CHAPTER 15

Glancing at his watch, Napoleon was surprised to see that it was already well past the cocktail hour. Preparations on the lawn at the back of the house appeared to be almost complete, a ring of torch-like objects having been plunged into the lawn to provide lighting for the evening, in addition to the strings of fairy lights festooning the marquee. He stepped back from the window and walked swiftly along the corridor towards Cecilia's room.

If she was shocked by his presence she managed to hide it well, turning her back on him and fiddling with some delicate gold earrings as he shut the door behind them. She was wearing a deep green dress of some kind of clinging velvet material, the fabric matching her eyes and, like them, changing its hue from green to black in the diminishing light of the evening. Eventually she turned, taking in his costume with a long, slow gaze.

'Very fetching. The colour suits you, Marshall.' Napoleon for a moment caught himself agreeing with her. The deep wine coloured long sleeveless waistcoat over a loose, full-sleeved shirt felt good, although he was yet to be convinced by the dark gold breeches and the buckled shoes.

'Thank you. The clothes are interesting, but I'm not sure about the weaponry' he replied, touching the gun tucked into the belt round his waist. Compared to his Walther PPK it looked a poor thing, made of light, thin metal, with a large short barrel. It appeared to have been pre-loaded with some kind of dart which Fernando had told him about as he helped him on with his costume.

' Have you thought, Napoleon, that somebody is trying out stuff here?'

Napoleon had jerked his head up from studying the so-called gun to stare at his brother-in-law. Fernando put Napoleon's jerkin on the bed before wandering over to the window.

'I presume you mean by 'someone', the lovely Miss Bolt.' Napoleon said, putting the gun down and picking up the jerkin.

'Absolutely. You see this?' He picked up the gun and pointed to the clip, which appeared to be fixed in a way that couldn't be opened or re-loaded. 'In here are the darts we talked about earlier, one of which my friend Raymond managed to pass along to me before they were put in these things. The boys at Cambridge reckon that the drug in them is, well, it's like something you'd give a girl at a party if you wanted . . .'

'To have your wicked way with her and didn't want any arguments.' Napoleon replied rather seriously, looking at the gun.

'Exactly. Well, almost exactly. True to form, this is a more powerful version of the drug, which is why we all had to have that excruciating injection' Fernando continued. 'However, that doesn't seem to be the only experiment our friend Lee-Hua is conducting tonight.' He watched Napoleon pull on the jerkin and then strap the wide black belt loosely round his waist before shoving the gun inside it.

'You remember me telling you about the hair potion, or whatever it is, destined for our brother-in-law?'

'Don't tell me, Raymondo slipped you a sample' Napoleon replied, bending down to buckle up his shoes before joining Fernando at the window.

'Yes, but he only gave it to me this afternoon. Apparently Mrs B is keeping it very much to herself, but she left it out in her room for a few moments and he managed to get some. He really has been very helpful, Napoleon.'

'Well, tell him he'll be mentioned in despatches. Now, the potion . . .?' Fernando looked grave for a few moments, so unlike his usual placid expression.

'They had to take it to Cambridge for analysis, so we've only had the barest of information so far' he began hesitantly.

'OK, so . . . ., what, it gives you a whole new take on blond, what?' Fernando leaned against the window, his long, lean body pressed against the glass, the setting sun catching and intensifying the auburn lights in his curling hair. He frowned, as if the words needed his utmost concentration to make sense of.

'The chemical makes some sort of irreversible bond with the hair shaft it's applied to' he began, so once it's on . . .'

'It won't come off' Napoleon finished, not liking the sound of what might be coming next.

'They said it only seems to work like that on hair, which is presumably why it's being used in this form, and, the more hair it's applied to, the more potent it becomes, obviously.'

'So, on someone with relatively long hair it's . . .'

'Very potent. Absolutely. Illya's hair is . .

'Just perfect for it.' Napoleon said. He frowned at Fernando, aware of the fairy lights on the marquee suddenly flickering into life through the window behind him.

'That still doesn't tell me what exactly this stuff does' he said, going towards the door.

'Er, they're not entirely sure just yet, but they think it's some sort of artificial sort of human pheronome of immense strength but with some very odd characteristics.' Napoleon groaned inwardly. The thought of his partner being the sexual object of every woman in the near vicinity filled him with dismay. Despite that, the thought of explaining all this to Kuryakin could be amusing.

'Well, he's going to love that on several different levels' he said. 'As soon as you know more about this compound, make sure you contact me directly using Channel D, OK? In the meantime, if we could prevent her applying it that would make all our lives a great deal easier.' He walked over to the bureau and taking a piece of paper, made a short list which he thrust into Fernando's hand.

'Ask your friend Raymond for the stuff you can't find in Illya's room' he said, and hide it somewhere in the ice house. If even half of what I imagine might be going on tonight takes place, Illya is going to need our help to get out of this.'

Cecilia walked over to a chair by the window and picked up a pale green silk shawl, which she began to drape round her shoulders. Napoleon came up behind her, and, putting his hand on her shoulder, gently turned her towards him. He could smell the perfume on her neck as he bent his head towards her and kissed her, her lips drawing him into her somehow as her body became welded to his own. After a few moments he stopped and drew his head back slightly, staring at Cecilia's face, her eyes half-closed as she leaned back from him.

'Starting early, Marshall?' she murmured, her breasts rising a little with each breath she took. He smiled, then kissed her briefly again.

'I was wondering,' he began slowly, 'whether your friend in Geneva kisses you like I do, or whether she's just not the kissing type.'

She stiffened abruptly, her face looking as if it had been set in concrete at his words. Napoleon held her tightly, not allowing her to even turn. After a few more moments of struggling, she stopped, a hard, frightened look coming into her eyes.

'Now, are you going to listen, or shall we just carry on like this?' he said quietly, a serious expression coming into his face which seemed to drain her of energy. She sagged slightly, and he pushed her down into the chair before dragging up its partner into the space by the windows.

'I . . I don't know what you mean', she said, her head slumped on her chest until Napoleon, lifting her chin, made her look at him.

'Oh I think you do. Last year you allowed Miss Lee-Hua Bolt into your apartment and your life for reasons which no doubt you can explain to me at a later date. For her own purposes, Ms Bolt has persuaded you to commit serious bank fraud, presumably deluding you into thinking that by doing so you were avenging yourself on your chauvinistic colleagues for preventing any future promotion in their organisation, and that it didn't matter you were betraying Mr Blau because he was a criminal anyway.'

Cecilia stared venomously at him, her green eyes now electrically charged in the evening light.

'I don't know how you came by your information, but you're wrong about Lee. If you met her, you'd realise . .' Napoleon smiled grimly at her and shook his head.

'Oh but I have met her; and unlike many others who have shared that delightful experience, I am still alive to tell the tale.'

'She asked me about someone who looked like you, Marshall, when she was checking . . .' her voice trailed off, and then she looked up again, her face at once angry and scared. 'I told her there wasn't anyone of that description. I didn't betray you, whoever you are, like you are about to betray me now.' Napoleon sat back slightly in his chair and looked out of the window. He could tell that she had been completely thrown by his words, her mind frantically trying to reconcile the feeling of double betrayal which seemed to have spun her into a paroxysm of confusion.

'At the moment, I have no intention of betraying anyone' he said nonchalantly, continuing to stare out of the window. You, however, are guilty not only of betraying your employers both here and in Geneva, but also of betraying my partner to your so-called lover.'

Cecilia started forward in her chair.

'Your partner? What, Mr Krause?' There was a slight, indrawn breath before she continued, more calmly, 'exactly who are you, Mr Zweigart?'

Napoleon sighed and got up, leaning his back against the wall by one of the windows.

'My name is Napoleon Solo. I work for an international security organisation known as UNCLE, as does my partner, Illya Kuryakin. When we began this investigation, I had been attempting to track down Miss Bolt for some time, with no success. It was only when we began to investigate you, Miss Luft, that we discovered the link.'

'UNCLE. She told me about you. Your partner is responsible for the way she is now, for all her suffering. He deserves whatever he gets.' Napoleon exhaled deeply and stared at the woman facing him. Obviously her version of 'the Bolt story' was not quite the same as his.

'And she told you how she kidnapped Mr Kuryakin's wife and attempted to kidnap their daughter, did she? Oh, and then there was the small matter of trying to breed a new generation of superwomen to take over the world of course, as well as the little sideline she was running of trying to lobotomise Mr Kuryakin himself. Gee, I'd almost forgotten that, there were so many facets to her operation.' Cecilia glared at him, her face becoming in turns contorted with pain and then lost with grief.

'I . . I didn't know about . . . what happened . . to his family I mean' she stuttered out, her hands clenching and unclenching themselves as she looked at Solo.

'Um, they survived.' He hesitated for a moment, before continuing, 'Miss McCaffery, our art expert. She is Illya's wife.' If the situation hadn't been so serious, he would have laughed at Cecilia's expression, her eyes bulging out of her face as she took in his words.

'But I thought he was a . . . he seemed so, well antagonistic towards women.'

'Yes, well he can come across that way. But I can assure you that as far as that particular woman is concerned, he is only antagonistic to those who would harm her.'

Napoleon came and sat down again, watching Cecilia attempt to understand all that he had told her in the last five minutes. They sat together in a strange, companionable silence for a few minutes, Cecilia with her eyes closed and her head back against the chair while Napoleon glanced at his watch, wondering if he had time to reach Illya before the proceedings began. If he was unable to prevent Ottilie Blau applying the chemical to his partner, it would make it extremely difficult for him to play any further part in the mission, and Solo knew that, given a choice, Kuryakin would wish that his wife's escape was put before his own.

'Ottilie has asked me to meet her at the stable block at 11.30' Cecilia said suddenly, with a low, weary voice.

'You're not going to like what I say, but . .'

'She is involved with Lee?' She lay back again without comment, Napoleon feeling it unnecessary to end his sentence or provide her with any more detail.

'I'll be there' he said, leaning towards her.

'Isn't that a risk, Mr, er, Solo' she replied. 'How do you know that one or both of us won't betray you?'

'I'll be there' Napoleon said.

xxxxxxxxx

The word 'marquee' didn't really adequately describe the series of what looked like mediaeval jousting tents to Napoleon as he began to make his way slowly across the lawn from the open French windows of the drawing room at the back of the house. The yew hedge edging the considerable expanse of grass was a fitting backdrop to the tents, whose pale conical roofs swept down into a broad expanse of golden and green striped silky material lining the interior of each one. At one end, a very large space contained a spectacular array of food, set off by a huge pair of spits just outside, upon which were being roasted two vast pigs. The other end of the set was filled with a very long series of couches at the side, facing an equally long table laden with a number of mysterious looking carafes brimming with what Napoleon presumed were fairly lethally alcoholic beverages. In both tents, young men dressed in outfits reminding Napoleon of a Robin Hood film, plied the guests with an abundance of food and drink.

He felt a nudge behind him as he stared suspiciously at the liquids on offer.

'I wouldn't touch anything there if you want to keep your wits about you this evening' he heard Fernando whisper, as a glass of green coloured liquid was thrust into his hand. 'Mint. Boring, but safe' he heard him say, as together they stared at the middle tent, its flaps firmly closed for the time being.

In front of it was a low stage, its sides and front covered with beautiful arrangements of flowers and leaves. A small set of steps led down from the back towards the tent.

'I presume that your sister, my partner, and assorted other fairies are assembled behind there' Napoleon murmured, indicating the tent with his glass.

'Yes, but you'll notice there are only fairies of a particular gender, apart from sis and Sabi. Luckily, I wasn't chosen for that particular honour' Fernando said. 'I'm sorry Napoleon, I couldn't get to him in time.'

'Don't worry about it. What about the lab? Have they got back to you?'

'Er, yes, just now.'

Napoleon didn't turn round as Fernando reported the results, although it was hard not to react to what Fernando was saying.

'They did some tests, but they had to stop once they realised, it was just too dangerous.'

'So, this pheromone, it only works on . .'

'On men, that's right. The injection they gave us will protect us partially from its effects, but if it works like it did in the lab, he will have every unvaccinated male within five miles after him, and they will kill anyone who gets between them and him. And if they get to him, Napoleon, well, they had to get four women to pull off the chap in the lab.'

'Guten abend, Herr Zweigart.' Napoleon started imperceptibly as Rheinhardt Schmidt's voice penetrated his thoughts. He spun round to see Schmidt staring at him, as Fernando disappeared rapidly into the now jostling crowd in front of the stage.

'Something wrong?' he said, looking sharply at Solo.

'You could say that. Is everything set up for tonight's departure?'

'Ja, you asked me that ten times over. My 'wife' will escort the package to the agreed destination. There is no problem, none at least that I am aware of.' Napoleon looked up at the German.

'OK, make sure our cousins from London are here on time to mop up. I have to give Mr Krause a little assistance, so I won't be able to give you a hand.' Schmidt sniffed slightly and looked away towards the roasting pigs.

