Warri Nigeria. The streets crowded with people, some dressed in traditional garb, others wearing modern clothing, but standing out among them were the soldiers of Nzeogwu, the leader of the corrupt military coup that had recently taken over the country. Dressed in their green uniforms, carrying their Russian Kalashnikov rifles and machine guns; they patrolled the streets ensuring their presence was clear to all.

Napoleon Solo waited in the shadowy alcove to a doorway of one of the simple whitewashed houses that lined the street; trying to stay out of view, but that was really impossible as he was, at the moment, the only white man among the sea of native and Arabic faces.

This place was the gun-running capital of western Africa. Even with the patrolling troops he had no doubt that nearly everyone who passed by was armed with a firearm of some sort. The place was a powder keg waiting to explode, yet that wasn't the focus of he and his partner's mission.

A hooded figure approached him from the crowds, wearing a muted homespun robe with his head bowed, the long billowing sleeves hiding his hands tucked within them.

"Here," the familiar voice whispered. "Put this on quickly"

"You're five minutes late, I was beginning to get worried about you."

A pair of blue eye peaked out at him from beneath the hood, as it was lowered for a moment, revealing a faded knit skull-cap covering the Russian's blond hair.

Illya ignored the remark about being late. "I was getting worried about me as well. It took awhile to evade our feathered friends, but they will not be hard to spot if they show up again as they still insist on sporting those red fezzes."

"Where did you get this thing?" Napoleon asked as he donned his striped robe; crinkling his nose at the smell when pulling it over his head.

"The camel-jockey I paid it for seemed happy enough with it."

"Enough to part with it." Solo sniffed it again." I hate camels."

"As do I. And yes, since you have not asked... I was able to photograph the new triad codes. It amazes me T.H.R.U.S.H. would still keep something so vital in a simple tumbler floor safe. They never learn."

"They may be evil, but no one ever said they were smart, if you recall their behavior the last time you pinched codes from them?" Napoleon smiled as he and his partner disappeared into the crowds, strolling past the armed soldiers, thankfully, without being noticed.

"Yes, how could I forget my stay with the Foreign Legion. You know I still have scars from Barbara's bite marks... speaking of which, I wonder if she ever really did get married?" *

Napoleon chuckled, " Hope the fellow had real thick skin."

Illya rubbed his arm absent mindedly as he recalled the painful nips the French woman gave him, simply because she was nervous. He hated to think what she would have done if she were really frightened.

"I suppose as long as she did not get jittery, her poor husband would be safe. I did hear from Corporal Remy... Basil Calhoun and his Cuisle were finally joined in wedded bliss." The Russian suddenly raised his nose, sniffing the air. "Mmmm, I am hungry. Might we stop and get some roasted goat kababs?"

"Don't you ever stop thinking about food?" Napoleon's eyes were darting in every direction, as were his partners; though Illya's stomach was craving food, his and Solo's instincts still kept them on-guard against trouble.

"I will make you a deal, I will stop thinking about food, when you stop thinking about women," the Russian snickered.

Napoleon gaze could only be described as one akin to shock, but he answered the challenge very succinctly.

"To paraphrase something that was said to me during the 'Foreign Legion Affair...'I not only like to enjoy the feast, I like to take home the dishes, and that my dear fellow, I will continue to do."

No surprise to the Russian there, but now his eyes gave away a mildly pained look as the mouth-watering smell of roasting meat became stronger.

Napoleon looked at Illya not unsympathetically; unable to deny the man his passion, and seeing as how they had evaded the T.H.R.U.S.H. operatives, the American relented, succumbing to the rumblings of his partner's stomach, as always.

"There's a food bazaar straight ahead, " Napoleon quickly pointed, and swatting a large fly away from his face. Though they were in a small city, the streets were dusty and full of camels and cattle that attracted such things. He forced himself not to be distracted and remained vigilant for any red fezzes in the crowd as they moved toward the marketplace.

Filled with sights, sounds and smells emanating from at least thirty stalls with people selling their wares; Illya's nose led him to the repast he craved.

* ref. "The Foreign Legion Affair" Season 2 Episode 22