Napoleon glanced at the two men warily. Having to team together a black civil rights militant and an ex-Nazi criminal was not exactly what he had been prepared to by working with U.N.C.L.E. There was little he could do to avoid it, though; Nelson was irreplaceable in case they'd have to launch an assault while Hartmann was his only link to the abductors. And the man showed no intention of making himself only half unobtrusive.

"But they're not playing," he said, correcting himself. "They know what they're doing."

"Trying to befuddle us into accepting anything?" Miranda asked, looking like a puzzled poodle with her blond curls framing her youthful heart-shaped face.

"No." He shook his head. "Or just incidentally. Given the circumstances, we're given very little slack for negotiation, anyway." He clarified: "More probably buying time to reach international waters or consulting with associates to plan their following move."

"And computing our location?" She guessed.

"What for?" Hartmann smiled. Once again Napoleon fought his annoyance at the man's superior air and paternal tone, especially as they were aimed at the young and pretty female pilot.

"They know our location." The German's smirk broadened. "They've known it from the beginning." He reached into his inner chest-pocket and pulled out a silver button.

"Ah ah," Nelson scoffed, "you have been bugged!"

"Exactly."

"And you just noticed it now," Napoleon cut, drily.

"No. But not long ago, during the flight, as I was looking for my notebook, I felt something odd inside and there it was."

"Somebody slipped it into your inner pocket." Napoleon's voice sounded skeptical, but Hartmann was unfazed.

"Quite easily. During the conference; there was a break after the third presentation and most people went to the bar. The room was over-heated and so I left my jacket on my seat."

"I see. Not very wise from a man who suspected for so long he could be captured by known enemies." Amazingly, Hartmann looked embarrassed. "I had my mind otherwise occupied and it was really very hot in there."

"Very hot! My dream!" Miranda sighed while hugging herself and shivering. Konrad wrapped her shoulders with his arm. "Still, better than outside." She groaned: "Talk about a consolation!"

Since their landing, they had all gathered in the golf clubhouse, which of course wasn't open to its usual patrons in winter. The heating system was not completely off but set to "no frost" and the air inside was chilling. Fortunately, there were enough seats in the reception lounge to allow them to rest comfortably, if not warmly. Miranda lay down on the massive Chesterfield and covered herself with cushions while the men ensconced themselves in the assorted leather armchairs.

Sometime earlier, one of the two teams (the first one, led by Hernandez, still looking pitifully crestfallen) had been, predictably, called back by Waverly, who was not known for wasting his resources, either of men or equipment. Neither the weather, however unstable, nor the night, well-lit by the full moon and its reflection on the carpet of snow on the ground, had prevented them from taking off with sufficient safety.

Meanwhile, Napoleon had spotted something in Hartmann's voice and words that needed to be further examined. "So, what was it you had in mind, that distracted you so much?"

"I was thinking about the last scientific report."

"And?"

Hartmann was biting his lower lip, somewhat worriedly. He was unusually hesitant, as if his carefully built carapace of sardonic aloofness was showing a thin crack for the first time. "Nothing very serious, some technical oddities, don't you bother."

This was like the proverbial red flag tossed at the bull's nose and Napoleon had been, for much too long now, feeling like a trapped and fuming bull. The two last weeks of forced powerlessness had been a severe blow to his famed self-confidence. Time to reassert his authority before he started to doubt it himself.

"It's mine to decide," he snapped.

Curiously, the old man didn't reply with the expected "You need me, I don't." Instead, he shifted his gaze and sighed. "I was worried about Miguel."

"Uh?"

"Yes, he was almost abducted the day before, and I was wondering why. Well, I got the answer while listening to that third presentation."

"Which was?"

"An in-depth study of the acquired or native immunity against the new virus. It used, in particular, blood samples which had been taken from the few people who weren't affected while having been exposed. Yours is still lacking, by the way."

"Yes. It's what earned me the dubious honor of your visit," Napoleon said sourly. "But, please, back to topic."

"The research was partly based on Alvarez' and Miguel's blood. Miguel's case was especially interesting for it seems he's got a very strong immunity, not only against this specific virus but against all virus of the same family, and it might be even broader." Hartmann looked straight at Napoleon. "You understand what that means?"

"Yes: the perfect basis to make a vaccine." Something was puzzling him though. "But how was it possible to get such results within two weeks?"

"These results are mine. The presentation was made by my assistant. And the main part of that work is much older. The research was conducted long before the epidemic; I used samples from prison inmates, as it is common, and from some guards too, Miguel being one of them."