'What, again? What difficulty has he got himself into now? You can be assured that we will perform efficiently while you 'assist' your partner out of his difficulties.' Napoleon glared at him slightly, before walking away across the grass, his nose leading him to the pork and away from the supercilious agent behind him.

xxxxxxxx

'Darling, you look magnificent!' Illya turned his head slightly to bring Sabi into view behind his right shoulder. A crowd of young men were milling round, their costumes simpler versions of the one he was wearing. He could see the awning at the back of the tent twitching slightly, and presumed that Tess must have been inside what he assumed was a much smaller tented room. He wriggled inside his costume and surreptitiously pulled at the crotch, wishing it was all over and he could rip off the fiendish thing.

'Really. It is unbelievably uncomfortable and there is nowhere to hide anything without it showing. Believe me, I've tried' he murmured.

'But you are hiding something, no?' she replied, a little smile lighting up her face. He nodded and then turned towards her slightly, still keeping the back of the tent in view.

'Sabi, don't wait for me tonight. Take Tess away as we agreed. I don't want anything to prevent that.'

'I will not fail you, Illyusha' she said softly, kissing her finger tips and then imperceptibly touching his cheek, before breaking away and rushing towards a group of young men on the far side of the tent.

Without warning, the flap of the tent was pulled back and Illya saw Tess emerge. He could see Raymond bending over a small table behind her, and to the side, the familiar figure of Ottilie Blau. She was wearing a huge velvet hooded cape of a deep bronzy colour, the lining of the hood a dark green, edged with pale ermine fur. Something about her costume and expression made Illya think of a book he had recently shared with Pascale and Pablo.

'Bonsoir Cruella' he murmured as he saw her glancing round the room and then pinpointing him with her eyes. As Tess moved towards him, he could see Ottilie slowly begin to beckon to him with her fingers, her body seeming to tower over the petite form of his wife. Inwardly grimacing, he started to walk towards her, stopping momentarily as he reached Therese.

'What have they been doing to you?' he murmured, as by some good fortune, he was prevented from moving forward by two young men waving fairy wands in his direction.

'Only a bit of make-up' she said brightly, pushing her now rather more pink lips towards him. 'Ottilie said you were next on her list' she added, a slight frown passing across her features. Before she could stop him he appeared to trip and pull her down with him.

'Go with Sabi, keep close to her' Illya whispered rather savagely in her ear. 'I will see you in London.' Tess gazed at him, pushing his hair behind his ear before whispering,

'Until then, corazon.'

He pulled her up rather brusquely and then continued on his way, aware of some of the young men gathering round Therese with various comments which he imagined were not flattering to him.

'Finally. Was there a problem, Didi dear?' Illya sighed and pushed through the opening.

'No, only a rather silly group of boys getting in my way' he replied, before sitting on the chair which Raymond seemed to be indicating him towards.

Somehow, despite all his best efforts, he had not been able to either avoid this moment or understand what it was about, and there was something about it that worried him deeply. Without his communicator, he couldn't contact Napoleon, and there had been no opportunity to talk to him in person, or any other agent since he had put on this absurd costume.

Ottilie came up behind him, her cloak rustling on the floor round her as they both stared at each other in the large free-standing mirror positioned in front of them. She gave a curt nod to Raymond, cowering at the table to her side, who instantly handed over a comb, whilst holding what looked like an old-fashioned perfume spray in his other hand.

'Don't worry, my dear, this is just to add that final 'touch' to your appearance' she said, taking the comb and beginning to pull it through Illya's hair.

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror as she continued to rake his hair back from his face, her other hand holding it in a loose pony tail as she combed. He hadn't realised how long it had become, the front hair escaping her grip and falling forward into his eyes in a stubborn refusal to be tamed by her hand. He frowned, wondering where this was all leading, and if the nature of the liquid she was about to apply had been discovered and communicated to Napoleon.

After a few more moments of combing she suddenly let go. He resisted the urge to put his hands through it and restore it to its usual arrangement, instead glancing to his right where Raymond was standing with the liquid. He looked absolutely terrified, his hand shaking slightly, the liquid slopping imperceptibly in its elegant container.

'This won't hurt, of course' she began again, as she patted his hair carefully into place, but it has a somewhat less than pleasant smell. This will pass, my dear Didi, and then you will find that it will make you even more attractive than you are already.' She grabbed the bottle from Raymond, who stepped back rapidly and disappeared out of the tent. Lifting up his hair, she began to spray each section with long bursts.

Illya crinkled up his nose at the pungent odour which pervaded the little room. His brain rapidly tried to compute exactly what smell it reminded him of.

'It smells like . . . . sweat!' he exclaimed, as she grabbed his fringe and with a short burst finished her work. A surprisingly powerful pressure from her hands on his shoulders forced him to sit for a few moments, his hair now plastered to his head and glistening slightly in the light positioned above the chair.

'It will pass when the hair dries' she said icily, an unpleasant sneer beginning to form itself on her face. Suddenly he had a desperate wish to get out of the room, away from her. There was something innately evil in her lingering presence, and although he didn't feel frightened of her, he longed to be anywhere where she was not. It was obvious from her face that she knew what was in this liquid, and that she knew who he was.

Shoving forward, he stood up and faced her.

'It'll take about fifteen minutes to achieve its full effect' she said, pulling up the side of the tent to reveal the hubbub beyond. 'But first, Mr Krause, the fairy king and queen must be presented to their court.'

CHAPTER 16

Napoleon was aware of Raymond scurrying away from the back of the tent and almost running towards the house. He pursed his lips and sighed, before locating where Fernando was serving drinks at the far end of the bar and forcing his way to the front of a jostling group of men similarly attired to himself until he reached him.

'Did you get everything on the list?' he enquired, tipping his glass towards a perspiring overweight man in a green leather jerkin.

'All in place, in a cupboard underneath the niche in the north wall' Fernando replied sotto voce, whilst he cheerfully filled the glass of a man Napoleon recognised as a Ukrainian now living in West Germany. 'And a better replacement for that so called weapon can be found in the hollow of the oak behind here' he added, indicating the direction with a slight toss of his head.

'Well if what I think has just happened is right, we'll give it about half an hour and then I'll call him in for a little change of image' he said. It is essential that one of us manages to let him know where to meet, OK? We need to cause enough of a diversion to allow the others at least a fighting chance of escaping this madhouse.'

Fernando nodded, and then moved along the back of a line of merry men who seemed intent on making the guests as drunk as they could in the shortest possible time. As Napoleon retreated from the bar towards the couches, several guests were already lounging about, their voices loud and uncontrolled. As he stared at them, a burst of music coming from the stage alerted even the more inebriated ones that something was about to take place.

Remembering to stagger slightly towards it, he saw that a small group of musicians had assembled to the side, playing an assortment of recorders, sackbuts and other instruments not out of place in a medieval pageant. Some of the young merry men were urging the 'humans' to assemble in front of the stage, the 'bidders' at the auction now augmented by other men whom Napoleon assumed were Adler Society members joining the party.

Cyrus Blau, whom Napoleon had seen wandering round the food part of the tent earlier in the proceedings, now clambered onto the stage. Napoleon could see that Michael Dawkins was also in the melée, but not with his brother. He was dressed in similar clothes to the Robin Hood boys, his tall muscular frame dominating the group of people he stood amongst. Next to him Napoleon suddenly realised, was Cecilia Luft, one of the few women in the party who didn't seem to be taking part in the hunt. Napoleon frowned as he watched them talking, Michael bending his head towards her darker one. There were too many uncontrollable loose cannons in this scenario, he decided; too many possibilities of something going terribly wrong that he could not control. As he stood there, the instruments without warning began to play a rather jolly sounding tune, and the drapes of the central tent were pulled back by an unseen hand.

There was a gasp from the audience, immediately followed by a riotous cheer as the procession of fairies emerged from the marquee. It was immediately obvious that there were to be no females apart from the Queen and her attendant. The young men were dressed in what looked like modified leotards of varying shades of green, their faces made up with dark eye shadow and lipstick to heighten the theatrical quality of their appearance. Napoleon strained forward to catch what he knew would the final part of the procession. After the fairies had clambered onto the stage and taken their places, the musicians stopped and a rather unnatural hush descended. The two groups of men on the stage parted, leaving a gap in the centre, into which Cyrus and Ottilie Blau walked.

Napoleon raised his eyebrows at her cloak, which reminded him of a scene from Snow White he'd watched with Fabian at Christmas. She dominated the stage and her husband, although he seemed unaware of it. There was a microphone at the front, towards which Cyrus stepped.

'Friends, welcome to our evening entertainment!' he boomed, as if this was a gathering that might be taking place in any English home nearby. 'The party will begin shortly, and you have all been instructed as to your roles. As is our custom, the grounds of this house will be at your disposal.' He turned slightly, looking at his wife as he indicated something with his hand.

'And then,' he said, a slow smile coming to his lips, we will continue in another location . . . Napoleon followed the line of his hand towards the house. In front of the French windows what had appeared to be part of a stone terrace had now become two large doors, revealing the beginning of a wide flight of steps leading downwards to what Napoleon knew was Mrs Blau's dark kingdom.

The sudden onset of more music brought the focus of the crowd back to the stage. The microphone had been moved to the side, the Blaus moving with it to leave the centre of the stage empty.

'Ladies and gentlemen, friends' Cyrus began again, 'let the festivities begin. Let the fairies claim their kingdom!' The music seemed to reach a crescendo as the drapes of the tent behind the stage were once again thrown back. There was a moment's hiatus before he saw his partner and Tess process slowly up the steps towards the other fairies, Sabi holding up an incredibly delicate train attached to Tess' dress as she walked behind them.

Napoleon could see from Kuryakin's face that his feelings had gone beyond mere embarrassment at being the centre of attention or the wearer of such a costume. He stared at the crowd, his eyes searching out those of a friendly persuasion amongst the sea of swaying humanity in front of him. Napoleon could see that his hair had been combed back but was attempting to reassert itself round his face. Tess, the only one of the fairies wearing white, was gazing worriedly at him, her hand held on top of his as they moved slowly to the front of the stage.

The crowd seemed frozen to the spot by the spectacle of the couple, a kind of awe enveloping them for a few moments, until Napoleon was aware of a sudden movement amongst them. The men in the audience, both on and off stage seemed to be slowly moving towards his partner, as if some invisible choreographer was directing them. Napoleon moved swiftly through them until he was directly under where Illya was standing. As a kind of low roar began to emerge from the crowd, he forced a piece of paper into the side of one of the Russian's slippers, before slipping back towards the edge of the crowd.

He saw Ottilie grab the microphone and with a deep, piercing voice, shriek 'Fairies, follow your king and queen into the forest', her arm pointing away towards the darkening wood behind the lawn. Illya grabbed Tess's hand and disappeared down the back of the steps, but not before he had crouched down for a few seconds, his hair still held back in places by the rather sticky appearance of the lotion.

There was a minor stampede of fairies off the back of the stage, some of the slower men left behind by their more agile companions. Napoleon caught a glimpse of his partner running in his usual elliptical fashion away into the woods to his right, and, to his left, Sabi and Tess crossing the little bridge and making their way along the path which would lead eventually to the road at the top of the estate.

It was soon painfully obvious who the main hunting party was and whom the prey they were seeking. For some reason presumably only known to Mrs Blau, the male fairies seemed unaffected by their king's potion, and scattered into the woods, immediately pursued by the women hunters, their weapons banging against their hips as they bolted through the forest in pursuit of their targets.

Napoleon was almost flattened by a much larger group of men, a few of them with guns already drawn, charging into the woods in pursuit of his partner. Some of the men were already lying on the ground, or attempting to rise only to be knocked over again by the mob thundering by. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ottilie Blau standing at the entrance to the underground rooms, a lascivious smile across her face. He leapt forward, making a similar grunting noise to the other males in the chase, and headed for the woods, slowing his pace to a sort of stumbling amble to allow the others past him.

The oak loomed into view in the twilight, its branches hanging low and forming a dark canopy over the web of gnarling roots below them. Napoleon straightened and moved behind the trunk, waiting for a few moments until the cries of the mob had faded into the wood. He glanced upwards, feeling the trunk for any gap where his gun might be. He was usually rather comfortable in woods and forests, their denseness giving him a sense of protection rather than fear; a place to hide in and to emerge from at the right time. However, the sounds of this wood were unnatural, as if nature had hidden from what was now taking place here. He glanced at his watch, willing it to be a little later. He needed to find a few of the hunting party and reduce the odds against his partner being torn apart by them.

The tree bark suddenly allowed his hand to push into a small space, where he could feel something hard encased in cloth. With a sigh of relief he yanked it out, tossing the fabric down to reveal his gun with another clip of darts taped to its side. Stuffing the other weapon inside the hole, he pulled off the clip, rammed the gun into the holster across his shirt and set off into the wood, following the baying of whom he realised with a shudder, was a large number of men.

xxxxxxx

Illya scrambled down the bank of the stream, grateful to find an incline beneath the exposed roots of some trees that gave him a kind of shelter for a while. He knew now that in some way the pack of men that he had heard coming in his direction was being drawn by more than merely sight of him. Whatever Ottilie Blau had coated his hair with appeared to be strong enough to evoke an extraordinary response from them once they came within a reasonable distance. All he could hope was that he could keep as far ahead of them as he could until Tess and Sabi reached the gate and Napoleon could signal him to come back.

