CHAPTER THREE

At seven a.m. Illya's head started drooping, just like his eyelids. He felt too old to be deprived of a night's sleep without consequences.

He was even starting to hallucinate, since he could swear that the man that was now approaching him with a big smile on his face was his friend Napoleon.

He also had his same voice. "Boy, I could fit a week's groceries in the bags under your eyes!"

Kuryakin shook his head, refusing to believe what his tired eyes were insisting to see. That man could not be Napoleon Solo. But when his hallucination stopped right in front of him, shaking his head and putting his hands on his hips, he could not deny the evidence.

"Napoleon?! What are you doing here?"

Solo didn't have time to respond, since Stephanie – unlike Illya – had recognized him immediately and had rushed to hug him affectionately.

"Napoleon! Am I glad to see you!"

Solo reciprocated the hug, casting an apologetic look at the Russian for his girlfriend's enthusiasm. Illya knew that Stephanie was very fond of his friend, who was like a legend for her, but his tired mind took its time to suppress the momentary stab of jealousy that he felt.

Not missing his friend's expression, Napoleon sheepishly extricated himself from the hug. "You two look like you could use a few hours' sleep. As well as a lift to New York!"

The Russian said, in a rather stiff voice, "You haven't answered my question, Napoleon: what are you doing here?"

Solo sat beside his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, tovarish. You don't have to watch out for me. I'm on your side, remember?"

Kuryakin's attitude finally relaxed at his friend's words. "I'm sorry, Napoleon. I guess that sleep deprivation makes me jumpy."

"It's all right, I understand. Well, to answer your question, I was sent by Sir John, who also believes that your plane's 'technical problems' sound quite fishy, and that you might be in danger here. I came on an UNCLE private jet, which is waiting on the runway to take you back home. There they will have the vial analyzed and we will leave the matter in the agency's capable hands."

The Russian got up rather stiffly, and commented, "Sounds like a plan. Lead the way, Napoleon."

The three friends quickly made their way through the terminal and soon reached the airstrip, where a small Learjet was waiting for them. As soon as they boarded, the plane proceeded to take-off.

During the flight, Illya and Stephanie, still in their beach clothes, changed into a more suitable attire that Napoleon had thoughtfully brought. Holding a much needed cup of coffee and feeling somewhat more refreshed, the Russian had another question for his friend. "Has Sir John told you anything about the possible reasons why a supposedly empty package produced a very nasty looking vial, Napoleon?"

"Hah! You know how that Brit is. He's as tight-lipped as an oyster! I suppose he doesn't like to discuss UNCLE matters with a civilian."

Kuryakin searched for a rational explanation. "But he did send the same civilian to rescue us. And he doesn't even feel like sharing his thoughts with him; how convenient. I'm not going to leave the matter in the agency's hands, Napoleon. I want to know what is going on, and I want to stay at Stephanie's side when her boss assigns her this mission."

Stephanie interjected: "What makes you think I will be assigned this mission, Illya?"

He looked at her fondly. "Experience."

Before the woman had a chance to comment, the plane jerked sideways.

Napoleon exclaimed: "What the hell…?"

The pilot's voice resounded in the cabin: "We are under attack. Buckle up and brace yourselves. I'll have to make some funny maneuvers to shake them off."

He never had a chance to explain who 'them' were, for he plunged the plane into a breathtaking vertical spin that almost knocked the passengers unconscious for the sudden increase of the G force. Only Illya's and Napoleon's old UNCLE training allowed them to withstand the terrible pressure without fainting. Stephanie was younger and fitter, but she was still recuperating from her recent wounds, and she could not endure such a harsh treatment; she passed out with a small groan.

Solo and Kuryakin heard an explosion near the right engine area, and the plane's nose gradually lifted back into horizontal flight. The pilot was clearly trying an emergency landing.

Preparing for the impact, Illya tried to protect Stephanie's limp body, hugging her as much as his buckled-up position allowed him to.

The pilot was able to make an emergency landing on an empty stretch of land, but the crash was devastating. The plane stopped just short of a forest, right before hitting the wall of trees, in a deafening cacophony of torn metal.

Her head was hurting. She smelled smoke, burnt plastic, fuel. She didn't want to open her eyes, but a very soft and somewhat worried voice kept calling her. She knew that voice very well. She loved to hear it so close to her ear. Only, she didn't want to open her eyes, because she knew that she would not like what she would see.

