffered a slight personality improvement, he thought; since becoming head of UNCLE Germany, he had adopted a pointedly relaxed relationship with his colleagues, which Illya found a little hard to accept after the way he had been treated by Mueller in the last few months. However, as Napoleon pointed out, Mueller had been acting a part just as much as Kuryakin had been made to, when he was Valentin Rostov.

They had come straight from the airport to the meeting, so there had been no time to change, even if Illya had had anything formal to change into. Illya glanced at Napoleon, sitting nearly opposite him round the large table in Mueller's office, with Sabi at his side. Outwardly, he was appropriately dressed, as ever, but it was the inward change that the Russian perceived in his friend. There was a calmness about him now; the old intentness was back, together with the sense of humour. Illya closed his eyes and breathed out gently, and gratefully.

Mueller had pressed the button at his desk to reveal the screen behind his head. The offices of Bolt Pharmaceuticals West Germany, were revealed; a modern building, an 'L' shaped block of about five floors only, covered in a rather brutal pure white stone cladding, and hidden from the road by use of extensive and clever landscaping of the grounds around it, located near a small town in the middle of Bavaria.

'The left hand side 'arm', which strangely is called the 'East' wing, has a small foyer, with the manufacturing sections on the ground and first floor' Mueller pointed out. 'Above this, there are offices, and then guest accommodation on the top two floors. The other 'arm', or 'West' wing, which is bigger, appears to comprise of an extensive lecture hall and other rooms devoted to entertainment, as well as social facilities for the staff; you know, gym, shops etc. Bolt has this policy about staff, interestingly. They all live on site, like a sort of community, and they have an almost zero staff turnover ratio. We've tried to trace anyone who worked for Bolt's and then moved on, but rather strangely, our agents were totally unable to find a past employee who was in other employment now, or a retired employee who was still alive even', Mueller added. 'Incidentally, the upper floors are seemingly devoted to research laboratories and libraries, the fifth floor being entirely the private domain of Miss Bolt and her staff. Our agents noticed that there seemed no way of passing from one wing to another, except on the ground floor'.

The agents looked at each other, Sabi with her characteristic raised eyebrows. Mueller continued.

'I'd like to hear all your opinions on the following questions which arise out of what we've discovered so far, which, looking at these papers, doesn't seem a lot. First of all, and a crucial one, what is the connection between THRUSH and Bolt Enterprises? Secondly, what is going on at the island Mr Kuryakin has identified for us? And how does this connect with Bolt Enterprises, and ultimately with THRUSH? '.

'It would seem, Sir' Illya replied, looking at the papers he had been given regarding the forthcoming conference, 'that Miss Bolt is the obvious key to the puzzle. I'll have to look at the pharmacological information in more detail, but it looks as if there is a strong likelihood that they are developing a drug which will potentiate the effects of conventional hypnotherapy on the subject. When they were controlling me, it was the maintenance of the control that proved the most difficult. It looks from this as if one dose of this drug could be given which would then leave the subject open to control for an unlimited time by an experienced hypnotherapist'.

'I understand that completely, Illya', Mueller said, 'but how does that connect with what is going on on that island? And with all this stuff about 'psychosurgery' that Waverly was telling me about?'.

Sabi put down the papers she was reading on the desk.

'I imagine', she began, 'that it goes like this. Miss Bolt wants to rule the world, and she wants it to be a world where women are in charge. An interesting idea, eh boys?'

'I could warm to it' Napoleon replied.

'In order to rule the world', Sabi continued, 'Miss Bolt at some point has got involved with THRUSH; in fact I would guess that she is quite high up in THRUSH now, even at her age, because she is not only incredibly rich and powerful, she is also incredibly clever. She is a pharmacologist herself, with the wealth and power of a vast pharmacological multi-national company to support her plans. But she is also a trained hypnotherapist with an unhealthy interest in control. As you said, darling', she said, looking at Illya, 'she is aiming to use a combination of drugs, surgery and hypnotism to exercise control over a long period of time. But I think she is after a much longer and more permanent control through selective breeding; the 'lebensborn' research which is being carried out on the island of Peronella. From what you saw, darling, the island seems to be almost entirely composed of women. But, if they are trying to breed a new master race, where are the men?'

Illya's frowning face began to clear.

'Ah. I'm beginning to make the connections' he said.

'Well I'm glad you are, comrade; pardon me for being a klutz, but would you care to explain them to me in language for the agent in the street' Napoleon enquired, looking at them both. Illya sighed.

'I think what Sabi is saying is, that unless all the men are hiding, their 'contribution', if you take my meaning, is being taken to the island, presumably in some sort of frozen state, to further the foundation of the new master race. I presume then, the selected offspring will be subject to the loving hands of Dr Engel, who will by now have perfected her psychosurgical techniques and be ready to create the next generation of world leaders'.

'Precisely, darling' Sabi continued, 'but they will be world leaders with a difference. They will be without any shred of compassion or love, because they will have been brought up in the same way by those women; and lastly, I am certain that they will all be women'.

'So Miss Bolt is founding her own evil dynasty' Napoleon said quietly. 'So why was she so interested in Illya when we were in Madrid? Is he on the list of superstuds?'. There was a sudden silence in the room. Napoleon thought he knew the answer to his own question, but wanted to see the reaction of the others before he expressed it. He was surprised by Mueller's response.

'Are you sure that she was looking at Illya? Tell me what happened again' he asked. Napoleon related the story, while Illya, apparently not really listening, read the pharmacological report from Bolt. Mueller thought for a few seconds.

'From what I understand, this woman has lived with women all her life, has never had any sort of normal relationship with any man, including her father, and now it seems, intends to run the world through women. When she appeared to be staring at Illya, Napoleon, could it not have been a woman she was looking at so intently? Was there a woman there with you?'. Napoleon noticed his partner's head look up, the blue eyes suddenly focused on Mueller.

'Yes. Tess was there. My wife, Therese.'.

xxxxxxxx

The Zugspitze mountain range dominated the view from Li Hua's window, and she turned away from its threatening presence. The apartment, on the fifth floor of the west wing, was luxurious in an ultra-modern fashion; a large space bordered by the windows of the apartment was covered in hard, black marble, on which was laid out a long, corner suite sofa of white leather, slightly softened by a number of black and white patterned cushions thrown upon it. Concealed lighting highlighted the hard contrasts between the floor and walls, which were painted a uniform white. A deep pile red rug covered the area in front of the sofa, like a large rectangular blood stain on the black floor. Slightly raised up from the living area, the kitchen ran along an area of blank wall in one corner; an oasis of steel in a black and white universe. The only division in the living space lay where the entrance to the bedrooms and bathroom were; a rather narrow corridor leading to three plain white doors. On the walls of the living area, a collection of large, framed, black and white photographs were arranged. Landscapes contrasted with portraits of the people connected with them. The photographer's initials were signed on each one. TMK.

The intercom buzzing interrupted Li Hua's study of the photograph of a Shaker house; the curving staircase had been taken from above, and she traced her finger along the snail-like shape, as she heard the lift approaching. She walked over to the intercom and pressed a button. The lift door slid silently open to reveal Dr Winnifred Engel, holding a slim file to her starched white lab coat.

'Ah, Dr Engel, welcome to Bolt Pharmaceuticals. I hope your accommodation is suitable?'. Li Hua turned from the photographs to face the doctor, whose feet echoed on the hard floor as she walked across to join her.

'Ja, Sehr gut, fraulein direktor'. Dr Engel began to stare at the photographs behind Li Hua's head, her mouth a thin line across her face. 'I see you have chosen the photographs his wife has taken' she spat out, as if mentioning Kuryakin, even in this way, was distasteful to her.

'Yes. They're good, don't you think? I bought them in New York when she had an exhibition. I bought another one too, but I haven't put it up in deference to your sensibilities my dear doctor; and mine too, of course'. Li Hua opened a drawer of a large mirrored chest of drawers next to them, and selected a manilla folder lying inside. She drew the folder out onto the top of the drawers and opened it. A familiar face looked out at them from the photograph. A harsh choking sound emerged from Dr Engel's throat.

'Don't worry Doctor; he'll soon be yours, and you can play with him to your heart's content. Just make sure that this time, he doesn't get up off your little operating table in a hurry; well, just make sure he doesn't get off it until he's entirely under your control, won't you?.

xxxxxxxx

'I think it would be a high risk strategy for Illya to go to the conference in full view, with Miss Bolt taking centre stage, and probably her medical director, and even her assistant, in the wings' Mueller said. 'However, I hope you won't mind me saying, Napoleon, that Illya's understanding of pharmacology is better than yours'. Napoleon smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

'Not at all, but that being the case, how exactly are we going to infiltrate this conference?' he replied.

Mueller flipped a switch. The pictures of the Bolt factory were instantly replaced by the picture of a man dominating the screen. He looked archetypically German, almost to the point of caricature. The blond hair was cut in a military style crew cut, making his head appear rather wide and flat. Beneath the large expanse of brow, blue eyes sparkled in a rather jovial way, as if Father Christmas had just taken off his disguise. The picture must have been taken at some German cultural event, for it was just possible to see the top of the leather lederhosen appearing in the photograph.

'Gentlemen. This is Ernst Baumgartner, the THRUSH representative for Southern Germany, notably Bavaria'. Napoleon and Illya looked at each other, a smirk filling Napoleon's face, and a look of horror fading to resignation on the face of the Russian, his eyes closing for a few seconds and then re-opening, a set expression on his face. Mueller appeared not to have noticed, but Sabi had.

'David, you're not expecting Illya to disguise himself as him are you? He is a very big man!' Mueller looked across at Sabi, then, with a smile, at Illya.

'No Sabi, even Mr Kuryakin would not be capable of growing six inches in a day, would you, Illya?' Illya breathed a sigh of relief. 'No, but, just on the off chance we might need it, we've been feeding Mr Baumgartner information about his long lost cousin Wolfgang, for the past six months. Wolfgang in fact died about five years ago, but we accidentally received intelligence that Ernst was trying to track him down, so we've created a new Wolfgang we can pull out of the woodwork at the right time. I think now would seem to be about the right time'.

Illya's eyes closed and opened again, digesting the information. 'I presume that Ernst has not seen a photograph of Wolfgang then?' he said, looking at Napoleon. Mueller shook his head. 'So what sort of role am I going to play as Ernst's cousin, and how am I going to get into the conference'? Illya asked, looking at the photograph on the wall.

'You are not going to play any role as Ernst's cousin, Illya; that role goes to Napoleon. I think we need to put you in a far less obvious place'.

'Excuse me for asking, David' Napoleon interrupted, the smile frozen on his face, 'then, just what is Wolfgang's role in all this going to be?'

'Ernst has persuaded THRUSH that Wolfgang would be a very suitable addition to their ranks, especially since he's an expert in psychiatry and so will be able to assist cousin Ernst, who patently is not. So cousin Wolfgang is to be introduced at the conference and also to meet cousin Ernst for the first time in twenty years. I'm sure it will be a very affecting reunion' Mueller added.

'So where am I when Napoleon is cavorting round wearing his lederhosen? Illya asked.

'You, my dear Illya, will be less obviously placed, if our plans of the conference room are correct, on a mezzanine with the other interpreters. It appears that Miss Bolt has thought of everything; simultaneous translations from her lectures are being provided, rather like as at the UN. So, you should be able to speak directly to Napoleon through his headphones. We have an agent already making sure that the right interpreter is attached to the right delegate. It might be an idea, though, if you don't look too obviously like Illya Kuryakin, in case you need to have a little wander through the grounds, for example' Mueller explained, smiling. 'I'm sure that Rudi and his assistants will assist you to look a little less like a . .'

'Beach bum?' Illya replied.

xxxxxx

'I suppose we had better head off for 'fairyland' then, Illya said morosely, finishing off the last of a large strudel shoved in front of him by Helga, who, with Ingrid, had come down from Medical to lunch with him and Napoleon. The girls giggled, thinking his euphemism hilarious. They too had congratulated Illya on looking 'wunderbar' and stroked his hair, commenting on how much it had grown since they last saw him.

'Not really surprising, since I didn't have any hair when they last saw me' he grumbled to Napoleon.

'I don't know why you're so miserable about it' replied Napoleon, 'it appears you've drawn the slightly longer straw for a change. All you have to do is to smarten up a bit, while I seem to have the part of the comedy German'.

'But Napolina, no-one knows what Wolfgang looks like, so you don't have to look like his cousin, really. In fact Illyusha has to change more than you, in case that horrible Elena or the even more horrible Dr Engel sees him' Sabi said, putting her arm through Illya's.

'I think you should come down with us, Sabi' Napoleon said, 'just in case something is lost in translation, as it were'.

Rudi was waiting for them, a small rack of suits, together with a considerable number of shirts, shoes, hats and socks neatly stacked in boxes on a long table at the back of the room.

'Rudi', Sabi started, Napoleon is worried you will make him ugly just before his wedding, so be kind to him, OK?'

'Sabina Klose, what do you mean?' Rudi cooed. 'Mr Solo could never look anything but suave and sophisticated in my hands. It's this one we always have trouble with' he said, pointing at Illya, who had turned away to look through the suits. Rudi ran across and smacked his hand.

'Illya Kuryakin, I'll be the one to decide which suit you wear, but we've got some work to do on this first' he said, running his hand through Illya's hair. Off you go, Sabi darling, and leave these lovely boys with Uncle Rudi'.

Illya sat down on a chair in the corner.

'You go first Napoleon, and I'll just sit here and enjoy the last of my holiday look' he groaned, sliding back and closing his eyes.

'Oh no you don't' Rudi replied, pressing a button in the wall. 'I have an assistant', he replied in a rather fake French accent, 'who can be getting on with you while Napoleon and I decide his 'look'. ' The door opened to reveal a buxom dark-haired girl clutching a shade card. 'Mizzi, take Mr Kuryakin please. Try a number 21 Raven, and then it's a standard No 6 haircut. And don't take any lip'.

Napoleon sighed. Why did he always manage to land some really great looking girl at these moments? Not that the Russian would be appreciative. He had the usual number 6 scowl on his face, Napoleon thought, as the girl pushed him out of the room.

'I hope it washes out', Napoleon remarked, 'otherwise you're going to have one pissed wife after you. And just what is a number 6 haircut?'.

'There isn't one' Rudi answered, laughing wickedly, pouting his lips. 'We just made that up to wind him up. Mizzi will think of something very creative to transform him; just wait and see'.

Xxxxxx

The conference was to begin with a formal dinner in what Napoleon imagined was usually the staff dining room. But, from the menu handed out with the conference documents, it would be several notches above the usual serve-yourself commissary that he and Illya usually dined in at UNCLE. They had travelled to the factory by different routes; Illya on the train and Napoleon by car, so he hadn't yet seen his partner since he was dragged off by Mizzi. Solo looked at himself in the mirror of the car. Rudi had insisted that he wear a traditional German tweed suit, which hid the packing and his gun, making him look thirty pounds heavier. So much for 'suave and sophisticated'. His hair had been cut into a more severe style all over, and the rimless glasses completed the look. He glanced across at the alpine style hat on the seat, and decided to leave it there; that was one bridge too far.