He crouched down inside the bank and yanked the paper from inside the sleeve of his costume, where he had transferred it after the debacle on the stage. The light was barely enough to see by, even with his glasses on. He lay down slightly and squirmed forward towards the light, holding the paper in front of him. Luckily, Napoleon had remembered his predicament and had written the message in large, bold letters.

Liquid a pheromone attractive to males only. Cannot be removed (sorry). Come to Ice House when alerted. Will try to take out some of them if poss. Stay ahead! N.

Illya sighed and ran his fingers back through his hair briefly before wriggling back into the hole under the bank. It felt strangely coarse, and he grimaced slightly at its texture. It seemed horribly ironic that his hair should have been used as a weapon against him, and he could only imagine one person who would have the knowledge and desire to come up with such a thing so clearly tailored to him.

He dug a small hole in the soft clay of the bank and shoved the paper inside, covering it up with the loose earth and then clambering out onto the side of the bank, using the dangling roots of the trees as a hoist to swing himself up onto the path at the top. Leaning against one of the trees which overhung the bank, he bent down to adjust his slippers, wondering if it would be better to get rid of them and run barefooted as he had on the farm as a boy.

His face hit the path with a soft thump as he was forced flat by the weight of another man's body on top of his. He could feel his hair being grasped and his head pulled back while the man's other hand slid under his stomach and began to roughly grope his genitals. Forcing himself to relax slightly, he felt the grip on his hair relax as his assailant started to roll him over slightly. He breathed in and then dug his elbows back as viciously as he could, pleased by the resulting grunt behind him. Wrenching his body round to face his attacker, he came face to face with Cyrus Blau.

For a few seconds Illya hesitated, before forcing himself up and out of Blau's grasp. The Austrian, momentarily winded, leapt to his feet with an impressive alacrity and forced Illya backwards against the wide trunk of one of the trees overhanging the bank, his body sandwiching the Russian between himself and the tree. Illya could feel his groin pushing against his own as the Austrian pinned his shoulders back against the rough bark behind him.

'Come on, relax, Didi, you know you want this.' Illya widened his eyes and forced himself to smile.

'It's taken you long enough' he replied slowly, hoping that Blau wouldn't locate the zip on his costume too quickly. He relaxed his shoulders as Blau brought his hands up into Illya's hair and began to nibble his neck, bending to adjust his height to the smaller man. Illya stared over his shoulder. Blau's fitness and a certain amount of luck had meant that he had reached his target first, but no doubt the following pack would be arriving soon, particularly if he remained exposed here. He could feel Blau's breath on his neck, the taller man beginning to loosen his own clothing and to search for a way of removing the tight fitting costume of his would-be lover. As Blau bit into his neck, he decided he'd had enough. Without warning he twisted round and chopped Blau across his throat, the Austrian dropping to the floor without a sound.

'Sorry, you just weren't my type' he murmured as he relieved Blau of a small knife he had noticed poking out of his jerkin, and ran off down the path and into the woods.

xxxxxxx

'Fourteen down, and at least the chance of another sixteen to go'. Napoleon loaded another clip of darts into his gun and sprinted along the path by the side of the river, following Vaz's dark form into the woods and towards a clearing he had told Napoleon about when they had met unexpectedly by the bridge. He had nearly darted Vaz before he realised who the agent was.

'A couple of your partner's ex-mates are in the woods' he told him, 'and there's two more in the van waiting for the girls. Fernando gave me to believe our Russian might need a little support.' He had tossed another clip at Napoleon, before tapping him on the shoulder and pointing at something just poking out as the path by the bridge took a sharp turn. They backtracked a little, until the prostrate form of a man could clearly be seen on the path.

'It's Blau' Napoleon said, kneeling and briefly feeling his neck. 'He'll live, but I think he'll be here for a while.' He glanced round, a small twig like branch on the tree behind the body catching his attention. Caught on the twig was what looked like a leaf, the end of the twig pushing through and holding it onto the tree like a dart. Napoleon yanked it off, and held it out towards Vaz.

'Kuryakin was here' he said smiling. 'This is part of his costume; the others didn't have little decorations sewn on like this one.' Vaz stared at the leaf.

'What is he, the 'Green Man'? It's a bit late for Mayday, isn't it?'

'He's Oberon; you know the King of the fairies.' Napoleon replied, stuffing the leaf in his pocket. He could see the Indian agent grinning in the dark, his teeth startling against his skin as they turned back onto the path.

'This I must see, old chap' he said as they picked up the sound of several men ahead of them.

'Much as I'm sure the King would like to grant you your wish, I'm hoping that he's keeping well ahead and not getting any foolish notions into his head about waving goodbye to the girls' Napoleon answered.

The group turned out to be six rather unfit men, who seemed almost grateful to be darted into unconsciousness in the small clearing where they had paused to ponder in which direction their prey might have gone. Napoleon glanced at his watch. They had been going for nearly half an hour and it was rapidly approaching the time for the rendezvous between the girls and the Section Three agents. He signalled to Vaz, who was happily re-loading his gun by the group of men, and withdrew his communicator from his jerkin.

'Fernando? Where are you?'

'Inside the ice house. How is the hunt going?' Napoleon smirked as he looked down at the fallen men, whom Vaz had now heaped into a sort of human ziggurat by the side of a large tree in the clearing.

'Vaz is with me; we've narrowed the odds a little in the fairy king's favour, but I think we should call him in now before anyone else gets lucky.'

'Anyone else? You mean someone did?'

'We found Cyrus Blau near the river. He'd obviously got hold of Illya, but he got out of it. Now, have you heard from the girls?'

'Um, yeah, Schmidt reported in a few minutes ago, said they were waiting for . . .'

A high, stifled scream rose out of the forest, a human voice easily distinguishable from the natural sounds around it, the sound lingering in the air for a few moments before it was suddenly silenced.

'What the deuce was that?' Vaz exclaimed, reaching into his trouser pocket for a clip of bullets which he jammed into his gun.

'Napoleon? What was that noise?' Napoleon stared at the communicator for a second, then into the tense face of the agent facing him.

'Open the outer door to the ice house and when Illya gets there, give him his clothes and wait for me. And don't mention what you've just heard until I get there, OK? Oh, and Fernando, just his clothes, nothing else. Solo out.' Napoleon reloaded his gun, and then drew out a small rectangular box resembling a narrow cigarette case. Flipping open the lid, he stared at the tiny map flickering into life in front of him, a minute red dot flashing clearly in the middle of the screen.

'He's south of here; it won't take him very long to reach the ice house. Let's hope he didn't hear what we've just heard.' He pressed a small green button at the bottom of the case, pausing for a few moments to watch the mesmeric red dot on the screen. The steady movement of the dot south west came to an abrupt halt as he pressed. After a few seconds he saw to his relief that it changed course and was moving south east towards the ice house external entrance.

Vaz gazed at the screen over Napoleon's shoulder.

'Why did he stop so suddenly?' he whispered, as Napoleon shut the case and started to move past the men and along a narrow path flanked by giant rhododendron bushes on either side.

'Er, take it from me, it was a very clear signal to come home' he said sardonically. 'He was probably jumping up and down for a few seconds before he changed course.' He ignored Vaz's confused expression and continued moving silently along the path, the bushes inducing a creeping feeling of foreboding within him. From his memory of their walk on the previous day, Napoleon knew, with a sinking feeling, that the sound they had heard had come from the rendezvous point. As the path narrowed further, the bushes' abundant growth making their approach both hidden and difficult, Napoleon strained to hear any noise which might reveal what exactly had happened and who had cried out so piteously. He could see the end of the path ahead as it began to broaden out to the clearing which led directly to the road. Raising his arm, he signalled Vaz to stop before he stooped down and pushed his way between some less dense bushes bordering the rendezvous area.

The bodies were lying a little distance from each other. Schmidt was spread-eagled on the ground, a small hole in his head clearly demonstrating the manner of his death. Further up a very slight incline, and under an immense pine tree, Sabi's body lay. From what he could see, Napoleon guessed that she had, in some way, been placed there, rather than fallen back like her partner. Forcing himself to remain calm, Napoleon glanced round, his eyes searching the gloom for a third body, a strange feeling of relief flooding his mind when he realised that no-one else lay with his fellow agents in the wood. He got up and pushed his way into the clearing, walking past Schmidt to where Sabi lay, trying to ignore the strangled, heavy breathing of Vaz behind him.

'Go on to the road and find out what has happened there' Napoleon said, staring as coldly as he could into the Indian agent's face. 'Hurry up.' After a moment's hesitation, Fernandez disappeared up the bank and into the pine woods beyond. Napoleon knelt down, forcing himself not to let the tears in his eyes gush onto the face of the girl lying on the ground. He had a sudden remembrance of her with Kat, the two girls with their arms round each other one Christmas party in his apartment, Sabi breaking free to force Illya into a kind of slow motion tango across the room before they both fell in some sort of tangled heap onto a conveniently placed sofa. Illya. Napoleon's heart was clutched with a kind of black heaviness at the thought of telling his partner of what had transpired here; of Sabi's death, and even worse in many respects, of the disappearance of his wife.

He passed his hand over Sabi's face and gently closed her eyes, reluctant to do it, not wishing to contemplate the thought of never seeing them again, her beautiful, grey, laughing eyes. He breathed in deeply and caressed her cheek but not before he noticed a small button like flower on her dress. It stood out from the other decorations on the garment, its hardness contrasting to the delicate flowers scattered across the bodice. Napoleon touched the flower, then carefully turned it over. Underneath, he could see a distinct mark where it had pierced her skin.

'They're dead' he heard Vaz say from behind him. 'There are tyre tracks on the road going in the other direction, I'd say.' Napoleon stood up, and pulled out his communicator.

'Open Channel D. Priority, Code Orange.' There was a slight pause before Waverly's voice echoed through the now eerily still wood.

'What has happened, Mr Solo? I presume nothing good from your activation of code orange.'

'I'm afraid not, sir. Miss Klose, Mr Schmidt and at least two Section Three agents are dead, and Ter. . I mean Mrs Kuryakin is missing from the rendezvous point.' There was another slight hiatus, before Waverly replied, 'I'm very sorry to hear that Mr Solo. And Mr Kuryakin?'

'I think Ms Bolt is behind all this, sir. Apparently these so called evening entertainments are normally, if that is the appropriate word, a kind of relatively harmless sado-masochistic orgy resulting in a lot of serious hangovers the next day. This time some extremely powerful pharmaceutical agents have been used to cause extreme reactions amongst the guests.'

'What sort of extreme reactions, Mr Solo, what on earth do you mean?

'Um, I mean sir, drugs which will completely remove any sexual inhibitions those involved might have, inducing a kind of frenzied state amongst some of them.'

Waverly coughed before replying, 'Yes, I had a copy of the report from Cambridge. I gather Mr Kuryakin has been the object of some of these so called, um, pheronomes.'

'Yes, but we have that in hand. My main concern is to find Therese. I'm sure that Mrs Blau has taken her back to the house at least for the time being, and I know that she intends to leave here shortly, presumably heading for wherever Ms Bolt is.'

'Listen carefully Mr Solo. It is absolutely imperative that we put a stop to this woman and her infernal drugs. I understand your concern for Mrs Kuryakin, but you must stop Mrs Blau by whatever means at your disposal, from giving that woman either money, or any test results, or indeed, Mrs Kuryakin herself.' He fell silent for a moment, before adding, in a somewhat gentler voice, 'I'm sure Mr Kuryakin can help you find her. I know that you will brief him about his wife, and . . . about Miss Klose with adequate sensitivity.'

Napoleon nodded, as if Waverly could see him silently acquiescing to his directions. He replaced his communicator in his jerkin and turned to Vaz.

'Contact the head of Section Three in London and get them to send reinforcements' he said quietly. Tess must be somewhere in that house and I want to know where. Find Fernando and tell him what's happened. I have to help Illya now.' Without a murmur Fernandes disappeared down the path and was swallowed up in the night. Napoleon knelt down again and kissed Sabi's cold cheek, the body already appearing just a shadow of the person who had inhabited it.

'Auf wiedersehen, liebling' he whispered. 'schlaf gut.'

CHAPTER 17

'Thank you. Thank you very much.' Illya stooped over the body of a man whom he thought he recognised as the steel wool haired millionaire from Argentina, and relieved him of a small bottle of water, which he had conveniently stored in the pouch where he was carrying his gun. There were three of them, all obviously unused to hurling themselves through the forest, but it had been difficult to bring them all down without hurting them too badly, and in the melée he had suffered the indignity of having his costume partly ripped from his body, only the bottom half surviving their combined assault intact. He removed a narrow belt from one of the men and wrapped it round his waist in the hope that he could survive the evening at least partially clothed.

Leaving the pile of men face down on a grassy bank by a small group of silver birch saplings, Illya ran lightly along the path leading more or less south. Without warning, an intense burning sensation in his genital area caused him to come to a grinding halt, the pain making him dance up and down on the path for a few seconds as he let loose a volley of very unpleasant Russian words directed mainly at his partner. When the sensation had lessened, he stood for a moment, panting slightly with the shock of it, before turning and running towards the top of the domed building he could see poking out from the trees in the distance.

