Thank you for your reviews and for showing your interest in following the story by putting it in your alerts. I hope it continues meeting your expectations.

Thank you again to Uncle Charlie...

ACT II: Wear my ring around your neck.

Illya saw fire coming from the center of the earth, rocks falling from the sky. Thunder and lightning got on his way. He could not escape. He was cold and warm, and his head pounded. He was scared as he had never been in his life. He wanted to scream but his voice never came out. Then, he woke up.

He opened his eyes. From what he remembered, he was back in the bedroom with the bed as hard as a rock. He felt something on his forehead. It was cold and wet but after a moment, it burned. He moved his head and raised his hand to take it off. Someone was already next to him grabbing his arm.

"Tranquilo, todo está bien." Be quiet, everything is all right.

Illya stared at her with curiosity. The woman was young, with brown eyes, a kind smile. She did not look scared, although she kept the frying pan next to her. Illya felt compelled to give her an explanation.

"Sorry I scared you..." He frowned while remembering the proper words. "Am... Lamento haber-"

"Don't move. I see that you're sick, but I still can hurt you."

A twelve year-old boy came in running to join the woman. He stared at Illya warily.

"Don't need to get violent, I'll leave now," Illya sat up. He was light headed and his hands trembled. He leaned his back against the wall to allow the dizziness to pass. "In a couple of minutes."

"¿Está hablando inglés?" Is he speaking English? Asked the boy.

"Sí, pero con acento," Yes, but with an accent, the woman said.

"También hablo español, con acento," I also speak Spanish, with an accent, Illya smiled. "Your English is good."

"Yours too." The woman smiled, putting the pan on her lap. "I teach English in town."

"Usted no estaba hablando inglés hace un rato," You weren't speaking English a while ago. The boy narrowed his eyes.

"You were talking weird in your dreams. My brother thinks you're a Russian spy," she mocked. "Are you?"

Illya sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Not quite. I'm Russian, yes but-" His ears began to ring painfully and he lost his line of thought.

"Are you sick?" The woman said before sending her brother for water.

Illya covered his ears against the noise that only he could hear. He had to concentrate to keep himself awake. "It's just some blinding pain that comes and goes..." He breathed heavily and his lungs hurt too. He did not let it show. "It's gone now."

The boy was back with a glass of water. At his sister's sign, he gave it to Illya. Only then, did Illya noticed he was thirsty. However, he was not able to have more than one sip. The taste of the water made him nauseous. He put the glass on the night table and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, the taste is too strong."

"It's pure water," the woman frowned.

"No parece ladrón," the boy said.

"A thief? No, I'm not."

"But you opened the door the way thieves do," she said.

"I didn't want to break a window. I thought the house was abandoned... I needed a place to sleep-"

"¿Se perdió?" The boy asked.

"Lost? Yes..." Illya made an effort to smile amid his discomfort "I lost my way... in the mountain... the cold and the ashes-" He shuddered. The noise was getting more uncomfortable and he had to cover his ear. "Would you mind turning off your radio?"

"My what?" The woman frowned. "Oh," she went to the window. "It's on my bicycle. I didn't know it was still on. I can't hear it from here." She opened the curtains and Illya crawled back.

"The light!" He covered his eyes with his arms.

"Ay, perdón!" She closed the curtains immediately. "What's wrong with you? Are you sick? Do you need a doctor?"

"No!" Illya caught his breath and leaned against the wall. "Listen, Miss-"

"Mayela," she finally smiled. "And this is Marcos."

"Mayela and Marcos," he repeated. "Nice to meet you. I'm Illya and I'm not sick. I'm just very tired... I-it was a very long walk." A sudden chill made him rattle his teeth. "S-sorry. It's getting cold in here, isn't it?"

"Temperatures have been dropping quite often lately," she said. "Anyway, those wet clothes of yours don't help, I'm afraid." She went to the armoire. "I thought we had left some clothes here when we moved."

"You moved? I thought you said this was your house."

"It is, but we don't live here since the volcano exploded two years ago. I just come every two or three days to clean up and make sure no one has broken in... Well-" she smiled.

"I said I'm sorry," Illya smiled too. His energy began to fade away. He covered his ears with his hands and gasped. "Mayela? Your radio is too loud."