He was registered in the foyer and shown to his room, on the fourth floor of the west wing of the building. The room was functional, but comfortable, furnished in an ultra-modern style. He swept the room for any devices there might be, then lay on the bed and opened his communicator. The familiar voice answered; he must have arrived before him.

'Kuryakin. Where are you?'

'In my room; fifth floor, room 505. Can you get here without attracting any attention?' Napoleon asked. 'Where are you, anyway?'

'Room 485, below you and a little to the left. Obviously, minions like me are not allowed to stay on the fifth floor. And yes, Napoleon, I can get to you without attracting any attention. I'll be with you when I've unpacked, about ten minutes. Kuryakin out'.

He was bothering to unpack now. Napoleon was impressed. He dragged his case onto the bed and carefully unpacked the evening dress and the other suit and shirts Rudi had supplied. They all looked rather large. He had also brought along a more normal sized set of clothing just in case. He didn't want to have to escape holding a large pair of trousers round his waist. He was shoving the case in the wardrobe when there was a quiet rap on the door.

Napoleon opened the door and stared.

'I nearly didn't recognise you, comrade'. Napoleon was so used to the straight blond hair and the penetrating blue eyes, that he was momentarily completely thrown by the change in Illya's appearance. The length of Illya's hair really wasn't that much different at all he noticed, but it looked a little shorter, because, incredibly to Solo, it was wavy, and a deep dark brown. It was combed away from his face, making the eyes more noticeable somehow. More noticeable, because they were now a greenish-brown colour. Metal-rimmed glasses completed the look. With his tan still barely faded, he looked vaguely southern European even.

'Mizzi assures me that it will all wash out; I musn't get it wet, so let's hope for fine weather, eh?' Illya said, cheerfully, as he walked into the room past his astonished partner.

'How come you got the really smart suit, and I ended up with this thing?' Napoleon moaned, as he looked his partner up and down. Illya's suit was a very dark, almost two-tone grey, a perfect fit, perfectly matched with a white shirt and an unusual patterned tie. He even had a really lovely pair of soft black leather shoes on.

'Don't sulk, Napoleon, it gives you an even bigger double chin', the Russian replied, smiling, and patting Napoleon's rather large false beer gut, as he walked past. Rudi had made matters worse by padding out Napoleon's face a little with some sort of latex material.

'Drink? Napoleon wandered over to the mini-bar and extricated a bottle of vodka. He tossed some ice into some glasses and handed one to Illya. The Russian took a sip and made a face; obviously the vodka was not up to his standards. 'So', Solo continued, pulling some papers out of a briefcase on the table, 'shall we go through the entertainment plan for today and tomorrow?'

Illya sat down on the sofa facing Solo.

'Well, as far as I understand it from Mueller, in the next half hour, your cousin Ernst will be calling for you to take you to drinks and then dinner in the suite which I think may be on this floor of this wing. I presume you've read the briefing papers about Wolfgang and Ernst?'

'Oh Ja' Napoleon replied, clicking his heels together, then sitting down on the chair near Kuryakin, 'they sound a real bundle of laughs'. Illya smirked at the thought then continued.

'Try to keep off any scientific talk before tomorrow, although that shouldn't be too difficult, as I understand that Ernst is completely lacking in any scientific understanding whatsoever, so he won't know even if you display your lamentably poor understanding of chemistry and pharmacology, Napoleon' Illya added, looking over his glasses at his friend.

'And what will you be doing while Ernie and I are playing happy families?' Napoleon enquired archly, looking the Russian up and down.

'I, Napoleon, will be making the acquaintance of an old school chum from my days spent on the playing fields of Eton, and then when you are enjoying a nice glass of schnaps on your tour of the laboratories with your cousin and his little feathered friends, my chum and I will be making a grand tour of the grounds to see what, or even who, we can pick up that might be useful' Illya replied. 'And I will also be trying to avoid coming into contact with a certain doctor and her assistant' he said, raising his eyebrows. 'Hopefully, we will both emerge unscathed, but I think it would be best if we don't meet here again. I'll contact you later this evening and arrange a rendezvous'.

'Excuse me for asking, old boy' Napoleon replied, but do I know your old chum?'

'Oh yes, you know him' Illya replied, smiling.

CHAPTER 6

Napoleon had only just secured the bowtie round his neck when a robust knock alerted him to the arrival of his cousin. He looked at himself in the mirror, cringing slightly at the haircut and double chin, before sauntering over to the door to open it. The large, bordering on immense figure of Ernst Baumgartner filled the doorway, a radiant beam suffusing his face. He appeared to have been stuffed into his clothes, his corpulent waist spilling over from the cummerbund that was trying, and failing to keep everything in place round his midriff.

'Wolfie! At last!' he bawled in a deep Bavarian accent, clasping Napoleon to his ample chest with very large, powerful arms. Solo managed to exclaim 'Ernie, it's been too long, nicht wahr?' into Ernst's dinner jacket, before he was released and was able to step back and allow him into the room. Ernst strode across the room and threw himself onto the settee, where Illya had been sitting just minutes before. Solo allowed himself a wry smile at the difference between his two companions; the slight, now sultry, Russian, and the immense, blond German. Looking at him, Napoleon was confident that the conversation was not going to reach any intellectual heights.

'Now, Ernie, a drink before we go down, or is it across?' Napoleon ventured, opening the fridge. 'I think we have some of your favourite schnaps here, remember?' he continued, affecting a guffaw which Ernst immediately responded to with loud, roaring laughter.

'Ja, Ja, that was a very long time ago, eh?' Ernst replied, 'when we were both a little less, shall we say, 'well rounded'?'. To Napoleon's dismay, he burst out with another great roar. It was going to be a very long night, he thought.

They managed to exit the room after the second schnaps, Ernst already swaying with the effect of the alcohol. The Bavarian seemed to know his way round the building quite well, however. The two 'wings' were in fact the two parts of the 'L' shaped building, but strangely, it seemed impossible to walk from one wing to another, the visitor having to go to the ground floor and then walk across the vast ground floor concourse towards the lifts on the other side. To Napoleon's surprise, they headed for the lifts to go downstairs.

'Don't worry, Wolfie' Ernst said knowingly, 'there is a general drinks party first for everyone; you know, the medical representatives, and all the other hangers-on, and even those interpreter boys. Then, those of us who are special guests will be dining with Miss Bolt on the fifth floor. Watch out for the waitresses, Wolfie; they remind me of the old days, but a little bit more butch, eh?'. Napoleon knew what was coming next. In the confines of the lift, the laugh nearly split his eardrums.

The drinks party was being held in a medium sized room near the main Lecture theatre on the first floor of the West wing. Ernst was right about the girls, for once. Illya had told him about the guards on the island of Peronella, and it appeared that these girls were also part of some sort of elite women's group of Bolt's making. They were all tall, good looking in a rather hard way, with a very well developed physique. They were wearing a sort of variation of the guard's uniform that Illya had described, only this time, the caps, jackets and machine guns had been replaced by black silk shirts and little red bowties. Solo looked up and down at the black leather trousers and narrow boots finishing off the outfit, wincing at their hair, each one a clone of their leader's cropped fur.

'Drink, meine herren?' A familiar voice jerked him out of his thoughts. He gulped slightly as he came face to face with a smiling Sabi, drinks tray in hand. The uniform fitted her extremely well, although it was a shock to see her there. She drew Napoleon slightly away from the now merry Ernst, who had begun to relate some hilarious story to a miserable faced man standing near them.

'Don't make a fuss darling. I couldn't tell you or blondie, because the orders have only just come through from New York. Our Uncle is anxious to have someone follow through from here to that nice Mediterranean holiday destination your brother visited recently, and of course you and your brother don't really have the right anatomy for it, do you darling?' she said, her eyes huge in the frame of the cropped silver blond hair.

'Yes, well 'brownie' as he is now, will think just the same as I do, that our Uncle is putting you in a very vulnerable position, without any protection from your brothers, nicht wahr?' he replied, looking round to see if Ernst was heading back towards them. She shrugged slightly and moved away, after noticing another of the girls looking in their direction. Ernst appeared behind him just at the same time as Napoleon noticed Illya appear in the door and wave at someone, but not him.

'Good God, if it's not old Conti of the lower fourth, or should I say 'Inconti. . . . . .nent' of the lower fourth, eh what?!'

'Still bending over for Matron, Prackers?' came the laconic reply, unbelievably issuing from his partner's mouth. Solo swivelled his head from Illya to the originator of this strange conversation. Vaz was standing there, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and a large drink in his hand. He walked straight past Napoleon and came up to Illya, slapping him on the back. Ernst stared disaprovingly.

'What are those English idiots talking about?' he said incredulously, 'although they don't look as if they come from the Home Counties do they?' he roared.

'Permit me to explain, Ernie, as I have spent a little time in England and have had to deal with these private, or as they say 'public' school types in the world of business. The man with the brown wavy hair that is so long he looks like a girl, ja?, his name is Daniel Conti. Apparently his father was Italian and his mother was Scottish, so that is why he looks like a Spanish waiter, ja? The other man is called Prakash Halavat-Kar, an Indian. You know, the British Empire is full of idiots like him with a posh accent, sent over to get a good education in the mother country. You notice, Ernie, they make jokes about each other's name and about their school; rude jokes, and stupid ones, don't you think?

Ernst continued to look incredulous.

'But who is Matron, and why is he bending over for her?' he said.

'I think some things are best left unexplained' Napoleon replied, shaking his head.

Illya had noticed Sabi as soon as he entered the room. He walked over to a quieter corner with Vaz, still smiling and appearing to make crass comments in a perfect upper class British accent.

'What is Sabi doing here?' he whispered to the Indian as soon as they were clear of any possible eavesdroppers.

'Apparently there's a selection process going on tonight, dear boy, and the lucky winners will represent the new order in the 'Mother of the Century' competition, to be held at a Mediterranean island near you any time soon', Vaz replied, still appearing to outsiders to be grinning at some asinine joke of his fellow interpreter. At Illya's horrified look, he continued, 'don't worry, her uncle has made sure she scores a zero in the maternal stakes, at least that's what she told me' he added.

Illya's face set into a hard stare. He could see the advantages of sending a female agent under cover to expose Bolt and her plans, but it was a high risk strategy, and it was very difficult to see how Sabi could be given any back up if things took a turn for the worse. He sighed, took a sip of his drink, and then froze.

Another woman had entered the room, this time with a slightly different uniform. There was no red bow-tie. Instead, the black silk shirt was edged on the collar and cuffs with a single, thin gold line. He hadn't recognised her immediately, because his memory of her was so utterly different to the woman who was now walking towards him.

He estimated that she must have lost at least a third of her body weight. The plump, verging on obese woman he had known once, was now a sinewy shadow of her former self. The uniform showed up her powerful physique well, and the traditional headscarf had of course been replaced by the ubiquitous Bolt hairstyle. He looked down immediately, hoping that Elena Fedorenko would not be as good at noticing him as he had been at noticing her.

'Vaz' he murmured, 'I think I need to make myself scarce for a little while. I'll see you at dinner. In the meantime, I would be very obliged if you could divert that woman's gaze from me in the next minute'. Vaz stared at his colleague's face, then at the stern-faced woman heading their way. He carefully backed away from Illya, crashing straight into the Ukrainian.

'Oh, I am most awfully sorry dear girl, I'm such a clumsy oaf' he bawled, grabbing her arm and propelling her in the opposite direction to the fleeing Russian. She smiled a thin smile at Vaz, looking over his shoulder at the man who was trying to leave the room so quickly. Something about his build, and especially his walk reminded her of someone. She shrugged and moved off, checking that the girls were doing the job they had been instructed to do. The new recruit looked good, and seemed both strong and intelligent. It would be interesting to see if she ended up on the island, and in what role.

Napoleon had not failed to notice his partner making a quicker than normal exit from the room, and the slight fracas that accompanied it. He edged closer to Vaz, making sure that he kept Ernst in his sights.

'What was all that about?' he murmured to the Indian's back.

'Darned if I know, old man, but he looked as if he'd seen a ghost and then asked me out of the blue if I'd create a diversion with that Amazon over there' he replied, pointing in Elena's direction with a slight tilt of his head. Napoleon frowned, glancing in her direction. He whistled gently under his breath.

'My, my, my, quite a transformation I might say' he said, almost to himself. Vaz turned slightly, staring at him. 'Oh', said Napoleon, 'Of course you weren't there. That young lady is the one who had serious designs on our Russian friend, until the present Mrs Kuryakin persuaded her otherwise'.

'I thought she was a bit of an old frump' Vaz whispered, looking at the Ukrainian woman, who had now stationed herself at the entrance to the room, looking inwards towards the assembled guests.

'Well yes, she was, but it seems that since she joined the Bolt organisation, she's benefitted from the fitness programme, if not the beauty therapy' Napoleon replied, walking away from Vaz as he noticed Ernst looking round the room.

Ernst bustled over to Napoleon's side, beaming.

'Ah, Wolfie, there you are! She is coming!' he boomed, indicating the entrance to the room. Napoleon nodded, trying to look as thrilled with the news as Ernst appeared to be. That would explain why Elena Fedorenko was positioned there. At that moment, a momentary hush spread through the crowd, followed by a spontaneous turning of the guests towards the entrance. Solo could see why. The unmistakeable figure of Li-Hua Bolt stood there, flanked, he noticed immediately, by the equally unmistakeable figure of Dr Winnifred Engel. It was just as well, Napoleon thought, that Illya had made his exit when he did.

Bolt advanced rapidly into the room, where she was instantly surrounded by what looked like a group of ardent admirers. Napoleon recognised a number of European THRUSH Council members, notably Phineas Fleischer, looking his usual sweaty-handed self, and another man, who he'd seen in some briefing papers concerning THRUSH Europe. No doubt he would meet them all at closer quarters later; Solo hoped his disguise, and that of his partner, would stand up to it. He realised he was about to find out when he saw Miss Bolt heading in his direction.

'Ah, Mr Baumgartner, and this must be your cousin whom we've all heard so much about'.

Ernst heaved himself to attention at Napoleon's side, effusively introducing his cousin to Li-Hua Bolt. Close up, she was every bit as disturbing as she was from a distance, Napoleon decided. Her eyes reminded him of what he could only describe as a mixture of cat and cobra; a strange, piercing green colour, but long and slitted, almost reptilian. Just as on the night in Madrid, she was wearing a spiky choker round her neck; this time however, she had on the same black leather trousers and boots as her little female army, but topped by a tight-fitting metallic gold shirt. He was momentarily mesmerised by her appearance, before he realised she was continuing to speak to him.

'I understand, Mr Baumgartner, that you are an expert in psychiatry. What exactly is your field of interest, might I enquire?' she said, her eyes holding him in their unblinking gaze. Napoleon sighed. Where was Illya when you needed him, he thought. He opened his mouth, desperately summoning up something that would not make him look as if he knew nothing about the subject she was an acknowledged expert on, when there was a sudden loud clanging of a gong in the distance.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, please will you follow your guides to dinner' Elena shouted in a deep guttural voice which Napoleon remembered well. He felt his heart begin to slow down gratefully as Li-Hua turned away.

xxxxxxxx

'I presume that this is where the minions are to eat' a voice whispered in Vaz's ear, as he made his way into the large dining hall on the first floor of the West wing. He turned slightly to see Illya standing just behind him in the queue.

