Heading north on I-285, Illya kept an eye on the rearview mirror even as he was watching the traffic ahead of him. He had already maneuvered an illegal turn and reversed their direction. At this rate, Florida wasn't entirely out of the question.
"Is he still there?"
Napoleon was fussing with a map while glancing into the side mirror. He didn't see the tail any longer, and was hoping his partner's erratic driving had discouraged whoever was back there.
"I don't see him… damn. He just showed up again. I refuse to do this any longer. Hold on, Napoleon."
Napoleon grabbed the dashboard as their car careened off of the highway and into some high grass beyond a barrier free stretch.
"Get out, Napoleon. Get under the car and wait…"
It took Napoleon just a few seconds to catch on to what his partner wanted from him. If the guy following them wanted a confrontation, now was the time for it. Napoleon would be out of sight until Illya needed him, available immediately if trouble showed up.
Two minutes. That's how long it took for the UNCLE tail to make contact with the UNCLE agents it was following. When the second car pulled off the highway and stopped behind Illya, Napoleon was peering through grass and around the muffler to see who would emerge.
Illya reached into his jacket and pulled out his Walther, hoping he didn't need it but unwilling to assume anything else. As the driver's door opened on the second car, he was tensed for conflict.
The driver in the other car pushed open his door and slid out of the seat in one easy, fluid motion. He wasn't a big man, about Napoleon's height and weight was Illya's first impression as he watched through the side mirror. Illya had the Special in his hand and trailing behind his body as he opened the door. In an equally graceful exit, the Russian stood facing the approaching figure so quickly that the other man stopped short of the car.
"Ah reckon Ah'd recognize you anywhere, Mr. Kuryakin. Ah just wish y'all…'
This man had a very distinct Southern drawl, and he stopped himself in mid-sentence, looking around and slightly puzzled.
"Uh, where's Mr. Solo? Ah coulda sworn y'all were both in this vehicle."
Illya was flummoxed by this turn of events. Could this be their Atlanta contact?
"Mr. Lee?"
The stranger nodded, a big smile erupting on his boyish face.
"Yessir, Mr. Kuryakin. That's me. Oh, and I'm supposed to say… 'Things here are just peachy'.''
Napoleon was hearing all of this, and with a certain amount of discomfort and the certainty that there would be grass stains on his glenplaid, he rolled out from beneath the car and peered through the windows at this new character.
"Oh, there you are, Mr. Solo. I'm Lee…Albert E. Lee, of the Atlanta office.''
Napoleon smiled, and it was one of his most charming affectations. He was wondering why this fellow hadn't met them at the airport instead of tailing them as he had.
"Mr. Lee…'
"Oh, just call me Albert. Please."
More smiling, but at last all three men relaxed. Illya was wondering about that balancing analogy he had thought of earlier. Somehow this wasn't it.
Napoleon was curious…
"So, Albert… umm, why didn't you meet us at the airport instead of …'
"Instead of tailing you out here like we aren't on the same side? Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Y'all were in and outa there so quick, Ah just couldn't keep up. Ah reckon y'all don't have that slick reputation for nothin', right."
Illya thought the man smiled entirely too much. However…
"Mr. … Oh, sorry. Albert… We were attempting to get to our motel. I don't suppose we could head there and talk about the mission in that location rather than here."
Albert was nodding his head. He pulled out his communicator, which reminded Napoleon that he ought to do the same thing. Mr. Waverly would no doubt be waiting for a report on their arrival.
"Yessir, we can do that. Your motel is not far from here, so just get in your car and Ah'll take you there. And, may Ah say, it is a pleasure and an honor to meet two of UNCLE's fahnest."
Illya and Napoleon would have shuffled their feet and said 'aw shucks' if not for the fact that the grass was too high and neither of them were fond of that saying. Instead Napoleon thanked Albert for the kindness and indicated with a nod of his head that getting back on the road would be appreciated.
Fifteen minutes later the two cars pulled into the Happy Travelers Motor Lodge. It was fairly new, not any older than this stretch of the interstate anyway. Napoleon checked them into their room while Illya waited in the car. Russians in the motel office tended to make people nervous sometimes.
With Napoleon back in the car and the key in hand, they drove around to the back where their room was located; Illya handled the bags while Napoleon approached Albert Lee and invited him into their overnight lodging.
"So, Albert, what can you tell us about the Thrush satrapy that has brought us here?"
Napoleon didn't want to waste time. Aside from the need to get a report from this local agent, there were still two lovely stewardesses waiting to be wined and dined on their one night in the city. After this evening, the prospects for entertainment and romance were probably nil.
