After rapping out his coded knock, Napoleon let himself into his partner's apartment, where he found the man listening to the radio. Illya held up a hand in a silent request for Solo to stay quiet. The voice from the radio was describing the re-entry, to Earth's atmosphere, of the capsule from the Soviet Voskhod 2 spacecraft. It was being reported that friction had caused the capsule to be enveloped in orange flames, but was now floating down safely to a landing near Perm.

Napoleon smiled at Illya's rapt attention. The previous day, U.N.C.L.E.'s resident Soviet, had been beyond excited when cosmonaut, Alexey Arkhipovich Leonov, had been the first human in history to perform an extra vehicular activity. Wearing a specially modified spacesuit, Leonov had gone outside of the capsule for a full twelve minutes.

Illya was fascinated by space science and, although it didn't bother him too much who made each first step, he couldn't hide his delight that his countrymen were currently winning the space race.

"I wonder who will be the first to reach the moon," he commented, as he switched off the radio.

"I, of course, would like it to be America," Napoleon replied. "However, does it really matter? Each new step beyond Earth is a win for all of humankind."

"You are quite right, my friend," said Illya, with a smile. If the people of this planet are going to explore the Solar System, then co-operation will get us there faster."

Both men sighed at the dream. It was a nice thought, but neither could see it coming true. Going into the kitchen, Illya retrieved his bottle of vodka from the freezer. He poured two shots and handed one to Napoleon.

"The Cosmos," he toasted, holding up his glass.

"Space," replied Solo, doing the same.

They each downed the clear fluid. It wasn't Napoleon's drink of choice, but it was right for the occasion.

"Are you ready?" Napoleon asked. "We are supposed to be going to the airport."

"I am ready," Illya told him. "If I cannot go to space, then Berlin will have to do."