"I see. That would be the reason for his abduction: using his blood to develop a vaccine. Or should I say an antidote, since they would need it to handle that biological weapon you said they wanted you to produce?"

"Affirmative. I was asked to do it."

"A racially targeted biological weapon. Is it possible?"

"No. But they think it is." Hartmann sneered. "Which comes to the same end as far as we are concerned."

Why did you refuse? But Napoleon didn't ask, if not only because it would have surprised and shocked the others. Yet, he saw from the man's ironical expression that he had perceived the mute question as clearly as if he had voiced it.

Hartmann soon recovered his composure. He stated. "I assume you noticed the timing discrepancy."

For a second Napoleon was lost. Then he realized: "Yes, the attempted abduction occurred before the conference; the presentation can't be its cause."

"Exactly. They've got the information from another source. Seems I've got a leak coming from my own house." He whistled softly. "What a disappointment. There's no loyalty left in this world anymore."

The old bastard! Napoleon discarded his annoyance and picked up the silver button from the coffee table where Hartmann had put it. "As long as we don't move, it's harmless and it could even become useful later."

Nelson interrupted. "There's something that's bothering me about your stalkers: how come they focused on your car and Illya instead of following you to the house, since they had you bugged?"

"I wondered myself," Hartmann mused. "I guess that sort of device is not very precise at a short distance and, soon, we were in the middle of a snowstorm. It's a miracle we found the road and managed to stay on it. Thanks to Miguel, I must say, and to his compass."

"The boy had a compass?" Napoleon asked, intrigued.

"Yes and no. He'd borrowed it from your partner and ..." The old man startled. "Yes, of course! I should have thought of it! The compass!"

"Could it have deranged the homing device's functioning?" Nelson asked.

"It works with radio waves," Napoleon said, skeptical. It just reflects them, passively. I am not a physicist but I don't see how radio waves could be affected by that weak a magnetic field. "

"Of course they can't." Hartmann cut impatiently. "It's just the earth magnetic field you find everywhere. I was speaking of its container, a metallic box. I remember I put it in my breast pocket in haste and possibly open. It's copper-made; if it accidentally covered the device, like a lid, yes, it may well have blocked or deviated the signal."

"And where is it, now?" Miranda asked.

"The compass or its box? I gave it back to the kid: the container and its content. Didn't notice the button."

And then the long-awaited call came. Napoleon heard the familiar bleeping with an unpleasant fluttering sensation in his stomach. This time the sound of his communicator was neither welcome nor friendly to his ears. The voice was low and imperious.

"Here I am, 'Primus Alpha', this is my name for you and from now on you shall call me so."

"Kruger! Otto Kruger," Hartmann muttered through his teeth, "Primus Alpha, indeed!"

"What do you want?" Solo asked sharply.

"You know what I want, or rather who: Herr Doktor Hartmann, that traitor, and his lab rat, the young Indio."

Ignoring Hartmann's hand-waving gesture towards his pen, Napoleon replied: "I have no intention to meddle in the relationships you keep with your associates, past or present, but if you refer to Miguel dos Santos, I must inform you he's presently in a safe place, which I don't know anything about, except it's located far from here and well-guarded by U.N.C.L.E. Security." At least, he hoped it would be soon the case; this was the first team's current mission and they should be on their way back to U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters now, with Miguel onboard.

Kruger cackled. "That is not a good start for a fruitful negotiation, man: I am certain you can do so much better; try again."

"What negotiation? U.N.C.L.E. doesn't negotiate with your kind. Your organization has been known to us for a while now; you're under watch (this, at least was true ), be assured we have all the means to destroy your strongholds wherever they are ( if only!); release your prisoners now and you'll be guaranteed a safe exit and a discharge, providing, of course, that you cease all your illegal activities in this part of the world."

Kruger's voice instantly lost its tone of light persiflage and regained its earlier harshness. "You're not trying to play games with me, are you? We have hostages, I remind you in case you'd forgotten. Do you want to retrieve your agent and the kid or do you not?"

Napoleon noticed the word "kid" instead of "your son". Seemed they didn't know the true value of their catch. A slight but real advantage on his side.

"I repeat: U.N.C.L.E. doesn't negotiate and U.N.C.L.E. agents cannot be treated as hostages."