The wood gave way to a more cultivated area of wild flowers and small flowering shrubs as he approached the building, the doors at the bottom of a steep flight of steps immediately in front of him. Illya slowed to a sedate jog before stopping momentarily at the top of the steps to drink the last of the water from the bottle. A sudden crashing sound from the forest heralded the arrival of six more men, guns already drawn, who began to run full tilt towards him before coming to a halt in a strange unsteady line at the edge of one of the borders. As they came closer he could see that they were jostling each other roughly to get in front, a very large youngish man shoving the others back in an effort to be first in line. Illya flattened himself slightly against the side of the building, before glancing sideways towards the steps.

'Um, good evening' he said slowly, edging sideways, feeling the stones of the structure behind him rubbing his bare back.

'He's all mine!' the man in front gasped, his breath coming in hot bursts as he moved even closer, his eyes suddenly focusing on Illya's belt. Illya could see that he was sniffing, animal like, his nose heading for Illya's hair as his head came up towards the Russian's face.

'Oh I don't think so'. The voice was coming from above Illya's head. Fernando stood on the top of the domed roof, his gun pointing squarely at the men gaping beneath him. As he darted the first three, Illya ducked and squirmed between them, hurtling down the steps and slamming the door behind him. He could hear someone shouting above, and then a furious banging at the door as he slammed the bolts across.

There was a still coolness about the place, despite the noise outside; Illya moved away from the door and for a moment lay back against the rough cold walls of the outer passage encircling the three chambers within. He could see the first of the loading traps just to his right, illumined by a series of large candles set in stone brackets, with matching cupboards set beneath them. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he hauled his tattered costume up a little over the belt and began to walk along the passage.

On the other side, where the main connecting corridor to the house lay, there was a larger area, the way forward barred by a large set of locked double doors. Illya sat down gratefully on a conveniently placed chair by one of the cupboards, ripping off the now wrecked slippers and wiggling his toes a little on the cold quarry tiled floor. As his breathing returned to normal, he stood up and opened the cupboard, pulling out its contents carefully piece by piece. He frowned, deciding that the clothes on the top shelf must be Napoleon's from their size and style. He laid them on the chair and continued his search, pulling out a pair of thin black trousers, a jacket and a black polo shirt, upon which nestled his gun and holster. Carefully laying his finds on the chair as well, he found two sets of underwear neatly folded on the bottom shelf, next to a small cardboard box.

Leaving the box for the time being, he wrenched off the belt and the remains of his costume, before feeling about his genitals and prising off the offending disk from his testicle. Glaring at it, he stuck it on the cupboard shelf before luxuriating in the sensation of underwear again. He had barely managed to finish dressing and slide his gun into its holster before he heard the door to the house begin to open. Illya slid round the corner, unholstered his gun and flattened himself against the smooth wall of the chamber.

'Come out, come out wherever you are.' He sighed and walked round the bend to see Fernando putting Napoleon's clothes on the back of the chair.

Fernando glanced at him before moving over to the other cupboard and retrieving a pair of black shoes from the shelves within.

'I presume you'd like something a bit more serviceable than those' he said, pointing at the slippers. Illya grinned and sat down on the chair to put on the shoes.

'Thank you for rescuing me from that little group of admirers' he said. 'I was beginning to find it all a bit wearisome.' He glanced at Fernando, seeing a hint of something in his deep brown eyes. 'Is there something wrong?' Fernando stayed by the cupboard, his arm resting on its top.

'Whatever they put on your crowning glory, brother, well we are also affected by it, though nothing like as much as the others' he began rather darkly, looking away from Illya as he spoke. 'Don't worry, I'm not going to jump you or anything, I just thought you should know. It'll be the same when Napoleon arrives.'

Illya put his hands up and tugged at his hair.

'I have to do something about this' he said, holding a thick handful of his hair in front of his eyes. Until I do, there's no point me leaving here, unless of course I have an armed guard of females round me.' His gaze wandered round the room, alighting on the cardboard box at the same time as Fernando moved over to the cupboard.

'Er, I think Napoleon has it in hand' Fernando replied suddenly, with a tight smile. 'Let's wait till he gets here, eh?' Illya looked away from the box and regarded Fernando balefully from underneath his thatch of blond hair.

'What's in that?' he said slowly, his eyes narrowing as Fernando came nearer. With perfect timing, Fernando's communicator throbbed and three loud knocks reverberated on the outer door . Almost joyfully, Fernando shouted 'go and open the door then, they're here!', trying to ignore the Russian's amazed expression at being ordered to do something by a junior agent. As Kuryakin moved away, Fernando breathed a sigh of relief and snatched the box from the shelves, hiding it in the other cupboard next to Napoleon's shoes.

If he hadn't known who Napoleon was, Fernando would have sworn he'd been crying. His eyes seemed slightly puffy and a little red-rimmed, while Vaz Fernandez' pallor looked somehow bleached, as if his dark skin had been stripped of a little of its rich deep brown colour. Fernando glanced at Illya, who was keeping a little distance between himself and the others in a bid, Fernando supposed, to prevent anything embarrassing happening between them. He thought of his sisters and their friends, of how much more natural women were with each other. Sabi and Tess often walked arm in arm together; he imagined himself doing the same thing with Illya or Napoleon and the thought of it made him smile. And yet Napoleon and Illya did seem to have a unique relationship; he'd seen them often show physical affection for each other in an entirely unselfconscious way that other men, other partners seemed to find so difficult. He caught himself envying them their closeness, their intuitive understanding of each other.

He saw Solo whisper something to Vaz, before coming over to the chair and gratefully changing into the clothes provided for him. Vaz came over and indicated the door to the house, as Napoleon talked in a low voice to his partner.

'We have a job to do' he said very quietly. 'I'll tell you on the way.' As they opened the door, Fernando turned and pointed to the cupboard.

'Your shoes, sir, and the other things you requested.' Napoleon smiled briefly and nodded, before turning back to Illya.

'What other things?' Illya stood watching Napoleon haul his shoes on and then bundle the costumes up into a ball at the side of the chair. Something about his partner's demeanour worried him; years of watching Napoleon had made him an expert in reading the American's face and knowing when to speak and when not to.

'Take off your jacket and shirt and sit on the chair' Solo said calmly, going over to the cupboard from where he had fetched his shoes, and returning with the cardboard box, and a folded cloth which Illya recognised instantly. Without speaking, he removed and laid his clothes and gun on the floor away from the chair, and sat down, his eyes now on Napoleon as he shook out the cloth and wound it round the Russian's shoulders. Illya noticed his partner's hands shake fractionally as he touched him, before turning away and opening the cardboard box.

'If it is too difficult please say so' Illya said simply. 'I can do it if you prefer.' He stared at the pair of scissors and comb Napoleon held in his hands.

'No you can't. I will do this for you, and then we'll talk. I need you to be still, Illya.' The choice of the word 'still' seemed an odd one, Illya thought, as he slowly bent his head forward. He had never allowed Napoleon to come within a table's width of his hair before now, but suddenly, all the teasing, bantering conversations they had had concerning it seemed light years away from what was happening here. He shut his eyes and tried to push back the heaviness raining down on him just as surely as his hair was now showering his waiting lap.

xxxxxxxxx

He found Napoleon from the smell of the cigarette smoke wafting over the top of the ice house. He was lying back in a semi-recumbent position against the gently sloping roof of the building, his nostrils blowing out the smoke in two steady streams. He turned slightly as Illya approached, but made no attempt to extinguish the cigarette.

'I've thrown it all down one of the pits in case it's still as potent off my head as well as on it' Illya said, smiling. He stood looking at his partner, as Solo came upright and threw the cigarette stub into the grass by their feet. He turned away from Illya and sat down on the ground, searching in his jacket for another cigarette.

'Stop trying to kill yourself and tell me what has happened' Illya said quietly, easing himself down onto the ground beside his partner.

'The rendezvous went wrong. I couldn't tell you until now because you needed to . . well you know.' Illya's face became set, his eyes hardly blinking in the darkness.

'Where is Tess, Napoleon?' Napoleon reached out and put his hand on his partner's shoulder.

'We think she's with Ottilie Blau in the house. I sent Vaz and Fernando to find out where. Ottilie arranged to meet Cecilia at 11.30 in the coach house, so either she is planning to leave Tess here, or . .'

'Take her away.' Illya put his arms over his head, his hands massaging his hair with rhythmic movements backwards and forwards. 'We can't let her, not again' he mumbled fiercely into his chest. 'Oh God Napoleon, we have to stop her taking her to …..' He jumped up, Napoleon getting up suddenly and grabbing his arm before he could move away.

'Illya. That's not all. Sabi and Schmidt, and the two Section Three agents in the van, they're dead.'

Napoleon relaxed his grip of the Russian, aware of his friend's eyes glittering in the twilight as he stared back at him. They stood together for what seemed like a long time, Illya motionless, his expression readable to Napoleon, words unnecessary to communicate the shock and grief they both felt. At last, Illya smoothed down his hair and turned away towards the ice house steps, Napoleon following his partner's swift silent pathway through the tiled passage towards the house. As they got to the door, Illya shot back the bolts, withdrawing his gun from its holster as he looked along the now carpeted corridor within what Napoleon had deemed Mrs Blau's 'kingdom'.

The corridor itself was relatively dark, only lit by deeply shaded wall lights, their rich purple colour allowing the captive light inside them to cast a warm glow on the shadowy walls behind. They could see more light coming from much further along, where the steps from outside had been exposed to allow the guests entry. Beyond those stairs the noise alone gave them a fair idea of what lay ahead.

'Wait.' The bleep of Napoleon's communicator echoed slightly on the curved ceiling of the ice house as Illya stepped back inside. 'Vaz.' Napoleon said, his voice sounding almost grateful that their colleague was still free. 'Where are you?' A high-pitched giggle pierced the silence between the waiting agents, before, after what sounded like a slight argument taking place in the background, Vaz spoke again.

'Sorry about that, chaps, the blighters here are a bit on the fresh side. There, that's better.' The background sounds appeared to diminish slightly before Vaz continued, Illya beginning to stare fixedly at the communicator as if it would reveal the answer to the question that he was desperate to know.

'Vaz, have you found Tess?' Napoleon interrupted, aware of his partner's growing anxiety filling the space they stood in.

'Er, yes, I think so, at least . . .' Illya grabbed the communicator from Napoleon's hand and began to speak fiercely into it, his face rigid and pale beneath the cropped hair surrounding it.

'Vaz, either you know or you don't know. Don't think, just tell me . . . please.' The last word was barely whispered, as if all his energy had suddenly been drained from him.

'Illya, I'm sorry. That bitch has her in a room with these mad dogs queuing up outside. It looks as if there's some sort of lottery going on, with your lovely girl as the prize.' Illya holstered his gun, his face now assuming a set expression that Napoleon knew well.

'Where's Fernando?' Napoleon managed to get in, before taking back the communicator from his partner's slightly shaking hand.

'He's with that hairdresser chappie, what's his name, Roland or something'

'Raymond' Illya replied monosyllabically.

'Yes, exactly the chap. He's . .' There was a slight hiatus, before Fernando's breathless voice could be heard.

'Mrs Blau has given her some drug, so Raymond says; he said she's 'not herself'. You need to get down here quick please, Illya, you have to help her now!' Through the communicator his voice sounded high-pitched, the words screeched and desperate. Illya suddenly sighed, leaning forward and speaking into the tiny cylinder with careful, measured words.

'It's alright. I'm coming now. Everything will be alright.' Napoleon closed the communicator and unholstered his gun, before turning away from the door.

'There's a kind of lodge house at the far end of the drive, near the road. Take her there and I'll send some Section Three guys over. I'm going to the coach house to spoil the leaving party, and I'll see you later.' Illya looked unsure for a few moments, before the reality of the situation and his own logic made him nod and turn towards the door. As he slid back the bolt again, he turned back round.

'Napoleon, I could . . '

'No, you've done enough. Besides, Sabi would have wanted you to go finish her work.' He saw his partner's eyes glimmer slightly and then his eyelids close before he turned and slid out of the door.

xxxxxxxx

The corridor led directly to the area of the house Napoleon had termed Ottilie Blau's 'dark kingdom', but Illya could have found his way in total darkness easily just by walking towards the increasing level of noise coming from the rooms situated at the far end. He pressed himself into the wall as a group of men and women stumbled down the stairs from the garden and rowdily made their way towards the place where low throbbing music was playing in the distance.

A pile of weapons and some clothes had been deposited in two large containers at the foot of the stairs, their owners now having no further use for them it seemed. The corridor led him to a large space which had been converted to a kind of reception area and bar. Recessed lights in the ceiling shone down upon an array of bottles and glasses displayed on the wall, causing them to twinkle like fairy lights. A large glass and stainless steel bar curved round in front of the wall, behind which several young men, now dressed in black silk shirts and tightly cut trousers, were serving similar cocktails to those available in the tent earlier in the evening.

Illya looked round the crowd. Neither Vaz nor Fernando was anywhere to be seen, and he didn't want to use his communicator in such a public place, despite the continuing low throb of the music and the noise of the guests. He felt rather hot, wishing that he could remove his jacket, beads of sweat gathering along his forehead as he began to push through the crowd of people in the room. There were several short corridors connecting this place to what appeared to be a veritable maze of smaller rooms beyond it. Illya frowned, feeling a growing sense of desperation welling up inside him as he turned round.