'The person who gave you that disguise needs shooting' Vaz replied, although he had to admit to himself that it made Kuryakin look almost unrecognisable. Illya smiled and looked out of the window as they passed.

'Good', he whispered, 'It's a fine night, so we can go out and play after dinner without fear of me coming in again looking a completely different person'. They got through the meal fairly rapidly, and then made their excuses to leave the dining hall separately. Vaz sauntered down the stairs to the foyer, and engaged the guard at the desk with some of his usual stock in trade unintelligible public school banter, as Illya crept by behind him and out of the glass doors at the side of the building. After several minutes, Vaz wished the guard farewell, leaving her with an incredulous expression on her face , as he wandered out of the front entrance, whistling the theme to the 'Dambusters'. He noted the position and numbers of the guards round the building, and then headed off down a well-lit road to the side of the building. A hand on his neck alerted him to the fact that the Russian had found him.

'What exactly did you have planned for the evening, old boy?' Vaz enquired, as they continued to stroll amicably along the road together. Illya took off his glasses, and stopped for a moment. He bent down, fiddling with something on his face, then looked up at Vaz. Even in the light of the street lamps, Vaz could now see remarkable blue eyes looking at him, rather than the smudgy hazel ones he had noticed at dinner.

'That's better' Illya said. 'I can only wear those lenses for so long before they start to make my eyes itch. Now, while you were enjoying yourself at that drinks party, I had a little look round the grounds. It appears that Miss Bolt has provided everything necessary for her staff, and I imagine that they are discouraged from leaving this little community unless they have a very good reason' he added. 'However, I did drop in at a little ice-cream parlour Miss Bolt so thoughtfully provided, and made us a little date with two frauleins who might be able to help us understand just what is going on here' he said, with a wry smile on his lips.

'Lead on Macduff' Vaz replied, rubbing his hands at the thought.

xxxxxxxxxx

Napoleon yawned. If he had to listen to any more of Ernst's jokes he swore he would get up and punch him. Luckily, Ernst didn't appear to need an audience, and happily kept on talking most of the evening, providing Napoleon with a considerable amount of information on 'their' family, and also, more interestingly, on what might happen the next day.

'After she gives her keynote speech to all the others, purely kosher of course, Wolfie; after all, Bolt Enterprises is a legitimate pharmaceutical company, is it not? Then, it will be a more select gathering on the 5th floor, where Miss Bolt will unveil to us her plans for the glorious future of THRUSH world domination. Ah, Wolfie, it reminds me so much of what we dreamed about during the war, you and I, eh?' Except, Napoleon thought, it seemed to have a rather heavy emphasis on the female of the species, though, looking at Ernst, he could see that perhaps Miss Bolt did have a point.

Finally, he was able to start making his excuses to leave the table. As he was about to get up, a message was handed to him in an envelope. The message read, 'your interpreter will be available for discussion of your language needs in Room 473'.

'Problem, Wolfie?' Ernst enquired, looking at the envelope.

'No, Ernie, just a note confirming we have the interpreter service if we need it – let's hope we don't get the English idiots translating for us, old chap!' Napoleon replied, emphasising the words in a fake English accent. Ernst let rip with another roaring laugh, as Napoleon wished him good night.

The other three were there when he arrived at the room.

'I thought we weren't meeting like this again' Napoleon said, throwing himself down on the sofa, as Sabi handed him a drink.

'I think we're safe as long as we don't use your room again, especially since Ernie seems to have taken a real shine to you, Wolfie' Illya said coyly. Napoleon glared at him, noticing that the lenses had been removed.

'Well, I noticed you had to make a fairly rapid exit after your girlfriend turned up' Napoleon replied, 'you were lucky, because your favourite Nazi doctor is also part of the in-house entertainment for the duration of our stay'. Illya breathed out rather heavily, and leaned back on the chair he was perched on.

'Yes, Vaz told me. I am just hoping that they don't get up too close' he replied quietly. 'Anyway, I thought we should meet because tomorrow might be quite difficult. If by chance, any one of us should be 'delayed' returning to base, then perhaps it might be as well if we shared what information we have now so that it can be passed on' he added.

Napoleon stretched on the sofa, then began, explaining to the others what he had learnt about the THRUSH personnel present, and what was to happen at the secret meeting.

'I believe that Miss Bolt will give her presentation in English, so I can legitimately ask for a translator for Ernst and myself. Hopefully', he continued, as Vaz nodded, 'Vaz has fixed it that you two will be the ones, so you'll hear what is being said. The meeting is being held on the 5th floor; as far as I understand, the interpreters are in a separate room, but with visual access. I imagine that one or even both of your favourite ladies, Illya, will be there, so don't give them too many of your winsome smiles, will you?' he said, glancing at the Russian.

'Thank you for your concern, Napoleon' Illya replied archly. 'While you and Ernie were having such an entertaining evening with our Amazonian friends, Vaz and I passed a pleasant few hours with Heidi and Claudia, did we not?' Napoleon pursed his lips at the thought. Illya continued, enjoying Napoleon's annoyance. 'According to the girls, it seems that they are being given 'the chance of a lifetime' in their words, to help unfortunate couples who are not able to have children, while at the same time, earning enough money to be able to pay for their education at University level at wherever they choose to study. As you may have guessed, the girls chosen are the most able and gifted' he added.

'And I presume', Napoleon ventured, 'that the way they are going to help these poor unfortunate infertile couples is . . .'

Sabi finished his sentence.

'To breed children, darling, just like laboratory rats'.

xxxxxxxx

The presentation was to begin at precisely 11.00am, but only after the specially select few were to be allowed access to the laboratories on the fifth floor. Napoleon grabbed a quick breakfast in the dining hall, before walking out of the building unnoticed, carrying a small canvas bag containing his own clothes, which he concealed in a locker of the men's changing room of the staff gymnasium, conveniently located five minutes up the main drive to the exit. He was only just back in time before the familiar bang at the door announced Ernst.

'We are indeed lucky to be shown round the laboratories' he told the lumbering German in as pompous voice as possible, as they walked towards the West wing lifts.

'Ja, Wolfie, but not just the usual labs the rest of them see, these are the special labs, my boy! '.

The small group assembled at the lift doors, as the twin lifts opened. In each lift, there was a guard waiting, now wearing the jacket and cap that Illya had described, and armed with a small automatic shotgun slung across their chests. As Napoleon entered the lift he saw that the guard had used a plastic card as a reader for entry to the fifth floor, which she had removed from her jacket pocket.

The doors opened onto a large foyer with a glistening black marble floor. There were corridors leading off to the left and right, Napoleon guessing that one way led directly to Bolt's apartment and the other to the laboratories and private rooms where the THRUSH conference would take place. As they emerged from the lift, he noticed Elena Fedorenko standing by the left corridor doors, now wearing the guards uniform, but with a double gold flash on the arm of her jacket. She signalled to them to follow her and pushing open the heavy double doors, they entered the laboratory.

The rooms were arranged one side of a long corridor, the other side being sheer plate class windows looking out over the Bolt estate. Each laboratory had a door into the next one, so one was able to pass right along from one end to the other. There was the usual equipment evident, with a series of technicians performing routine tasks along benches in most of the labs. A more senior looking technician in a white lab coat was guiding them through the processes, which Napoleon attempted to listen to, but soon found completely beyond him. He began to lag behind slightly, positioning himself gradually at the back of the group, and away from the fulsome attentions of his cousin.

In his room, he had read Illya's précis for his benefit, of what he thought might be found in these labs. 'They must be producing something which will be able to exercise control over individuals, so please listen, Napoleon, and please attempt to bring back some samples if that is humanly possible' he heard his partner's voice saying in his head. Napoleon shook his head in an effort to understand, just at the moment that the party had arrived at the last laboratory, which he noticed, needed the swipe card in order to gain entry.

He could just see into another, smaller room from the main lab. The back wall was lined with shelves, upon which were placed a series of cages filled with rats. Below the rats, on a white counter top, a series of clear plastic tubs held a neat, white set of human brains, bobbing in formalin like giant sponges. He dragged his attention back to the main lab, where other, less fortunate rodents lay exposed after dissection. The technician was explaining the rudiments of the experiments performed upon these animals, and what results had been obtained.

'As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, the results of examination of these rat brains here, and these human brains here, has proved that the drug does no lasting damage to brain tissue. We are just carrying out final tests, but our tests on human subjects have shown that the drug can achieve one hundred percent control of the subject by one dose alone. If you don't believe me, then I believe that Miss Bolt is going to demonstrate the effectiveness of the drug at the presentation'.

On the bench by Napoleon's side a technician was drawing up injections from a number of ampoules in a cardboard case. By his side, was a small box labelled 'Dormiben presentation' and the date. Napoleon turned away, then, unbuttoning his jacket slightly, he made a sweeping turn back towards the others, managing to knock the ampoules, and the box onto the floor at the same time.

'Oh I am so sorry, I am very, very clumsy!' he shouted, attempting to help the stricken technician clear up the mess. The rest of the party had turned round to see what was happening, and he could see Ernst pushing his way through, greatly contributing to the general confusion. Napoleon stood up slowly, managing to crush a few more ampoules and syringes under his feet in doing so, and rejoined his cousin at the front of the group, with a couple of drawn syringes and two ampoules safely stowed in his ample jacket pocket. As they left the laboratory, he glanced behind him to see the head technician remonstrating with the unhappy man at the laboratory bench.

'What were you doing, Wolfie?' Ernst whispered fiercely into Napoleon's ear on the way to the lecture room. Napoleon tried to make himself look suitably embarrassed at his behaviour, taking his glasses off, and wiping them with a large handkerchief he pulled out of his trouser pocket.

'I am so sorry, Ernie, this was so embarrassing' he replied, 'thank goodness you are here to look after me'. Ernst beamed back at him.

'Ja, the Baumgartners need to stay together, eh, Wolfie? After all, we are two good looking fellows, are we not?' he added, slapping Napoleon on the back so hard that he almost fell over. He swore that the next mission he and Illya went on, the Russian could play the fall guy, that was for sure.

They were ushered into a small ante-room where coffee was served before the presentation. The door into the lecture room was ajar, and Napoleon caught a glance of the interpreters gathered on an upper gallery at the back of the room. Both Vaz and Illya were easily identifiable, Solo hoped, only to him. The delegates began to file in, taking their seats round a u-shaped arrangement of tables, with a large platform at the front on which a larger table stood, with a screen behind it. Each marked place contained a speaking microphone on the table, and a pair of headphones attached to the underside of the table. Some of the names on the tables were familiar to Napoleon; THRUSH Central members mainly from Europe. He picked up the headphones, put them on and waited.

'I do hope you had a pleasant tour' came the familiar tones of the Russian, speaking in German, presumably for the benefit of any nearby listeners.

'Sehr gut, danke' Napoleon murmured to himself. He turned round and stared at the impassive face of his partner, still strangely unfamiliar with his long wavy brown hair. Solo was immediately aware of a change in Illya's face, and turned back towards the front of the room. Three women had entered the room from another door immediately to the left of the stage. Elena entered first, standing guard by the door. Seconds later, Li-Hua entered, flanked by Dr Engel, carrying a small cardboard box familiar to Napoleon from his exploits at the lab. He didn't need to turn round to know that his partner would be keeping his head lowered for the rest of the presentation.

Li-Hua gazed at the assembled group and after a very cursory welcome, began the presentation. A slide projector in the ceiling appeared, controlled from the desk where she was standing, giving the participants an overview of the proceedings. In essence, there were three parts to the presentation; an explanation of the overall aims, including the long-term plan involving the women on Peronella; a presentation of Dr Engel's psychosurgical research, and then finally, a demonstration of the new drug.

The first part only confirmed all that UNCLE had suspected from its intelligence gathering over the last few months. The ultimate aim was to place women, bred at Peronella, into positions of power and influence throughout the world.

'In twenty five years' time, it will not be unusual to see women at the forefront of business, science and politics and the military forces in the developed and developing world' Li Hua continued. 'It is at precisely this time that THRUSH needs to be ready with the right women; women who can occupy these positions, but whose ultimate allegiance will be to only one organisation. Women who will be only lacking in one area, the pathetic emotions of empathy and love that hold us back from carrying out the necessary actions which will ensure lasting world domination'.

A ripple of pleasure mixed with a little uncertainty, Napoleon felt, spread through the room. It was becoming obvious to him why; the overwhelming majority of delegates were men.

The next part of the presentation was almost entirely made over to the means by which this might be achieved, including a graphic series of slides presented by Dr Engel on her research. After sitting through an almost unwatchable series of slides concerning her work with the Mallorcan children, Napoleon heard his headphones click, the voice sounding hoarse with emotion, so unlike the partner he was used to hearing.

'She has to be stopped'.

Before he could think about what Illya had just said, Li Hua had started speaking again.

'The selection of women for this task has proceeded with efficiency and great success, and we now have an excellent number of recruits from the indicated nationalities required, with the appropriate physical and intellectual background. As far as the males are concerned, we have been very successful with both targeting and obtaining semen through use of the drug which I will be demonstrating to you shortly. However, you will appreciate the difficulties of this task, as it is essential that the men chosen are both leaders in their field, and also extremely fertile. It is necessary therefore, that we obtain further samples, from the following men'.

A further series of slides began to be shown, with details of the men displayed. Napoleon had heard of most of them, and was astonished by the prominence of some of them. He looked away from the screen for a moment at the other delegates, who were listening with varying expressions on their faces, or taking notes. Illya had been making several quiet but acid comments into his headphones; a sudden, fierce oath uttered in Russian into Napoleon's ears alerted him to the screen.

'As you know, one of our ultimate targets in this programme will be the control and ultimate destruction of UNCLE from the inside as it were. It would be ironic, and truly satisfying, would it not, if it was this man's daughter who were one day to both control and destroy that organisation?'.

Napoleon risked glancing up at the interpreter's position. Illya's face was slightly contorted with what Napoleon guessed would be a mixture of anger and fear. Anger at the suggestion that indirectly at least, he would be responsible for UNCLE's destruction; fear, perhaps for his child. Napoleon's mind was racing as the picture of his partner stared out at the delegates. Did she mean to take their baby, or to breed children from him with the women on the island? Or both?

Before anyone had the opportunity to react, Li Hua reached across to the box. Napoleon needed to concentrate on this part of the presentation, and he prayed that Illya would be able to unscramble his emotions enough to focus on it too.

'You may be thinking' Li Hua continued, 'how Mr Kuryakin would be persuaded to give us the necessary 'samples' for our work, bearing in mind that his conditioning is probably sophisticated enough now to prevent him being affected by this'. She held up a syringe, taken from the box on the table. 'I have a special plan for Mr Kuryakin which has already been put into action, and which I am certain will be entirely successful. However, the other 'donors' have already responded very effectively to this' she said, holding up the syringe.

Napoleon could feel the syringe and ampoules in his pocket. He was very aware of the necessity to deliver them back to UNCLE, but not before he had discovered what their role was to be in all this. The explanation was simple. One injection caused the recipient to be almost immediately receptive to conditioning by the first person speaking to them. The control of that person over the recipient was total and permanent, and could be revived at will, simply by using the same short command to listen. This could be done in person, or using an instrument like a telephone, or even a tape. Thus, long and complicated brain-washing procedures could be simply dispensed with. The subject would have no memory of even having met the control, and could be kept in control indefinitely.