"Vaya apague el radio," Go and turn off the radio, she ordered her brother.

As the dizziness subsided, Illya got up very slowly. The radio had stopped but the sounds in the surroundings went on. He could hear voices and music, motorcars and animals from different directions. The smell of sulfur and wet grass turned his stomach; and the wet clothes burned his sensitive skin. His awareness of every single thing in motion was overwhelming. His mind took him back to Louis... "I'm not going crazy," he said to himself. "I won't go crazy."

"Excuse me?" Mayela turned to him.

"Sorry, I was talking to myself. Don't mind me," he smiled.

"I'm going to the kitchen, do you want to come?"

Illya took some steps and nodded. He followed the woman downstairs. Illya squinted while his eyes got used to the light. There was no sun, but the cloudy sky shone just the same. "What time is it?"

"Almost four," she said.

Marcos was already in the kitchen pouring water in a pitcher through a fabric bag. Illya looked at him working and had to satisfy his curiosity. "¿Qué haces?" What are you doing?

"Café... Coffee," he said.

"We don't have electricity. This is the way to make coffee around here." Mayela explained. "Do you find it funny?"

"Colorful." Illya staggered and had to sit down. "So, no electricity? I suppose it would be pretentious of my part to ask if you have a telephone."

"No telephone, I'm sorry." Mayela poured the coffee in three mugs. She sat in front of Illya. "But there is one in town."

"One telephone for the entire town?" Illya smelled the coffee and winced in disgust. He pushed the mug away from him. "Sorry, that smell is too strong."

Marcos laughed and Mayela elbowed him.

"It's okay, American coffee tastes like hot water to me," she shrugged. She looked at Illya with concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Marvelous." Illya wiped sweat off his forehead. "Listen, about the telephone..."

"Oh, yes. There is one at the comisariato, the- grocery store. You go and tell the manager the number you need, they dial it for you. Are you sure you're okay? You look so pale."

"Allergies." Illya glanced at his watch. "Three forty-five? In the afternoon."

"Yes," Mayela looked at him cautiously. "Are you sure you don't want some coffee? Sweet bread, or cookies with butter?"

"Oh, please. No more talking about food." Illya did not dare to breathe deeply. If he did not get in contact with the agency soon, he would be declared MIA. All his privileges would be revoked, no more retirement plan or insurance whatsoever; not to mention that the still-in progress mission would be classified as Incomplete. "Mayela, I need to communicate with my- er, uncle. He must be very worried about me."

"I could go to town and see if the taxi is available and come back for you-"

"The taxi? I gather you have only one in town?" Illya rubbed the back of his neck. "Never mind, I don't think I could make it that far, anyway." He closed his eyes for a moment to clear his mind. "Do you have pen and paper, here, now?"

"Of course." She fetched her bag and came back with a small agenda and a pen.

Illya wrote down a number. "Pay attention, Mayela. This is really important. You have to call this number for me."

"To the United States? That's an international call, those are very expensive."

Illya smiled. "It's collect. You call and wait for it to ring once, then hang up. They will return your call five minutes later. Let it ring twice before answering it." He wiped more of the sweat beading on his forehead. "To whatever they ask, you will say Illya found the macguffin. They will tell you the hour they'll come, and then, they will hang up."

"Macguffin?"

"Macguffin. Don't forget that name, or mine." He panted. "Do you think you can do this?"

Mayela stared at the piece of paper for a moment. "Are you a spy, Illya?"

"Do I look like a spy to you?" His eyelids began to weigh with exhaustion.

"I don't know. You just look sick." She helped Illya to get up. "Come, I'll put you to bed. I'd bring you a doctor but there is-"

"Don't tell me, there is just one in town?"

"No, he only comes every two weeks."

"Of course, what was I thinking?"

By the time they got to the room Illya was leaning heavily on her and on the walls. "You should change those clothes before you catch a cold." Mayela helped him to sit on the bed. "Marcos, busque entre la ropa de Toño a ver qué le sirva." Marcos, look in Toño`s clothes for something that fit him. She turned to Illya. "Toño, Antonio, is my other brother, the oldest. I'm sure he left some pants and shirts, he was too lazy to pack."

