Act I - I thought you were going to be frivolous?

Napoleon and Illya hurried side by side down the corridor at U.N.C.L.E.'s New York Headquarters.

'Must be urgent,' said Napoleon, checking his cuff-links were properly done-up as they walked.

'It had better be,' replied Illya, 'I missed breakfast to get in at such short notice.' Napoleon glanced at him and smiled at the hurt look on Illya's face. He turned the smile into an extremely false look of concern,

'Aw, poor baby,' he muttered, timing it carefully so that they reached the door to Mr Waverly's office before Illya could retaliate.

'Ah, good morning gentlemen,' Mr Waverly called over his shoulder, not bothering to look around, but gesturing them to sit with a wave of his pipe. He fell silent, staring at the screen in front of him while they took their seats at the large, round table. They waited for a few minutes before Napoleon grew impatient and tentatively tried,

'Er, was it, erm, anything urgent, you wanted to see us about?' Mr Waverly turned at last, chewing on the stem of his pipe,

'Certainly it is, Mr Solo. A little patience on your part would not go amiss.'

Napoleon gave one of his curious little facial winces that meant, very clearly, Damnit!

'I have here a report from Intelligence, suggesting that Thrush may be developing a new little surprise for the rest of the world at an establishment in England. A quaint little tourist attraction of the sort the American tourist abroad finds so irresistible. Which is why, gentlemen, I am sending you to investigate.' He placed two files on the table and spun them round to his agents. 'A British agent by the name of Mary Reed has been attempting to gain entry as an employee. It is a historical exhibition of sorts, you understand, and they appear to employ a large number of guides and...what do you call them? Actors. However, despite their recent opening, they seem to be rather reluctant to take on any staff who are not already...within the organisation. You understand?'

'The whole thing staffed by Thrush operatives,' stated Illya.

'Top to bottom,' added Napoleon absently, flicking through his copy of the intelligence file. 'Now why would they want to waste all that manpower on playing tour-guide?'

'Quite, Mr Solo. You will pay them a visit, oh, quite naturally, as an American tourist with a fascination for all things historical. In fact, you are quite likely to develop something of a fixation on their little show, requiring a number of lengthy visits to satisfy your curiosity. We need to know if there is anything to be seen from the public side of those exhibits before we go barging in to their behind-the-scenes areas. We cannot take the risk of their taking fright and shutting up shop before we've had time to inspect the goods. Mr Kuryakin will attend on your first visit, but will then liaise with Miss Reed. She has some idea of the workings of the place, having attended an unsuccessful but fairly informative interview.

'Now gentlemen, you are booked on the eight-thirty flight to London, so you had best be on your way. Good luck.'

The front of the 'House of History' attraction was a bow-windowed mock-Tudor facade with a heavy, wooden door, which currently stood open, held that way by a suit of slightly rusty armour. Napoleon and Illya strode up to it, doing their best to look like tourists. Napoleon had a camera and a money-bag slung around his neck and carried a map of London. Illya had decided that it would be safer all round if he carried the packed-lunches and was now swinging the empty bag beside him.

They paid a bored-looking man in a booth at the door and went in, Napoleon instantly taking a convincing delight in every object they saw,

'Say, Illya, look at this little doodad here.' He squinted at the card next to it and read, '"Anglo-Saxon

rock crystal ball. Believed by the wearers to have supernatural powers." I bet. Sure is a neat little thing. Do you see? Come on, take a look.'

'Yes, very nice,' said Illya, uninterested. Napoleon looked around in feigned disappointment and smirked,

'You know, it's pretty dim in here. You'd probably get a much better view if you took off the dark glasses.'

They continued round the building, Napoleon moving painfully slowly, exclaiming loudly at every new item, Illya showing more and more signs of extreme boredom, which became less and less fake as time went on.

Half way around the building they noticed a slight change in the style of the piece, as if the front of the exhibition so far had been an earlier effort, with a modern improvement tacked onto the end. Napoleon glanced at Illya, who nodded to show that he had noticed it.

Here there were models, no more actual artefacts, but recreations of old machines and inventions.

'There's, uh, quite an emphasis on human-powered vehicles here, isn't there.'

'Yes. You should have bought a guide-book at the front desk. Maybe it would explain.'

'Oh, no need,' said Napoleon, cheerfully, 'They've got all these handy-dandy little cards to tell me all about it.'

Illya looked at his watch and picked up the bag he had set down for a moment while he waited for Napoleon.