'We have used this drug successfully to collect samples from those males already mentioned, and of course, the beauty of it is that we can just return and take some more whenever we like, with no obvious side effects. The drug is metabolised by the body within twenty-four hours, so unless someone suspects something and acts extremely quickly, there will be no sign of it in the bloodstream whatsoever'.

Napoleon glanced quickly up towards Illya. Something was terribly wrong. He hoped that no-one else had noticed how strained he looked. Napoleon cast about in his memory for what could be the matter, more than all the dreadful things they had witnessed in the last half hour. There was something that the Russian agent had wanted to tell him when they were in England, but somehow they had never managed to be together long enough. As he turned back, he noticed Li Hua staring at him, and an uncomfortable silence filling the room.

She had one of the syringes in her hand, and had come down the steps at the side of the platform, whispering something to Elena as she walked past her. The Ukrainian had in turn whispered into her radio, and, imperceptibly, two other guards appeared at the doors leading out of the room.

'Some of you I can see, are sceptical about the effects of Dormiben, and I can appreciate that. After all, a lot is riding on it' she said, with a thin, rather cruel smile. 'So I thought I would give you a little demonstration of its powers'. She started to walk up the room, behind the desks of the row of delegates Napoleon was sitting in. She reached the table where Ernst was sitting.

'It was remarkable how you and your cousin were re-united after so long, was it not Mr Baumgartner?' she said to Ernst, who nodded almost manically back, his face red with heat and sweat. 'Yes, I thought so too. So remarkable, that I made some enquiries into your cousin's whereabouts in the last few years'. She leaned over menacingly behind Ernst, her lips inches from his ear. 'Do you know what I found? I found, Mr Baumgartner, that your cousin Wolfgang died five years ago'. With a fluid movement of her other hand, she plunged the syringe into his neck, pulling it out, and throwing it down on the floor almost immediately.

Napoleon felt the gun stuffed inside his jacket, but the presence of three guards made that choice a rather poor one, unless he could grab a hostage. He glanced at the guards by the door again; they were closer together now, one whispering to the other. Then the door to the interpreter's gallery opened slowly, and another guard took her post, just behind Illya and Vaz. Sabi stared at Napoleon, then looked down.

A gun had been placed on the table in front of Ernst. There was almost palpable silence in the room.

'Listen to me Ernst'. Napoleon saw the reaction of the German to the voice. His head, which had been slumped forward, jerked back and his body stiffened in the chair, as if he had sat to attention. 'Pick up the gun and kill Wolfgang. Kill your cousin, Ernst' Li Hua was saying in a calm, cold voice. Almost immediately, with little hesitation, Ernst rose to his feet and took the gun off the table.

Napoleon was aware of something small and black flying through the air and landing on his table at the same time as a tremendous blast filled the room with a grey smoky gas. He lunged forward and picked up the mask, ramming it on his head and running towards the door, where the two guards were coughing and choking, completely blinded by the smoke. A siren was screaming, guards running towards the room. He wondered why they were all ignoring him, until he realised that Sabi was standing behind him, and had grabbed his arm.

Still holding his arm, Sabi dragged him towards the lift. With her card, she swiped the card reader. The doors opened.

'Find a safe place in the grounds, and the other two will meet you there' she whispered fiercely. It was only as the lift plunged to the ground floor did he think how they would possibly know where the safe place might be.

xxxxxxxx

'Good old Sabi' Vaz whispered, as they made their way, coughing and spluttering, out of the interpreter's room and towards the lifts.

'Yes, but I am slightly worried that someone noticed me throwing that mask' Illya murmured. 'Still, let's hope we can look sufficiently like victims to be able to walk out without further incident. Remember, set your communicator on Channel P and you will pick up Napoleon's homing signal that he doesn't know he's got. Wait for me for ten minutes when you find him, otherwise just get out as soon as possible, and I'll meet you both at the airport. I understand our bags will be waiting for us. Remember, Vaz, it's essential that you get Napoleon's little gift back home'. Vaz nodded and headed for the right hand lift, Illya joining the queue for the other one.

The delegates were being herded out of the room by the guards, some of them joining the interpreters' queue. A guard suddenly appeared out of the lecture room and addressed the remaining few that were waiting.

'Miss Bolt says that you can use the small lift in the lecture room. It's perfectly safe in there now'. A small group broke away, including Illya, who walked slowly behind them, with his face partly concealed by a large handkerchief into which he coughed from time to time. He looked round carefully as they walked through the room. The gas had dissipated fairly rapidly, as Sabi had said it would, and he could see that the door at the side of the platform led to a small lobby with a lift in it. There were about six of them waiting when the lift arrived, the other five cramming in, leaving Illya standing there alone.

'Don't worry, I'll just wait if you send it back up' he said, partly into the handkerchief. It was taking a little too long for his liking to get out of the building, and he hoped that Vaz wouldn't hang around if he was late. The lift doors closed, and he heard the lift descend, then stop on the ground floor. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard the lift begin to ascend again. Illya stuffed the handkerchief in his trouser pocket and looked at his watch, wondering where Napoleon might have picked to wait. Without looking, hearing the doors opening, he stepped in and found himself staring into the face of Elena Federenko, standing opposite him. Before he could jump back, the lift doors had closed, and she had slammed the handle down to stop the lift.

For a frozen moment, they looked steadily at each other. She didn't have her cap on for some reason, but he noticed her gun stuck into a holster on a belt round her waist. Before he could recover, she had clamped her hands on his shoulders, swung him round, and shoved him into the corner of the lift, temporarily winding him with the force of the shove sideways. He heard an ominous crack in the region of his ribs as he felt his body hit the wall.

. She moved up rapidly, not allowing him any time to force her back or squeeze past.

'Valentin. Oh, but of course, that's not your name, is it, Illya Nikovetch? And you are certainly not the man you were, are you now?' she said, pinning him against the wall with her arm so tightly, that he could hardly breathe. She was so strong, she was able to hold him there while she continued to talk. 'I thought I knew you, despite all this', she spat, getting hold of his hair with her free hand. 'You have a body one remembers, or at least, I would have liked to have remembered it, if you had only cooperated a little more'. Her face was now very close to his; she forced his head against the wall, kissing him roughly, while, alarmingly, her free hand was now undoing his belt and pulling down the zip of his trousers. She had got her hand inside, and he could feel her groping amongst his pubic hair when he decided he had had enough of her.

'If you don't mind', he gasped, 'there's only one person whom I allow to do that, and it's not you'.

Illya bent his head and butted her straight in the face as hard as he could, hearing the crack as the back of her skull hit the wall behind her. She let out a scream which reverberated round the lift, and staggered, but remarkably kept on her feet. He tried to get round her to pull back the lift lever, but as he reached out, Elena brought down the hilt of her gun on his forearm, with the sickening sound of bone breaking. Illya grunted with pain, but before she could bring up the gun again, he kicked her arm, the gun flying across the floor, ricocheting from side to side of the lift. She pulled him down on his broken arm, and they fell onto the floor together, scrabbling for the gun. Their hands locked onto it, pulling it from one to the other in a desperate struggle for control of the weapon. Illya felt her face up close to his again, her breath all over him. Ignoring the screaming pain of his arm, he brought up his legs and kneed her in the abdomen. With a groan, she doubled up, giving him control of the gun. He brought it down on her head and she lay still.

He leaned back against the side of the lift and felt his body for injuries. His back was sore, and his ribs hurt when he breathed. His arm was now throbbing, and almost useless. Gritting his teeth, he stuck the gun in his jacket and sent the lift down to the first floor, hoping that there were some stairs from there. The lift opened to a small foyer as on the other floors. Illya slowly walked out of the lift, staggering a little, his breath catching with the pain. He pressed the button to send Elena back up to the fourth floor, where he hoped she might not be discovered immediately. Very carefully, he walked along a corridor, and then down the main stairs to the foyer.

He had little idea of his appearance, but luckily, there were a number of casualties from the gas explosion, as it was being called, to enable him to blend in. He could feel his eye closing and the pain in his arm getting gradually worse. Keeping his head down, he walked as slowly as he could out of the front door and down the steps. After he had staggered a few more yards, in the cover of the wooded area, Illya sunk back against a tree and pulled out his communicator. Channel P gave an immediate strong signal coming from the direction of the gym. Willing his aching body to move, he forced himself to walk as fast as he could down the road.

Xxxxxxxxx

They were preparing to leave as Illya staggered into the men's locker room, locating the other two agents with his good eye.

'What army did you run into?' Vaz exclaimed, grabbing Illya's bad arm and receiving a torrent of Russian abuse in return. Illya sank gratefully down on the bench, glancing at Napoleon, who had managed to yank off most of the latex and change into the clothes he had stashed.

'I am ashamed I have to confess that I 'ran into' as you so accurately put it, the one woman army known as Elena Fedorenko' Illya replied, attempting to remove the now superfluous contact lenses from his eyes. He forced himself upright in time to hear the sound of a vehicle approaching and stopping at the side of the building .

'If that is what I think it is, please, go now' Illya said. 'I cannot go at your pace and I will slow you down. Leave me here'.

'That is very noble of you darling, but I think you deserve better'. Sabi ran forward and took him gently by his good arm, the others following on behind. A black Bolt van was parked just at the side of the gym, with the back doors already slightly opened. Napoleon and Vaz helped Illya into the back, then threw themselves in beside him, covering them all with the blankets that had been provided, and dragging the cardboard cases in the back round them. Sabi drove off, trying not to jar the vehicle too much.

At the gates they drew to a halt, and they could hear a muffled conversation between Sabi and the guard. Napoleon could hear the ragged breathing of his partner lying next to him. He dragged his communicator out of his pocket and adjusted it to give him a thin beam of light onto the Russian's face. It was not a happy sight. Despite the fact that the temperature outside was quite low, and a storm was brewing, Kuryakin looked sweaty, and deathly pale beneath the suntan. His eyes were fluttering between open and shut, and he was beginning to gasp with the effort of breathing. Napoleon wondered how much longer Sabi would take.

'He doesn't look that chipper does he, old boy?' Vaz's voice came out of the shadows. 'The old girl has laid on the works at the airport, though' he added, trying to sound more positive than he felt.

'I presume you mean, that, there is an UNCLE jet with medical facilities on board? Napoleon hissed, not meaning to sound as stressed as he was beginning to feel as each long minute passed. As he turned back to glance at Illya, he heard the front door of the van slam, and the van started up again. Almost instantly, a small door was slid back, and the back of Sabi's head could be seen.

'Sorry darlings, it took rather longer than I'd hoped. The guard wanted to know all about what had gone on, so I had to explain how these terrible men had caused a dreadful explosion at the conference' she shouted above the noise of the van.

They drove rapidly along the road towards the autobahn, Napoleon keeping watch on the deteriorating state of his partner. He was now visibly struggling for breath, and the pulse in his broken arm was faint. His left eye had closed up almost completely, and looked dark and puffy. Napoleon dreaded to think of the reception they would get at home when they returned to New York.

The van began to slow down and draw to a halt. Napoleon looked through the little hatch and saw another car waiting in the lay-by in front of them. Sabi had jumped out of the van, and was pulling open the back doors and moving the boxes out of the way.

'I have to leave you here, I'm afraid' she said, 'but Heinz and Ingo here will take you to the airport and make sure you are not interfered with. I have to make sure that my cover is not blown, and they will suspect if I am out for too long'. As Napoleon heaved himself out of the back of the van, she grabbed him and pulled him aside.

'It wasn't just bad luck that betrayed you, Napoleon. Someone in UNCLE is acting as an informant. They don't know about me, that I'm almost certain of. I don't think they knew about Illya and Vaz, but of course they will now because of what happened between him and that Ukrainian. But they knew about you, darling. It's a good job I took a few precautions, eh?'.

She ran round to check that the two Germans were managing to transfer Illya to the car. Napoleon smiled when he saw who this particular Ingo was.

'Oh he comes on some of these jobs' Sabi was saying, as the giant fitness coach got into the back of the van, and lifted Illya out, as if he weighed no more than a child. Illya stirred, then opened his eyes.

'I can't breathe' he gasped. Ingo continued to hold him gently, his face an astonishing mixture of pity and concern. He shouted to the other German, then looked back at the others as he ran towards the car with the Russian.

'Hurry, boys, Ingo will not be happy if you make his boy any worse by dawdling' Sabi said. Vaz and Napoleon stared at each other, then immediately ran towards the car, Napoleon taking the front seat, and Vaz jumping in next to the unlikely pair in the back. Heinz accelerated off towards the autobahn, leaving Sabi standing by the van, a faint black shape in the distance.

The car was a large Mercedes estate, with what seemed like a vast back seat and storage area beyond, which Napoleon noticed, contained some medical equipment, including a small oxygen cylinder. Ingo had unfurled the mask and placed it round Illya's face, adjusting the controls of the cylinder as they sped along the road. In the back, Vaz managed to pull Illya's legs over his knees to make him more comfortable; the Russian's suit jacket was pulled open, revealing his trousers, which Vaz noticed had been unzipped, with the belt unbuckled. His eyes narrowed at the sight.

'Look at that, Napoleon. Either he was cut short at a very inconvenient time, or the lovely lady had a go at him in a very private place' he observed. Napoleon sighed.

'Well, just don't mention it when Therese is around, there's a good fellow' he replied. Without comment, Ingo reached across, pulled up the zip and buckled the belt.

Napoleon was extremely relieved to see the signs to the airport at Munich appearing on the autobahn. Illya's breathing was now extremely laboured, his hold on consciousness very tenuous. The car drove past the main entrance and through gates leading to a smaller runway. The UNCLE jet had just finished refuelling, and Napoleon could see that the steps were down, ready to receive them, with a stretcher on a trolley at the bottom. The 'old lady' as Vaz so described her, had certainly thought of everything.

Two figures emerged from the inside of the aeroplane, their uniforms unmistakeably medical. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Napoleon could not help smiling at the sight. He leaned over to the back seat, as near Illya as he could.

'Guess what, comrade' he murmured into his ear, 'your two favourite nurses are waiting just for you'. He was sure that a groan issued from the lips of the Russian, his eyes twitching imperceptibly.

The storm that had threatened all through the day finally decided to erupt as they drew up beside the plane. With a barely concealed oath, Ingo pushed away the proffered trolley, and strode towards the plane steps with Illya. The rain lashed at them all ferociously, soaking them in a matter of seconds. For a man of his size Ingo seemed incredibly light on his feet however, and he ran up the steps to the waiting arms of Helga and Ingrid. Inside the plane, the ever efficient Sabi had already communicated the facts of Illya's condition to the medical staff; Napoleon could see Werner Hausmann, one of the UNCLE Berlin office's doctors, scrubbing up at the side of the bed at the far end of the jet.

'Wass ist das?' Helga said, as they slid a dripping Illya onto the bed. Napoleon smiled. The disguise, which had really worked so well for the Russian, had finally succumbed to the weather. A trail of brown water covered the floor of the jet and the part of the sheet where Illya's head lay.