Hard as they were, these words had to be said. He was sorely aware that Waverly would never forsake Hartmann or Dos Santos while millions of lives were at stake. And, indeed, U.N.C.L.E.'s policy had always been not to negotiate unless vital agencies of the organization were threatened or, oppositely, if it was the easiest and least costly solution, with no dire consequences to fear. Neither of those two situations was present.

"There will be no compromise: you'll release your prisoners or your properties in the sub-continent will be annihilated." He paused. "The operation has been planned for months, preventively, in case your project was ready to be implemented. We can launch it at a moment's notice."

Which was true, at least partially (only the main chemical plant in Brazil was targeted). This was April's and Mark's current assignment, though the operation had been put on standby after the failure he and Illya had encountered in Uruguay.

"You don't want me to call your bluff, don't you?" This time Kruger sounded irate. "Does the fate of your work-mate and the life of a child mean so little to you?" He scoffed. "And I thought U.N.C.L.E's self-given mission was to protect the innocents! Defending the widow and the orphan and all that! We have no such sentimental weakness. Don't bank on it".

"I only bank on your sense of self-interest," Solo replied coldly.

"Our interest? What is it? If you really are able and ready to blow up our facilities, what would prevent you to do it anyway? What assures me you won't, as soon as you have your agent and the kid back?"

"The plants will be seized, checked and sanitized, then transferred to partner companies but not destroyed, and you'll keep your other, legit investments as well as most of your real estate possessions. Why should we take the risk of getting in trouble with the local authorities and neighborhood by using force if there is a peaceful way to stop you?" Was he telling too much without Waverly's approval? Worth trying, he decided: tricky, a little contrived but it could work.

It didn't. Kruger laughed. "Bullshit! I don't believe a word of your spiel. You just made it up."

For a while, Hartmann had shown signs of agitation, trying to escape Nelson's grip to move closer. Finally, he shouted: "Listen, you idiot! He speaks the truth; they have powerful weapons: lasers, missiles, undetectable launchers. You will make us lose everything!"

"Us? What do you mean by us? You are not one of us any longer, you traitor! Why do you think we should believe you?"

"You should at least believe that I know where my real interests are, unlike you; I still can claim my due share in the consortium's wealth, I contributed towards building it and I won't let you wreck it."

"You should have thought of it when you decided to break away and play alone."

"I opposed your plans because of their impracticality. I know more effective ways of exploiting the Amazonian resources," he added with a smirk: "and its people."

"With your magic pills and snake oil balms? Pathetic! We don't play in the same league."

"Stupid again! In the current predicament, developing a vaccine, especially a broad spectrum vaccine, will be a bottomless well of profit."

Throughout this exchange, Solo had kept silent, nodding to Nelson to release Hartmann. He could see where the other was heading, though not fathom what his real motivations were. Greed? One-upmanship? Revenge?

Kruger didn't reply. Hartmann pursued his advantage. "Forget the gold lodes that, probably never existed outside the daydreams of your informer, a crazy old tramp if I remember well: the vaccine is the real gold mine."

"Do you mean you would get back to the consortium and share the profits?"

Solo pricked up his ears; the talk seemed to have taken a turn in the right direction.

"Well, I never left, financially, that is. And I'll need fresh funds to develop the research. Not to mention I have the use of your laboratories; mine has been somewhat damaged." He glared at Napoleon.

Kruger was silent again for half a minute, then offered cautiously: "That could be discussed, but collegially, with the others; I do not have a mandate."

Harmann chuckled. "What? Primus Alpha needs a mandate?"

The quip was lost on Kruger. "I am only 'Primus inter Pares', as you should know."

"I know. So, let's talk together, like the good comrades we once were and should never have ceased to be. But you, they, must be aware I am not free at the moment. Waverly will never let me join you if the prisoners are not released."

Napoleon could not help but admire how Hartmann had reversed the situation. But Kruger was not that easy to convince. He rebelled. "You cannot ask me to let them go! They are our only safeguard; whatever this guy Solo might say, they are hostages!"

"So am I." Checkmate.

The following silence was longer. "I have to consult."

"So we do." (and nothing can be done without Waverly's agreement, thought Napoleon).

Kruger grumbled something indistinct. Then: "Why should we take such a risk?"

"Profits, mate, profits! There's no profit without risk, and in that vaccines business, they promise to be huge." He scoffed "Especially if the epidemics go on spreading as it seems to be the case. It may last for years if the virus starts mutating." He didn't add "and we can help it to," but the unspoken threat was floating in the air and Solo shuddered; Hartmann was a little too much convincing for his peace of mind.