He felt someone slide their arm round his waist and pull him round. A tallish woman who looked as if she had forced herself into a dress two sizes smaller than she should be wearing, smiled wolfishly at him and lunged forwards, the smell of her perfume and her deep pink lipstick making Illya blink.

'Blond hair. I love blond hair!' she said, grabbing his head and forcing it towards her pouting lips. Illya extracted her hands from his head and slid out of her grasp.

'I'm sorry, I only kiss redheads on Saturdays' he smiled, before moving rapidly out of the room and following a group of men down one of the corridors away from the bar. There were several small rooms along the corridor, each filled with a number of people engaged in various acts which he didn't pause to find out about. As he reached the last room, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

'Fancy any of this? There's a man pretending to be a dog in the next room.' He spun round to face Vaz, the Indian agent almost invisible in the gloom. Illya noticed Fernandes smile and nod towards his hair. 'Glad to see you've been given the chop since I last saw you' he whispered, 'didn't know your partner was such a talented chap.'

'Neither did I, but it's as just as well, otherwise we'd have had a following pack to keep us company' Illya replied. Vaz pointed forwards, towards another larger room just visible at the end of the corridor.

'Fernando is there' he murmured. 'he's having a bit of a hard time of it, but he won't leave her until you arrive.' Illya frowned, sliding out his gun from underneath his jacket, and tapping the dart clip on the end of the barrel. As he looked up, someone came out of the end room.

'Michael?' Dawkins turned round, his face a mixture of surprise and determination.

'Mr Kuryakin? I . . I didn't recognise you, I mean your . . .'

'Yes' Illya said wearily, 'my hair. I'll explain later.' He holstered his gun for a moment, before leaning against the wall and glancing along the corridor both ways. 'Michael, Tess is in trouble, and we need to find her quickly. Can you help us?'

'Of course. I er, just got back; I went for a drive along the coast road and got a little lost. I couldn't find anyone around upstairs in the house when I got back, so I guess I decided to explore down here. I had no idea . . .'

'Michael, I don't have time to explain all this, except to say that your brother's wife is working with an extremely dangerous and evil woman and is planning to betray her husband and all his affiliates this evening. Her partner has a connection to Tess, and you can be sure that they will have planned something very unpleasant for her if we don't stop them.'

'Of course. I owe her, I owe you both. Just tell me what to do.' Illya nodded, then drew out his gun again.

'She's being kept in a kind of cage' Vaz said quietly. 'They each appear to have a key and the one which fits the lock gets the girl, with everyone else as the audience, or possibly as participants' he continued, avoiding looking at Illya's face while he was speaking.

'I need to get in there and then take her back to the lodge' Illya said. 'I think we'll have to wait until someone gets lucky and then seize our chance. If you could help Mr Fernandes here, and Mr McCaffery when we arrive, then we might just succeed without too many people being hurt.' He turned his gun round and offered it to Michael.

'No, you keep it, you're probably a much better shot than I am. I'll carry and you shoot.' Illya smiled a little, and then moved forward, the other two men just behind him.

xxxxxxx

The cage was in the centre of a room which enabled the participants to walk round its entirety, viewing whatever was taking place from all sides. It was slightly raised from floor level by a wooden platform, a small door one end being the only way in or out. Its floor was covered with a dark long piled carpet; otherwise it was entirely bare of furnishings apart from a fixing on the floor holding a long chain, the other end being attached to a large black collar round Therese's throat.

Illya's heart leapt a little as he entered the room, and he felt Michael Dawkins grip his shoulder and then mutter something under his breath. He could see Fernando's face, all attempts to hide the strain now abandoned, standing near the door as a ramshackle crowd attempted to open it with the keys which they were brandishing in their hands.

'What the hell . . .what is wrong with her?' Michael whispered fiercely in Illya's ear as they were pushed against the wall by a clamouring group of men reminding him of food queues in his childhood.

'She is drugged, Michael. She doesn't know what she's doing.'

She was on her feet, her footwear a kind of sandal with thin black leather straps criss-crossed up her legs. Above that, there was very little; a pair of virtually non-existent g-string panties and two red nipple tassels hanging jauntily from each of her breasts completed the outfit. The chain enabled her to not only reach the bars of the cage, but to press herself against them as she paraded round her enclosure. Her hair was loose, but teased into a wild mane round her head, her face heavily made up, the lips so familiar to Illya, now a bright, shiny red, her eyes made hard by thick black lines drawn round them.

Illya had to force himself not to leap forward and tear the men away from the bars as she came past, preventing them from grabbing her in places only he was permitted to touch. As she reached the part of the cage where they stood, she stopped and pulled back slightly, her eyes narrowing.

'D'you think she recognises you?' he heard Vaz say at his side. Illya found himself rooted to the spot as they stared at each other through the bars. He saw her lips writhe slightly, then begin to form an 'Il', her eyes sad and confused as she made the sound. Suddenly, her hair was yanked to the side as a man reached through, trying to pull her face towards him. Before Illya could stop him, he had forced her head against the bars and was kissing her in a brutal fashion, the roars of the other men encouraging him. Almost immediately he was forced backwards by a tremendous yank from someone behind him, the other men parting as a furious Fernando kicked him savagely until he lay on the floor unmoving.

'Stop. Now go to the top of the exit stairs and wait there. That is an order.' Fernando looked at Illya's impassive face, the eyes utterly focused on him, before moving away and out of the room. Illya sighed and signalled to the other two to move towards the cage door, just as, with a tremendous whoop, he heard someone turn the key in the lock and open the cage.

Jumping up on the platform edge, Illya brought his gun up, aware that Vaz was already up beside him. For a moment he wished that there were bullets in it, that he could fire into this baying mob and silence them once and for all. He looked down and knew then that, just like his wife, these people were also victims, though more willing ones he considered. He glanced round to see Michael suddenly power forward through the open door of the cage, knocking the man inside down as if he were a small fly that needed to be swatted away, the key in his hand spinning across the space and landing with a soft thud in the carpet.

Therese, who was now standing in the middle of the cage, dived forward and picked up the key, dangling it in front of Michael and nodding her head from side to side in a mesmeric way.

'Unlock me, big boy' she said in a deep, husky voice, her hand coming up between Michael's legs and grabbing his testicles as she thrust out her neck towards him.

'Hurry up old man, haven't got all night' he suddenly heard Vaz say. Illya remained immobile, the men beneath him also caught up in the drama of the blond man with the gun and the smoking hot brunette behind. Michael wrenched open Therese's collar and lifted her up. As they came out of the cage door, the hiatus of the last few moments seemed to break. Illya, sensing the change, began to fire at the men in Michael's way, as the American crashed through the chaos in front of him. There was a stampede out of the room, the men that were still standing rushing along the corridor past a series of astonished and gaping occupants of the rooms along their way. Michael and Therese were carried along by the tide of men just behind them, until, with a massive surge of speed, he sprinted up the stairs and out into the black Norfolk night.

Almost instantaneously, the cellar spewed out its occupants, men running in all directions, scattering into the dark recesses of the grounds. Michael gasped for breath before gently tipping Therese down onto her feet, as Fernando pounded up beside him. She staggered slightly, before straightening and staring at Fernando, a lazy smile beginning to form on her smudged red lips .

'Yous nice' she began in a slightly slurred voice, her eyes unfocused and swimming. As she moved unsteadily towards Fernando, Illya and Vaz appeared. Kuryakin's jacket had disappeared in the melée, and even Vaz looked rather more bedraggled than his normal dapper self.

'Tess' Illya said, moving next to Fernando. Therese's head jerked slightly towards him, her eyes regarding him for a few seconds before she said, very slowly, 'Ill. . y. . uuuuusha.' She tottered into his arms, everybody suddenly aware of the extraordinarily high heels on her sandals, enabling her to look straight into her husband's eyes.

'Thank you Michael' Illya said seriously as Therese began running her hands through his hair. 'You two should go to the coach house; Napoleon may need your help. I'll take madam here to the lodge.'

'Whus your hair gone?' Therese's slurred voice interrupted, her head nodding over his shoulder as one of her hands slid round his waist. 'I liiiked yus hair; is funny now . . ' Illya sighed and took her hand gently off his head, before gently tossing her over his shoulder.

'Michael, I . . .' He looked round, but Dawson had disappeared. He could feel Therese's hands on his backside as he began to move swiftly up the side of the front lawn under the trees towards the lodge house which he could see lit up beyond the heavy rhodendron bushes that fringed the edge of the estate. It was hard keeping her on his shoulder, but he reasoned that trying to walk with her would have made the journey even slower. Her skin felt rather slippery to his touch, as if someone had oiled it, and he was grateful when the front door of the lodge came into sight, two Section Three agents standing rather idly either side, sharing a cigarette in the gloom.

They came rapidly to attention when they saw Kuryakin approaching, one swinging the door open as Illya came to a halt in front of them and slid Therese down into a semi-crumpled heap beside him.

'Um, we've swept the house sir; no problems identified' the taller, heavier-set one of the duo began. Illya shifted Therese slightly, as her head came up and she gave the agents a sloppy smile before looking back at Illya.

'They's is big but yours bigger' she said vaguely smiling at him and grabbing him between the legs. Illya glared at the smaller agent, who was having difficulty not grinning at the other one.

'Excuse my wife, she's not responsible for her behaviour at the moment' he murmured, before dragging Therese through the door and up the stairs, his foot slamming the front door behind him with a loud bang.

'Reg, did he say she was his wife?' The tall agent reached inside his jacket and brought out another cigarette, which he proceded to light from a silver cigarette lighter offered by his partner.

'Well he said so, didn't he?'

'I thought Doug said he was married to some little Catholic girl from Liverpool?' Reg took a long drag from his cigarette before looking upwards at the bathroom light, which had just come on above them.

'Well, she don't look much like the bloody Virgin Mary to me' he said, winking.

xxxxxxxx

Being with Therese felt like having a very large living rag doll by your side, Illya thought, except that this particular toy had no sexual inhibitions whatsoever. She continued making various attempts to either grope or bite him up the stairs, until he was able to push her into the bathroom and lock the door behind them.

Keeping his eyes on her, he carefully slid his holster and gun to the floor behind him, and kicked off his shoes. Behind her was a shower, unusual for a British bathroom, but for once he was grateful for Mrs Blau's continental taste. Therese eyed him warily, her mouth, the lipstick now crudely smudged across the familiar lips, twitching slightly as he came nearer.

'C'mon on Illyush. . . a' she said unsteadily, her accent rather stronger than usual, 'c'mon and get us.' She lurched towards him, her shoes making a clunking sound on the hard floor of the bathroom until he caught her and deftly forced her down onto the ground, sitting astride her and fending off her attempts to grab him from behind as he removed her shoes and threw them into a heap in the corner.

'I'm sorry cherie, but needs must' he muttered, standing up, and then dragging her up to face him. Despite her apparent mental confusion, she seemed remarkably adept at some activities. Before he could stop her, she had unzipped his trousers and yanked them down with his underpants. Illya shrugged, allowing her to complete the task with his shirt, while he pulled off his socks and gently manoeuvred her towards the shower cubicle behind. Removing the minute panties proved easy, but the hideous red tassels still remained attached to her breasts for the time being.

Reaching behind her, he yanked the shower control to cold and turned it on full. The shock even made him gasp slightly, while Therese let out a scream, her arms and legs flailing against him as she tried to escape the freezing water. He held her there for as long as he could, until she began to sob, pleading with him to stop, her words coming out in short gasps as her head spun round, her hair stinging his face as she turned. Eventually he relented and twisted the control until a kinder temperature was achieved.

Almost instantly she collapsed against him, her head burrowed into his chest as she clung silently on. Still holding her, he squeezed some soapy liquid onto the sponge lodged behind them, and began to slowly massage her body with long, gentle strokes. As she brought her head back slightly, he sponged her face delicately, restoring her to her previous natural beauty. Without speaking, she glanced at the bottles behind, and then tipped some shampoo into her hands, bringing them up into his hair and slowly massaging his head as he started to kiss her.

For a few minutes, the sound of the water extinguished any other, the two bodies intertwined with each other under the shower's drenching blast. Illya could hear that Therese's breathing had become more regular, her eyes more focused, first on herself as she tugged at the tassels, and then on him. He put his hand over hers and helped her to peel them back from each breast, before they were dropped carelessly at their feet. Holding her gently, Illya turned off the shower, and helped Therese out, grabbing a huge white towel on the rail nearby and cocooning her in it. She was utterly silent, only her eyes revealing the pain and humiliation of the evening to him.

He lifted her and carried her into the bedroom, laying her on the bed, before returning to the bathroom and putting on a bathrobe which brought back painful memories of the last time he was a guest of the Blaus in New York. She was still lying in the exact position he had placed her in when he returned, her face turned into the bed, the towel fallen back to reveal her tangled hair. Illya pulled open a few drawers before finding a diaphanous silk nightdress, so delicate his hands seemed enormous and clumsy holding it. He frowned before sitting on the bed, and lifting his wife towards him. It came to him suddenly that he had never had to do this before. Embarrassingly, he thought of the occasions when she had had to undress him, usually after some celebratory drink he had indulged in with Napoleon at home, Illya waking to find that he had miraculously been relieved of his clothes and was in bed. Tess, on the other hand, drank little, happy to leave them to unwind, knowing that they needed to.

