-Oh, no... It can't happen... Shhh, he's coming

Napoleon Solo had first noticed it. Then he had been puzzled. Now, he felt uneasy.

When he crossed the threshold of the Uncle, he felt serene. The serenity of the man who had done his duty. More than his duty. He wasn't one to fish for compliments, of course.

The receptionist greeted him, with a civil smile, and leaned over the desk, to pin Solo's ID on lapel of his suit. Civil. Nothing more.

Napoleon Solo sighed but gave up using his legendary charm on her. Anyway, she was already miles away.

As he made his way toward his office, he met very few people. It was quite amazing, at this time of the day. Everyone walked quickly, with the same troubled expression. Soon, it wiped the smile off his face. The passersby were clearly oblivious to him.

He was relieved to see Mark Slate, at a corner of the hall. He was talking with a Section 3 agent. As he came closer, two heads turned toward him. The section 3 agent made himself scarce, and Solo was fully aware that Slate was dying to do so. Instead, Mark Slate greeted him, with an unusual expression. He smiled ... guiltily.

-Okay. What happened, Mark ?

Mark Slate looked around.

-We 'd better talk in your office. Come on, Napoleon

The voice was dull. Mark's face was grim. The office was empty. Illya... Illya wasn't there. Solo waited in dread for the man to speak. Slate kept silent. Solo hated his sort of now compassionate expression...

-Did something happen to Illya ? Is he... is he ...is he dead ?

A sad smile.

-No, Napoleon, no, he isn't. Illya is fine. We are all. For the moment.

The relief overwhelmed Napoleon Solo. Then, the older agent burst into irrepressible laughter.

-Is that a late April fool's trick, Mark ?

Mark Slate grabbed his arm.

-No, Napoleon, no. Armageddon isn't a trick.

-The end of the world ? You're kidding, Mark.

-Let's go to Waverly's office. Illya is already with him.

It must be a joke... Some one was enjoying himself at his expense...

In the Old Man's office, the atmosphere was heavy. Waverly stood in front of the window. Illya leand against tha wall. The same grim faces. The usually reserved Russian, the man who so good at amputating his emotion, was obviously worrying. He faintly smiled, yet, at his friend. The blue eyes were inquiring.. Solo realized that... it wasn't a joke. Armageddon ? A nuclear war ? The Third ( and the last) World War ?

Waverly nodded.

-Yes, Mr Solo. It might be the end of the world. Of our world. I've got some reports : John Steed, Jim Phelps. And others. The threat hung over us for a long time ; it was a potential danger. It might become a reality. They talk about...

Waverly's voice choked. Illya went on.

-They talk about making a movie, Napoleon, and perhaps a new serie. A serie of the XXIst century. They did it with The Avengers, and Mission : impossible. And I've been told that they have attacked David Starsky and Kenneth Hutchinson, too...

Solo was taken abac, but his optimistic mood got over it.

-They won't dare.

Illya Kuryakyn smiled.

-Fools dare all, Napoleon. Yet, it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good... If they make a movie about the Men from Uncle... , there is a strong possibility that people of the XXIst century will discover us...

-And what, then ?

-Then ? They'll be no match for us... Let's them play.