The Russian knitted slightly his brows.
-Weber has a passion, sir. He is mad about circus, and precisely about magic tricks.
-What do you mean, Mr Kuryakin?
-Mr Solo was in the warehouse, sir, and the other agents were outside. A magician's common trick is to make people or object disappear, and reappear.
Alexander Waverly was listening attentively.
-The magician pretends he is doing impossible things, but it's just delusion. Deception. The three men outside, didn't notice anything. Their attention has been drawn away. I mean... Mr Solo asked them to look for some clues about Weber. They didn't watch the warehouse, sir, and as you told me, they didn't keep a precise timing.
Alexander Waverly was staring at him expectantly, and couldn't help startling when the young man stood up, bending over the desk.
-I have to go there, sir. I think that Mr Solo is still somewhere, in the warehouse, or next to it.
-Our agents have gone through the place with a fine-tooth comb, Mr Kuryakin.
-But they didn't notice anything. Mr Solo was in the warehouse, then, he wasn't any longer.
Illya Kuryakin paused, pursed his lips and sat down, with a smile of apology.
-I am sorry, sir. I didn't want...
The three agents had settled themselves in their car, while their fellows were exploring the place. Waverly's orders hadn't pleased them, but they were aware of their shortcomings. It was deserted, it was, really. They had raised, lifted, turned over all around, and Napoleon Solo was missing.
He tried to assess the size of the room, the volume of air. The others, where were they? What were they doing? Were they alive? Were they looking for him?
The young man sank back into silence. Alexander Waverly was still staring at him. Suddenly, he pressed a button.
-Lisa? Call Mr Milton. Immediately.
He gave the Russian a piercing look.
-You are going to the warehouse, Mr Kuryakin. Mr Milton will take you there. Let's hope you are right. Mr Kuryakin? A problem?
Illya Kuriakin bit his lips, but replied honestly.
-Weber... Weber could be still there, too, sir. He enjoys himself in such tricks. He wouldn't give up the entertainment. He could have some reinforcements.
The Old Man raised an eyebrow.
-And, young man?
-Mr Milton isn't a field agent anymore, sir.
Alexander Waverly couldn't help sneering. His young blond Russian agent was worrying about Robert Milton's safety... The said blond Russian tilted his head slightly on the right.
-Well, Mr Kuryakin, eight agents had explored the place. I guess you'll take care of our old Mr Milton.
-I am sorry, sir, I didn't want to...
He couldn't assess the size, and that didn't matter, as he couldn't remember any formula. It was quite a stupid way to go. Napoleon Solo cursed at himself. He had to take his mind off of this, he had to concentrate on something else, on a way to escape. He remembered the young man he had met in Waverly's office. Young? Older than he looked like to be, quick-witted. A partner. His partner-to-be. Or not.
-Our young friend, Mr Milton, is worrying about you.
Illya Kuryakin had left Waverly's office, in order to get ready. Bob Milton smiled.
-He is worrying about me, sir? And... why?
Alexander Waverly pointed at the other man with his pipe.
-Mr Kuryakin thinks that our villain could still be there, and that... it might be dangerous for you, as you are'nt anymore a field agent... I ordered him to take care of you.
Bob Milton rolled his eyes, but knew better than to reply, as he noticed his superior's look.
-But, Mr Milton, I want you to watch our young man's back.
The other man chuckled.
-I don't think that he needs...
Alexander Waverly cut in.
-No, Bob, he doesn't. Concerning the villains, he doesn't. But I guess that our three agents won't be pleased when he'll poach on their preserves...
-Is there any chance?
-I don't know. We are investigating, and there are no traces. Napoleon Solo has vanished into thin air... Now, don't waste time.
They looked at their fellow agent, open-mouthed. The man shrugged his shoulders. Yes, Alexander Waverly had sent some new reinforcements: an old retired agent, and ... a young ... rookie.
-A rookie? Are you sure?
-Yes, a rookie.
He hesitated, but he had to tell them.
-The ... Russian! They'll be there in one hour, I think. And Waverly want us to explore again the warehouse.
They kept a heavy silence.
Leaning back against his seat, Illya Kuryakin closed his eyes. It looked like to be pure presumption, he knew it. Bob Milton squeezed his shoulder.
-Here we are, Illya.
The UNCLE agents were waiting for them, eight men standing next to the warehouse, eight men staring at the two ones who were coming up to them. They knew Bob Milton. The other... The new agent, the Russian... A blond, thin, almost skinny... young, very young man... A damned Commie... Illya Kuryakin could hear their thoughts, but Bob Milton made quick introductions. They raced into the warehouse. It was empty and deserted, there was no place to hide, no way out, except for the door.
-Please, would you keep silent?
All of the Uncle agents stared at the Russian who had knelt down on the ground. He put his finger on his lips, standing up lithely.
-I would like you to gather here and to jump simultaneously, at my signal.
Of course, he wanted to mock at them. Illya Kuryakin sighed and went on.
-Then, we'll do that again here, and here, and...
-What the hell do you think you are here for, man?
The man had barked rudely. Bob Milton took some steps forward and joined the Russian. Illya Kuryakin smiled faintly. He knelt down again, putting his hands on the ground.
-It's about vibrations. Perhaps... perhaps there is something below. If you jump all together... Please? If Mr Solo is here...