Albert poised himself for the task of relaying this information to the two New York agents. His time in Survival School had included stories about the nearly legendary performances of these men. To be on the same team with them now was exciting to the young Section III agent.
"Well, y'all've seen the aerial photos, so you know how big this facility is. Ah've never been in a Thrush satrapy, but Ah reckon this one would take a road map to get around.'
He looked from Illya to Napoleon, took a breath and continued.
"It was constructed some time last year. There's not much up in this region, just some small communities that no one ever hears from, much. We figure they hauled in some of their supplies via Chattanooga, 'cuz there's no record of it comin' through Atlanta. It's snuggled up in the Smokies, just outa sight of most surveillance. The only reason we spotted it was some folks told the local authorities they'd seen somethin' peculiar goin' on south of Knoxville."
Napoleon winced at that, shooting his partner a look that groaned without benefit of sound.
"Knoxville? Do you mean that it's in Tennessee, and not Georgia?"
Albert nodded, aware that he was giving these men new information.
"Oh, yessir, definitely Tennessee. There's just not anyone, Ah mean there are no offices for UNCLE up in that region. Coming into Atlanta was the only way to get you started on this.'
Albert hesitated before adding…
"Ah'd be pleased to accompany y'all up there."
Illya just shook his head. Napoleon was a little more conciliatory.
"Thank you, Agent Lee. You have been very helpful. All we need from you, however, is the rest of this report. We're fully prepared to go in on this one as a two man team. You'll have your shot at Thrush, son. Just not this time."
Albert understood. He was Section III, and Atlanta wasn't exactly a high profile training ground.
"All right then, let me tell you all about it…"
And so he did. Thrush's Smoky Mountain satrapy was the center of a gigantic mining operation. Precious gemstones and gold were being mined and processed within the giant complex. Reports indicated that lasers were being equipped with sapphires and rubies that would greatly enhance the potential for destruction of any target. Gold had also been discovered, and all of it lay beneath the sprawl that was this mountainside Thrush enclave.
The assignment for Solo and Kuryakin was to get inside and find the weapons of destruction and destroy them. If Thrush could aim any of these at key targets around the globe, the world order would be at greater risk than ever before.
Illya was studying the map from behind the Soviet glasses (Napoleon had decided to name them), his brow furrowed in one of his trademark alerts of disapproval.
"Why were we not informed of the exact location in the report we have? Is there a reason for not letting us know that the site is within the borders of the state of Tennessee?"
Napoleon had no answer for that. Both men looked at Albert, zeroing in on the only man who seemed to have any information about this monolith in the mountains.
"Oh, y'all didn't know much about this did you. Hmmm…well, Ah honestly can't say why it wasn't in your report. It is located on the border, pretty much, so it might be an oversaht. These pahts are a bit secretive, folks tend to be… well, pretty taht."
Illya took off his glasses, and Napoleon cocked his head slightly.
"Taht? Oh… tight."
Albert grinned.
"Sorry, y'all're not used to bein' in the South. I reckon the folks up there where you'll be headin' are gonna have just as much confusion with Mr. Kuryakin's accent. Ah shore wish Ah was goin' with y'all."
Napoleon sort of smirked at that. Mountain folk and Russians… Somehow he knew they were going to have a little bit of trouble on their hands.
Accents and language issues aside, the men managed to wrap up their meeting, sending Albert back to his office and the two Northerners into a measured rush in order to meet up with their dates for the evening.
"Napoleon, why exactly are we going out tonight when we need to get up early in the morning and head up to the Smoky Mountains?
Napoleon smiled at his partner, always amazed that Illya didn't need the distraction of a woman in the same way he did.
"Because, my Russian Eunich…'
Illya glared at the American he sometimes called friend.
"Napoleon…"
It was a growl that had deep meanings within the intonation. Napoleon laughed anyway, the image of his partner as a blond bear suddenly filling his view…
"We must take our pleasures as time permits, and tonight we are permitted to take our time."
Illya relented somewhat, remembering Deborah and the realization that he just might enjoy exploring her knowledge of French…
"Da, you are sometimes correct. Just keep in mind that we leave by seven in the morning. Vy ponimaete?''
Napoleon waggled his eyebrows and replied,
"Yes, I understand. Are you ready?"
Illya straightened up and ran his hand through the mop of blond hair.
"I am always ready, Napoleon."
One more smirk and they were out the door, heading for what they hoped would be a memorable, uneventful evening.