As Steven Shields closed the folder he had been reading, the phrase came to him…
'Hide in plain sight'.
That's what he was doing, and the information in this folder contained everything he needed to know in order to eliminate the only thing that stood between him and success with UNCLE.
Shields had obtained the information he needed concerning the two men whose jobs he coveted. It was fate, he reasoned, to be here at this point in history with the opportunity presented to him now. There was a war raging, even though life carried on as usual. Thrush was a problem, certainly, but so was the threat of the Red Menace. It wasn't enough to simply stand firm in opposition to the Soviet Union. Let the politicians handle that end.
For his part, Steven Shields knew how to eliminate one of the enemies that dwelt among them; the fact that Kuryakin had a partner who would defend him to the death meant that he, too, would need to be eliminated.
Yes, fate had brought him here. Destiny would continue to lead him.
Illya and Napoleon were right on schedule. In spite of a breakfast that might easily have lulled them into a nap or, at the very least, a respite from their pursuit of Thrush via one of the big rocking chairs that graced the porch in front of the restaurant, the two agents determined to head for the mine.
The air was crisp and perfectly chilled. Illya thought it had the same qualities as an apple that snaps when you bite into it. The abundance of greenery was contrasted nicely by the sound of the creek that ran alongside the road; shards of frost still clinging to grass blades created a glimmering backdrop to a nearly pristine mountain environment.
If it weren't for the presence of the odd house or barn that was visible from the main road, it would be difficult to know that the area was inhabited at all. That and a respectable stream of traffic heading towards the object of their investigation reminded Napoleon and Illya of their purpose here. The magic of the scenery was broken as they approached a large structure whose façade stood in contrast to the mountain behind it.
Illya's observation was as crisp as the morning air.
"This is a monstrosity. Who allowed such a thing to be built in this environment?"
Napoleon was equally awestruck by the size of it. Jutting out from the mountainside and wrapping around several acres of trees, the building, or series of buildings, looked like pieces of a puzzle that needed connecting parts.
"It must have housing included. Thrush personnel must live here, and work, in addition to the locals who have been hired.''
Illya nodded, his eyes seeing every building as his gaze took in the semi-circle of concrete structures.
"To their credit, it does blend into the woods and mountain rather well. The color is a good match to the dirt around here.'
He paused, his thoughts going back to the little restaurant and the community that supported it. He liked these people and, ironically, Thrush was helping their economy.
"This assignment is a bit of a double-edged sword."
Napoleon didn't understand. He turned his head to inspect Illya better, recognizing the glumness hinted at by the comment. The blond saw the look, shrugged his shoulders and went on.
"I just mean that… in spite of the need to stop this enterprise, I recognize that in doing so we will harm the recent benefit to the local economy. These people depend on the jobs here.'
He sighed and leaned his head on the back of the seat.
"It reminds me of… home. People there depend on whatever businesses are allowed to operate, and eek out a living at the mercy of approved endeavors. All of it is scrutinized by the State…
"Beznadezhnyi.''
"Hopeless? Illya, I'm… Do you miss it? Russia… do you want to return there?"
Napoleon wondered sometimes how his partner did it, how he managed to be a man without a country. He had lived in several different countries, and was now almost completely without ties to his birthplace. It had to be difficult…
Illya didn't linger there. It was better to concentrate on the job at hand. He nodded his head in the direction of the mine and the line of cars heading towards it.
"I think we'd better consider our entrance. Word will have spread about the strangers in town, and certainly we will be noticed here very quickly."
The Chevy fit in perfectly among the other vehicles that poured into the parking lot at the Birdseye Mining Company. Once again, the thin veneer of respectability was shaded with Thrush arrogance, and Napoleon and Illya barely contained their amusement at the predictability of the people in charge.
Illya was gathering his photographic equipment as he remarked on the absurdity of how Thrush named their various enterprises.
"I don't suppose anyone else would think twice about it, but they must realize that law enforcement can draw conclusions easily with a name like that."
Napoleon chuckled and nodded his head, trying to keep his appearance in line with the role of a journeyman author, just in case someone was watching.
"Illya, if Thrush didn't do the expected, we might actually have to go looking for them. As it is, they always manage to send out signals that even Inspector Clouseau could find.''
Illya tweaked an eyebrow at that. He didn't get that reference. Napoleon saw the question in his friends face.
"Oh, the movie the Pink Panther. Peter Sellers? You don't ever go to the movies, do you?"
"I have, on occasion, taken in a film… or two. Who is this Inspector Clouseau?"
Napoleon smiled, the images on the screen a comic imitation of some of his own less than graceful affairs.
"Clouseau is a bumbling French policeman who gets involved in a crazy jewel theft. His own…"
Illya shook his head and held up a finger to his lips, indicating to Napoleon to shush.
"Stop. Do not tell me the entire movie. That the man is inept is sufficient for me to understand why you said what you did. By the way, I believe we have been spotted, for whatever that means for us."
Napoleon made a face at that. In that moment, there was a guard heading towards them, in full thrush regalia.
"Say there, I don't b'lieve I know y'all. We don't have any jobs open, so you might as well get goin'."
He seemed to think that was adequate, and stood with his arms crossed over his chest, as though one good blink might conjure up three wishes.
Napoleon spoke, slowly and with great feeling.
"We are not, as it happens, looking for work. I am Napoleon Solo, and this is my associate, Illya Kuryakin. We are…"
The man put up his hand in front of Napoleon's face. He was starting to get irritated at the gesture.
"What kinda name is that? You sure ain't from around here."
Illya stared back at the man, the glacial blue eyes withering the guard's resolve ever so slightly.
Napoleon had to smile just a little at the effect.
"Ahhemm… As I was saying…''
Napoleon cut his eyes to the blond and back to the guard.
"I am a writer and, um… Mr. Kuryakin is a world renowned photographer who is working with me on a book … about the mining communities of the Smoky Mountains. We would very much like to photograph your Birdseye Mine and tell the story of how it has helped revitalize this little region around Angieville. It's all very good press, actually."
The guard listened, but he was shaking his head.
"Nope, I don't think I can let you come in. The boss man of this operation don't like anyone comin' here snoopin' around. And, book or no book, you'd be snoopin'."
Illya heaved a sigh that indicated his displeasure with the direction of the conversation.
"Perhaps if we could just speak with your boss. Our publisher is really quite enthused about this particular location. Isn't he Napoleon?"
Napoleon raised his eyebrows and replied enthusiastically.
"Yes, oh yes… indeed. Very enthused. He is so enthused, in fact, that he has given us money to help smooth the way for anyone who might be willing to help us. Do you… '
Napoleon check the nametag on the uniform…
"…do you, Duane, need smoothing?"
The smile was slow in coming, but Duane finally lit up like a streetlamp and nodded his head.
"Well, I reckon it won't hurt nothin'. I mean, you're just takin' pictures, right?"
Illya and Napoleon both nodded vigorously.
"Oh, absolutely Duane. Just a few pictures and we'll be out of here, and you'll be … forty dollars smoother than you are now."
Everyone was smiling now, and Duane motioned for the two men with the funny names to follow him. Illya started snapping pictures, Napoleon was taking notes. Neither one of them saw Duane click the round metal device in his jacket pocket.
As Solo and Kuryakin were being led into the outer perimeter of the mining operation known as Birdseye Mine, a small plane landed on an airstrip outside of Knoxville. Steven Shields had persuaded personnel that he had a family emergency and would need a few days off. He was getting closer to his goal; by the end of the day he would take care of Kuryakin and, if necessary, Napoleon Solo as well.