'Fascinating as all this is, I'm going to head back to the hotel. I have some postcards I want to write before dinner and time is getting on. Shall I see you back there?'

'Yeah, I'll be back by six I guess. Wanna take in a show tonight?'

'I want to do something fun tonight. Having waded through this suffocating history all day, I am determined to do something frivolous tonight.'

'Frivolous?' asked Napoleon, disbelievingly.

'Yes, frivolous. Excuse me. I will see you later.' He headed off to the exit, while Napoleon remained, staring intently at one of the cards and laughing to himself.

Napoleon arrived back at the hotel at quarter-to six and let himself into their room. Illya was lying on his bed, head buried in a book. Napoleon bent down to squint at the spine.

'Physics, at this time of day? I thought you were going to be frivolous?'

Illya took a sharp breath, 'I am. This is practically a children's book. It was all I could find on the Charing Cross Road. I was most disappointed.'

'You've written all your postcards?' Napoleon asked, his tongue firmly in his cheek. 'You just didn't feel like staying out the afternoon at the house of horrors then? I thought you liked history.' Illya blinked slowly, put the book down and swung himself around to sit on the edge of the bed.

'Do you know how insufferable you are when you put on your American tourist act?'

'No, but I'm sure I'm going to hear about it for the rest of the evening.'

'Alright. I'll keep quiet. But if I'd stuck around another minute, I might have had to knock you out. I thought that might not be all that good for our cover.' He squinted up at Napoleon. 'Did you find anything out?'

'Only that they have the finest collection of human-powered flight equipment anywhere in the world and that a surprising amount of it is decorated with what I can best describe as fairly persuasive torture equipment.'

'That seems like a novel combination.'

'My very thoughts.'

'So, what do we do next?'

'I go back to the museum tomorrow. You go and meet this British Agent. Mary... Hmm. Could be fun.' Illya gave him a withering look and went back to his book.

Mary turned out to be a very capable agent with blonde hair and a pointy bosom. She greeted Illya warmly and took him straight to an office to view the file she had built up on the Thrush establishment.

'You see, they've been bringing in their own people for months. They advertised a number of posts and I applied, but there were about ten of us waiting. I managed to talk to five of them, got their names and checked them out. Three of them had no records on our files, but two of them were known Thrush operatives. I'll give you five points if you can guess who got two of the jobs that day.'

'Hmm. I think I can guess. So do we actually know what they're up to in there?'

'Only bits of it. You've done the tour?'

'I've played tourist in the exhibition.'

'Notice anything?'

'A proclivity for man-powered mobile torture machines and a distinct lack of any refreshments area.'

She smiled at him,

'Stick with the first observation. I think it has more relevance. Now Thrush, while notably fond of seizing any opportunity to inflict pain on their fellow humans, does not usually go for the low-tech option when miniature atomic devices or fascinating new chemicals are available, which they undoubtedly are.'

'True. So what are they doing with it?'

'Well, when I went in for my interview, it was in an office. Now I don't pretend that I had much of a chance to look around, but it was clear from the layout that we were in the only office space in the main part of the building. As to what they have underground, I don't know, but the, as it were, legitimate side of their business had to be recorded in that office. Well, I managed to cause a little diversion, involving a cup of tea and a number of sugar lumps, and some papers from the nearest file just happened to slip inside my bag. These are those papers.'

She spread out a sheaf of type-written pages on the desk and Illya glanced through them.

'These are field-trip accounts,' he said, a wrinkle of confusion on his forehead. 'Anthropological studies, archaeological digs, artefact collection...'

'To all these exotic locations, for a museum that specialises in British history?'

'I take it you've found a connection with something?'

'Well, it's not much, but just look at the places they've been: Britain, yes, but China, the Amazon, India...'

'So?'

'All areas of high, um, shall we say, available, population. We sent a few agents out to some of the sites. They all reported large numbers of locals going missing. Presumably taken by Thrush.'

'Where to?'

'As far as we can ascertain, back here. Only then the trail goes cold, and even so, we still don't know why they've brought them here, only that it's got something to do with those machines they've got on the shop floor. The first shipments of both arrived at practically the same time.'

'So what's our next move?'

'I have an idea there's a way down to whatever they've got underground from that office. I was never left alone in there and they were nervous. Like they didn't want me in there.'

'So why hold the interviews, if they already knew they were using their own men?'