'I think you'll find that he could use a shampoo when you've finished sorting out his lung' he ventured, smiling at the two nurses, who were anxiously dabbing at Illya's hair, now a strange mixture of blond and brown. As the engines of the jet began to rev up, Ingo leaned forward over Illya, kissed his forehead, and with a nod to the other agents, left the plane, running across to the Mercedes as the steps closed behind him. Napoleon looked across at Vaz.

'What was all that about?' Vaz said. 'Does he think Kuryakin's his long lost son or something?'

' Well, you see, it just goes to show, even the hardest nuts have a soft, gooey centre all along' Napoleon replied, leaning back into his seat.

CHAPTER 7

Napoleon dug Vaz in the ribs to wake him up, as their breakfast was being served. He rolled out of his seat to stretch his by now stiff legs, thinking he should try to clean up before the plane reached New York.

After the plane had taken off, Napoleon had hovered about outside the medical area for a while, as the medical staff put in a drain to treat Illya's collapsed lung, but there was little he could do without getting in the way of the bustling German nurses, and Kuryakin had been sedated, so was unable to tell him anything meaningful about what had happened to him, or, more interestingly perhaps, what had made him look so drawn during the presentation; he hoped that by the morning, Illya would look better than he had done the evening before.

Napoleon drew back the curtain and entered the medical area of the plane. Dr Hausmann and another nurse had obviously taken the night shift, and were now resting on seats further up the compartment. The two 'valkyries' as Illya had called them, had started their usual morning routine with their favourite victim. He had been stripped of his clothes and was now wearing the hospital robe he despised. The broken arm had been set and now sported a large cast, and the other arm had a drip attached, rendering him almost helpless to defend himself against the ministrations of the two German nurses. They had obviously taken Napoleon's suggestion of the previous evening to heart. The bed was laid flat, the Russian's head left dangling at the end. Ingrid held a large basin underneath the flowing hair, whilst Helga enthusiastically scrubbed at it, pouring a large jug of water over the helpless head to complete the process.

They looked up as Napoleon entered and sauntered round the other side of the bed, grinning.

'Is that you, Napoleon?', came the breathless voice of his partner, 'please would you tell these so called nurses to release me before I am drowned'. The two women, totally unperturbed by any protests, proceeded to wrap Illya's hair in a towel, rubbing his head vigorously until he shouted, 'enough! Please, ladies. I am most grateful, but ', he heaved, 'I need to speak to Napoleon. Thank you'.

'O.K. but we will be back to finish. Don't think you are getting away with anything' Helga scolded, pulling the bed head up to a sitting position as she went.

Illya laid his head back against the bed and closed his eyes for a moment. The bruise on his eye was developing nicely, Napoleon thought, but the swelling seemed less, and his overall colour was vastly improved. He looked down at the bottle attached to the drain, noticing that the bloody liquid draining from it last night seemed to have lessened. Illya turned his head towards his partner, the former worried look seeming to have returned to mar his otherwise good physical progress.

'Napoleon, did you manage to pick up anything when you were doing the tour of the laboratories?' he asked, his gaze on his partner intent.

'Well, as a matter of fact, I did come away with a souvenir of my stay at Chateau Bolt' Napoleon replied, 'It's in the fridge over there' he said, indicating with his head towards the drugs fridge behind the bed.

'I presume by that you mean the drug we were entertained with so well at the presentation', Illya continued. He closed his eyes slightly again, his Slavic features somehow accentuated by the wrapping of the towel round his head. 'Napoleon, there is something I need to tell you about Therese, that may be connected with that drug, and if what I suspect is true, will have serious implications for her and for the outcome of this mission' he said quietly.

Napoleon frowned, but said nothing, allowing him to continue when he was ready. Illya related to him the incident concerning Therese and the injection that had occurred on their honeymoon. 'She denied absolutely that she had met anyone, friend or stranger, and she couldn't account for the injection mark' he continued. 'I'm taking it for granted, of course, that she is not lying to me. When Miss Bolt demonstrated the effects of that drug so graphically yesterday, I am afraid that these two incidents started to coalesce in my mind. What I am slightly less clear about is, has Miss Bolt got designs on our baby, or does she have some connection to Therese herself in some way? Or, is it all just some plan to get hold of me? The only thing I can think about is that the Balearic islands must be the link'.

'What do you want me to do?' Napoleon asked him simply.

'I managed to get her to a clinic when I found out, and they took some blood samples, the results from which, they should have sent back to Peter in New York. As Miss Bolt said, the drug is metabolised in the body after a day, so hopefully, there should be something there we can compare to your sample. You will need to have a meeting with Mr Waverly then to decide what to do. It's hard for me to be entirely objective about this, as you can imagine, but I will do everything I can to protect her if she has been compromised by this drug', he looked away for a moment, then turned back, his eyes a little damp, Napoleon thought. 'I mean, protect them' Illya murmured. He put his head back on the bed. The giving of the message seemed to have exhausted him; his pallor had become greyer somehow, despite the remains of the tan on his face.

'O.K. Just concentrate on getting back on your feet then, otherwise you are not going to be protecting squat. They will almost certainly have a bed reserved for you in your favourite suite at HQ, so I'll come and fill you in as soon as I can' Napoleon replied. 'I'll also try to offset some of the fallout from the girls back home, if you take my drift' he said, trying to lighten the somewhat sombre mood there existed in the cabin now.

'Thank you Napoleon. Yes, I will almost certainly get it in the neck as the English say, for coming back in this state' Illya said, a faint smile warming up his features. 'At least the girls have hopefully restored my former good looks' he added, starting to pull the towel off his head. Napoleon worked hard not to grin at what he saw emerging, but it was too late, and the acutely observant Russian had noticed.

'What is wrong?' he asked, looking at the towel as if that would tell him.

'Well, your Nordic colour has returned alright, but . .., well, um, ' As he was about to try and finish his sentence diplomatically, Helga and Ingrid burst into the cabin, followed by Vaz, wiping the crumbs off his suit.

'Oh, you know Mizzi said that it might last longer; after all, it's very difficult to make straight hair wave, so she told us she'd used something a bit stronger' Helga said, standing one side of the bed talking to Ingrid as if the other occupants were invisible.

'Ja, but it's so lovely! And so natural! He's just like that Opera star we saw in the Ring Cycle last week singing Tristan – so manly!' Ingrid replied, combing Illya's hair back from his face. Illya's face was so stricken, Napoleon wanted to burst out laughing.

'Since I am completely unable to use my arms, would somebody please do me the honour of passing me a mirror?' he murmured, now glaring at the two nurses, who as usual were totally unaware of the expression on his face, or chose not to be. Helga leaned behind her, and fished in a drawer. She pulled out a small mirror and held it in front of him. There was a silence in the room which even the nurses picked up on.

'I think I look more like that man advertising men's cologne that we saw on your new television recently, do you remember, Napoleon?'

'Ah yes; you mean 'Apollo – heaven scent'?'

'That's the one' Illya replied, sinking back onto the bed and closing his eyes. Napoleon shook his head. Unpredictable; the Russian took the ticket for it.

xxxxxxxxx

'Open Channel D. Ah, hi there Martine, ca va?

'Ca va bien, Napoleon! What can I do for you, mon cheri? Martine was very cute, but he musn't get too carried away. 'Can you put me through to Miss McCaffery in Legal, please?'. This was one big advantage of having a relationship with someone in UNCLE, he thought. Easy communication; not that communication was always easy with Josefina. Especially after she took a look at his hair.

'She's not in her department, a ce moment, Napoleon; I'll put you through to the shooting range'. Napoleon screwed up his face in puzzlement. What was she doing there? After a few clicks, the familiar sexy voice came back to him.

'Hiya. Where are you, and is Goldilocks with you, because she'll want to know, which is why I presume you're laying the way, isn't it treasure?' she said. Napoleon inwardly squirmed; the woman must have second sight.

'Um, the answer to your questions are, yes, both of us are here, and will be with you fairly shortly. Everything is just fine, except that Illya has a few souvenirs from the trip which he may need to share with the fine folks in Medical for a few days, but nothing to shout about, so don't go sounding alarm bells in the direction of the Village, OK?

'Well, that's about as clear as mud; any other little surprises in store for us girls? Jo asked. Napoleon could hear the noise of discharging guns in the background.

'Well, er, yes, but before I tell you, can you just tell me what you are doing at the moment?' he replied, pursing his lips. There was a momentary silence.

'I volunteered to do a gun course, or whatever it's called down here. Actually, the guy here says I'm quite a shot'.

'I can believe it' Napoleon murmured. 'Now, just so you won't go ape, we had to slightly alter our appearance for the job; let's say that I will look fine by the time of the wedding, if that's what you're worried about, and Illya, well, all I can say is, that he's going to make a lot of the girls in the office very jealous'.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Leaving Illya in the kind, but firm hands of Marge and Joan, the UNCLE New York equivalent of Ingrid and Helga, Napoleon walked down the corridor to Peter McDonald's office. Peter was sitting at his desk writing, looking every bit like the kind of family doctor Napoleon remembered from his childhood. On the desk, a number of family photos looked out at Napoleon; Peter's grown up children in Scotland, Napoleon presumed, and, in a larger frame, a wedding photograph of himself and Illya's mother, Marina. Napoleon picked it up and studied it, noticing the same, rather shy expression in her face, as he had seen in the Kuryakin-McCaffery wedding photographs.

'She's a wonderful woman; I've never been this happy for a very long time' Peter said.

'Yes', Napoleon replied, putting down the photo, 'they're a good pair, those two'.

'Who are a good pair?' Marina had come in behind him, and had the unmistakeable Kuryakin arched expression on her face. Her husband jumped up, beaming, and embraced her, seemingly oblivious of Solo standing there.

'Hello Napoleon' she said. 'That isn't by chance my son I've just seen through the window of Room 6, or do we have any more Kuryakins around?'

'Well, not until April, I guess' Napoleon answered smoothly. 'Yes, he's not too badly injured, but I think you know that already' he said. There was no point in lying to her, ever.

'I thought so. I could see he was giving them a difficult time in there, but they looked as if they could handle him, so I'll go back now and make sure he's being a good boy' she replied, smiling. 'I'm sure you've not come up here just to pay Peter a social call'. She kissed Napoleon's cheek and left the room. Napoleon turned back and sat in the chair facing Peter's desk, as Peter walked back.

'I have come on business, I'm afraid Peter. Did you by chance get some results from Mallorca about Tess?'. Peter got up and pulled open a filing cabinet behind him on the back wall of the office. In the larger file, there were two manilla folders, one fat, the other thinner. He pulled open the thinner of the two, with Therese's name clearly written at the top corner.

'Yes, here it is. I was waiting until Illya got back to discuss the results, but I presume due to his current medical condition, he's asked you to sub for him?' He said, looking over his glasses.

'That's right.' Napoleon outlined what Illya had told him on the journey back. Peter frowned at the story.

'He was right to take her so promptly to that clinic. The results have totally mystified our chemists here; we've never seen anything like this drug before. It will be very interesting to see if your drug matches the one found in Therese's body. Of course, what we do about it, if that's the case, is another matter' he said seriously, looking at the figures on the sheet of paper in front of him. 'I would imagine, after what you've told me, that it is of the most utmost urgency that we find some sort of antidote, if that is possible, to this drug, otherwise your Miss Bolt has a very worrying hold over young Therese, Mr Solo' Peter ended, putting the report down with a thud. 'I'll be in touch as soon as the pharmacology report comes through. Anyway', he said, looking at the contents of the file, 'the pregnancy looks to be doing well; they should have a lovely bouncing wee baby by the spring'. Napoleon sighed. As long as they could keep Li Hua Bolt at bay, that was.

Xxxxxxxx

'Illya. Illyusha?' Marina had come in to find that her son had capitulated to the combined forces of Margo and Joan, having been threatened with sedation if he attempted anything they hadn't approved of.

'Mama. Yes, please don't say anything about my hair, because you will be the thirtieth person to remark on it since I arrived here. Like it or hate it, it will be gone, I am sure, very soon'.

'Nothing about this place, or what you do for it, surprises me any more, Illyusha' Marina replied, smiling and kissing both cheeks in the European fashion. She looked him up and down, glancing at the charts on his bed. 'The pneumothorax seems to be resolving; are you breathing more easily now?'

'Yes, thank you. I feel fine now, just a little bruised, as you can see. Perhaps I can get . . . ah, don't be upset; what's so funny?'

Therese had walked into the room while they were talking. As she walked down the corridor, she had suddenly felt a twinge of panic rising in her throat. The memory of the incident involving Carole, of Kat's death in particular, had caught at her throat, and made her hesitate before the doors of the department. Jo had warned her, before she had come up, that he had a number of injuries; she hoped that she never became complacent about them. Her sister had also hinted that he might still be 'a little different' and her mind was racing about what that particular phrase might mean. The sight that met her as she opened the door was entirely unexpected, and after frowning at the drip and plaster cast, she began to laugh. Therese embraced Marina, and then fell upon her husband, holding his head and kissing him; revelling in his proximity, his closeness to her. Then she started to laugh again.

'What's all this then?' Therese said, running her hands through his hair. 'Trying to take after Fernando?'.

'For the last time, Teresita, and before I think this must be a conspiracy of Napoleon's making. . .'

'Ah, how very Russian of you, amado, a conspiracy eh?' she interrupted him. She sat down on the bed, shifting his head to lie on her shoulder, and glancing across at Marina knowingly. With one of her hands, she made a scissors action across his head. Marina began to laugh.

'What are you doing? Ah; very funny' Illya replied, looking up at her. He sighed. 'No doubt Mr Waverly will be here soon to visit with exactly the same thought in his mind, only I somehow think it will end in my visiting somewhere I do not want to go' he said, glumly. Therese stroked his hair, moving her lips to his ear.

'Frankie will have designs on you' she whispered, smiling at Marina, 'she's very creative, as you know'. He glared a little at her, wanting so much to take her in his arms that it hurt.

'Frankie can have her wish, but I don't want creative. 'Creative' got me this' he said, indicating the long wavy tresses. So, I'll settle for un-creative, do you understand? Un-creative'.

Xxxxxxx

The familiar circular table in Waverly's office was littered with documents, a few maps, and some familiar photographs of buildings and people connected with the Bolt case. Napoleon could see himself reflected in the glass of a picture hanging on the opposite wall, and he cringed slightly at his appearance. Jo had spent the evening calling him 'G.I. Joe' and saluting him, until he had taken her in the bedroom to demonstrate what he called a little 'military tactics from G.I. Joe', after which she'd been more reasonable.

In the absence of Illya, Napoleon was surprised to see only himself and Vaz at the table, together with Peter, until he remembered the conversation he had had with Sabi, which he had conveyed to Waverly when they had arrived. He guessed that the relatively small number present was a security measure to prevent any more incidents like the one at the presentation.

Waverly came through a private door, and sat down, swinging the table round to give them access to the documents. He looked more serious somehow than normal, if that was possible, Napoleon thought. Waverly twisted round and pressed the button revealing the screen which was already displaying the map of Peronella.