But unlike him, her helplessness was not of her own making. He let the towel fall from her and slid the nightdress over her head, before lifting her up, laying her head on the pillows and covering her with the smooth cotton sheet folded back at the end of the bed. He lay down beside her, immediately aware of an overwhelming weariness taking hold of him. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, scared that he would fall asleep so easily while she lay there painfully awake. After a few moments where they lay together without speaking, she sighed deeply and lay her head on his chest.

'I . . . couldn't stop her, she, she said it was a present from . . . from Lee.' She gave a huge shudder at the name, her body stiff with the memory. Illya moved down a little and cupped her face in his hand as his eyes came level with hers.

'Can you tell me . . . only if you want to.' She heaved a great sigh again, and gazed at him.

'We reached the clearing on time, Sabi and I and then Schmidt just behind us. She spoke to the two men in the van and told them we would be with them, but just as she was speaking to them, the communication went down. There was a noise behind us and then, and then Schmidt was lying there dead. It was so quick, Illya, his life gone.' Her eyes began to fill with tears, but after taking a few deep breaths, she continued.

'Ottilie appeared out of nowhere; there were three men with her, not those boys helping out at the party, but others, older, meaner looking. They made Sabi throw down her gun and then . . . and then . . .' The tears flowed rapidly down her face, her body against his feeling so taut that it felt as if it might snap at any moment. Illya said nothing, giving her time to recover before the final, harrowing moments of the life of someone so precious to both of them were told.

'The men were holding us, one of them waving a gun at Sabi. Ottilie pushed him back and went up to her. We were near enough to hold hands, oh Illya she was trying so hard to help me! Then Ottilie came up to her really close. She got hold of one of the little flowers on Sabi's dress; it wasn't like the others, it was more like a badge really. All of a sudden she clicked it between her fingers and pushed it against her. I don't understand . . . she just sank down then, as if all the energy, all her life was being drained from her. They carried her back to this tree, and I held on and sat with her. Ottilie came up, she was smiling so cruelly, it was horrible. She knelt down and said those words, and we both realised then what she meant. She's with Lee, isn't she? She made that poison. She killed her because of me.'

Therese began to cry freely, her chest rapidly rising and falling as she struggled for breath. Illya held her close, staring over her shoulder through the window into the night. Her own nightmare experience had been submerged by this memory of the death of their friend, and of her responsibility for it.

'No. You are not to blame, corazon' he murmured, stroking the wild hair from her face, 'you know that. Ultimately, only one person bears responsibility, with the aid of very willing accomplices.'

He continued to hold her for a while, until her breathing lengthened and he felt her body become slack in his arms. His own mind and body were cajoling him to stay with her, forcing his eyes downwards to join her in sleep and rest. He shook his head slightly and gently extricated himself from her hold, kissing her cheek as he slid from the bed and crept out of the room to retrieve his clothes. He put his head under the tap in the sink and turned on the cold tap, shuddering at it and hoping it would somehow invigorate him for at least the next few minutes. Scrambling into his clothes, he strapped on his holster and checked his gun, before slithering gently down the stairs towards the front door.

A fug of smoke alerted him to the presence of the two Section Three agents at the side of the house. He was already upon them before they had chance to extinguish the cigarettes they were enjoying together.

'Put those out and get back round to the front' he hissed at them, their faces registering their shock at his appearance. 'I'll be back shortly and I'll expect you to be where you should have been. Understood?' The two agents nodded dumbly before scrambling round towards the front door as Illya disappeared into the darkness.

Illya reasoned to himself that it was a waste of time either contacting Napoleon or going to the coach house, where he hoped the others had arrived by now. If for some reason, Ottilie Blau escaped Napoleon, he had to ensure that she would not escape him. It was relatively easy to follow the line of the high thick hedge that bordered the Blau Estate, the main gates being a relatively short distance away from the lodge house, which was situated by the road but beside a more minor entrance to the house. As he ran as swiftly as he could in the darkness, Illya felt a kind of creeping exhaustion taking hold of him, making his legs heavy and his eyes sore. He stumbled a few times in the undergrowth by the hedge, willing himself onwards, trying to keep hold of the rage that he felt at Sabi's death, channelling it into achieving his goal of preventing her murderer from escaping justice.

To his left side he became aware in the gloom of the summer night of the road forking from the straight drive and winding its way towards the smaller gates by the Lodge house. He stopped for a moment, glancing down the drive towards the coach house where he could see a bright light emanating from its open doors. He strained to hear of any noises coming from that direction, but it seemed that unless he was too late, Ottilie Blau had still not left the building. Fighting back the overwhelming fatigue coursing through his body, he forced himself onwards towards the gates.

xxxxx

The boot of the small red sports car was still open when Cecilia stepped inside the coach house, a matching set of exclusive looking luggage stacked side by side in its small space, two smaller cases wedged onto the diminutive back seat. Ottilie Blau slammed shut the boot with a firm clunk and turned slowly round as Cecilia faced her.

The wide double doors of what was now used as a garage were flung open, the drive made free for her to leave when she chose. Cecilia could see the pollarded trees stretching out in a straight line in front of them towards the huge ornamental entrance gates, lit up by a series of low-set lights which made them appear even more like something a child might have drawn in some school colouring book; and then, in the far distance to the right, the lights of the lodge house at the end of the narrow road forking away from the trees.

'Coming to wave me goodbye?' Ottilie said, her lipstick, now a bright orange colour, drawn in a thin, hot line across her face. She was dressed for travel that was obvious, the theatrical costume of the evening discarded for the more practical outfit of tight thin trousers and top, a bright orange silk coat enlivening the ensemble and matching the vibrant tone of her lips.

'I need to know . . . I . . .'

'What do you need to know, Cecilia?' Ottilie gave her a withering look, before a cruel smile played across her features. 'Oh, you need to know about Lee. You finally worked that out, did you? I'm impressed.'

Cecilia felt her face suffused with hot blood, as if her thumping heart was directing it all towards her head. One of her hands closed round the little cylinder she had brought from her room, the other fastening itself round the gun she held inside the bag dangling from her shoulder.

'You won't . . .' She was interrupted by loud, mocking laughter. Even Ottilie's perfectly regular white teeth felt to Cecilia as if they were laughing at her.

'Oh please. You're not going to say we won't get away with it, are you? But we have got away with it, and you, you pathetic little girl, have helped us. Oh, but you surely didn't think Lee was in love with you, did you?' She leaned into the car and retrieved her handbag, from which she extracted a set of keys, the metal objects on the ring jangling brashly in the empty echoing space.

Cecilia stepped forward, her body pressed against the side of the car as she came nearer to the other woman.

'You won't get away with this, because I will stop you.' Ottilie began to play with the key ring, passing the various objects on it between her fingers.

'You will stop us? Oh really.' She sighed deeply, and opened the car door. 'And how are you going to do that, my boring little bank clerk? Tell your bank that you have attempted to defraud them of several hundred thousand dollars? Oh, or you could tell those nice Jewish people who own the paintings that you and that nice Mr Krause stole? Oh, do tell, my dear, I can hardly wait.' Ottilie took a small step towards Cecilia, her face showing the enjoyment she was experiencing at the other woman's fear.

'I'm going to tell UNCLE' Cecilia said simply.

Ottilie shook her head, her mouth wide open in a contemptuous smile.

'Ah, UNCLE. I presume you mean Mr Krause, or should I say Mr Kuryakin now that we don't need to pretend any more. Ah yes, Mr Kuryakin; such lovely hair. It's a shame that it's the cause of him probably lying in several pieces somewhere in the forest. Yes, it's a pity he couldn't be around to help you, Cecilia, or to help his wife either. I suspect by now she's enjoying the attentions of quite a few of our more enthusiastic guinea pigs.'

'Ah, sorry to disappoint you Ottilie, but hopefully, by now they're both safe and well and tucked up in bed . . . with each other'.

Napoleon meandered into view from behind the door Cecilia had come through, his gun pointed in Ottilie's direction. Cecilia turned round, her eyes showing both shock and gratitude at Napoleon's appearance.

'Marshall, how lovely that you could drop by' Ottilie said coolly, her hand still swinging the keys just behind Cecilia's head, 'but I really don't think this is anything of concern to you.' Napoleon saw a momentary glimmer of uncertainty in Ottilie's cold glare before the customary look of superiority re-asserted itself.

'Well I think you'll find that it is very much of concern to me, and to my organisation' he replied, moving slightly closer to the two women by the car. Cecilia still looked scared, but after glancing at Napoleon, she turned more confidently to Ottilie.

'Ottilie, allow me to introduce you to Napoleon Solo, from UNCLE. He's going to help me make sure that the real criminals in this affair are brought to justice.' Ottilie sniffed slightly, before looking Napoleon up and down through narrowed eyes.

'Well well well. Napoleon Solo. We were told you were elsewhere in the world by our contact in your organisation, and you were really quite deceitful in not telling Lee about him, were you not, Cecilia?' She moved fractionally towards Cecilia, the keys still dangling from her hand. 'I do hope you don't hold out any hopes of a lasting relationship with Mr Solo, my dear. I'm told he has a perfectly divine wife and a rather sweet little boy tucked away at home.'

Cecilia looked rapidly between the other two, Solo's expression fleetingly changing, his eyes continuing to be fixed on Ottilie Blau.

'Nice try, but I rather think it's not about me, Ottilie, is it? Now, if you wouldn't mind, it's getting rather late and the Norfolk Constabulary have a nice little cell with your name on it they're keeping warm for you. Not up to your usual standards, but you'll only have a short time to get used to it before we take you back to UNCLE for an interesting little chat about what you and your girlfriend are planning to do with all that money.'

Napoleon moved forward slightly, Ottilie Blau's fingers now grasping one of the disks on the key ring, as she opened the door of the car and stood in front of it. Before he could react she had dragged Cecilia towards her, her long fingers curled round the neck of the other woman as she positioned Cecilia between her and Solo.

'Mr Solo, you'll have to sacrifice your little collaborator here to get to me' she said, her sharp sneer in vivid contrast to the look of absolute terror on Cecilia's face.

'Let her go, Ottilie; you know there's no way out now' Napoleon said calmly, his eyes slightly squinting at what he thought might be figures among the trees on the drive as he edged closer. Ottilie stared at him for a few moments, and then plunged the disk she held in her fingers onto Cecilia's neck. As Cecilia slipped down between them, she slid into the seat of the car and with a roar, drove out of the garage.

xxxxxx

Illya drew his gun from the holster and released the safety catch as he heard a car roar into life and headlights shoot out their beams into the darkness. As he peered towards the house he was aware of two figures, one running ahead of the other, emerge from the trees on the other side of the drive. As the car gained speed, the first man leapt into the drive, his hands akimbo. Illya saw the little car brake slightly and then swerve to the right, the man knocked aside casually as it began to accelerate again up the narrower road.

With a grunt, Illya turned and sprinted back towards the Lodge House, crashing through the scrubland by the hedge, feeling the car coming up upon him as he ran. There was a slight scream of the tyres as the car braked to take the sharp bend as the Russian reached the gates and flung himself down on the ground, bringing up his gun and firing at the car as it braked to turn into the road. For a moment, he saw Ottilie stare at him, before the car flipped sideways and hit the gate in a cacophony of steel and stone. Illya stood up and staggered back towards a large oak tree silently witnessing the event behind him. As he slipped down against its reassuring trunk, he felt the heat of the explosion wash over his face. His arms fell to his side, his gun slipping from his grasp as finally exhaustion won its battle over him.

xxxxxx

Vaz appeared by Napoleon's side as Cecilia eyes became gradually more unfocused.

'There's somebody out there' Solo said, before turning his head towards the woman in his arms. As she lay there, he felt her hand come up and press something into his. He bent his head down to hers, as she whispered, 'stop . . . her' before her hand fell back again for the last time.

He laid her down gently on the floor as the ringing sound of two shots were followed instantaneously by the harsh grinding of metal on metal and a tremendous fireball lighting up the night sky. Fernando burst in through the door, glancing at Cecilia, and stood panting near them.

'What was that?' he shouted, as Napoleon got up.

'I've got a feeling that was Mrs Blau and a large pair of gates having an argument, and the gates winning' Napoleon replied, as they began to run gently along the drive towards the now considerable tower of flame near the Lodge house.

'But there were some shots' Fernando panted slightly, as they spotted Vaz in the distance with another man.

'Yeah' Napoleon answered, before slowing down to a walk, 'so who fired?'

As they approached, Napoleon could see that the other man was Michael Dawson. They were crouching over somebody at the side of the drive, his legs splayed out between the two men as they knelt either side. Napoleon ran up as Michael turned and stood up.

'It's Blau' Vaz said. 'Michael here found him in the woods. They came back here and then Blau saw her going and tried to stop her. She just ran him down.' Michael looked at the silent figure before turning towards the blazing vehicle. Another man was running towards them, whom Napoleon recognised as one of the Section Three agents guarding the Lodge.