The old man concluded reasonably: "Anyway, as it appears, we have no choice; either to be thoroughly ruined and have to run away throughout the sub-continent, chased mercilessly by a mighty and vengeful organization, or being enabled to earn enormous wealth through perfectly legal means, while having just to sacrifice a few illicit activities, none of them as lucrative in comparison and some of them only of a prospective nature so far."

The game was not won yet. Kruger still had some solid objections. "Why should they allow us to develop the vaccine for our own profit, while they have control over your facilities, files and work team and so can pursue your research without you?"

"Precisely because they can't pursue my research without me." Hartmann smiled smugly. "You know me; I am not a humble man, but I don't boast when I say I am the only one who can reach that goal, at least within a relatively short time; fast enough to contain the epidemics. Time is of the essence. They will need us."

"I am sorry," Kruger sounded perplexed, "but you lost me here: didn't you just told me you were their hostage? They can force you."

Hartmann laughed. "I see I was wrong when I said you know me. You don't, obviously. You once tried to force me to work for you, in a way I didn't want. I ask you: did you succeed?"

He broke the silence that followed: "This project is very complex because the virus is so, with its erratic course. Everything worth stealing is in my head; my assistant doesn't know enough to achieve anything on his own." "Moreover," he added as an afterthought, "these people have certain weaknesses; they could kill me I guess, or threaten me but they won't use torture and, regarding whether they will keep their word, well, funny as it sounds, they seem to have a sense of honor."

"I see. I must consult," Kruger cut. "Wait for my call. Within two hours. Primus Alpha out."

Hartmann turned to Napoleon and handed him his communicator. "That's it," he said, his voice as blank as his face, trying to hide, what? Triumph? Scorn? Duplicity?

"Congratulations, Herr Doktor," Solo hissed, "You won, but what? Shall I address you as the future Head of the Kruger & Hartmann Drugs and Chemicals Incorporated?"

"You can," Hartmann replied flatly, "if the three others agree." He pursued, "and more importantly, if I, myself, concur."

"And you won't?"

"I certainly was sorely tempted."

"You were?" Napoleon stressed the word to insist on the past tense of the verb.

"Sure; huge profits in the prospect," he sniffed expressively, "not to be despised but, regretfully, I don't think I am going to work with them, after all."

"Glad to hear this; may I know your reasons?"

"Well, first, I am not so certain about your sense of honor." Solo laughed, in spite of himself. "Secondly, I know these men; they will probably accept the vaccine business venture, out of greed, but they won't discard their prior project, or not for very long: in the territories they want to control, there really are gold lodes, easy to mine (I am better informed than they are) and many other coveted minerals, not mentioning² precious woods and stones. To exploit them, they must get rid of the natives."

"And, naturally, you care so dearly for the natives." Napoleon felt his irony was lame but couldn't help himself.

"Of course I care for them! They work for me!" Hartmann's voice sounded oddly sincere. He explained: "They know the herbs and plants I need, and they are my providers. I can't do anything without them."

"Hmm. But your associates' enterprises may be more profitable."

"Maybe, maybe not in the long run." The old man looked at Solo straight in the eyes. "I gave them my word I would protect them." Then, articulating each syllable pointedly: "And, as it happens, I am a man of honor."

Nelson interrupted, asking with a tone of suspicion: "What do you know about U.N.C.L.E.'s weapons?"

"Nothing. I guessed."

And I so wish you were right! Napoleon thought. Laser weapons and undetectable launchers were two scientific projects Illya had contributed to, had initiated actually; their current progress was not known to him precisely but it was what had given him the idea of his earlier threats towards the consortium. Hartmann seemed surprisingly well informed, indeed (there was very little chance he had guessed). Sure, he had got the rare opportunity to visit the U.N.C.L.E's research Center when Waverly was trying, by all means, to mollify the old scientist so as to minimize his claims of compensation for the destruction of his laboratory, but why this department? Something he should ask Illya.

It suddenly came to him that he might never be able to ask Illya any question. With a shudder, he remembered the blood stains on the snow. Illya had been wounded ... and what about Paul? No, he didn't want to think about Paul. He had full confidence in his partner's resourcefulness, even incapacitated by a sprained ankle and some minor wound but the kid's presence would be enough to hamper all attempt at escape. And was it a minor wound? There was not that much blood near the car but that didn't mean anything.

He confronted Hartmann's gaze again. "What do you intend to do, exactly?"