'Gentlemen. I want to set down how we will proceed in what I consider must be the end game to all this . . . business' he said, indicating the papers with his pipe. There are a number of very important issues at stake here, and some very innocent people whose lives could be lost if we act with haste or carelessness. Perhaps, Mr Solo, you could begin with a report of the Bolt Germany fiasco, but before you do, I would just like to say that from now on, this mission will be only for our ears only, and, of course' he added, 'Mr Kuryakin's'. Miss Klose was right to alert us to the almost certain fact that there is a THRUSH mole again working in our midst. Therefore, any communications must be via Channel PX which will relay directly to this office. If you need to involve any other person here, you must obtain my permission beforehand, understood?'. They all nodded, glancing at each other warily.

'When we have finished, I would be grateful if you could convey our decisions to Mr Kuryakin, Mr Solo' Waverly said, looking at Solo. 'By the way, I don't know what you chaps do down in Section 12,' Waverly muttered, 'but could you tell Mr Kuryakin that he needs to conform to normal office appearance when he returns to work, understood?'. Napoleon nodded.

'Yes, sir, I'll tell him' he replied. For once, he thought, there wouldn't be a problem with that.

'Now, let's get on with it, shall we, we haven't got all day if we're to help these people' Waverly commanded.

xxxxxxxxx

'So what exactly has been decided, Napoleon?'

Napoleon sat forward on the rather hard armchair provided by Joan for their meeting. The Russian looked a lot better, he thought, and with returning health, came returning awkwardness, he observed, mirrored on the face of Joan and Bettina, the other nurse, who was giving Napoleon the cold shoulder since she'd found out that he was getting married at Christmas.

Kuryakin had been in Medical long enough now for the lung to be declared satisfactory, so Napoleon had stood outside the room while the drain had been removed, holding the door slightly open with his foot to be amused by the usual hard time Illya was giving the nurses. However, he was now in a better temper, as they had told him he could leave, and Therese was expected shortly to collect him.

'Thank goodness' Joan said. 'I'm just glad I'm not on maternity anywhere in this town when that baby arrives – expect a strike amongst nursing staff, I tell you'.

He had already managed to change into some albeit casual clothes that had been in his case, and which Marge had bravely agreed to help him with. Napoleon still smiled faintly at the hair, making him look faintly cherubic, he thought, as he sat on the bed cross legged, looking at the papers Napoleon had given him with his one functioning hand.

'There are two big issues, Illya' Napoleon began. 'One, the problem of the drug and Tess. Two, the problem of what is going on at Peronella, and how we can stop it. As far as Number Two is concerned, Waverly feels that we cannot resort to a tactic like widespread destruction of the island; first, there would be a massive reaction from the Spanish Government, and secondly, and more important, there are a lot of young, innocent lives which could be lost if we do'. Illya nodded, looking down at him from the bed.

'I can guess that he wants to leave Sabi there a bit longer, to see what is going on, but also to find out just what they think they know about what we know' he replied, putting down the paper he was holding.

'Precisely. When I spoke to Sabi, she was sure about the mole, which we're acting on, but she also seemed to think that they hadn't known about you before your little battle with the Ukrainian heavyweight champion, and more important, they don't know we've got some samples of their little wonder drug' Napoleon replied.

'That is crucial, Napoleon. If they think we don't know what the drug is, then that will make it slightly easier to defend Tess. From this' he said, waving the results of the drug analysis, 'it looks very clearly as if they are one and the same drug, and that it was probably Miss Bolt who shared a coffee with her on that morning'.

'and something not quite so delicious' Napoleon added.

'Indeed'. Illya leaned back slightly on the bed, supporting himself with his cast. 'What I still don't understand is, what is her connection with Tess? What does she want? She obviously wants 'a sample' ' he said, raising his eyes, 'from me, and the hint was that she had a way of getting me there; so I presume that is through Tess. But I can't help but think there is more to it than that'. He sighed. Napoleon could almost see his brain trying to analyse the data. Sometimes, he was too clever for his own good, Napoleon decided.

They sat in silence for a few minutes thinking about what had been said. Napoleon broke the silence.

'Illya, you said that the link has to be the Balearics, probably in the past when they were both there, say one summer?' Illya nodded. 'Now, Therese cannot help us figure this out, but who else could? What I mean is, the chances are that if they met before, then it had to be on Peronella. From what we know about Bolt, she hardly left the island, until she went to University. Now, Fernando knew all about Peronella, because he had been there before, but it's unlikely he would have gone diving with big sister, would he? He was too young. But who else would? I don't think it would be Jo, because she told me she hates diving; she's only interested in the beach and a nice tan'

'Napoleon, please try to keep your mind on the subject, and not go off into your fantasy world – that will be for your honeymoon' Illya interrupted.

'What? Er, yes. Right, so not Fernando, not Jo, but . .'

'Of course, Gabi' Illya replied. 'She and Gabi went swimming and diving together, she told me, and I had forgotten'. He pursed his lips together, inwardly cursing his forgetfulness.

'Don't be hard on yourself' Napoleon said gently. 'However, it might be a good idea if you were to pay one of your visits to your brother in law before long, eh tovarisch?'. Illya nodded. 'I presume you haven't discussed this with Tess yet, so I'd wait until you've spoken to Gabi then perhaps we can decide what we're going to do in the light of that'.

The door opening alerted them both to Therese's presence in the department. Napoleon leapt up and moved out of the way for her to put a case she was carrying on the bed. He could see that the pregnancy was just beginning to show in the slight bump apparent under her shift dress, which was black, covering an amazing black and white geometric jumper, and showing her slender legs off well, even though she was wearing black tights as well .

'I hope you're not looking at my wife's legs, even though you don't have the pleasure, as I do, of seeing them very often' Illya said, smiling at her appearance.

'Would I?' Napoleon replied. 'Oh, by the way, just two things before I go'. They both looked his way expectantly, as Therese helped her husband off the bed and onto the chair while she looked round for his shoes.

'One, thought you'd like to know, comrade, that the little something our German colleague attached to my person . . ah, you remember it . . . well I, or rather Jo found it the other night. If you manage to contact Sabi before I do, please tell her that has cost me dear in the placating of future wife stakes'.

'And two, as if I couldn't guess' began Illya, pursing his lips.

'Ah yes, I think you know what's coming. A message from Mr Waverly. He says . . .let me put it this way, you're to lose the Greek god look . . permanently. Kapich?

xxxxxxxxx

Fernando McCaffery decided that he liked New York very much. Very much indeed. He wandered back along the streets filled with tired, but purposeful people fighting their way home for the evening. He liked the scale of this part of Manhattan; its vitality and community spirit, its lack of thrusting business types that he'd noticed further down in the business and financial districts towards Battery Park. His brother and sisters had made him welcome each in their own ways, glad to see him moving towards some purpose in his life, although he knew Tess was worried about his career choice. But he was used to that; she'd always looked out for him from when they were children, he remembered, taking on boys who had teased him for stupid things, like his curly hair, until he was able to deal with them himself.

He turned the corner into Grove St to see a girl with black hair and great legs swinging along from the other direction. He'd not really bothered with girls in the last few months in any serious way; he'd been out with a few Mallorcans, but they were closely guarded by their fathers, and nothing much had come of it. But she looked interesting; Italian, he guessed, with that hair and complexion. He liked her style – the big hoop earrings, the mini-skirt and wide hipster belt slung across the narrow hips. Fernando increased his pace as he got nearer, wondering if he could somehow accost her without looking too keen. As he reached the steps of Tess's house, she turned and ran up them towards the door, leaving him staring at the bottom. With a couple of bounds he got to her side as she rang the bell.

'Hello. You a friend?' he enquired, sounding rather too English than he meant to. She stared at him, a smile breaking across her face like sunshine, opening it up into a grin, her dark eyes twinkling in the gloom of the evening.

'Fernando, right?' she replied, lifting her chin towards him, her hoops swinging about her face. It was Fernando's turn to stare and then frown. Then he realised. This was the girl who Illya helped, who wanted to be a doctor. And who cut hair. He looked down automatically, seeing the little vanity case she was carrying; bright pink with black spots all over it.

'Frankie?' he ventured. All of a sudden, the idea of getting a haircut seemed a lot more inviting. At that moment, the door opened, revealing Tess.

'Oh, you two have met then? Good' she said, standing back to let them in.

'I thought you were supposed to ask us who we were on that monitor thing before you just open the door' Fernando said. 'You'll be in trouble' he added, smiling at her.

'Then don't tell him. What he doesn't know, he doesn't fuss about'.

'What doesn't he fuss about?'. Illya stood at the top of the stairs, blinking at them, and stifling a yawn. He had obviously just got up, from the sleepy eyes and even more untidy, wavy hair that he was pushing back from his face as he stood there. Frankie pushed past Therese into the hall, throwing her case on the floor.

'Geez, I mean wow! That is so, well, far out!' she shouted, doing a little dance in the hall in front of him, as he walked slowly down. She grabbed Illya's good arm, and started down the stairs to the basement kitchen with him, leaving Tess and Fernando, carrying her case, following on behind the unlikely duo.

'Is she always like this?' Fernando whispered to his sister.

'Yes. Good, isn't it?' she replied. 'Don't let the dippy act fool you though; she's very smart. Mind you, the slave driver there, is making her work' she said, indicating the blond figure being helped down the stairs in front of them. She felt inside her dress pocket and drew out two tickets. 'Here. You can have these if you like, we can't go now. Take her out later; I bet she'd like to go' she murmured. 'Illya has been trying to wean her onto jazz for a while. Just don't remind him that it was tonight, OK?'.

He looked down at the tickets. They were for a notable jazz trumpeter at quite a smart jazz club in the Village. It would be worth smartening up a bit for. As if she had read his mind, she pointed to the case. 'She'll sort you out' she added, 'after she's had a go at Adonis down there'.

A delightful aroma of cooking smells hit them at the bottom of the stairs. Illya had already made it to the kitchen and was standing looking in at the open oven door, until Therese came up behind him and banged it shut.

'Go away. You have to earn that extra portion, remember, amado? ' she said, turning away from him and putting on her apron. Fernando wandered over to where Frankie was standing by the large dining table, where she had put down her pink case, and pulled out a chair which she moved in front of the table into a free space.

'What does she mean?' Fernando whispered, watching Frankie unzip the case.

'It's called bribery' Frankie whispered. 'He is a real mule, take my drift, if he thinks anyone is making him do something, right?. So she kinda gives him positive encouragement, see? No nagging or shouting, and, hey presto, he's putty in her hands! See what I mean? '. Perfectly calmly, Illya walked across and sat on the chair, while she tied a large black cape round his neck.

'Remember, cheri', Therese's voice came from the kitchen, 'be kind to Frankie the whole time and you can have the larger dish of 'crème brulee' afterwards'. Illya's face set into a beatific smile as he bent his head forwards and relaxed.

Xxxxxxx

The Friary was unusually busy, for such a normally peaceful place, so Illya was shown into another, smaller sitting room at the back of the house. Gabriel disappeared and returned, bringing a large pot of tea and several generous slabs of what looked to Illya like home made cake, on a large green plate. He removed his fur hat and unbuttoned his coat with a little difficulty, revealing the plaster casted arm beneath the loose unbuttoned sleeve of one of his warmer winter shirts. Gabi made no comment about the cast, merely indicating a chair which Illya could sink into opposite him.

'Is this a theological discussion, or just a social call?' Gabi began, pouring the tea into two mugs and pulling up a small table to assist Illya's one handedness. Illya left the tea to cool and took a piece of cake from his plate, breaking off a bit with his free hand.

'Um, it's personal, Gabi; it's actually something about someone you and Tess may have known in your youth' Illya replied. Gabi sipped his tea meditatively, waiting for his brother in law to clarify his statement.

'When you were, say about fifteen or sixteen, did you and Tess go to the island of Peronella at all?' Illya asked, picking up his tea and looking at Gabi with a rather serious look, Gabi thought.

'Of course. Well, I say 'of course' but I mean you know that we spent a lot of time in the water when we were there' Gabi replied, smiling. 'Your wife is a fantastic swimmer and diver, but you might know that by now'. Illya did know it. Her pregnancy had not stopped her from spending lazy afternoons with him in the sea round Mallorca, although she had not wanted to go diving with them, for obvious reasons he had thought then. Perhaps not so obvious now.

'Peronella, as I think you know, provides one with some outstanding diving opportunities, so yes, we went there every year; that is, until we met Li, then she wouldn't come again, of course'. Illya put down his mug slowly. A cold, hard feeling was uncoiling itself in his gut, and he thought he would be instantly sick if he ate any more cake.

'Do you mean by 'Li'' Illya said, 'Li-Hua Bolt, of Bolt Pharmaceuticals?'.

'The very one. I imagine Tess told you why she would never go there again?' Gabi said, leaning forward. Illya breathed out slowly.

'Tess denies ever knowing or meeting her' Illya replied, noticing the darkening of Gabi's expression. Gabi got up rather suddenly, turning towards Illya with an expression on the normally placid face that Illya had never seen before.

'That is simply not true' he said quietly. 'When we were about sixteen, we met Li on the island. Presumably you know all about her, otherwise you wouldn't be here asking me, would you?' he added, as Illya nodded. 'We became separated when we were doing some snorkelling together; she and Li stayed in the grottos and I think her tutor, this American woman, was helping me with my diving. Suddenly, Tess comes clambering over the top of the caves towards me, begging me to get out and come back with her to the boat where our uncle was. She wouldn't really talk fully about it, Illya, but I got the impression that Li had made some rather inappropriate advances towards her, if you understand what I mean' Gabi said, starting to pace the room. 'She refused from then on, ever to return there, even though she loved to dive. You know' he added, 'I felt then, even as a boy, that there was something really evil about that girl; predatory even'.

Illya ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end, then smoothing it down again, as if he had forgotten it was so short. He looked up at Gabi, then related the incident of the injection and Therese's account of it.

'Gabi, will you come back to our house and observe Tess while I ask her again about Li?' he said suddenly. Gabi nodded, going out into the corridor to fetch his coat. When he came back, Illya had managed to put on his hat and coat and was ready to leave. He leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling very tired. 'Perhaps, on the way home' he said, 'we could talk about how I should tell her, that at any time, unless we can find an antidote, she could be entirely under that woman's control'.

xxxxxxxxx

It was quite dark by the time they reached Grove Street, the street lighting casting their shadows hugely upon the walls and pavements as they walked back. Surprisingly, Therese remembered Illya's instructions to her regarding opening the door; she was naturally curious, however as to why her brother should accompany her husband back to their house.

'Let us in Tessy; your husband needs a hot bath and his bed' Gabi shouted into the intercom.

'Then what are you doing here, Gabi dear?' the disembodied voice replied, mockingly. Shortly afterwards, she was at the door. Illya thought she looked particularly beautiful, as she led them towards the front sitting room, drawing the cheerful patterned curtains against the winter night, whilst they took off their coats in the hall. She was wearing a cream caftan made of some silky material, on top of footless tights, her hair loose, and flowing down her back, almost to her waist. He had begged her to grow it, and she had obliged him, although he had been given the task of cleaning out the shower drain of the copious amounts of hair that collected there.

She helped Illya off with his coat and hat, smoothing down his hair and, when Gabi had gone back into the sitting room, licking one of his now exposed ears.

'What's wrong?' Therese asked, holding his face towards her, 'you look sad, corazon'. Illya, with a monumental effort to look cheerful, took her hand and led her into the room, where Gabi was sitting, rather stiffly she thought, on the green sofa. He sat her down between them, still holding onto her hand with his, conscious of their striking resemblance to each other, as they sat side by side.