Illya lied down, staring at the ceiling. Although he knew it was an irrational thought, he was afraid of closing his eyes. He must have dozed for a second when a slight tremor woke him up. Soon, it was strong enough to rattle the wooden walls. Illya tried to sit up but his weakness made him very slow. The cracking sound felt like a loose train coming inside the house.

"Mayela!" Marcos yelled, running back into the room with a load of clothes.

"It's all right," she said helping Illya to sit up. "Ya pasó. It's over."

Illya closed his eyes and covered his ears. He shook his head and gasped. "No, it's still on!"

After one minute, he could feel everything going back to its normal quietness. Mayela rubbed his back, while talking in a reassuring voice. "It was just an earthquake." She smiled when he opened his eyes. "Are you afraid of earthquakes? It was too small."

"Just one earthquake? It could be the volcano." Illya could hear the earth rumbling beneath his feet.

"Or just an earthquake. We have a lot every year." Mayela began to untie Illya's boots. She heard him laughing. "Now what?"

"One phone, one taxi, one doctor every two weeks, but you have a lot of earthquakes."

She laughed too. "We can't live without them." She pointed at the clothes. "Do you want me to help you to change?"

"I think I can manage. Thank you."

She opened a bag. "Here's a flashlight. I don't know if I should leave you alone for the night."

"I'll be all right. All I need is peace and quiet. Believe me." He tried the flashlight and nodded. "And by the way, I'm not afraid of earthquakes."

"I never thought you were. Here's fresh water on the table. I'll be back tomorrow. Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"Just the news that you passed the message." Illya's voice was weakening. "Do you remember the message?"

"Illya found the macguffin."

"Correct," Illya nodded. His expression hardened for a moment. "One other thing, mejor que nadie más sepa que estoy aquí. Ésto es entre nosotros, ¿está bien?" It's better if no one else knows that I'm here. This is between us, all right? He waited until both youngsters nodded. "Buenas noches."

"Buenas noches," Mayela got up quietly and took her brother by the hand.

"Le dije que era un espía," I told you he was a spy... Illya heard the boy telling his sister as they went out. Clever boy, he thought. He listened to their bikes rolling down the hill. Twenty minutes later, he could still hear them. That was probably the distance to downtown. "That town is too close." Illya shook his head and tried to put his mind on something else.

(o)(O)(o)

Napoleon came down to the bar on the first floor of his hotel. He could see that after an earthquake, people like to gather around and talk about it. The bartender had just tuned in the news in the only TV station on the country. Spanish was still evasive to Napoleon but if he concentrated hard enough, he could catch every other word. The reports were about a small earthquake, no physical or material damage... They still didn't have the origin or magnitude.

"What would it be, sir?" The bartender cleaned the section of the bar in front of Napoleon. "Anything for the aftershock?" He grinned.

"Surprise me," Napoleon smiled. "Do you have many of those around here?"

"Several throughout the year." The bartender prepared the drink and served it with a napkin. "But this one is nothing, just to wake you up."

"How about the volcano? Has it brought much trouble?"

"More or less. The action is in the mountains, tourists like to risk their lives to get a picture of an active volcano. However, here in the city, it's not that much fun, too much ash. Everything is dusty, the damn thing gets everywhere, in the engines, appliances, your underwear..."

"How long has it been? Two years?"

"Next March will be two years. It was so weird. We had Kennedy's visit in the morning and in the afternoon, the volcano exploded." The bartender shook his head. "We were fascinated with the black rain. People collected ashes in bags as a souvenir. Who would've known that two years later, we would be still sweeping this stuff off the streets and roofs. Scientists come to see the phenomenon, but so far, they have no explanation or answers."

"What do they say?" Napoleon asked.

"It'll go away when it goes way."

"Good policy," Napoleon nodded. He was about to leave when the TV channel began to blink and jump. The bartender shook his head and dodged graciously his costumers' protests.

"¡Comprate un tele que sirva!" Get a television that really works!

"¡Tirá ese gajo!" Throw away that piece of junk!

The bartender wiped the bar as if he had not heard them. He looked at the wall clock and snorted. "Never fails."