"Stephanie, wake up! Please, honey, you are worrying me."

She didn't want him to worry. Wait: 'him' who? Then a name surfaced in her jumbled thoughts: Illya! Illya is calling me, and he's worried. Why is he worried? Then a second thought hit base: we were under attack! The plane was plunging. What happened? Now she really had to open her eyes.

"Thank God, she's coming to."

Stephanie blinked at the offending light, and the first thing she saw was a pair of baby blue eyes looking worriedly at her. "Illya, what… what happened?"

The Russian gave a relieved sigh, and answered: "The plane crashed. We are in the middle of nowhere. Probably in the US, but we don't know how far from New York."

"Are you hurt? And what about the others?"

"Napoleon and I are fine, just a few cuts and bruises, but the pilot did not survive the crash."

The woman closed her eyes, grieving the loss of the brave UNCLE pilot. Illya attentively helped her up, his question reflecting concern. "Are you all in one piece?"

Stephanie stood cautiously, heavily leaning on the Russian and testing her limbs. "Yes, I feel fine. Just a few bruises, like you." Then she hugged him tight, whispering in his ear: "God, Illya, I'm so glad you are OK."

He gulped noisily, thinking back at how terrified he was of losing her during the plane crash. But all he could utter was "Same here."

Napoleon's voice called out: "Sorry to interrupt your effusions, but we should get a move on. The fire squad and the police will arrive soon, and I don't want anybody to know that we are here, not even the authorities." The Russian glumly agreed with his friend. "Yes, we can trust no one. This affair is getting out of control. They – whoever they are – are ruthless and won't hesitate to leave a trail of corpses to get their hands on that blasted vial."

Stephanie spoke up. "I suggest we hide in the forest and wait for the rescue vehicles to arrive. They will have the town's name printed on the sides, so at least we will know where we are."

Napoleon praised her. "Good thinking, Steph! I'm glad that the crash has not affected your quick mind in the least!"

The woman was elated to receive a compliment from such a legendary former UNCLE agent, but she quickly hid the smug smile that was slowly spreading on her face. She had more pressing matters to deal with right now.

So they all hid in the lush forest, far enough from the crash site not be seen by the rescue party and close enough to read the lettering on the cars.

Less than half an hour later they heard sirens getting closer. Soon five rescue vehicles – two fire squad trucks, two ambulances and a police car – skidded to a halt in front of the crashed plane.

The three hidden survivors squinted to look at the words printed on the vehicles.

"Louis….Louisonville?" asked Napoleon.

"No. Louisville! We're in Kentucky!" Stephanie all but yelled.

Solo cut his eyes toward his friend. "Am I hearing things, or did she just speak with a Southern drawl?"

Kuryakin smiled, remembering that Stephanie was originally from some Southern state. "I think she's already feeling at home."

The woman flashed a cheerful smile at them. "You bet I am, guys! I'm actually a few hundred miles from my hometown, and now I also know where we can find shelter and help!"

Tracing back the rescue vehicles' tracks, they found the main highway to town. They followed it for half a mile, before deciding that they were wasting precious time. They agreed to try and flag down a vehicle and luckily a truck driver soon stopped and agreed to give them a lift to Louisville.

Once in town, Stephanie quickly got her bearings and headed to a very specific direction.

Illya was taken aback by the mobs of people and near chaos that plagued the city, but then he realized that they were probably right in the middle of the Kentucky Derby. All the better: crowd and confusion were always a good protection.

Napoleon was curious and impressed as he observed Stephanie navigate their new environment. "Say, Steph, you seem to know where we are going."

The woman brightened as she explained. "Oh yes, Napoleon, I know exactly where we're going. We are about to pay a visit to an old friend of mine, hoping she still lives at her old address. She will hide and feed us, and if we're lucky she will also help us find somebody who can analyze the vial."

"You used to live here?" Illya was still discovering just who Stephanie was.

She shook her head. "No, but I came here often to visit her. Every year, we used to spend our summer vacation together on the Cumberland Plateau, in Tennessee, where I was born and raised. I still have my family house there."

The Russian smiled at that. "So, you're from Tennessee. I've always wondered."

"But you've never asked." She scolded him affectionately.

Illya took up a defensive stance. "You know I don't like to pry. And I know better than to ask a spy about her background."

Stephanie's smile disappeared. "I thought I was something more than just 'a spy' to you."