'Tess, Gabi and I have been talking about Mallorca, and in particular Peronella' Illya began, looking into her eyes. Gabi slipped gently onto the deep red afghan rug that spread out in front of the sofa, so that both men were now looking at Therese's face.

'Oh have you' she continued, 'gosh, I haven't been there for ages; do you know I can't think when the last time was' she said, looking from one to the other. Illya glanced at Gabi. He already looked concerned; a little scared, even. Illya gently turned her face towards him, but making sure that Gabi could still see her quite clearly.

'Teresita, amado, do you remember ever meeting a woman called Li Hua Bolt?' Illya asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. He glanced quickly at Gabi, but one look at his face told him that Therese's brother had noticed the subtle, but unmistakeable change in her voice, and in her expression. The shining topaz eyes momentarily seemed to cloud, then she spoke.

'I have never heard of that woman, and I've never met her'.

Then, like a storm clearing, she was restored, her eyes bright, with a quizzical expression on her face. 'I'm sorry darling, did you ask me something? I seem to have dozed off for a moment'. Gabi leapt to his feet and turned to face them.

'I'm sorry, I just remembered someone is coming to see me at nine. I'll call round tomorrow perhaps, to see Nando before his big day' he said, forcing a smile, and going into the hall. Illya followed immediately after him, shutting the door behind him. When they reached the door, Gabi turned and grasped Illya's shoulder.

'You need to warn her; don't be afraid that she can't cope with it. She can. And you need to find some way to protect her before that woman comes calling, Illya, for I am certain that sooner or later, she most certainly will call'.

CHAPTER 8

'And where do you think you're going at this hour?' came a sleepy voice from underneath the blankets, as Illya crept from the room, holding his training shoes in his hand. He froze, and then turned round to see his wife staring at him through a thick veil of hair.

'Um, I'm re-starting my winter training schedule, and Fernando is coming with me, in case you think I'm going to collapse on the streets half way round' Illya replied rather more sharply than he meant to, as he reached the door. 'After all, he needs to get up to spec quickly if he's to get through the next few days' he said, more gently.

She sat upright now, pulling the blankets round her and shivering a little. If he hadn't already got dressed, it would have been very tempting just to dive back under the blankets, the way she looked.

'Up to spec, eh?' she said sarcastically. 'So having a broken arm and two broken ribs plus a punctured lung doesn't make you think that you might not be 'up to spec' yet, my little Russian masochist, does it not?' she said, rolling out of the bed and walking across the bedroom looking for her dressing gown. Illya closed his eyes to prevent him losing his resolve. He knew it was going to hurt, but he had to get going again. After a week of enforced idleness, he was beginning to get stiff joints, and if she continued to feed him like she was doing, he would need a size larger clothes as well.

'The arm and the ribs were only cracked, and I have to start running off all the excess calories I've consumed this week' he said, as he heard Fernando coming to a halt outside their door. He opened the door to go out, forgetting about Therese for a second. But she was now cocooned in a soft pink dressing gown that made her look like a big pink rabbit, he thought, delightedly.

He had to go now.

'So you don't want the blueberry muffins for breakfast then?' she whispered; 'I'll just get out the porridge and salt then'.

'He didn't say that' came the deep voice behind Illya's head as Fernando came into view. 'Did you?'

Illya pulled on a woolly cap over his hair. 'Muffins . .please?' he said, blue eyes wide.

Xxxxxxxxx

The island looked particularly bleak as the black helicopter swept down from the lapis blue sky onto the landing strip at the side of 'La Masia'. Li Hua Bolt jumped down and ran under the rotor blades towards the farmhouse, carrying her attaché case and a large bag with the name of one of the more exclusive shops in Palma's name emblazoned on the side. After this phase of the plan was over, she wondered whether it was time to leave here for good. She reasoned with herself that she really didn't spend that much time here anyway, anymore; it was convenient because the government was obliging, but the old dictator wouldn't live for that much longer, and besides, she needed to find somewhere a little less well known for her child to grow up in.

She gave a slight sigh as she saw the familiar white-coated figure of Winnifred Engel waiting for her in the first floor living room. She was framed against the large casement windows, and Li Hua could just make out the figure of Fedorenko standing behind her. She wondered whether she'd recovered from the little battle she'd had with Illya Kuryakin. It was scarcely believable, that even with their informant in UNCLE HQ, they had still not known that he was there until Fed had actually run into him in her lift. She had made the excuse that he had been heavily disguised, but it was as well really that Fed had only given him a beating rather than anything worse; she needed him, or rather his genetic material, to complete her plans, and despite Engel's endless worrying, it would be quite simple to bring him here in the end.

She caught herself admiring the man. His academic record was outstanding and varied; science, languages, music, all at such a high level. Then his skills; he was obviously a talented and resourceful agent, and her informant had spoke of his abilities in the field as superlative. He was also extremely fit and strong for his build. In fact, a perfect specimen for providing future world leaders, and in particular, for giving her a daughter. She had her informant to thank for that information; the ante-natal scan she now possessed a copy of, showed clearly the sex of the child. She could mould the child of this man into someone who would be uniquely fitted to inherit her empire when the time came. It was a pity, in a sense, that she was unable to produce a child herself, but the irony of Therese as the mother did not escape her. .

She reached the house and ran up the stairs to the first floor room, where the two women were waiting for her. They had moved away from the window, and were sitting at a large olivewood table at one end of the room. Li Hua stood briefly in front of the open fire, and then sat down facing them, putting the bag down by her side, and opening the attaché case.

'Did you have a safe journey?' she said to them, glancing at Fedorenko, whose head was still covered in a large bandage, and whose bruised face was clear evidence of Kuryakin's visit to Bolt Enterprises Germany.

'Ja, Fraulein direktor' Engel replied, 'and you will be pleased to learn that the programme is in full operation, at least it will be when the latest specimens are tested and used. We have processed and tested the required numbers of producers, and their preparation in its final stages before implantation begins. Of course, as you have requested, we have a further donation to receive soon, I hope'. She looked up from the papers she was referring to, and Li Hua could imagine the images in Engel's mind from the thin line her lips were drawing across her disfigured face. 'You have not informed me of the choice of producer for that particular donor' she almost spat out. Li Hua could see Fedorenko slightly stiffen at that point, and imperceptibly move forward on her chair. Li Hua began to laugh.

'Oh you don't imagine I am going to choose Fed for the task, do you?' she said derisorily, opening her attaché case. 'Do you seriously think that I would waste that man's semen on someone like you? We are trying to create someone here who will be head of UNCLE one day; not some daughter of a Ukrainian peasant!'. She gave Elena Fedorenko a pitying look, before looking down at her case again. 'No; we have to find someone who is a good match, physically and intellectually. Please ensure that I have a list of the remaining women, plus any guards who you think have the necessary 'qualifications', Dr Engel'. Li Hua gave Fedorenko a final disdainful glance. 'You should have taken him when you had the chance, when he was, shall we say, not in his right mind' she added. 'Now please leave us'. Elena's face, suffused crimson, reflected the shame and hatred coursing through her, as she pulled back her chair sharply, stood up and stiffly left the room.

Li Hua looked at Dr Engel. It was impressive how she had turned the process of reproduction into an efficient machine, with no wastage and no possibility of any loose ends. For intelligent women, the producers, as Engel called them, were remarkably naïve, thinking that they would be allowed to return home after giving birth with their memories of the event intact.

'Can I ask you about the Dormiben production?' Engel continued, as though nothing had happened. 'I was concerned that UNCLE had managed to obtain some samples through Solo's infiltration of the conference'. Now there is another man who would perhaps benefit from some surgical alteration to his anatomy' she hissed, making her customary strange circling motions with her hands.

'Well, Winnifred, you may have your wish, although you shouldn't be too greedy. After all, you will have the delightful Mr Kuryakin to play with before very long, as I promised. But this time', she said, 'make sure you tie him down very well, and I would recommend that Fedorenko stays very close'. She took out some papers from her attaché case, giving a copy to Dr Engel.

'As for Dormiben' she continued, 'we have suspended production in West Germany, as it was inevitable, after the UNCLE infiltration, that we would be reported to the government. Of course, when their inspectors came to visit, they found nothing except our very legitimate production lines. However, you will be pleased to know that production has begun here' she added.

'But, what if UNCLE finds an antidote?' Dr Engel persisted, peering through her glasses at Li Hua.

'Oh, if they have the drug, I'm sure that they will produce one. But they will find, dear Doctor, that the antidote has a rather unpleasant side effect for some people who take it. The male donors will not be affected, and after all, we don't need them again, and anyway, our chemists are at an advanced stage of producing the next generation of the drug. But I am counting on Mrs Kuryakin's conscience to make sure that she, for sure, does not take any of the antidote whatsoever' .

xxxxxxxxxx

'Mr Solo, transmission coming through to your communicator via Channel PX' Martine's voice boomed into Jo's office in the Legal Department. He was faintly surprised that Waverly had sanctioned it being put through, but he guessed he knew that he could ensure privacy there.

They had been sitting together behind Jo's desk making wedding plans, Jo having a now large manilla folder filled with neat notes on yellow legal pad paper, under a bewildering variety of headings.

'What is this, 'music for the first dance together'? Napoleon asked, spinning it round to face her.

'A crucial decision' Jo replied. 'There is a whole section on music, where I would appreciate you returning that slip to, when you have added your suggestions'.

'Yes indeedy' he replied, having no idea what to write. Perhaps he could consult Illya on this one. Then again, perhaps not. He removed his communicator from his inside pocket and twisted it to the required channel, grabbing a pad and pencil from the many that littered Jo's desk.

'Napolina?' Wie gehts?'

'Sehr gut, danke, Sabi' Napoleon replied, leaning back on the chair. 'Is it safe to talk for long?'.

'Nein. But I will be in a good position to make a fuller report this afternoon, as I have some free time, which I intend to make good use of, by visiting the Convent. They like the guards here to go up there from time to time, to check up on the nuns, and generally make them feel uncomfortable. Stupid, no?'

'Pathetic' Napoleon added. 'If you do get the chance, speak to a Sister Catherine up there. Apparently Illya tells me that she is a former UNCLE agent, and he thinks she could be useful if the going gets rough'.

'OK, darling. Klose out'. The door opened as he was putting his communicator back, to reveal his partner, his jacket pocket slung awkwardly over the injured arm.

'Good morning Napoleon, Connie said you would be here, sorting out important business with our legal expert, I see' Illya said, coming in and slumping down on the leather sofa opposite the desk. Jo stared at him over her glasses, then smiled.

'Is this a practice for your best man look?' she asked him, nudging Napoleon, who started to grin at his partner. Illya sighed.

'You are about the twentieth person to make some kind of wisecrack at my expense this morning' he said between clenched teeth.

'Yes, Connie told me that her little Russian lamb's golden fleece had been shorn' Napoleon added, ignoring the icy stare. 'Anyway, I thought you were due in Medical at ten. McDonald told me that Bernie Shearer wants to see you'. Bernard Shearer was referred to as the 'girl's problems' doctor, but Therese had made a point of avoiding him, after he had given her a lecture about contraception.

Illya made a face and got to his feet.

'Hey, Bernie Shearer; apt name for you, comrade, eh?' Napoleon shouted, as the Russian, with a withering look in his direction, exited the room.

Xxxxxxx

'First things first, let's have a look at you, laddie'. Illya could see his X-rays behind his head on the light boxes, showing the damage to his ribs and arm and a ghostly picture of his lungs and heart. It was a relief that they were no more than cracks, and that the healing process seemed to be well underway. Peter had allowed him to keep his clothes on, except for removing his shirt and vest, so that he could prod around the drain site, and look at the bruises on his back and sides. After another few minutes of listening to his heart and lungs, and taking his blood pressure, he was allowed to dress.

'Now Dr Shearer wants to have a word with you about the wee problem with your wife' Peter almost whispered, as Illya was attempting to tie his tie, until Peter took it off him and helped him with it.

'Thank you Peter' Illya said, for a minute not entirely sure what he meant until he suddenly realised. He had reported the incident with Therese to Waverly the morning after it had happened. It was obviously something to do with this. As if on cue, Bernard Shearer, without knocking, walked into the room. Illya had never met him before, but had been told about him, in very derogatory language, by his wife.

Shearer greeted Peter like an old friend, but only nodded to Illya. He saw immediately why Tess didn't like him. There was an arrogance about him that exuded superiority over the fortunate beings who were lucky enough to be treated by him. His tone was patronising, bordering on the offensive, Illya thought. He could hear Tess saying 'honestly Illyusha, I felt like a fourteen year old schoolgirl after he'd finished with me'. They sat down round Peter's desk, Shearer going through Therese's file cursorily. He put down the papers and looked at Illya over the top of his bi-focals.

'Mr Kuryakin. We have a little problem with your wife, and I want to suggest a solution which will be simple, easy to administer, and although it may cause a few unfortunate side-effects in the short term, I think you'll agree that in the long term, it's simply the best solution for you both, and for UNCLE'. Illya looked at them both in turn. He noticed that Peter was looking down uneasily.

'I'm sorry, Dr Shearer, if I appear rather obtuse, but could you clarify your last statement? Is there something wrong with the pregnancy?' Illya asked, feeling slightly worried. He was beginning to wonder why on earth Tess wasn't there with him, anyway, if it was to do with her condition.

'Mr Kuryakin' Shearer said, rather impatiently, 'Let me speak bluntly. Your wife has been given a drug which renders her completely into the power of an enemy of UNCLE. Due to Mr Solo's efforts, a sample of this drug has been obtained, and we have managed, in the last few days, to synthesise an antidote to that drug'.

Illya's face cleared. 'Well, what is the problem then? You mentioned side-effects. Do you mean nausea, or something like that? I'm sure she can handle it, but you can ask her . . '

'No' Shearer interrupted him, 'I do not mean something like that. In order to work, the drug uses prostaglandins. I don't know if you are familiar . .' It was time for Illya to interrupt. A clutching feeling was enveloping his stomach and making him feel dizzy.

'Are you suggesting that this antidote will cause a miscarriage?' he said quietly. He could see Peter visibly cringe at the word.

'Look, my dear man. There was no problem conceiving, was there? There will be opportunities in the future for other pregnancies, which, might I suggest, you make more effort to plan in a sensible fashion' Shearer said condescendingly. 'If you choose this way, then the problem is over. Your wife will be free of this rather difficult situation she has got herself into, and this woman can be apprehended without your wife being involved any further.' Illya got to his feet. He could feel himself shaking, and gripped the desk to allow himself to calm down first before he spoke.

'Dr Shearer' he said icily, 'Neither my wife nor myself need to wait for further opportunities, as you so patronisingly say, for other pregnancies, because we are delighted, planned or not, with this pregnancy. I am not prepared to conveniently solve this 'problem' by agreeing to the death of my child. And,' he said, leaning over the desk towards Shearer, 'my wife, for your information, doctor, did not 'get herself' into this situation. It was forced upon her by an evil woman, who UNCLE is responsible for dealing with, without resorting to the death of an innocent baby'. Shearer slammed the folder shut, and sat back, staring at the furious Russian agent in front of him.