"Beg you pardon?" Napoleon sat down again.

"The TV, it gets scrambled every time the volcano trembles."

"Really?"

"The TV station antennas are on the top of the volcano. There is better reception up there. I suppose the eruptions interfere with the signal." The bartender served another costumer and turned back to Napoleon. "It has been rather quiet this week. Maybe the worst is over."

Napoleon nodded and frowned. "Maybe," he mumbled to himself.

(o)(O)(o)

Mayela rode her bike to the Comisariato Hermanos Lopez. It was almost 6 pm and Rafael, the clerk, was about to close. She asked for the phone and payed the fee in advance. She dialed the number Illya had written in the notebook and waited. Following the instructions, she hung up and waited. Rafael Lopez was intrigued.

"¿Diay qué? ¿Se equivocó de número?" What? Wrong number? He laughed.

"No contestan," No one answer she shrugged. "Ahorita me llaman." They'll call me back right away.

The phone rang and she waited. Two rings and she answered.

"Del Floria's Tailor Shop," a woman's voice said.

"Este... Illya found the macguffin."

"Illya? Is he all right?"

"Sí, sí, I mean, yes." Mayela frowned.

"Stay on the line, please." The voice went away for a moment. "Miss? Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Tomorrow, three in the afternoon, local time."

"But where?"

"Right where you are."

(o)(O)(o)

"The macguffin?" Napoleon could not remember that code name.

"Yes, it's a term that Alfred Hitchcock uses to refer to the subject of a quest in his movies; nothing specific, just any object. Mr. Kuryakin began to refer to this mission as the macguffin, for we did not have a clear idea of what we were looking for," Mr. Waverly explained. "Just a little of that Russian wit of his, I suppose."

"Yeah, so much like Illya," Napoleon said. "So, he found it already."

"That is what the message says. Now, we only need to find him. The coordinates indicate that he must be in a small town, about two hours east from the capital, the name is San Juan de Aquinas. That's the last stop en route to the volcano, by the way."

"San Juan de Aquinas." Napoleon looked into a tourist booklet. "I got it. I'll be on my way tomorrow morning."

"Proceed with caution, although the caller seemed to know where to reach us and what to say, we still don't know what awaits us up there, exactly."

Napoleon turned off his communicator. He would spend time tracing a route for his trip.

(o)(O)(o)

Dr. Douglas Spencer entered the computer room at the compound. Although it was cold outside, the underground installations were stuffy and smelled like sulfur; just the delights of working under a volcano. He hated his workplace, it always put him on a bad mood; especially when he had to meet with his staff.

Four men, wearing white gowns and surgical gloves, received him with sour faces. Spencer smirked and prepared for battle.

"All right, gentlemen, what can I do for you now?"

"Doctor Spencer," the oldest said stepping forward. "My colleagues and I have been talking about this new plan, Vesuvius. It's a little too drastic, don't you think?"

"Yes," another of the men spoke. "We were so close with the original plan, why change it right now?"

Spencer sighed. "Gentlemen, do I have to remind you why you're four now instead of five? Your colleague, Dr. Theodore Manfred turned out to be a spy in disguise. He escaped with the VIRGIN, and gentlemen, you know that without the VIRGIN, we can't activate our volcanic device."

"But, operation Vesuvius?" The first man asked. "Isn't it too much? I mean, we're talking about the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent people."

"Well, don't blame it on me, blame it on that Uncle agent." Spencer went to his desk and pretended to be busy. "All I ask of you, gentlemen, is to finish with the self-destructive mechanism in order to blow up this damn mountain once and for all."

"Isn't there the slightest possibility to get the VIRGIN back?" Another of the scientists asked. "We still have time to rectify the original plan, right?"

"You're scientists, the deadline is in two days. Start working," Spencer shrugged. "But, from what I've been told, this Uncle agent is really sneaky." He sat down and grinned. "Although, he must be feeling somewhat out of sorts at the moment."

Laslo Dorian entered the laboratory, carrying a piece of paper. "The night shift report, Dr. Spencer."