Belatedly, Kuryakin realized his mistake. He was about to apologize, but Napoleon interjected. "Quit bickering, you too. What is this, your first argument?"

Illya and Stephanie looked at each other, suddenly realizing that Napoleon was right; it was indeed their first argument. They both silently agreed to let the subject drop for the moment, and to resume it at a later, more appropriate time.

In the meantime they had reached their destination. A quaint-looking condominium not far from the downtown area, which was in the middle of a huge restoration project.

Stephanie announced their arrival. "Here we are. We have to climbto the third floor, no elevator. I just hope she's home."

Up to the third floor they climbed, each lost in their own thoughts.

When Stephanie stopped in front of a closed door with the name "M. VanMeter" printed on the bell sign, she rang the bell. No response. After a few seconds she rang again, longer, on the brink of desperation. She mumbled: "Com'on, Maureen, you've got to be home."

A muffled voice with a strong Southern drawl came from inside the apartment. "I'm coming, I'm coming, what's the big hurry?" The woman who opened the door was 5'4'', with reddish brown hair and brown eyes, and she was fairly thin but curvy. Napoleon didn't miss that she was quite attractive, too. When the woman saw Stephanie, she stood transfixed for a good two seconds, then she boomed: "Stephanie? Is it really you? Oh my Lord, I can't believe my own eyes!" Then she crushed the smiling UNCLE agent in a bear hug.

Stephanie was laughing as she spoke to her old friend. "God, Maureen, it's so nice to see you! It's been such a long time! You haven't changed a bit!"

Maureen tried to keep her eyes on the other woman but she was impressed by the two men she had with her. "Well, you have changed, Steph: you look much more... how shall I say... self-confident. And you're in very good company, too!"

Stephanie proceed to introduce everyone. "Maureen, meet my two friends Illya and Napoleon. Guys, this is Maureen VanMeter, an old friend from college."

Illya nodded his head and spoke, the accent something Maureen had never heard before. "How do you do, Miss VanMeter?" "My goodness, you are one solemn fella, aren't you? Please call me Maureen."

When it was Solo's turn to introduce himself he bowed and gallantly kissed her hand, planting his warm chocolate eyes in hersand letting his deep baritone infuse his words. "So very pleased to meet you, Maureen."

The woman could not hide a shiver of pleasure at Napoleon's dashing introduction, and replied with an equally sultry intonation. "The pleasure is all mine, Napoleon."

Stephanie laughed, thinking back at her own same reaction the first time she met Napoleon. "Maureen, I'm sorry to stormback into your life without warning, but we are in a very difficult situation and we need your help."

Maureen led the way into her apartment. "OK, Steph, you and your friends have a seat while I fix coffee, then you'll tell me what you need. I'll do all I can."

Soon Stephanie brought Maureen up to speed on her life, telling her about her job at UNCLE and summing up the last two days' events. Listening in awe, Maureen forgot to sip her coffee, and when her friend's relation was over, she exclaimed: "Oh my! You have kept yourself pretty busy since you left college, haven't you? Now I understand a lot of things, especially why you have always been so vague about your life whenever we talked on the phone."

Stephanie nodded. "Yes. I couldn't tell you anything at all; corporate policy. I'm sorry, Maureen."

"Don't be. I totally understand. Oh, your life must be is so exciting!"

"Sometimes it is, but mostly it's just dangerous. And if it weren't for Illya, it would have been over five months ago. Twice."

Maureen looked at the Russian with gratitude. "Well then blondie, thank you for saving my old friend's life." Then with a wink she asked a question he hadn't expected. "Are you her beau?"

Kuryakin was taken aback. "Why, yes. How did you know?"

She flashed him a knowing smile. "I can tell from the way you two look at each other. It's pretty hard to miss, actually."

Then she straightened up on the armchair, grimaced at her cold coffee. "All right, y'all, what do you need me to do?"

It was Napoleon's turn to explain. "Well, you see, Maureen, we are stranded here in Kentucky, so we need your hospitality for a couple of days, and we also need to have a certain vial examined by a chemical lab. Unofficially. No names, no questions asked. Do you think you can help us accomplish that?"

She pondered. "Yes, I think so. I do know a guy who works at a pharmaceutical lab, and he owes me a favor. As for the hospitality, I will be happy to have you as my guests, but it will get pretty cozy; as you can see, my place is quite small."

Napoleon answered, winking flirtatiously. "I don't mind a little coziness."