'Sir, it's Mr Kuryakin sir. I think he needs help.' The four men looked at each other before Napoleon, with the others following, began to run along the narrow road leading to the Lodge.

Illya was laying against a tree, his gun lying by his hand and his legs stretched out in front of him. Napoleon ran up, just preventing him from sliding over.

'And what are you doing? I thought you'd be tucked up in bed by now guarding your lovely wife.' Illya's eyes slowly opened and a soft smile illumined his face.

'I . . .I thought she might get away' he began, the effort of even speaking seeming almost too much for him. 'Tess is . . . safe' he smiled, his eyes opening and shutting intermittently. 'I couldn't allow that woman . . . to go . . . for Sabi's sake.'

Napoleon glanced up as the others arrived, keeping his hand on his partner's shoulder to keep him upright.

'He's alright, just come to the end of his energy reserves for the evening' he said. 'I think he needs a bit of bed rest now.' Michael pushed forwards through the others, handing Illya's gun to Napoleon before hauling him over his shoulder, the blond head of the Russian agent standing out against Dawkins' dark jacket as he began to walk slowly towards the lodge.

'Get Section Three to collect up the bodies and see to this' he said, pointing to the now blazing wreck of the car, which was now welded in a mangled heap to the gate into which it crashed. He walked off, following the bobbing head of his partner until they reached the lodge and went upstairs to the bedroom where earlier Illya had carried Therese.

In the half-light they could see her lying across the bed, in repose as Napoleon gently moved the hair from her face. Illya had obviously managed to clean her up in the shower and remove the scant clothing she had been wearing, replacing it with a very fine nightdress which Napoleon assumed must have come from somewhere in the room. As he pulled back the sheet, she didn't stir, the two men carefully laying Illya down next to her, before they began to remove his shoes and clothing. He groaned slightly as they rolled him over, his eyes continuing to open and shut, but his body seemingly not able to summon the energy to either help or hinder their work.

As they removed his shirt and trousers, Michael's eyes narrowed slightly.

'What the . . ' Napoleon stared at his partner's back in the moonlight, the powerful muscles not disguising the story of Illya's life as an UNCLE agent.

'Yes, he does come in for his fair share of punishment' Napoleon murmured. 'Luckily, this here is the only souvenir of this particular mission' he added, pointing to the scar in the centre of Illya's back sustained in Israel after the bombing of the Aaronheim's house. 'Don't worry, he has help to make it all better.' Michael smiled, and, as if to underline Napoleon's comment, Therese moved, bringing her arm across Illya's neck and drawing herself towards him.

'Um, I think this is where we leave the fairy king and queen' Napoleon said, ignoring Michael's confused stare. 'I need to call someone special and we all need to get some rest before tomorrow.'

'And what happens tomorrow?'

'We attempt to sort out the mess, of course.'

CHAPTER 18

Waverly swung the table round so vigorously, Napoleon had to grasp its edge with his hand to avoid the files sliding onto the floor.

'Thank you sir. I hope the report answers any questions you may have had concerning the financial aspects of the case?' Waverly tapped his pipe on the ashtray behind his chair and sighed.

'Well you're fortunate that your wife was able to untangle most of the legal mess created from all this, together with Miss Clark from Accounts. The financial side of this mission makes even your expenses claim look simple in comparison, Mr Solo.' Napoleon grimaced slightly and opened the file, wishing that Illya would hurry up from wherever he was secreted at the moment.

Waverly flicked through the papers in front of him, drawing out one with Illya's familiar neat handwriting on it.

'Mr Kuryakin was able to gather a considerable amount of information from the details left in Miss Luft's bank vault' he muttered, jabbing at the page with his pipe. The cylinder Cecilia had pressed into his hand had contained a key, Illya recognising the name of her bank impressed into its barrel.

'Yes, the bank were eager to cooperate, and she had extensive microfiched records of all the Adler transactions' Napoleon replied, looking at his watch. 'It appears that Mrs Blau had been siphoning off money from Adler accounts for some time. We managed to prevent them getting their hands on the money from the paintings, but before that, they must have amassed quite a pile.'

'And one shudders to think what purpose that money is being put to' Waverly said, putting down the file. 'When Mr Kuryakin arrives, perhaps we can discuss that matter.'

Napoleon stood up and went towards the coffee set out on the cadenza behind them. He had written the report with a positive spin, but he felt a sense of unfinished business about the whole thing.

'Um, where is Mr Kuryakin, sir?' he asked, sipping his coffee, as the old man joined him. Waverly sighed, helping himself to another cup.

'I believe he's down with Dr Coleman somewhere, doing his duty to UNCLE in the cause of scientific knowledge' as Coleman put it.'

'Doing his what? Is he in the labs?' Waverly smiled and put down the cup.

'I believe Mr Kuryakin has something which Dr Coleman and his colleagues would like to examine, but which he was rather reluctant to donate' Waverly continued. Coleman came up here complaining about it, so I was forced to remind Mr Kuryakin of his duty to the Command. He lifted his hand and gave his hair a little tug, before coming back to sit at the table.

'Oh. I see. Well, I think I might just pay Lab C a visit and see if I can hurry things up a bit.' Waverly looked up from a file he was staring at intently.

'What? Oh, yes, you do that Mr Solo. We haven't got all day to spend waiting around for Mr Kuryakin to become cooperative.'

He could hear the raised voices even in the laboratory reception area, Coleman's rather high, squeaky tones followed by Illya's lower, colder ones.

'Hello Belinda, having fun with my partner, are you?' The Receptionist, a rather attractive brunette he had dated once, threw down her pen, and pushed back her chair.

'They have been at it for about fifteen minutes now. I am finding it hard to concentrate!' she said in the southern drawl that he had once found so attractive.

'Mmm. Well, I suggest you ring Rudi and tell him to get up here pronto with the necessary equipment. Tell him Illyusha needs him, that'll be enough.' She stared at him for a moment, before grabbing the phone and punching in numbers with her pen.

Napoleon advanced towards the lab and pressed the button to gain entry. In the corner of the room a space had been cleared, the floor covered by a plastic sheet upon which a lab stool had been placed. On the lab counter at the side Napoleon noticed an array of implements, including a large bowl of soapy water and a razor. Coleman, an extremely thin and rather diminutive man whose bald head was surrounded by hair of a strange gingery grey colour stood almost head to chest with Kuryakin, who compared to him looked surprisingly big and very menacing.

'Napoleon. Perhaps you could explain to Mr Coleman here that donating a sample does not mean giving him every hair on my head' Illya began, beginning to tap his hand on the counter behind him, his wedding ring making a clunking sound as he talked.

'And as I explained to you, Mr Kuryakin, we need a large sample to enable us to make a proper study; and we need a control sample of your normal hair for comparison' Coleman squeeked, glaring at the Russian and bouncing slightly on his feet in frustration.

'Ye-es, I can see both sides of this argument' Napoleon started tentatively, ignoring Illya's raised eyebrows. 'Um, why don't you just give him the treated hair, Illya, and then Dr Coleman, you can use any normal hair as a control, couldn't you? Rudi would give you some samples, I'm sure.' He walked over and held up a clump of the Russian's hair, cocking his head to one side. 'Um, you've got about an inch and a half grown since I, . . since your little brush with Mrs Blau. That should make you look more or less normal if you let him have the rest, comrade.'

'I'm not letting him touch me.'

By perfect timing, the door slid open.

'Oh my God, darling, what are they doing to you?' A look of utter confusion reminiscent of his baby boys swept across Illya's face.

'What are you doing here? Oh, I see.' Illya took off his jacket, bent down and grabbed a pair of plastic overshoes before walking onto the plastic and sitting down. Coleman thrust another pair in Rudi's direction.

'No contamination of the site' he squeeked.

'You can all go now' Illya said, taking off his holster. 'Mr Coleman can collect the sample later, and I'll see you in Reception, Napoleon.'

'Ah yes, the synagogue, for Kaddish.'

'And make sure you bring my Yarmulke. I'll need it to keep my head warm.'

xxxxxxx

The lunchtime rush at Katz's delicatessen has lessened a little, so it was possible to find tables near each other.

'I love this place, Orin Aaronheim beamed, 'I love the pastrami!' Illya nodded, his face partially hidden beneath a vast pastrami sandwich.

'Yes, this makes up for the indignities of this morning' he muttered. He put his hand to his head, feeling the short layers of hair lying neatly across it. Therese put her lips to the side of his head and kissed him.

'Aw, you look sweet' she said, grinning at Napoleon and Jo, 'no more horrible stiff hair, all soft now.' Illya smiled in spite of himself, putting down the sandwich to look at his wife.

She had recovered well from the traumatic events of the summer. Their holiday had given them time to talk, for her to grieve for Sabi and to talk about her. They found that all of them had needed to do that, even the children. Having the children with them again had been therapeutic, a chance to do normal sane things again. Yet the shadow of Bolt, at least in Illya's mind, still lingered, a spectre that he knew would have to be resolved if their lives were ever to be safe.

He felt a hand tugging at his jacket.

'Papa, Frankie is worried. Grandmere n'est pas ici.' Illya looked steadily at Pascale and then across to the next table, where Frankie and Fernando had all the children, the twins on their laps with the other Kuryakins and Fabian squashed in amongst them all. He got up and came across, Tasiya instantly standing up and holding out her arms.

'Tasiya, assieds-toi. What's the problem?' Frankie got up and pulled him slightly to the side, away from the children.

'Look, I didn't want to bother you with this, I . . I just thought it was a bit, well he was a bit creepy.' Illya frowned.

'Frankie you're not making any sense. Who or what is a bit creepy, and what's it got to do with my mother?' Frankie stared at him, her earrings jangling as she talked.

'Jeez, I'm sorry. OK, this guy called a couple of times, said he knew her from back in the Ukraine. He sure had a foreign accent, a bit like yours I guess, but not quite, more like Ingo's, yeah more like that.' Illya sighed, pursing his lips as she talked. 'So, I told your mom and she said she'd wait in to see if he called again. You know, he reminded me of someone.' Illya glanced behind him and caught Napoleon's eye.

'Frankie, this is important. Who did he remind you of?' Frankie frowned in concentration as Napoleon came up to them. Suddenly her face cleared. 'Yeah, that's it! In some weirdo way he reminds me of Michael, you know that guy who used to have the hots for Tess, who's now in Israel?' Illya swallowed, before turning away from her towards Napoleon.

'Blau' he said quietly, as Napoleon grasped his arm.

'I'll hail a cab; tell Fernando to keep everyone away until we call.' He dashed outside the shop as Illya turned back to the children.

'Papa va pour grandmere' he said calmly. 'Fernando, I think you should all go back to Napoleon's new house, the children haven't seen it yet.' He could sense Jo behind him, her hand on his arm.

'No problem. Fernando, Frankie, get the kids; Orin and I will sort the tickets. Here' she said, thrusting two tickets in his hand, 'you'll never get out of Katz's alive without these.' He nodded, then ran out of the shop, thrusting the tickets in the hand of a man at the desk as he hurried by.

On the street, Napoleon had the cab door open, the cab taking off as Illya hurled himself inside.

'How on earth did he know where your mother lived?' Napoleon said, loading his gun as the cab eased its way through the traffic along Houston and turned right onto Eighth Avenue.

'Stop at the top of Grove' Napoleon shouted at the driver, before leaning back to watch Illya ram a clip of bullets into his gun.

'I think it must have been accidental, while he was looking for Michael' Illya said grimly. 'Michael's been spending quite a lot of time with Frankie and Fernando before going to Israel. Well, with all of us really. Somehow, Blau must have used his contacts to track Michael, and then seen my mother.' He sighed, the severe haircut making him look at once a strange combination of hard man and vulnerable child to Solo's eyes.

'It'll be OK. I've called for some backup and we can cover both exits to the house. When we arrive you go through your house and in the back way, and I'll try and cause an upset at the front door. If I don't get anywhere, I'll join you later.'

Illya nodded, as the cab drew up outside St Clare's church. He glanced at the building, so familiar to him now, the little path at the side leading to the school where he had passed so many times and no doubt would continue for many years to come. A slight frisson of fear clutched him as he walked rapidly over the crossing and started to run down the road towards his house. This little part of New York, so precious to him, so preserved from that other, more dangerous part of his life, now drawn down into it. He ran up the steps and thrust his key into the door, pressing his thumb into the fingerprint pad before the door swung open to admit him.

He dashed past the double pram in the hallway before running into the back room and threading his way between toys and musical instruments to reach the French doors. Shooting back the bolts, he felt carefully for the key secreted behind the curtains in the frame of the windows and opened the door. Keeping close to the wall of the house, he glanced up. On the first floor he was aware of a flash of something at the window, and then for an instant, the face of his mother before she disappeared from view.

The doorbell was insistent, as if someone was leaning against it.

'Let me answer it. I can get rid of them.' Blau signalled to Marina with his gun.

'Sit down doctor. Whoever it is will go away soon, and then we can continue our interesting conversation nicht wahr?' Marina sat down on the bed, Konstantin Blau towering over her, standing by the window.