"Off to work, my friends. Chop, chop, chop," Spencer said to the group of scientists. Just one look at it made Spencer smile. "So, he made it after all. One thing is sure about Mr. Kuryakin, he doesn't know when to quit." He wiped some sweat off his upper lip. "Have we been able to find his position yet?"

"Almost. Intelligence believes he's still in this area. Mr. Solo is coming this way too."

"Napoleon Solo? What an honor," Spencer said. "It's a pity that we can't invite him to the party. Are you ready for him too?"

"Absolutely. We'll be waiting for him. Er, Doctor Spencer," he cleared his throat.

"Yes, Laslo?"

He looked around at the scientists gone back to their work. He kept his voice down. "Well, I was wondering, how far do you want us to go with them?"

Spencer exhaled impatiently. "Have you found the reagent yet? No? Do you know where to look for it?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Why is that?"

"Because Kuryakin stole it."

"Exactly. You must bring that little nuisance back in here, alive, or at least, don't kill him until he tells you where the VIRGIN is."

"Understood. How about Mr. Solo?"

Spencer shrugged. "I don't have any concern regarding Mr. Solo. Dispose of him at will." He turned to his workstation. "Leave now."

(o)(O)(o)

Mayela came back early. She left several bags in the kitchen and went upstairs. She found Illya sleeping restlessly and still in his wet clothes. She had not called his name yet when he opened his eyes.

"Sorry, I just came in. Good morning." She went to open the curtains.

"The light, Mayela! No, please!" Illya anticipated the pain and pulled the blankets over his face.

"Cierto! I'm sorry," she turned. "Did you sleep well? It was very cold last night."

"I noticed," Illya winced.

"Are you in pain?" Mayela frowned. "Do you have a fever? It seems that you caught a cold."

"I don't have a c-" Illya sat up and sneezed. Pain crawled behind his eyes, nose and ears. He had to lean his head on the pillow.

"Salud!," Bless you she said. "You're such a, what's the expression? Such a mess?"

"I suppose." Illya sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Did you send the message?"

"Oh, yes. Del Floria Tailor Shop? I almost hung up because I thought I'd got the wrong number." She smiled. "They said that someone will come to town at three this afternoon. How do they know where you are?"

"They know. What time is it? I'd better get ready." Illya got up and almost fainted. He sat on the edge of the bed and held his head with both hands. "In five more minutes."

"I don't think you will make it to the main door within half an hour." Mayela shook her head. She reached in her purse for something and poured water in a glass. "Here," she gave Illya two pills, "It's aspirin."

"You're an angel." Illya swallow without giving it much of a thought. Immediately, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "They're sour and the water is-"

"It's pure water. There's nothing wrong with it," Mayela protested. "I think it's you, Illya."

"Yes, me too," Illya forced himself to smile. "My taste is going crazy."

"You're getting very sick. You should have changed those clothes already."

Illya took a deep breath. "All right, you may help me with the shirt."

She unzipped his jacket and stared at the jump suit. "Are you with the scientists?"

"Scientists?"

"Yeah, the ones working in the volcano." She pulled his undershirt off his head and reached for her brother's plaid flannel shirt.

Illya buttoned it and stood up. He took the clean jeans and looked at her. "Turn around and close your eyes." He smiled at her covering her eyes with both hands. "What do you know about those scientists?"

"Well, they started to come after the first eruption. They have their camp up there."

"How do you know that?" Illya sat down again to tie up his boots. "Have you seen them?"

"All the time," she shrugged. "Well, on weekends. They come to town for provisions. My brothers deliver the milk for the camp, every morning. Sometimes I go with them. How come I didn't see you there before?"

"I was held undergr-" A violent cough interrupted him. For a moment, he could not talk or breathe.

Mayela stared at him, warily. "Are you sure that you can go all the way to town? It's a good thirty minute walk."

"Is it the taxi's day off?" He panted.

"Actually, yes," she laughed. "It's Sunday."

Illya nodded. "Sunday?" Time was going too fast. He had lost at least two whole days already. You have to put yourself together, he thought. "I should get going." He took one step and felt dizzy.

Mayela looked at him and gasped. "Illya? Your nose is bleeding." She ran to her purse for some tissue.

Illya sat on the bed and wiped off the blood. "It's the sulfur, my nostrils are sore. I must have broken a blood vessel. It'll pass soon."