Kuryakin rolled his eyes at his friend's comment, marveling for the umpteenth time at how his charms never failed to impress women. "I propose we have lunch first, then we all go pay a visit to your chemist friend."

Stephanie, her own stomach rumbling at the suggestion, promptly stood up, speaking as she did so. "I agree! I volunteer to go buy lunch at the deli I saw at the corner. Be back in a flash!" And she was gone in a swishof coppery hair.

Solo commented: "Boy, your lady friend must have an appetite as voracious as yours!" Then he turned to Maureen. "Say, Maureen, how was Stephanie when you were in college?"

The woman started telling about her college friend, and the two men listened avidly. "She's always been very intelligent, a quick learner, but she was kind of aloof. She didn't care for friends or boyfriends; all she cared about was studying to get out of college as fast as she could. She wanted to serve in the army, but I can see that she changed her mind."

Illya knew a little about her desire to serve. "UNCLE's recruitment squad is always in search of young eligible subjects in universities. She probably was enrolled even before she got her degree."

Suddenly Maureen got up from her armchair and went to the door. "Darn, I forgot to lock the door after Stephanie. This neighborhood isn't very safe anymore. I'm actually planning to move to California. I'm leaving in a couple of... Whoa!"

While she was reaching for the lock, the door slammed open, hitting her arm. Three armed men swiftly entered the apartment. One of them unceremoniously grabbed Maureen's injured arm, leveled his gun at her head, and barked out orders. "Nobody move, or I'll scatter the pretty lady's brains all over the room!"

Solo and Kuryakin had no choice but to raise their hands, fuming at how easily they had been discovered and subdued.

Illya growled his resentment. "What do you want?"

The man threatening Maureen had a wicked smirk on his face. "You know very well what we want, but we happen to know that you don't have it. We will wait for the other lady to show up. And you will not utter a word, 'cause my gun is not going to move away from this head until the vial is safely in my hands."

Napoleon made an effort to be chivalrous. "Leave her alone. You can take me instead. I will cooperate."

"Forget it, pal. You will cooperate much better from where you are."

Time stopped for about five minutes while they waited for Stephanie to come back. None of the people in the room let out a sound. When they heard three knocks at the door, they all froze. Maureen's assailant slowly opened the door from behind, but nobody entered the room. Instead, they clearly heard Stephanie running away from the apartment. The man motioned one of his accomplices to go after her. Maureen took advantage of her assailant's moment of distraction and kneeled him in the groin, effectively knocking him out.

Solo and Kuryakin jumped at the chance and quickly engaged the remaining man who, after a short fight, joined his boss on the ground, letting his two opponents grab his gun in the process.

Illya ran after the third man outside the apartment, but he stopped short after a couple of steps; Stephanie was kneeling over the supine body of her pursuer, leveling his own gun at his head.

He grinned at her. "I really don't know why I bothered to worry for your safety. How did you know you were not to enter the apartment? And how did you get the better of him so fast? We all heard you running away."

She smiled back, and answered Illya's questions while she tied the man' hands behind his back with his own belt.

"Maureen and I used to have a secret code in college: whenever one of us knocked in a certain way - two knocks, pause, one knock - the other had to knock back before we could open the door. That way we always knew we could enter the apartment without... ehm... interrupting in the event of a visiting boyfriend. As for me running away, I just stomped on the floor to fool whoever was inside, waiting for me." She pointed her chin at the lyingman. "He wasn't expecting me to ambush him right outside the door. He never had a chance."

Grabbing and lifting the man from the ground, they reached the others inside the apartment. Solo and Maureen had already tied and searched the other two men.

Kuryakin asked if anything useful had been found.

Solo shook his head. "Nope. Their pockets are emptier than my bank account. I guess we will have to ask them a few questions."

One of the men snickered. "If you expect us to answer, well don't hold your breath."

Illya flashed a wicked smile at him. "Thank you for the suggestion. Why don't you come with me into the bathroom? I'm going to show you how to really hold your breath." He grabbed him by the arm and roughly dragged him throughthe bathroom door, while the man's self-assured expression wavered.

The Russian closed the door, and soon everybody else could hear running water, followed by a moment of silence, and finally the man's clearly frightened voice. "Wait! What...?" Then they heard some very ominousgurgling sounds, which went on for a good five minutes.

Then there was silence again. Maureen could not resist expressing her curiosity aloud. "What do you think is going on in there?"

