Dr. Heron flipped a switch on her console and listened as the occupants, except the driver, succumbed to the invisible gas released into the body and cab of the van. Others might enjoy the spectacle of whitish gas filling and escaping, but Heron knew that efficiency was frequently more likely to catch the opposition than showy plays were.

"It worked," the driver told her as he settled Oxblood in the seat next to him before going around to make sure the others were in relatively safe positions. He tucked the chick between the two men and secured the door. It was a shame to leave the agents' car there, but the locals would take care of it. Impound was such a nasty concept.

Ten minutes later the van pulled into a warehouse. The agents were transferred to a holding cell where Heron's research staff quickly took control of the experiment. Dr. Heron entered the research lab a few minutes later, smiling. Instead of the sedate outfit she'd worn for the High Council, she wore hip and leg hugging slacks with tall boots, a body hugging cashmere sweater with a plunging neckline and a pristine white lab coat. After all, blood and body fluids were so hard to get out of cashmere. Her hair, released from the tons of hairspray, spiraled into a flurry of corkscrew curls barely contained in a low set buckle at the nape of her neck. The glasses were gone.

She surveyed the four unconscious agents, licked her lips in a manner calculated to raise the blood pressure of all four of her male subordinates who were looking in her direction and smiled. "Very good. I want blood from Kuryakin and Solo, look for viruses, type and classify. I'm looking for anything you can't immediately identify."

She looked at the other two. "And these two are?"

"Oxblood and Cowl from the London office. They're crazy."

Heron chuckled. "Technically, all UNCLE agents are crazy because they oppose us. Of course, they think we're crazy, so maybe we're just all in the Mad Hatter's world. I want blood work on both of them. If what I hope is in Solo and Kuryakin's blood, we will use them for further testing."

Her subordinates scattered to their tasks. She watched in simple pride until her secretary informed her there was a call. Once in her office, she answered the phone curiously. "Heron, here." The voice on the other end was a pleasant surprise. "Chang, dear, what can I do for you. What?" She stared at the receiver for a moment. "Why would you need a sample of Mr. Kuryakin's blood?" After all, the man was an engineer, a brilliant and inventive engineer, but biological science was not his forte. "Oh," she said thoughtfully after he explained. "What the hell is a nano?" His laugh had the usual effect on her knees, so she sat down while he did not explain. The gist was that the technology was so new, he wasn't certain anyone would understand it but that Crane had requested his last two papers presented at the THRUSH micro-engineering conferences in Belgrade.

"How much blood?" A syringe would suffice. "I'll ship it to you." He was in Edinburgh, he'd collect it. She replaced the receiver looking a bit glazed about the eyes. Chang, here, in her installation. Infinitely naughty thoughts in myriad variations raced through her mind. "Stop that!" she told herself sternly. Dr. D'Antonini was a respected colleague, noting more. Really he was. Dammit. She took a deep calming breath and discovered just how distracting the shift of silk against skin warmed cashmere could be. Blushing slightly, she went to change into something less comfortable.

Jan Wilde, her dedicated assistant, watched Dr. Heron stalk to her quarters and jumped to … logically approached her own conclusions. The pool was up to £200 on exactly when Dr. Heron and Dr. D'Antonini would finally succumb to each other. Another pound for another logically produced time and date could win her that vacation to Jamaica she coveted.

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Dr. Heron walked into her quarters to find someone there ahead of her. Incredibly green eyes looked her over as the woman rose from her seat at Heron's desk. Her pale face was accentuated by her blue black hair, raven's wing eyebrows and black cashmere sweat and skirt. Her knee high boots were also black with stiletto heels.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?"

"The name's Yuconovich, Dr. Heron. Where are Solo and Kuryakin?"

"What? Why … I have clearance for my project." Heron wasn't used to being on the defensive, especially with another woman.

"You have clearance from the High Council in the form of funding. However, you neglected to clear your use of my strike team in your experiments, as did your predecessor. Solo and Kuryakin are mine. I want them back now."

Heron glared at this annoying woman. "Your strike team? Solo and Kuryakin are UNCLE agents of the worst kind."

The woman sighed, turned her back on Heron for a moment and then stepped directly in front of the doctor. "You don't have a patron on the Council, do you?"

"Uhm, no. I ..."

"You picked up Crane's experiments and presumed you could simply continue where she left off. You were wrong. However, I am in a position to offer you a patron. I work directly under Giles Faversham. I have a fairly free hand to select personnel for his staff. The potential to be able to control the opposition is intriguing, but I need you to release Solo and Kuryakin to me. Surely there are others you can use. By the way, where are Mr. Solo and his partner?"

"On their way here," Heron admitted. "With the virus still in their systems, it was easy to use suggestion to manipulate them."

"Intriguing. However, I am not interested in puppets. I prefer my people to be able to think for themselves."

"Solo and Kuryakin are … the opposition. They destroy us," Heron objected and had to work not to flinch when she met the other woman's gaze.

"They strike where I tell them to. Do you think their … victims? for want of a better word, were truly people who would allow us to act as a cohesive unit? To take the world, we need people who follow us, but who also think. No regime that bases on fear alone lasts. The Chinese work on fear and reward, or did. For four thousand years, this worked. Fear alone will tear them apart. The Soviet Union will fail. Again, all stick, no carrot … or very few carrots. Yet an empire without adherents, without true believers, willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, dies so easily. Puppets are cannon fodder, but they cannot recognize when to fall on the grenade and when to scoop it up and toss it back. Solo and Kuryakin are mine. You will release them."

"And just what do I get out of it? The High Council wants what Crane started and I can give them."

Yuconovich sighed. "What the High Council thinks it wants and what is best for THRUSH are sometimes at odds. There are other agents, just as good, who can be used … although I suspect you will find that most of them make most unsatisfactory playthings. UNCLE London has assigned agents to find and free my strike team. Use them. Do try not to kill them. They're far more useful alive than dead."

Heron frowned. "Patron?" she prodded and almost wished she had not. Yuconovich smiling at her was nearly as worrying as her previous annoyance.

"I will speak to Mr. Faversham, Doctor. You are very skilled and there are a couple of projects we might be able to use your expertise on." The too green eyes focused tightly on Heron. "You're friends with D'Antonini, aren't you?"

Oh hell. Was that a problem. "We have interests that coincide." The laugh that met her cautious statement was rich and genuine, startling the Doctor. "Is that a problem?"

"Oh, heavens no," the other reassured her. "Chang's a doll. Absolutely adore his too focused for sanity methods. Please, work with him. He needs someone to keep him from getting lost in the ether or inside his own experiments." She giggled at a memory. "Remind me to tell you about the time I had to unwire him from one of his experiments. Now. Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin."

"Should be arriving just about now."