Illya walked into the small, windowless office he shared with his partner, and found Napoleon leaning back in his chair, with his feet resting on his desk. In his hands was a blue UNCLE file folder.

"How did it go today?" He looked up at his Russian friend.

"Better than I had hoped. She is, or I should say was working for the KGB and is not Kurasov's daughter, and the man responsible for all this is... Grigory Vladek."

"Vladek? Wow," Napoleons eyebrows raised at that name as he put his file down. "That slimy so-and-so is still around huh?" He had a recollection of a tall dark man his trench coat and bowler hat ; he seemed to creep around, hovering at times like a vulture.

"Apparently so." Illya flopped down to his desk chair.

"His motive?"

"Have no clue, as she was not forthcoming with that information. I believe, however, I was able to break her conditioning as it was fairly weak. What I do know is she is not Ivanna Kurasov."

"So who is she?" Napoleon leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Her name is Ekaterina Aliyeva, she is approximately nineteen years of age and born in Leningrad. Her parents both work for the secret police in Moskva. She was recruited only six weeks ago by Vladek and was brainwashed to kill me, and after the fact, regardless of the outcome, she was to commit suicide. Her spirit is too strong though, as that was why she has been so combative; she did not want to kill herself."

"You found all this out today? I know you're a master of interrogation, but how'd you manage it?"

Illya's eyes brightened. "The rhyme she has been humming and singing was the clue, as apparently it was part of her programming. I hypnotized her using a Russian rhyme to plant new suggestions and countermand Vladek's conditioning."

Napoleon, as usual, was impressed by his partner's uncanny ability remain so focused on a task; he was like a tenacious badger, not letting go until he got what he wanted. Solo was glad the Russian was on their side, and would never want to be on the receiving end of one of his interrogations.

Napoleon was pretty good at reading Illya's moods and as he studied his blond partner's face, and he could see the man was not satisfied with what he'd achieved so quickly.

"So now what?"

"That is my dilemma, though I may have helped Ekaterina back to becoming herself, what do I do from now? She cannot simply be set free here or sent back to the Soviet Union, as I am sure her life would still be in danger. Surely Vladek knows we have her in custody."

"A new identity...a safe house perhaps?" Napoleon suggested.

"No, he would find her, as he as all the resources of KGB agents here embedded in the United States, and do not kid yourself, there are quite a few."

"I thought your KGB was the Soviet Union's Secret Police, dealing with internal matters."

Illya tilted his head, giving a wink. "KGB has its fingers in many pots."

"Maybe we can take advantage of that fact, that is if you want to lure Vladek out into the open and force him to reveal his hand, a public embarrassment, shall we say?"

Illya grinned. "A scam, just like we did with Project Strigas?"

"My thoughts exactly, old chum," Napoleon grinned back at him.

Two days later, word was leaked to the right people about the prisoner, Ivanna Kurasov, being taken to a safe house in Brooklyn. From there she was to be transported to a hotel next to LaGuardia airport to be put on a flight the following evening, bound for an undisclosed location in the United States.

Vladek listened in to his radio, monitoring the UNCLE transmission, thinking they were such fools, to talk openly of the times and places the transport was to take place. The name of Ivanna Kurasov was used only once during the broadcast, and that told him she had not been broken. Still she had to be eliminated as she posed too big a threat to revealing his secret.

The next evening Grigory positioned his black sedan near the entrance to Del Floria's and watched as the blonde girl was escorted to a waiting vehicle by Kuryakin and his American partner, Solo.

He wrung his hands together in delight, thinking he could not only get the girl, but Kuryakin as well. Solo's death would be a little bonus on top of the others. The KBG agent started his car, pulling out from his spot alongside the cub and followed the car being driven by his former Russian compatriot.

Illya drove carefully through the busy New York streets, weaving in and out of traffic, obviously trying to avoid being stuck in any traffic jams. Vladek smile, this one...Kuryakin was a cautious one, but his own organization betrayed him by their pretentious confidence in their foolish radio transmissions.

He had no doubt this U.N.C.L.E. would eventually fail, as they were a bourgeois self-righteous conglomerate of weak nations. The fact that GRU was duped into sending a representative proved their gullibility, and the Kremlin approving it... pure stupidity.

Soon there would be a new Premier, and once Illya Kuryakin was dead, perhaps the ties with U.N.C.L.E. would finally be cut. What they gave the Soviet Union in exchange for a representative agent, was gratuitous at best and not of any significance from and an intelligence point of view. And Kuryakin, the traitor had refused to spy for Mother Russia, and for that alone, he deserved to die.

Vladek hung back as he followed the UNCLE vehicle onto the FDR Drive, and it not long until they reached the Battery Tunnel. He continued after them, making a U-turn then a right to Church Avenue, another right to Lloyd Street, and finally coming to a stop on Erasmus Street in Brooklyn. It was there they pulled up and parked the car.

Vladek eased his sedan curbside not far away, and watched as they exited their vehicle, looking around nervously at first, then hurried the girl into a nearby brownstone. He decided here was not a good place to make his move as the building was too formidable. The hotel they'd be taking her to near the airport, however, would make for a softer target to pounce upon them and offered an easier get away. He could get to the airport and board a flight in no time.

He smiled, thinking his plans would soon come to fruition, and when he returned to the Soviet Union with his grisly prize...Kuryakin's finger as proof he was dead, Vladek envisioned at last a life a more suitable to one of his talents.

The blot of his association with that fool Kurasov would be erased at last...