'As far as we can tell, it's simply a case of falling foul of the unions.' She smirked. 'Somebody noticed they had jobs going that weren't being advertised and raised merry hell. I don't know who was in the right, but I suppose Thrush thought it would be easier just to play along and give them a show.'

'So we get into the office, find our way downstairs and see what we can find?'

'Does that sound like a useful thing to do?'

'Why? Do you have a better plan?'

'Not particularly, I just thought, something more...' she blushed, 'Sorry, it's just, since you're from the New York office, I thought you'd...'

'I'm afraid not. We get the same training, you know. However, I think we should take a look at some of those machines. My partner, Napoleon, is spending some time as a historically-minded tourist. He'll have spent the best part of two days wandering around that place by tonight.'

'Two days? What do you do in there for two days?'

Illya shook his head,

'Don't ask me. Napoleon has an unbelievably high boredom threshold when he has a role to play around with. He nearly drove me to distraction yesterday. Anyway, he should be able to tell us if there's anything untoward to be seen there. Then we can go and take a closer look at anything worth seeing.' She nodded,

'Come to the other briefing room. I have had them pull out all the plans and schematics for the streets and surrounding buildings. Perhaps if we can get an idea of what is going on underground in the other buildings, it will give us a better knowledge of the layout, or at least the extent of Thrush's underground rooms.' She led him down the corridor and they spent the rest of the afternoon working on the maps, gaining a rough outline of the available underground area and the distinct impression that if it was anything substantial, it was going to involve some very long, very convoluted tunnels.

Illya was sat in a restaurant with Mary, quietly discussing the most inconspicuous details of their basic plan over their first course, when his communicator whistled. He opened it in the darkness of the booth.

'Kuryakin here.'

'Where are you?'

'At a restaurant, Napoleon. With Mary.'

'What are you doing?'

'Eating, um, paté.'

'You coming back later?'

'Well I wasn't planning on spending the night on the street. Found anything today?'

'Not much. I'll tell you when you get back. Well, have fun.' The line went dead, and Illya rebuilt the pen and slipped it back into his pocket, frowing slightly. Napoleon sounded irritable. Oh well, it was hardly surprising if he'd just spent another almost fruitless day at the museum. He returned to his meal, but it was hard to get the tone of Napoleon's voice out of his head and Mary soon gave up on trying to discuss their plans any further.

Illya dropped Mary at her home before ordering the taxi back to his hotel. He found Napoleon in the bath, apparently soaking off a nasty dose of 'sightseer's back'. The bathroom door was ajar and Napoleon called out as he entered the suite,

'Illya? That you?'

'Who else?'

'I trust you had an enjoyable dinner?'

'Not really. Food was appaling.'

'What about Mary? She nice?'

'She's not your type, Napoleon.'

There was a watery, swooshing sound, like somebody sitting up to protest.

'I never said she was.'

'She's good at her job. We were talking business.'

'Ah. Good. Get anywhere?'

'Only so far as to plan how to get into the basements. Really we were waiting for your report before we made any final decisions.'

'Let me get out of here and I'll go through it with you. Have a coffee, it's going cold.'

Illya poured a cup, listening to the sploshing, creaking and dripping of Napoleon clambering out of the bath. As the last of the water gurgled away, Napoleon appeared in a hotel-issue bathrobe, towelling his hair with one hand and clutching a whiskey in the other. Illya raised an eyebrow at him.

'I see you left the coffee specially for me,' he said, dripping sarcasm.

'I deserved this. Two days in that place? I think I know everything I ever want to know about British historical artefacts. And, not remotely enough about winged torture vehicles.' He grimaced as he tossed back the whiskey, 'Besides, there's no vodka. You'd be on the wimpy stuff with me.'

'I'll stick to the coffee. I get the feeling I'm going to need my wits about me tomorrow.'

'It'll keep you awake.'

'It wouldn't be the only thing.' Illya took Napoleon's glass from him and set it on a side table. 'Tell me about your day.'

'I didn't know you cared.' Illya let his head tip down a little and Napoleon rubbed his damp face and sighed, 'I spent the whole morning sweet-talking the guides and those crummy actors in the Tudor House to give me a private tour, all the details, everything they knew. Then I spent the afternoon paying for it. I think by now I know everything they know. Which is a surprising amount. Whatever it is they're doing in there, they're doing it properly. I mean, your average Thrush thug wouldn't know a farthingale from a florin, but this lot really know their stuff. I tried to catch them out on a few things. Didn't trip them on a single one. They've either started recruiting university-graduate historians and archaeologists, or they're running the most intensive academic training programme I've ever come across. Either way, I don't see the point yet.'