"I don't think you should go anywhere like this." Mayela sat in a chair in front of him. "Do you want me to call your uncle again and tell him-"

"There's no time. They must come today." Illya got up again. He felt weak and clumsy. He paced around until his balance came back little by little. "Listen, it's important for me to be there-" A wave of pain sent him down on his knees. He clenched his teeth in a effort to suppress a scream.

Despite the disarray, Illya managed to sign Mayela to stay away. He crawled to sit on the bed and waited until the episode subsided. Mayela did not take her eyes off him, biting her nails quietly. "I don't think you can make it, Illya."

He rubbed his face as though wiping the pain away. He shuddered but smiled at her all the same. "I have no choice, I need to talk to them." Illya struggled to stay alert. "I have to go."

"But you can't even walk," she said. "There must be another way."

"Lower down your voice, please." Illya gasped. "Another way," he muttered. Suddenly, he found a solution. "You could bring them here."

"Sure... but they don't know me and I don't know them."

He looked at the chain that Mayela was wearing around her neck. "May I have that?" He took off his ring and put it on the chain. "You'll wear my ring around your neck." He gave the chain back to her.

"And do what? I sit there just waiting?"

"Pretty much, yes." Illya crawled back in the bed to put his back against the board. He could see suspicion on Mayela's eyes. He grinned. "It's nothing hard to do. You can manage."

"All right," she said. "But if the person turns out to be a maniac, I'll be very angry at you."

Illya smiled thoughtfully. "If it is who I think it is, you'll be relatively safe."

(o)(O)(o)

Napoleon jumped on his seat and his head hit the roof. He tried to laugh. The girl in the rent-a-car agency had warned him about the bumpy road. It was a good thing that he had settled for the jeep instead the convertible. This kind of adventures were not particularly his cup of tea, but it was not so bad. He was too busy assessing the extreme conditions of this part of the country. Two years of sulfur and ashes were taking their toll all over. Vegetation was yellow and the few cows he had seen looked ill for lack of good nourishment.

He looked ahead. The mountain of thunder seemed to watch him from a distance. Clouds stuck on the slopes of the volcano, giving the impression that the mountain was floating. The landscape was breathtaking. As though in schedule for the accidental tourist, a column of smoke went up at the top, and a small shower of rocks rolled down the side. The volcano roared and sounded like a plane taking off. Volcanoes were not a bad thing. Natural phenomena happened unexpectedly, but if on top of it, they added Thrush to the equation, someone would have to put a halt to it.

Another bump on the road and he spotted a sign. "San Juan de Aquinas, 1 kilómetro," he read. Until this moment, he had not allowed himself to think of Illya. His partner was resourceful and an overall survivor, but he had this tendency to get into very interesting problems. Napoleon could hardly wait to see what Illya was up to now.

Mayela bought a bag of potato chips at the comisariato. A man in camouflage jacket and khaki pants came to the counter with a picture. He spoke English with the clerk but there was not much communication between them.

"Maye!" Rafael called her. "Necesito traducción, please." I need translation here, please.

She remembered immediately what Illya had said about talking to strangers. She got concerned. The man looked nice but serious. He showed her the picture. It was an ID card. She did not have time to read the name, but there was no doubt it was Illya in the picture. She hesitated for a moment. Maybe, this was the man they were waiting for. Maybe not. She sighed and shook her head.

"He hasn't come this way."Mayela did not feel that was a lie. Technically, Illya had not come downtown. She waited until the man left the place. Then, she went to sit on a bench at the plaza, the grassy square that served as the football soccer court. As every Sunday, boys and young adults gathered to play la mejenga, soccer jam. Next to the National Soccer Championship, this was the most popular activity in town.

Two of the young men waved at her. She smiled, but her eyes were on the main road, watching for any new car coming to town. Traffic was usually slow. There were visitors making one last stop before climbing up the road to the volcano. But even those were fewer now. The authorities had declared the zone as dangerous after a couple of accidents.