Napoleon answered, unperturbed: "Either the man's dead, or he's chirping like a bird!"

After a few minutes, the door abruptly swung open, and Illya dragged an unresistingbody outside the bathroom and into the bedroom, his words delivered in a nonchalant manner. "This one is dead. Next!"

Napoleon grabbed the boss and shoved him into the bathroom, while the man paled visibly and gulped loudly.

The door was slammed shut again, and the same noises as before could be heard. Only this time they were followed by the man's frightened voice. "All right, all right! I'll tell you what you want to know. Just stop it, for God's sake!"

When they got out of the bathroom, the man's head was drenched, and he was obviously recovering from a serious lack of oxygen. Illya motioned him to sit down. "Well? I'm waiting. Who sent you and how did you track us down to this place? How did you know we had the 'item'?"

The man shook his head. "I don't know his real name. He calls himself 'The Director'. He gives his instructions by phone. He can access some kind of database like Miss VanMeter'name and address."

Stephanie was stunned by that bit of information. "My God. He knew about my friendship with Maureen. He must have gotten into some very classified files. You need governmental access to dig that deep."

Napoleon suggested: "Or very good connections."

Illya continued his interrogation. "You haven't answered my last question."

The man looked at him defiantly and didn't answer.

The Russian smiled his lopsided smile again. "Oh, I can see you hair is still dirty. Let's have another shampoo, shall we?"

That stirreda reaction. "No, wait! All right, all right. We followed you from the hotel to the airport, and we saw you give the 'item' to the lady."

Stephanie protested at that. "No way! You were not at the airport, I'm positive about that!"

"We were not physically there, but we were watching a live video filmed from a portable microcamera hidden on the lapel of one of our men's jacket."

"So you also sabotaged the aircraft, right?"

The man nodded at Kuryakin's question. "How do you get in touch with this Director?"

"We don't. He's always the one calling us."

At this point Napoleon joined in. "A very cautious fellow. Well connected and with access to classified files, sophisticated electronic devices and a lot of willing helpers. In a word, dangerous."

The Russian nodded. "Yes. And I'm pretty sure he already knows that his men have failed their mission." Then he added, with a sideways mocking glance at the man he was interrogating: "Help me gag these gentlemen and lock them in the bedroom to keep their unconscious friend company."

Once the three men were safely tucked awayin the bedroom, Illya said what they were all thinking. "We must leave this place at once, Napoleon, we cannot afford to stay in Louisville any longer."

Solo agreed. "Yes. And Maureen must come with us."

The woman was flabbergasted. "Me? Where?"

"To New York."

"What? New York?"

"Think about it, Maureen. They know who you are and where you live, and they will think that you know where we're heading. They will get you in no time and interrogate - or torture - you to get their answers."

Maureen staggered at this development. "But... I was about to leave for California."

Stephanie tried to convince her friend. "Well, you will eventually go there, you're just taking the longer route! Think of the adventure."

"Some adventure! Travelling half the country chased by a bunch of loonies!"

Solo looked at her with soft, pleading brown eyes. "Please, Maureen. We cannot leave you here, nor can we let you travel to California all alone. They will track you down so fast you won't know what hit you. Furthermore, I would very much enjoy your company; these two can only stare ateach other's eyes all the time or bicker like an old married couple!"

Illya smiled, recognizing his friend's maneuver and knowing that the woman would give up on the count of three.He counted in his mind: 'One, two...'

"All right, I'll come with you. But only because I want to help you protect Stephanie."

Napoleon flashed her a grateful smile. "Thank you. Now, the problem is that we cannot take a plane; our names would immediately raise a red flag in the wrong place. And I'm sure they're patrolling Greyhound and train stations. So we need an alternative means of transportation. One that is not registered in your name."

Maureen smiled. "That won't be a problem. I was about to borrow my old aunt's car. She is getting too old to drive. And she's got a different last name, so no way they can trace her back to me. It's not even parked outside. I was going to pick it up tomorrow at my aunt's."

Stephanie had to smile at that news. "Great. You'll just leave a little earlier than expected. Grab a little luggage and let's get out of here."

Illya remembered why Stephanie had left earlier, his stomach now reminding him of his need for food. "Let's also grab the lunch you bought. Or have those thugs spoiled it?"

Stephanie proudly produced an unscathedbag. "No way! I was ready to protect it with my own life!"

Rolling his eyes, Napoleon muttered in an aside to Maureen. "Birds of a feather..."