"To play their game at first, of course, with Miguel's help and so regain their trust; then I'll manage to find a way to do away with them for good, dead or alive." For an instant, his dour, lined face showed the, usually hidden, dark and ruthless side of his well-composed personification of an amiably old-fashioned Victorian gentleman. And, for once, Napoleon was glad to see this face of him, naked.

"I don't want Miguel involved in this," he said curtly.

"And how do you think we'll get them to do the swap?"

"You are the physician, the only specialist they have in those matters; you'll persuade them you have all the means to achieve your task without Miguel's blood."

"No way."

"True or not, you may tell them you can."

"No way they'd believe me. They've heard the third report at the symposium and they have already got their information from my assistant, as I assume." He explained patiently: "I still have Miguel's blood in my bag, with your partner's and Alvarez's and, maybe, I could do without more of it, but they are not scientists; they won't even try to understand the technical process; in their mind, Dos Santos is a precious asset, they won't accept losing it." He added, "Moreover, they want to have him at hand to assure my continuing cooperation. It's also about their safety."

"And you're ready to use Miguel as a hostage?"

"He's quite willing to help."

"I won't allow this and Mr Waverly won't either. Anyway, Miguel is now far away, tightly guarded in a safe house, of which I don't even know the location, as I told your associates."

"So, you have to convince Waverly."

"By explaining he'll have to abandon a major scientific project, involving a threat to the world health, to Nazis gangsters while letting you play with an innocent boy's life?"

"At first, yes. But not for long. And the boy's life is not at risk."

"How that?"

"As long as they think he is necessary to my research, they won't touch him with a dove feather. And you can be assured I'll do everything in my power to keep them in that belief!" He paused, thoughtfully. "Actually, he certainly will be safer than the other kid, who is of no use to them." (Which was Napoleon's direst fear). "Except, of course, as a bargaining chip: a value with a very short life-span by nature." He added cruelly, "and no value at all if the swap doesn't occur."

Indeed. The worst being the gnawing suspicion there was no assurance that a single child's life had much more value in Waverly's eyes, even though he was the son of his main operative.

They had not very long to wait for the three other associates' answer. Kruger called back less than thirty minutes later with the consortium's agreement on the principle, with the express demand of a swap at sea in international waters. They would call again in the morning to set every detail of the process. The respite was necessary to organize what appeared as a tricky operation but it was a risk for the abductors and they made very clear that the slightest hint of treachery would be paid by the death of the hostages.

It remained to explain the situation to Waverly and to obtain his approval; not the easiest of tasks. It was even harder than he would have surmised. "Kuryakin is a big boy; he's in charge and quite capable of handling the situation himself" was the first, expected, reaction of his boss, the ruthless old bastard! Wounded? Bound up? Kept away from action by concern for the safety of a child? "What about the training you've received, which cost me more than that of an airline pilot?" The idea of a thoroughly and durably incapacitated agent, even alone and trapped on a ship in the middle of the sea, was something the stubborn old man was not ready to accept, especially from a man, his best man, his second in command, whom he apparently deemed responsible, for a large part, of the whole mess.

All Solo had in sight was the wan, sad little face of a child, his son, whom he had banished from his life ten years ago. Now Paul was facing death because of him; he wasn't going to let him down again. For the first time since he had pledged allegiance to U.N.C.L.E, Napoleon had to consider disobeying a direct order from Waverly.

He was spared from such a disgrace thanks to Hartmann's craftiness. Deploying all his powers of persuasion, based on his scientific and financial skills, the sly old fox managed to demonstrate that the vaccine would be more quickly and effectively developed in the laboratory of his associates, at least for a time, until it was possible to get rid of them (so much for the sense of honor!). The prospect of a fat and fast profit would be quite enough to make them drop their earlier lethal projects (he had told the opposite less than an hour ago). The fact that this man, a war criminal and an ex-Nazi militant, could succeed in convincing Waverly of the genuineness of his new loyalty as well of his resolve to confront his former comrades was a blatant mark of his dark genius in Napoleon's eyes.

"And I guarantee you that, under my supervision, no harm will be done to Miguel. You can safely entrust me with the boy's custody."

"I can't", Waverly stated flatly.

"Why? I do assure you that [...] "

"I can't, for the boy is not in my ward."

"What!" Napoleon and Hartmann exclaimed at the same time.

"He never arrived at U.N.C.L.E.'s HQ, Hernandez didn't find him with the Morrisons and nobody seems to know where he is now."

As incredible as it seemed, Miguel Dos Santos had disappeared.