'For a scientist, Mr Kuryakin, you're showing a very irrational reaction to this eminently reasonable suggestion' he sneered, glancing towards Peter as if he might support his opinion. 'Might I suggest that you go away and think about it? You might want to consider this; if you agree to this course of action, perhaps it might be sensible for certain side-effects of the drug not to be revealed to your wife. After all, women are inclined to get rather emotional about these things aren't they?' he added, giving a nasty little laugh at his own prejudices. 'After all, there is no way in which even you, Mr Kuryakin, are going to be able to protect your wife completely from these people, until the child is born, is there?' he said smugly.

Peter came round to the other side of the desk with alacrity and pulled Illya away from what looked to him, like an almost certain assault on the gynaecologist.

'Don't give him the satisfaction, laddie' he whispered fiercely, 'I tried to tell him, but he was so bloody arrogant, he wouldn't listen'. Illya looked up at him, feeling a cold rage building inside him, and furiously fighting it down again. He took several deep breaths and turned back to face Shearer.

'Dr Shearer' he said quietly, standing in front of him, 'despite my profession, in matters like these, my wife and I do not have secrets from each other. Whatever you think, I can assure you that I will willingly sacrifice everything I have to protect my wife and child from anyone or anything that could harm them. To that end, I would be grateful if you could give me an assurance that you will never, ever, have any personal or professional dealings with my family again'.

Shearer stood up.

'You are making a stupid mistake, Kuryakin, when there is a simple, clean solution to all of this'. Nodding to Peter, without a glance in Illya's direction, he left the room. Peter put his arm round the Russian agent's shoulders and sat him down on the chair facing the desk. He walked round to the other side and pulled out a bottle of malt whisky and two glasses out of the bottom drawer, pouring a generous measure in both. Peter raised his glass and touched Illya's.

'Here's to the bloody English – I told your ma, and I'm telling ye – they're just not civilized, do ye ken?!!'

Xxxxxx

Sabi was as efficient as ever, her transmission coming through to Waverly's office at exactly the time agreed. Napoleon had arrived early to find his partner and Mr Waverly talking quietly together by the window. He knew immediately what the subject of the discussion was. He had run into Peter McDonald in the commissary at lunchtime, while he was glancing round to see where his usually hungry partner was lurking.

'I don't think you'll find him here today, my boy. As far as I know, he's in his lab, and you need to leave him there until he works it all out, I would say' Peter murmured. 'He'll tell you in his own time, I'm sure' he added before wandering off to speak to another doctor who had just entered the room. He finally got the story out of Bettina in Medical, after doing a considerable amount of grovelling.

'I shouldn't be telling you, Napoleon, but it was hard to ignore it; you could hear them in the corridor' she said, with a shocked expression covering the gossip she was longing to share. 'Dr Shearer nearly knocked me down in the corridor, he was so furious. He went storming off to Mr Waverly's office I think'.

'Ah, Mr Solo, I presume you've already heard about what has been going on upstairs, judging how fast gossip spreads in this organisation' Waverly said.

'If you mean Medical, then I had heard something' he replied. He was suddenly aware of Illya's expression. He had spent so long with him that he thought he knew every nuance of expression the Russian allowed to show on the rather delicate features making up his face. This time was different. There was real anguish apparent here, as if something was proving almost impossible for him to deal with. It was clear that Waverly had thought so too.

'I have told Mr Kuryakin that as soon as this meeting ends he is to go home and spend some time with his wife. While I do not in any way condone violence or intended violence shown against another member of this organisation, I sincerely hope that we can resolve this situation without the enforced loss of the most innocent of young lives before it has even begun' he added. Unselfconsciously, Waverly patted Illya's hand.

'You know, I was there when your wife and her brother were born' he chuckled. 'Val was on a mission in France. Marisa went into labour, and I was on hand as it were, to act as the 'pater familias' in his absence. She was a dear little thing, with lots and lots of curly brown hair, if I remember rightly'. Illya's eyes widened, and, smiling, he walked over and sat down at the table.

Vaz had joined them for the transmission. Sabi was able to give them a very thorough outline of the set-up on the island, the numbers involved, and the difficulties that there would be in any action against it. Illya explained to her what had happened to Therese.

'Have you told her yet, darling?' Sabi replied.

'No. I plan to do that tonight. We are going to work out some sort of plan to protect her until the birth, but we have to face the fact that if the worse comes to the worst, Sabi, Miss Bolt could kidnap her very easily' Illya replied.

There was a silence for a while, before Sabi replied.

'Illyusha, if by that you mean, she will bring her here, then you know that I will do everything to protect her'.

'Yes, Danke, Sabi, as ever' Illya sighed. He wondered whether he could ever repay Sabi for all she did for him.

'Did you make contact with Miss Leighton? I mean, Sister Catherine' Waverly said, looking up from what had appeared to be a long reverie.

'Yes sir. She is a very strong woman, I think. She has promised help if we need it, although I'm not quite sure what the sisters can do against the might of Miss Bolt. She knows quite a lot that is going on, and has tried to help, but the sisters are enclosed, so they do not come out of the convent grounds. There is the gardener who works there, however, and there might be some chance of him acting as a conduit for information. Also, until now, Bolt has respected the enclosure and not come in either, so that is something to think about, don't you think?'

Waverly put down his pipe.

'I don't suppose you remember Nancy Leighton?' he said. 'A superb agent, brave and resourceful as well as highly intelligent. A great loss to the Command when she decided to go off and marry that Mallorcan chap. We lost touch with her after that; it's a bit of luck that she's turned up now, eh?'.

'Yes sir' Sabi replied. 'I have some plans of the complex that I've drawn and also some photos, which I'm sending via Sister Catherine. Has there been any progress with finding out who is the Bolt mole at UNCLE? I presume that whoever it is, they haven't discovered my identify yet' she concluded.

'No, Miss Klose, we are still completely in the dark about that, I'm afraid' Waverly said. Obviously, we are working as hard as we can to uncover this person, as, for the moment, we are completely dependent upon your presence on the island, as it were' he added. 'It is essential that we either do not move too soon, or, even worse, that we wait too long, and innocent lives are damaged or destroyed. Do all you can to keep us regularly informed, either through this channel or via Miss Leigh-I mean Sister Catherine, won't you my dear? Waverly out'.

Waverly clicked a button, and the door closed over the transmission desk.

'Well gentlemen. Any comments on all this?' he invited. Napoleon glanced at Illya, whose face was still set and pale.

'Um, when exactly did you think we might move on this, sir?' he began. 'I mean, we can't just sit here waiting for Bolt to kidnap Therese, or Illya for that matter, can we?' he said, getting no reaction from the Russian.

'Mr Solo, we are dealing here with a fiendishly clever woman, who, if she thinks we are on our way, will shut up shop and move somewhere else at the drop of a hat, you can be sure of that. As was patently obvious in West Germany, she is very skilfully running an entirely legitimate organisation side by side with an evil and potentially lethal plan for ultimate control of the most powerful institutions in the world. However, I am sorry to tread on your sensibilities at this moment in time, Mr Kuryakin, but it does appear that she has one weakness which we will have to try to exploit, I am afraid'. Illya looked up, calmly staring at Waverly, and then glancing at his partner's frowning face.

'I think Mr Waverly means Therese, Napoleon. She does seem to be interested in acquiring something of mine, and I'm sure that my favourite Nazi doctor is foaming at the mouth at the thought of it, but actually I believe I come a poor second to her ultimate, and somewhat irrational desire to induce my wife and child by whatever method it takes, to become her new family'.

'Precisely' Waverly added. 'It may be that in attempting this, she could lay herself open to infiltration and hopefully the destruction of her diabolical plan. However, we must do all in our power to protect your young family, Mr Kuryakin. I am therefore going to assign an agent to offer close protection to Mrs Kuryakin for the remainder of her pregnancy until the birth of the child. Because we do not know the identity of the mole, she is not to be party to either the strategies we have discussed, or the personnel involved, especially the wherabouts of Miss Klose. I realise this may be inconvenient to you personally, Mr Kuryakin, but I am sure you will want your wife protected, especially in the periods where you are away'.

Illya's face assumed a rather martyred expression, Napoleon thought. He wondered just who this agent was going to be. Illya leaned back on his chair and breathed out slowly.

'Dr McDonald has declared me fit for light duties now, sir. Could I not guard her, at least until I am declared fit for normal duties again?' he said.

'No, Mr Kuryakin, that wouldn't do. You will of course be with your wife when you are off duty, but we need someone who is completely dedicated to this one task all the time. Besides, I think you have rather a lot of work to finish in the laboratories, do you not? Waverly replied. 'Mr Solo can help you finish the outstanding reports not submitted last month, and then I am sure I can find plenty of courier duty for you both until Christmas. Mr Fernandes, Mr Torres is expecting you in Palma. You can maintain the link with Miss Klose until we have decided when and what we are going to do about this lamentable business'.

Waverly rose from his chair and walked back to the window. Although it was now nearly five o'clock in the evening, the night sky was well established, and he thought he detected the first signs of snow in the air, falling softly on the melee below in the street. Napoleon pulled his chair closer to Illya's, trying to avoid the cast resting on the side of Illya's chair.

'So, who is going to be doing the guard duty?' he whispered into the exposed ear of his partner.

'I have no idea. I'm only going to have to live with this person for the next four months or so', came the rather terse reply. Solo drummed his fingers on the table.

'Well, you can take one real positive out of this one, comrade' Napoleon said, beginning to smile.

'And what is that, Napoleon?' Illya replied, slowly turning his head and noticing that Napoleon had begun to form a smile which usually meant something which was entirely the opposite.

'We've got plenty of time to get you ready for the wedding'.

Xxxxxxx

By the time he reached home, Illya had rehearsed what he was going to say at least fifteen times, each time being different from the last. Peter had put a new, thinner cast on his arm which made things a little easier getting his clothes on, and he was grateful to Sabi yet again for the lovely black cashmere coat that was protecting him from the New York winter.

He reached the front door and tapped in the code, pressing his index finger into the fingerprint recognition security system that had been installed and which Therese called the 'James Bond' thing. He smiled to himself as he opened the door. Perhaps that was why he loved her so much, because she didn't take it all too seriously, despite being nearly blown up last summer. But this time, there was no alternative to taking it seriously.

The house was very quiet, a contrast to the seething noise on the streets coming up from the subway at Bleecker St. He looked in the ground floor rooms, then, after wandering downstairs and not finding her there, investigating the oven and the fridge to determine what was for dinner that evening, he headed upstairs.

He finally located her by the tell-tale red light bulb on outside the darkroom, lighting up the corridor at the top of the house. There were two bedrooms and a tiny shower room as well on this floor, which Illya always thought seemed to be waiting for something to happen in them. They had been used for guests, but they seemed to be telling him that they should have another purpose. He sighed. If Bernard Shearer had his way, he supposed they would be waiting until they had been married a sensible time then have their two children sensibly spaced. He thought of the little form he had glimpsed in the black and white photograph of the scan. He imagined the little arms reaching out to him now, expecting his protection. His mouth set in a line of determination at the thought.

He knocked gently at the door of the darkroom. All over it there were plastered little messages and signs she had brought back with her from her travels, with one, bigger poster, in the middle of the door with 'Ruskies, keep out!' emblazoned across it. He couldn't imagine where she had got that from. After a short while, the door opened a crack.

'Ruskies keep out' a dark voice echoed from inside the room.

'For how long?' he enquired. 'This Ruskie needs some Scouse comfort to soothe his fevered brow'. There was a silence, then

'Pourquoi? Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?' He leaned his head against the wall by the crack.

'Bernard Shearer' he replied. There was another, longer silence, then 'Merde'.

After a few minutes, Therese appeared in the kitchen. She was wearing a long kaftan-like Indian garment with matching tight-legged trousers in a wonderful heliotrope colour, embroidered with a slightly darker, purple silk thread. Her hair snaked down her back in undulating waves, the coppery highlights picked up in the glare of the kitchen lights. Illya raised his eyebrows at her appearance, as he followed her round the room, obediently taking the plates and utensils she thrust into his hands and putting them on the large table in the adjoining room.

'You look very exotic for a Tuesday evening' he murmured behind her, as she drew a deep dish out of the oven and put it on the side to cool. Therese turned round, easing her back against the kitchen unit.

'Indian women don't have maternity clothes' she answered, looking down through her thick eyelashes at him, 'they just loosen off their trousers.' Illya put his arms round her back and pulled her to him, putting his face into her hair, feeling the comfort of it.

'Smart Indians' he said. 'Easy to remove too, I would imagine'. Therese smiled, then pushed him away and turned round to the dish.

'Eat first, then tell me all about it' she said softly.

xxxxxxxxx

The Indian clothes proved as easy to remove as he had suspected, even with one arm in a cast and aching ribs. The bedroom seemed a safe environment in which to try to explain.

'So what's that horrible man been saying to you then' she began, after Illya had spent a while rubbing her back, and was now sitting up with Therese lying spreadeagled across his chest. She pulled him down a bit, so that she could see his face more easily, stroking his ear as she gazed at him. Illya hesitated.

'He told me that they have an antidote to the drug Miss Bolt gave you. You remember, I've explained that bit to you, Tess, and you've talked to Gabi about it'. He felt her tense slightly, then relax into his body as he talked.

'Why is it then, that I have the feeling that you're going to tell me something bad?' she whispered, her fingers gently stroking his face. Illya took a long inward breath and turned his head, resting his chin on her hair.

'There are two alternate courses of action we can follow, corazon. Neither are good, and both will cause you suffering'.

Therese sat up, pushing her hair back, and pulling the pillows up to support her. In the reflections of the lamps in the darkened room, she could clearly see his face, grave and sad.

'Just tell me, amado' she replied gently, 'then we'll decide together what to do, eh?'. He turned towards her, his eyes two pools of dark blue in the shadows.

'If you take the antidote, as Shearer has advised, then you will be free of Miss Bolt's power over you, Tess. However, there is a major side-effect. Taking the antidote will cause you to miscarry the baby' he said simply. She gripped his arm hard. He could feel the whole of her body becoming rigid, her eyes, like golden drills boring into the darkness of his eyes; of the whole room.

'And the alternative?' she asked, sounding as if she was on the other side of the room.

'It appears that the hormones released in your body in labour will act in the same way as the antidote.' Illya said, sounding harder than he meant to. He softened his tone. 'Mr Waverly has agreed to give you a guard until the baby is born. That is an extra guard to the one lying next to you'. Therese relaxed her grip on his arm, and pushed herself closer to him. 'Tess, you do understand that if you decide to refuse the antidote, even with protection, there will be a not inconsiderable chance that she may still take you' Illya added, finding himself clinging to her as she lay wedged to his side. She pushed herself back a little bit, pulling him down, and taking his head between her hands, kissed him for what seemed like long, silent minutes.

'Illyusha, it's not my decision is it?' she said finally. 'The decision is ours to make together. But I think you guessed right this afternoon, eh amado? '. Illya nodded dumbly, his eyes almost closed. 'Then I'd better make up the spare room for guard number two, and guard number one better make sure he is very close indeed' Therese whispered, nibbling his ear, her breath coming in short bursts as she spoke.

Illya leaned over and switched off the lamps. It was only later, in the darkness,that he was conscious of a dampness slowly spreading across his chest from the dark head lying across him.