'And tomorrow?'

'I don't know. I'm not sure I can face another whole day there.'

'You couldn't see any patterns? Any theme to what they have there?'

'Not much. It's mostly artefacts that have been dug up in this country. A few things from continental Europe too. I don't know whether it means anything, but a lot of what they've got is what they call "ritual". I mean, they've got a few bowls and tools and what have you, but most of it is the sort of thing you can't really place. I thought it was just because that's what survives – you know, thinking about it, it's the sort of stuff that ends up in graves or specially buried. Now though, looking back, I'm not sure it wasn't a little over-represented. I must have read a hundred times "Ritual artefact, purpose unknown."'

'You think they're doing it for a purpose?'

'Well there must be a reason for the collection. There's no need for it as a cover – if they wanted a front, the stuff in back is much more attractive as an...attraction.'

'Okay. We'll keep our eyes open for anything like that when we go in tomorrow night.'

'Have you figured out how to get in?'

'The entrance must be somewhere in that ground-level office. There is nowhere else in the building that is private enough for them to go in and out. On the other hand, I'm sure there is another entrance somewhere else. We looked at the plans of the area and it looks like there are probably tunnels leading from this building, but I'm not sure in what direction. I think it will take too long to try to find any other entrances. We have very little idea of the security systems, however. Perhaps you could turn your prodigious talents towards conning some attractive young lady or other into telling you all about it tomorrow.' Illya looked up at Napoleon through his eyebrows, a wicked smirk on his lips. Napoleon raised his eyebrows and pouted at him.

'I think that would be a more interesting project than another day spent looking at "Kaniac Crystals" and "Loess-borne shell wands".'

'Kaniac Crystals? Kaniac...Kaniac...' Illya drummed his fingers on the table.

'Ringing a bell?'

'Perhaps. I can't quite place it. Do they have many?'

'About forty, I'd say, of varying quality.'

'That's a lot of crystals for a museum that's meant to have a bit of everything in it.'

'True, true. I'll check up.'

'I'll see if the London office can find anything on those crystals for us.'

'And can I expect your company at the end of another long day at the coal-face, or are you heading off for another cosy tête-à-tête with the lovely Mary?' He was smiling, but it seemed rather forced. Illya frowned,

'I am working with her on this, as per my assignment. Why are you suddenly so interested? I would have thought you would welcome the chance to go hopping off to some lively night-spot or other and pick up a girl without me trailing around behind you.'

'Oh, maybe you're right. It was only that we haven't really been on an assignment together for a while. Seems Mr Waverly's been keeping us on opposite sides of the globe, the last few months. I don't know, I suppose I just wanted to catch up a bit.'

Illya raised an eyebrow, but didn't push any further. Napoleon went on,

'As a matter of fact, I might be lucky enough to escape the confines of the museum tomorrow afternoon anyway.'

'Why's that?'

'One of the tour guides suggested that if I was so interested, I might like to go along with him on a field trip tomorrow.'

'He knows who you are.'

'No. I don't think so. That's what's odd. I'm pretty sure he's genuine. Oh, he's Thrush all right, but he is also, possibly first and foremost, an archaeologist. You could tell. The way he talked about it, the enthusiasm. It was like you talking about your favourite music, completely potty about it.' Illya hid a smile. 'Maybe Thrush don't quite realise the extent to which they've compromised their security, having people like him on board.'

'But I presume he's not high-level Thrush? I mean, he can't be, they're all so indoctrinated...'

'No. I think he's not much more than a sort of go-between, if that. Probably loyal to Thrush in the way a typing-pool secretary is loyal to her employer – you know, will do her best for the company, but when it comes down to it, doesn't much care what they're doing so long as the pay's fair and the coffee's hot.'

'A liability, you mean.'

'Yes, but I don't think they know. I suspect this little set-up is something of a personal project. A little ego-builder, or a boom-or-bust for someone or other who feels a bit passed-over. Either way, I'm getting a free trip to the collecting point. Perhaps I'll be able to find out what it is they're doing at their British sites.'

'Well don't get carried away. Your man may be an enthusiast snared in their net, but he is still Thrush, and that's still a Thrush site you're going to. Expect trouble.'

