"Atlanta Municipal Airport. Interesting name Atlanta. It is a cognate of Atalante, a name from Greek mythology, or perhaps from Atlas, the mythological Titan who was made to support the heavens on his shoulders. Perhaps it bodes well for us that the name suggests that all things are in balance."

Napoleon looked at his partner with both admiration and amusement. Only Illya would think to ascribe to a city (and its airport), characteristics based on the origins of its name.

"I don't think it's completely literate, tovarisch. But, from what I understand, Atlanta is an emerging city. I guess the South has its own version of the phoenix… rising up out of the ashes of the Civil war."

Illya considered that. He was hefting Napoleon's suitcase from the carousel as the other man followed the departing figures of three airline stewardesses.

"Um, Napoleon? A little help here…tovarisch.''

"What? Uh oh…oh…yes, by all means. Thank you Illya."

Napoleon accepted the bag from his blond companion and started to walk towards the car rental counter. Illya spotted his own bag and grabbed it as the conveyer delivered it to him. The baggage claim area was not overly crowded today, and from where he stood the Russian could see that his partner had actually caught up with the three women who had arrested his attention earlier.

Illya shook his head absent mindedly, never underestimating Napoleon's ability to find an available female. It could be worse, he supposed. Just then what seemed like a herd of children cut him off from his path. Since when did children spend time at an airport? Someone was talking, however, as though leading a tour. Perhaps this was a … how had he heard it before…a field trip. That sounded efficient, for the purpose of educating. He supposed it would suffice for some type of training. American children needed that.

By the time Illya caught up to Napoleon, the dark haired agent had made a date for them to enjoy dinner with two of the stewardesses, the third one already committed to something previously. The lovely girls in question were waiting for Illya to arrive; they were not convinced that Napoleon's friend wouldn't turn out to be a dud, or fat and bald.

When Illya approached in a white turtleneck and black jeans, blond hair slightly askew and blue eyes blazing with curiosity, it was all Napoleon could do to insure that one of the girls was still his.

"Oh, Napoleon darlin', is this your friend?"

Illya stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of that Southern drawl. What now?

"Why yes, yes he is… Samantha. Illya, this is Samantha…mmm…Samantha, Illya."

Samantha was very happy to meet Illya, even though the latter had no idea… well, of course he had an idea. Napoleon was involved.

"How do you do… Samantha."

Samantha cooed something about an accent, but it was over her shoulder and meant for her friend who remained without an introduction.

"And, who is your other new friend, Napoleon?"

The hum of the terminal was providing background noise for these social niceties that were passing among them. A family passed abruptly between them, trying to keep together and control the youngest member with bribes and counting to ten. As the child reached Illya, he stopped and kicked him in the shin of his left leg. That elicited a sharp yowl of protest, met in turn by profuse apologies to the wounded man and veiled threats against the non-compliant delinquent.

Samantha cooed something else now, suggesting that Illya sit down or put his foot up. Napoleon tried to keep from laughing at the spectacle of his partner seething behind threats of retribution, in a variety of languages. That kid was lucky to be less than three feet tall, otherwise…

The second stewardess, as yet unnamed, observed all of this with a grin on her face. She spoke French, and was certain she had heard at least a few words of it in Illya's tirade against the child assassin. She held out her hand now, not waiting for Napoleon to make the introductions.

"I am Deborah.'

She continued in French, noting there were far too many children in the terminal.

"Il y a trop de mômes ici, oui."

Illya blushed at the realization that she had understood his … declarations. Still, she was clever.

"Illya Nikovetch Kuryakin. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer.''

"Thank you, Illya. I am pleased to meet you as well. Are you and Napoleon going to be here in Atlanta for long?"

Deborah didn't sound Southern to Illya's ear. He knew that many of the airline's flight personnel spoke more than one language, due to the frequency of transatlantic flights and foreign passengers. Not unlike the employees of UNCLE, these women had to be prepared for just about anything.

Napoleon had observed all of this, and in the sort of split decision making expertise that had carried him to his position as Chief Enforcement Agent, he decided that his date for the evening was Samantha. Illya and Deborah seemed already in sync with one another, and the lovely Samantha would make a charming dinner companion.

The UNCLE agents made the final arrangements for dinner and bade the two women adieu, at least until later that evening. They secured their rental and, approaching the car, Napoleon tossed Illya the keys.

"I guess you might as well drive, since you're already on the fast track here in Atlanta."

Illya cut his eyes to the man on his left, wondering what, exactly, that meant.

"Are you referring to Deborah? You're the one who chased down the stewardesses and made a date before telling me about it. How did you know we wouldn't need to start our trek up into the hinterlands of Northern Georgia?"

Napoleon screwed up his face at that.

"Hinterlands? I don't think we even have hinterlands in America. Just drive."

And so Illya took the driver's seat and drove. They made their way out of the airport heading a few miles closer to the city, and to the motel where reservations had been made for them. For a day that had started out relatively slow, the pair found themselves once again, literally on the fly. At least they didn't need to worry about the next leg of their journey until tomorrow morning.

Illya was aware of a car following them soon after leaving the parking lot of the rental car company. It didn't seem likely that Thrush knew they were here, and the tail wasn't acting like a typical Thrush; it was slightly less obvious than the usual brute force presence employed by their almost constant nemesis.

This was something different, and Illya had no intention of leading whoever this was back to their motel.

"Napoleon, we seem to have picked up a tail. What do you think?"

Napoleon turned around, pointing to nothing in particular, in an effort to appear as touristy as possible. He saw the vehicle, several lengths back.

"Smart. Older car, not rushing up or doing anything obvious. So, how come we know he's tailing us?"

Illya didn't want to admit it, but the guy was driving as he would.

"He's doing it like we would if we were the ones tailing. I think he's an UNCLE agent."

Napoleon didn't like the sound of that, but he had to agree. There was something distinctive in any intelligence organization's techniques, and UNCLE was no different from any of the other agencies. You could always recognize one of your own.

"Let's see what he has under the hood, Illya. He may be one of ours, but he's not with us."

The city center was visible now, a burgeoning city growing up from the surrounding forests. They might end up in Florida if Illya couldn't lose this tail. Napoleon was getting ready to open his communicator when Illya reached over and stopped him.

"What? Why did you…?"

"If he is with UNCLE, he may be able to intercept a transmission from us. I think we should find a phone. This is a strange development, Napoleon. I think we should take some precautions."

Napoleon nodded, put his communicator back in his pocket and settled in for what might turn into a long drive.