CHAPTER FOUR

Looking quite rummy, the two men and the two women weretravelling on an outdated '54 Oldsmobile. Kuryakin, who volunteered to take the wheel, had done nothing but complain since he first set his incredulous eyes on the old car, while Napoleon was enjoying the ride.

"Come one, Illya, stop whining. This is a beautiful historical vehicle. Very comfy and quite roomy." Solo was enjoying the feeling of being able to stretch his long legs in the passenger's seat.

But the Russian remained unconvinced. "Too bad it's also slower than my grandpa's wheelchair!"

Napoleon complained: "Oh, you're just too grumpy. Stephanie, why don't you join your sweetheart in the front seat, and let me enjoy a more pleasurable company?"

Stephanie, who was cheerfully keeping up to datewith her old friend on the back seat, laughed at that. "Sure, Napoleon. I know how to cheer him up!"

Solo snickered. "I'm sure you do; your charms are much more appealing than mine!"

"That's for sure", muttered his Russian friend.

Napoleon and Stephanie switched places. Solo grinned at his new seat partner. "So, Maureen, tell me a little about yourself."

While her friend was talking, Stephanie whispered in Illya's ear: "Do think your grumpiness was just an excuse to seat next to Maureen?"

Kuryakin nodded and whispered back. "I'm sure it was. He's always been quite the ladies man. But he will also help her relax and not think about her predicament."

"What is your plan, Illya?"

"I want to keep driving. We cannot afford to stop at a motel, not until we are at least a few hundred miles from Louisville. And neither can we afford to take the straight route; maybe we should go through Virginia and Washington D.C. and avoid the main thoroughfares. We will take turns at driving. Too bad it will take us forever with this wheeled dinosaur!"

They managed to drive for two days, stopping only at gas stations to fill the tank and to eat a bite, but on the evening of the second day they all agreed they needed a night's rest. They stopped at a very anonymous-looking motel, where they asked for a room for four, paid cash and registered under false names.

Always the gentlemen, the two men proposed to share a double bed, while the women were to share the other. Before going to bed, though, Illya pulled a nylon string out of a bag of items he bought at the last gas station, unwoundit in front of the door, and fastened the two extremities at the opposite walls at ankle's height. Only after taking that precaution he wished his companions good night.

A loud crash in the middle of the night abruptly woke everybody in the room. Maureen could not suppress a shriek of fear, while Stephanie swiftly extracted from below the pillow one of the guns she took from the thugs in Louisville.

After briefly fumbling with the switch she managed to turn the light on, and she could see that the weapon was, after all, unnecessary; Illya was already leveling his own gun at the man who had sneaked inside by picking the door's lock, and who had fallen into the Russian's booby trap head first.

The blond was unperturbed. "Did you really think we are that easy to catch? Think again, tovarish!" He motioned the man to stand up and to stay away from his weapon, which turned out to be a silenced gun.

Solo, still sleepy-eyed, mumbled: "He really meant business, didn't he? The son of a bitch would have shot us all down in less than thirty seconds. Good catch, Illya!"

Maureen was still dazed. "How could you react so fast, Illya?"

The Russian, still glowering athis opponent, answered: "I was keeping watch, Maureen. Napoleon and I were taking turns."

Stephanie commented: "He would deserve the same treatment he had in mind for us."

A frightened look escaped the man's eyes at her cold tone.

Napoleon said: "Indeed he would, Stephanie, but since we are not cold-blooded assassins like him, I guess we will just make sure he will do no harm for the next few hours." Then he proceeded to thoroughly tie and gag the man.

The four friends had no choice but to hastily dress and leave the motel, locking their undesired visitor in the bathroom.

They had slept less than four hours, but they did not complain; they knew that their pursuers had a way to track them down anytime they stopped, so they hit the road again. Stephanie volunteered to take the wheel, since the two men had actually slept half the time the women had, and she wanted to give Illya and Napoleon the chance to at least doze off in the car.

At 6:00 am they left New Jersey and entered the state of New York. Both the car and its passengers needed fuel, in the form of gas for the former and of coffee for the latter, so they all agreed to stop at a gas station. The women took the chance to visit the lady's room, while the men took care of gas and coffee.

When Illya and Napoleon joined up after having carried out their tasks, they failed to see the women.

Solo was not worried yet. "They 're probably taking their time in the lady's room. You know how girls are."

But Kuryakin had a nagging feeling. "No, Napoleon. Don't forget that Stephanie is not just the next girl, she's an experienced UNCLE agent. She knows better than to linger in a restroom."