Napoleon sighed,

'Yes, thank-you, mother. I'll be careful.'

'Don't want to have to waste a day coming to rescue you.'

Napoleon chose to ignore this last remark, instead puttering back to the bathroom to clean his teeth before calling in his report and turning in for the night. Illya sat in the pool of light cast by his bedside lamp and watched the back of Napoleon's head on the pillow. Something was going on. Something strange. Napoleon never questioned what needed to be done on an assignment. If it took injury or the odd death, or a lot of time spent in somebody's company, or their bed, it was part of the deal. They both knew that, Napoleon better than Illya, in fact. So why was he being so awkward?

And it was awkward. It was making Illya feel bad about spending the time, the important overtime, with Mary. Not that he wouldn't rather have spent the time with Napoleon if work allowed. He was right; they had been apart far too much recently. He missed his partner, though he would never admit it. Then again, in the usual way of things, Napoleon would never admit to missing Illya. Which was almost what he had just done. Neverytheless, he was picking at a sore spot with Illya and it was making Illya nervy. He slipped under the covers, pulling them up to his ears, and snaked out a hand to flick off the lamp.

'Spakoinoi nochi,' he barely muttered to himself. A second of self-indulgence to make him feel better. It didn't work and he lay in the flickering image-whirl of half-sleep for hours before finally dropping off an hour before dawn.

Illya was at London headquarters at eight-thirty the next morning. A morning's research into Kaniac crystals showed up only one useful piece of information. He took lunch in the canteen with Mary.

'They actually stop electricity from working. But how?' Illya drummed his spoon on the table and considered.

'Something about the crystalline structure. It resonates with the electromagnetic field and sort of bounces back a countering field which interrupts the flow of electrons. At least, that's the best description I've been able to come up with. But they're not very powerful. For it to work at all, they have to be practically touching the electrical conductor and they can't stop very high voltages. If Thrush intend to use them to cause disruption in any major way, they must have found a way to magnify the effect, or increase the original power of the crystals.'

She nodded,

'I wouldn't put it past them. If there's anyone out there who knows how to do it, I'm sure Thrush has found them. I'm just surprised there's nothing at all on our files about it.' She sipped her coffee, looking over the rim at Illya, who felt a little jolt of surprise as he realised that she was giving him one of those looks. The looks that said, I like you. A lot. He pretended not to notice and tucked into his apple pie, wondering what Napoleon would do if he saw that look directed at his partner by another agent. Probably smile that devastating smile and win her over to his side, which is obviously what he'd want, thought Illya ruefully. Then he cursed himself for letting Napoleon's current peculiarity interfere with a perfectly delicious slice of pie. Mary was talking again,

'I'm going to head home to get some sleep. If we're going to try to get in there tonight, I think I'm going to need it. What time are we going in?'

'You say it closes at seven-thirty?'

'Well, that's when the doors close. I saw the last member of staff leave at seven-fifty. I'm not saying they had all gone, of course, I'm sure they had plenty of people left in there, but they were in for the night.'

'So we'll try for seven-fifteen. I want to try to get in while the doors are still open. It might be tricky to get past the front desk, but hopefully the guard will be bored by then and we can slip by. The less work we have to do to get inside the building, the better; it's too built up around there to make much of a disturbance at that time of night.'

'Once we're in, we head for the office and go in once we're sure it's empty,' Mary said, recalling the plan they had worked out yesterday. 'What about the security? Napoleon is looking at it today?'

'Yes. Only he's going to have to have done it by now, he's meant to be going on a field trip with one of their people this afternoon. I just hope he has a chance to call in and let me know what he's found. I don't dare call him. His communicator going off in the middle of a Thrush work-party could be a little tricky to explain, especially since I'm sure the supervisors on that site will not be the low-level skivvies his helpful friend seems to be.'

'Okay. Assuming we don't have a clue about security, if the office remains occupied, you create a diversion while I go in and scout out the entrance. You disable any possible threats and join me in the office. We descend together if possible, find out what they're doing, take a few photos and get out. Home for breakfast.'

'Sounds like fun,' said Illya, without a trace of amusement.

'I'm sure it will be,' she replied, businesslike. 'Seven o'clock, by the clock tower at the end of the road?'

'Yes, but slip in behind the statues, I don't want to hang around in full view for too long.'

She nodded and left for home. Illya went back to her empty office and took out the files again. There had to be a reason for the flying machines. He just couldn't figure it out yet.