'So, you live here now with your husband, and next door lives your son and his family. The son who you assured me was, what was it, 'staying with relatives in the country'. But you lied to me doctor, didn't you? He walked away from the window and grasped a large photograph standing in a group on a table.

'How lucky you are, my dear doctor. Not only a handsome son, but he has a beautiful wife and many, many children. And all I am asking is the whereabouts of my brother; that is all.'Marina got up and moved to the window.

'He is where you cannot find him. My son's organisation has seen to that. He is trying to make a new life for himself, away from his past; away from you.' She turned quickly and looked out of the window, catching sight of Illya below her before Blau had caught hold of her arm and dragged her away. The ringing on the doorbell had stopped now, and Marina felt a slow, paralysing fear begin to seep into her.

'I can't believe you've forgotten how people like you must be punished for not cooperating' he said slowly, pushing her down onto the bed. Although he was older, he still looked remarkably fit, his hair still a dark shadow on his head, his body long and lean. In a sudden, harsh movement, he forced her onto her front and wrenched her arms behind her, tying her hands together in a painful knot. She felt the barrel of his gun press into her temple as he leaned across her and knelt on the bed, his legs either side of her body.

'Get off her, Blau.' Blau jerked his head up, bringing the gun up with him as Illya appeared in the doorway. Looking back on it, Marina could only remember the moment in a kind of slow motion sequence; Blau's shot, Illya falling, and then Napoleon coming through the window. As Blau's body slumped beside her, she began to scream, frantically fighting the rope until she felt someone release her. She leapt off the bed, aware of her son on the floor and the creeping stain of blood from his abdomen soaking his clothes.

As she cradled his head, a cold logic entered her.

'Fetch my bag, in the next room' she ordered Napoleon, 'then in the bathroom, towels, quickly.' Laying him down on the carpet, she ripped open his trousers, the blood covering her hands as she removed the clothes from the wound.

As she worked to stem the tide of blood, she looked round at the motionless figure behind her. 'Is he . . .'

'No' Napoleon replied calmly. 'Only sedated. We wouldn't want him to miss his day in the Israeli courts, would we?' A thundering of feet on the stairs announced the medical team, Napoleon got up to give them room, pulling Marina up. 'Let them do what they need to do' he said. 'I'll wait and take you to UNCLE.' She stood uncertainly, her dress covered in blood.

'Call Theresa' she said, 'now.'

xxxxxxxx

'I can't believe you just didn't fire.' Napoleon pulled his feet off the side of Illya's bed as a rather attractive nurse came in the room and removed the chart from its place by Illya's feet.

'And would you have just fired if it was your mother he was pointing his gun at?' Illya replied, leaning his head back against the pillows.

'I hope you're not hasseling our favourite patient' the nurse said sharply, going over to Illya and gently pulling him forward before re-arranging the pillows behind him.

'Come again, 'favourite patient'? Has there been brain surgery performed in my absence?' Napoleon murmured.

'Mr Kuryakin has been a model patient since he arrived' she cooed, smiling at Illya, 'Precious and I don't know where his reputation for being awkward is coming from.'

'Oh, Napoleon, allow me to introduce you' Illya said, as an identical nurse to the one stroking Illya's brow came into the room. 'Miracle and Precious, meet Mr Solo, my partner. Mr Solo likes twins . . .'

'Of the girl variety' Napoleon said, as Miracle passed by him to join her sister the other side of Illya.

'Miracle and Precious are on loan from our Bermuda office' Illya continued, his brow contracting a little as Precious wheeled in a small dressings trolley.

'Now don't you worry your little head about this old dressing' she began, 'just settle onto Miracle like we showed you.' As she cleaned the trolley, Miracle positioned herself to the side of Illya and turned his head, crushing it into her ample bosom. Napoleon blinked, staring at Precious.

'Does his wife approve of this?' he whispered.

'Oh my yes, when Miracle ain't here, she acts as Miracle, if you see my meaning. She says it keeps him calm.'

'Really? And you offer this service to all your patients?' Precious whipped off the dressing, Napoleon noting Kuryakin's slight wince, before a more beatific expression returned to his face.

'Oh no! Only to those selected for special treatment Mr Solo.'

Napoleon saw Therese come through the door, her finger to her lips as she did. Edging up the side of the bed, she took off her coat and seamlessly took Miracle's place by the bed.

'Hello darling' came the muffled reply. She laughed and kissed his hair.

'Have the girls been telling you about their model patient' she said, lifting up his head slightly. She looked down at the wound, now in its latter stages of healing. He had escaped a wound infection, but he had no memory of the first days, when she had lain with her head on his bed in Intensive Care, the two Bermudian nurses caring for both husband and wife as he struggled to survive.

Illya shifted himself slightly on the bed, looking up into Therese's topaz eyes.

'They say I'm allowed to come home at the weekend if I promise to behave myself' he said, his lips twitching slightly. Therese pushed him back onto the pillows and glanced over at Napoleon, whose sardonic expression was very easily readable, at least by her.

'Don't let him get away with anything' he said; 'Mr Waverly is expecting him back by Christmas.'

'Oh I shan't,' Therese replied, her hand finding her husband's ear beneath his hair and gently following its line. 'It'll be strictly bed rest, won't it darling?' Illya's frown dissolved into a barely suppressed grin.

'Definitely' he nodded.

xxxxxxxx

He could see the snow falling through the bathroom window as he dried his hair, and then wound the towel round his waist. Despite the weather, the room was delightfully hot and steamy, and Illya leaned forward and rubbed the mirror over the sink with his hand, his face appearing through the steam as he stepped back.

The gauntness he had seen in the first days at home was almost gone, Therese's regime of rest and delicious meals restoring him to health, supplemented by a fitness regime instituted by Ingo, which had begun fairly gently, building up to a fairly excruciating level ensuring his return to the field in a shorter time than his wife had hoped for. He sauntered out of the room and headed towards the bedroom, aware of the faint strains of music from the floor below and a fainter crashing of plates and laughter from the depths of the house. The door was open a little, and he knew for certain that someone was inside.

'Darling, I . . .' He came up short in front of the bed, his lips drawing into a tight line. 'Napoleon. I thought you were . .' Napoleon raised his eyebrows at the sight before him and got up from where he was lounging on the bed.

'Obviously, unless our friendship has reached new levels of intimacy I hadn't realised' Napoleon replied, smiling at the scowling Russian in front of him. He wandered over to the window and, pulling the curtain back slightly, glanced into the street.

'You'd better hurry up, your guests are arriving' he said, turning back to see Illya yanking underwear out of one of the drawers of the enormous shop fitting that contained all their clothes. He scrambled into his usual white shorts and t shirt before turning and sitting down on the chaise longue that skirted the wall opposite the bed.

'Napoleon, is there a reason why you've taken up residence in my bedroom, apart from wanting to evade any preparations that may be going on downstairs?' Illya asked, as he pulled on a pair of socks, his eyes now partially hidden by a thick fringe of partially dry blond hair, which had flopped forward as he bent down.

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, there is. I thought you might like to know the current situation regarding our favourite villainess before you go jetting off to Albania tomorrow afternoon.' Illya frowned deeply and sighed, before walking over to the unit and taking out something from the depths of its capacious wardrobe section.

'I'll only be gone a few days, it's just a glorified courier job' Illya muttered, as he pulled on one of his usual black polo neck jumpers. 'Unfortunately the government of Albania regard beards and long hair as a sign of western capitalistic bourgeois liberalism, so I need to conform to my passport photograph if I am to enter the country without being arrested.'

'Well God bless the Albanian Government and all who sail in her' Napoleon said, as Illya's now fairly flowing blond hair emerged from the neck of his jumper.

Illya glared in his direction before grabbing a pair of trousers which he'd thrown onto the back of the chaise-longue.

'You're not going to wear those?' Napoleon stared at the trousers, unconsciously smoothing down his own perfectly pressed pair of slacks which denoted the extent to which he was prepared to go along the casually dressed line.

'There are three reasons why I'm wearing these' Illya began, starting to ease the brocade trousers up his legs. 'First, because Connie bet me twenty dollars I wouldn't wear them; secondly, because of who is downstairs and who expects me to be wearing them, and thirdly, because they signal the end of my enforced holiday, and according to Tess, they go perfectly with this.' He tugged at his hair, which had now settled itself round his face in a thick shaggy pile. 'Tomorrow, I will return to normal duty, Frank will have his way with my hair, and these', he said, smiling, 'will be consigned to the back of the wardrobe.' He began to button the fly of the trousers, wriggling a little to achieve some sort of comfort within them. 'What d'you think?' he said finally, staring at himself in the mirror on one of the closet doors.

'You really want to know?' Napoleon said. 'I think . . that there are going to be quite a few girls and boys downstairs who are not going to forget the sight of you in those pants for a long time.' Illya groaned slightly, before sitting down again on the chaise-longue.

'Well in that case, we need to talk now, before things get out of hand downstairs' he said. Napoleon sat on the end of the bed, looking at his partner. Tomorrow, this hippy with the soft blond hair would be carrying out his orders with ruthless efficiency, a trained operative dedicated to his task. Not for the first time, Napoleon marvelled at his partner's ability to seamlessly pass from this part of his life, this house, this family, to that other life of dedicated service to the cause of justice in an evil world. He could see it in his eyes now; Kuryakin, despite his outwardly outlandish appearance, was now totally focussed on whatever his partner might want to convey to him.

'When you return, Waverly wants us to concentrate full-time on finding Ms Bolt and destroying whatever empire she's built for herself' Napoleon began. We have a few clues to be going on with, but we can't afford to let any more time pass by, especially since we now know that she has a large amount of money at her disposal. Added to that, there is the little matter of a spy in our midst.'

'What spy in our midst?' Napoleon reached inside his jacket and brought out a notebook.

'I did tell you, but you were in a semi-comatose state at the time, so I'll excuse you just the once. Just before Mrs Blau took off on her final journey up the drive, she let slip that someone in UNCLE was passing information to them.' Illya got up and came over to where Napoleon was, before taking the notebook from him and glancing through the list of names it contained.

'Mm, I presume from this that all these names crossed out have been cleared' he said, putting on his glasses and peering closely at the page.

'Indeed. Vaz and Fernando have done most of the grunt work, as the British so quaintly put it, but Waverly is not keen that anyone else be involved, for obvious reasons. I'm not entirely certain yet, but I don't think it's anyone in either Section Two or Three. From what she told me, the informant thought I wasn't involved in the Blau affair, which suggests to me that they are in a Section with less access to sensitive information.'

Illya nodded, and removed his glasses, putting them back on the bedside table, before sitting back down on the chaise-longue to put on his shoes.

'So, we find the spy first, or we go after Bolt?'

'I'm not sure yet. I'll let you know when you get back. Oh, and Illya, Waverly feels our families should have extra protection while until this whole thing is over.'

Illya frowned, before getting up and going towards the door.

'Alright, I agree that may be a sensible precaution. Tess is aware of the threat Bolt poses . . . to all of us.' He inhaled deeply, before stepping out onto the landing. 'Well, let's try to enjoy ourselves, at least tonight' he said.

The party was in full swing in both rooms on the ground floor, the furniture pushed away in the back room to enable people to dance, the record player pounding out a series of songs at a volume which made Illya glance anxiously towards the speakers before he felt someone slide their arms round his waist and a familiar head came into view.

'Wow, sexy' Therese whispered in his ear, 'I'm not sure I should leave your side for the rest of the night.' He turned round, loving her bright red silk dress and her hair flowing loosely down onto her shoulders.

'Please don't' he replied, before she took his hand and pulled him gently into the room at the front of the house.

Illya could see at a glance that there were a number of staff from the Steinhardt school standing in the room, it being the relatively quieter of the two available spaces. As he appeared behind Tess, he heard a collective gasp, the loudest, and most theatrical, coming from Paula Behrens.

'Oh . . my . . . God!' she screamed, rushing over and grabbing them both in a vice-like grip, one either side of her. 'Tess, you said you had a surprise for us, but, Jeez, you mean to say, I mean, all the time you were married to . . . him?'

Therese smiled beatifically, encouraging Illya to at least look moderately amused by the outburst.

'Illya, his name's Illya, Paula. Paula grinned hugely, then glanced down, before whispering 'well he's certainly well hung, baby; I can see how the three kids arrived so quickly.' Leaving Illya mortified behind her, Therese managed to guide Paula back into the melee of people now staring at the Russian.

'Don't tease him, Paula, he's very sensitive' she said smiling. 'Besides, I'd rather avoid the subject of babies in front of him at the moment, if you don't mind.' Paula stared at her, then began to smile.

'Right' she whispered, mercifully quietly this time. 'Message understood.'

The light seemed to have a quality in that early morning moment that he hadn't noticed before. Much later, looking back on it, the memory of the light, and the way it illuminated Tess's hair on the pillow, would return to him repeatedly when he thought of that time. He sat up and looked at her for a long while until at last she stirred and her eyes opened.

'When are you going' she said quietly, without moving.

'Soon. I have a few things to attend to first, and then . . ' He lay down and took her into his arms. When more light had filled the room, she murmured,

'I'll be here. We all will.' A faint smile drifted across his face.

'I'm counting on it' he murmured.