She looked at her watch. Three o'clock and no one that looked like a spy, or whatever Illya's people were had arrived. She saw one car, Elenio, the taxi driver; her father's ox cart was also rolling down the main street. As every day, he would look for Mayela's older brother and a friend to make the milk deliveries for the evening. Mayela giggled. What would her father say if he knew she was there waiting for a stranger... in a car? A black car passed by and went to park in front of the Comisariato. More tourists, she thought.

Suddenly, a jeep crossed the road, blowing its horn to the ox cart. Somehow, Mayela knew this had to be him.

Napoleon parked at the verge of what looked like the curb of the sidewalk. He got out and felt like every pair of eyes was on him. After some seconds, they turned back to the game and other things. Napoleon adjusted the collar of his jacket as he felt a light drizzle. There was also a strong smell of sulfur in the air and ashes, now a familiar trait, covered most of the street.

He looked around, hoping to spot his contact. His usual move would be walking toward the crowd; maybe Illya would be there. But of course, these missions were never that easy. He was about to complete his first turn to the match court when something caught his eyes. Illya's ring.

The brunette wearing the ring looked at him intently. She was in a light lavender dress, white shoes, no heels and a matching purse. She did not look threatening in any way, although, based on experience, that would not fool Napoleon. Even so, he allowed himself to smile. At least, she was pretty. As he walked closer, two little old ladies came to sit next to the girl. Napoleon slowed down.

"Y ¿cómo está su mamá? How's your mother?"

"Por ahí vimos a su papá, We've just seen your father around."

"Bien, gracias, Fine, thank you," Mayela put on her best smile. Her aunts were nice and friendly, but it was really hard getting rid of them. She saw this tall man, dressed in fatigue clothes, crossing the street toward her and panicked. He could be a killer or something worse. He might have a gun under that jacket and knives in his boots. Easy, Mayelita, too many spy movies, she thought.

Napoleon stood next to her, took out his sunglasses and bowed to the ladies. He pretended to watch the game. His Spanish was rustic but he had mastered several sentences from other trips to Latin America. "¿Cómo van?" How are they doing? He asked.

"Cero a cero," Mayela answered with a wary frown.

Napoleon looked at her and smiled. "I hope you speak English, this is as far as I go with my Spanish."

Mayela felt relieved. At least, he seemed as friendly as Illya. "American?"

Napoleon nodded. The ladies next to Mayela were more interested in him than in the game or anything else in town. One smile from him and they giggled.

"¿Es amigo suyo? Friend of yours?" One of the ladies asked Mayela.

"Sí, sí, amigo de ella, Yes, her friend," Napoleon ventured to say. He turned to Mayela and pointed at the chain on her neck. "I think we need to talk."

Mayela excused herself to her aunts and walked away with Napoleon. He leaned on the fence of the church garden and looked around. "Everybody is staring at us. You must be very popular."

Mayela smiled. "It's a very small town. If there's nothing on TV, we come here and stare at each other."

Napoleon laughed. He did not lose his friendly expression when he turned to her. "Where is Illya?"

"Are you his uncle?" She frowned.

"No, but you're wearing his ring. You called us yesterday. Is he all right?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "He's in my house, up the hill, that way," she pointed with her chin. "He wanted to come but he's too weak."

"Is he wounded?"

"No, but he looks sick. He says it's his allergies but-"

Napoleon grabbed her by the hand. "Come, you've got to take me with him now."

She stopped when they got to the car. "I don't know if I should get in there with you."

"You came this far with that ring. I guess Illya is expecting you to return it." Napoleon spoke softly, giving her his trademark smile. "Maybe it'd help if we introduced ourselves. I'm Napoleon Solo."

Mayela hesitated before shaking his hand. "Mayela Gonzalez."

"Nice to meet you, Mayela." Napoleon started the engine, with Illya on his mind. What did she mean he looked sick?

Mayela kept an eye on the people staring at her. She was leaving in a car with a stranger... a man. If her father had not seen her yet, her aunts would fill him in later. She was in trouble. They both were too much into their own thoughts to notice that the black car was rolling out of town right behind them.

"Mayela, how far is your house?"

"In this car? Twenty minutes, maybe."

Napoleon shifted gears resolutely. "We'll make it in fifteen."

The car behind them sped up too.

TBC

Don't forget to R&R, bye!