Solo frowned. "You're right, Illya. Maybe we should check."

They both approached the lady's room silently, their guns drawn. Illya discretely knocked at the door. No answer. Without hesitation, the two men entered the room and started searching all the booths. The last one was locked. Napoleon knocked the door down with his shoulder.

Maureen was there, tied and gagged, looking none for the worse but very scared.

When the two men released her, she panted: "They took Stephanie!"

The Russian uttered his question in a very cold voice. "Who did?"

"I don't know, they were not the same thugs from my place. There were three of them. They threatened to kill me. Stephanie never had a chance."

Without another word, Illya turned around and sprinted toward the pumps area, where an unsuspecting biker was fuelling his powerful motorbike. Napoleon merely muttered: "Uh oh. Let's go!", grabbing Maureen's hand and virtually dragging her to their car.

The Russian unceremoniously pulled the biker away from his vehicle and straddled the big motorbike, igniting the engine and opening the throttle wide. The motorbike reared and quickly disappeared from view, leaving its stunned owner looking at the empty road uncomprehendingly.

Napoleon flattened the pedal of the old car, getting a mild reaction. For the first time, he cursed the Oldsmobile's unresponsive engine, and did his best to follow his partner's rapidly disappearing silhouette.

Maureen was still recovering from the previous scare. "What's he doing, speeding like a haunted man?"

"He is a haunted man, Maureen. He's looking inside all the cars he's passing on the road."

"But even if he finds them, how does he hope to stop them?"

Napoleon frowned. "I'm afraid I know how he plans to do that. And I'm sure his plan does not contemplate his own safety."

While Napoleon was worrying for him, Illya was indeed looking inside all the cars he was passing at lightning speed.

Less than five minutes later he found what he was looking for. He was about to pass a speeding black sedan, and through the rear window he could see three men and a woman inside. The coppery hair was unmistakable: Stephanie.

They were not expecting a biker, so they let him pass their car. When he sped in front of it, the Russian hit the rear brake, hard. The motorbike reacted by blocking the rear wheel and by making a half turn, leaving a rubber mark on the asphalt and virtually obstructing the lane. Before the car's driver had a chance to change lane, Illya extracted a gun and emptied the charger at the car's front wheels. He never moved from where he stood, and when the car was at a few feet from him he could see Stephanie's horrified eyes. She knew that the car, out of control, was about to hit him.

But, with both its front tires flat, the vehicle skidded on the road and narrowly missed the unmoving blond. It was his turn now to watch in horror as the car overturned wildly, and finally stopped upside down against the side of the road. When Kuryakin approached it, fearing the worst, he could see movement inside. One of the man extricated himself out of the battered vehicle, aiming his gun at another long-haired figure who was laboriously trying to get out from the rear window.

With a sigh of relief, Illya could see that Stephanie was bruised, but otherwise unharmed. But the man was still targeting her with his gun. His own gun now empty, he could only watch powerlessly. He growled: "Lower that gun. We're not going to stop you. You want to go? Well then, go. I don't care, as long as you don't hurt her."

Stephanie could not believe her own ears. "Illya, are you out of your mind? He's got the vial! You can't let him go!"

The Russian looked at her with a strange look in the blue, thunderous eyes. "I don't care. I just want you to be safe. Get away from here, Stephanie. Go meet Napoleon, he's coming on the car."

The woman started to argue, but he barked: "Just do as I say, Steph. Go. Now!"

The UNCLE agent, taken aback by the Russian's strangely brusque behavior, complied.

Then Kuryakin pointed his finger at his motorbike, telling the man: "You can take my bike. Just get out of here as fast as you can, and make sure you do not cross my path again."

The man, not challenging his luck, straddled the bike and quickly disappeared from view. The Russian looked into the car to see if the other two men had survived, but they had both been killed in the terrible crash.

Meanwhile the Oldsmobile finally made it to the place of the accident, its worn-out engine panting loudly from the effort. Napoleon jumped out of the vehicle and approached his friend.

"Illya? Are you all right?"

The blond just nodded, still looking at the mangled car, unable to take his mind away from the thought that Stephanie could have been one of the corpses inside.

Napoleon kept questioning his friend. "Why did you let the man leave with the vial, Illya?"

That stirred a reaction, at last. With a lop-sided grin, the Russian said: "Simply because that vial just contains whiskey, Napoleon. And a very bad one at that."

Solo smiled, and commented dryly: "Have I ever told you how sneaky you are?"

Smiling back, the Russian answered: "Yes, tovarish, often times."