Napoleon came groggily to consciousness, his mouth felt like the bottom of a birdcage; or the way he thought the bottom of a birdcage would taste. He sat up. No headache. That was good. Someone made a grumpy noise. Illya was curled on his side, back to his partner, apparently wandering his own way back to the waking world. A faint smile curved Napoleon's mouth as the Russian went still.

"Hello Sleepyhead."

Scowl. "Where are we?"

"Don't know."

Room. Square. Concrete block. Thick blanket on the floor under them. Jug. Glasses. Food. Old fashioned water closet. Good. He got to his feet and ambled over to the facility. "Well, we've been in worse," he observed as he alleviated his most pressing concern. He was a little unnerved as he pulled the chain and several of the blocks in the wall to the side moved and a sink slid into place, complete with a bar of soap.

"Technological …"

"THRUSH," Illya agreed, waiting his turn.

"This does not feel right."

Illya's gloom lightened for a moment. "This is THRUSH. We are captured, locked in … Napoleon, there's no door," he observed.

"Yeah. But with this sort of ability," Napoleon gestured to the sink, "maybe the door is high tech also."

"Of course, it is," a familiar feminine voice agreed from within the room.

"You."

She smiled. "Me. How's the head?" she asked politely.

"Fine," Napoleon practically growled. Why he was so angry he wasn't entirely certain. Maybe it was because she was looking crisp, cool and collected while he was grimy and wrinkled. Then again, maybe it was because she had lived up to Illya's evaluation when he didn't want her to do so. "Yuconovich."

"In the flesh. Sorry about the accommodations, but I didn't want you escaping before we figured out if the serum is completely out of your systems. I'm certain you understand."

"Didn't want it leading back to you?"

She laughed. "It would not have led back to me anyway, my dear Solo. Follow me please." She turned neatly and exited. In the hallway, six guards in the ubiquitous THRUSH jumpsuit, but not with the usual thug looks, joined them.

"Worried?"

Another chuckle. "Not really. But there are those on the premises who might get nervous if you were on your own. Your reputation, fully deserved, precedes you and many of our people are … well, how shall I put this? Less than sterling characters with itchy trigger fingers." She looked sideways to meet his gaze. "Technically, these men are here to protect the two of you."

Illya looked stoic, as usual. Napoleon rolled his eyes. Protection? Really? They came to a bank of elevators and took one up. Four of the guards accompanied them, the other two taking up positions to guard access to the shaft. Six floors up and the doors opened onto a business like hallway. Two secretaries, arms full of files, strolled along in discussion. A young man in shirtsleeves rolled a mail cart along, stopping now and again with deliveries. Giles Faversham, neatly clad in a three piece suit, followed by the looming presence of his prime assassin, Royke Darnall, stopped as they exited the elevator. He gave their captor a wry look.

"Collecting?"

"Rescuing. But that's to be kept mum, of course. Any word on the leak in my research department?"

Darnall handed her a sheet of paper. Her face went cold. "That man is so dead."

Illya and Napoleon both looked at her curiously. Neither had seen her quite so hostile previously. They met Faversham's gaze, noting his frown.

"Destroying the researcher ..."

"Not the idiot. I have had enough of the asshole." She met his gaze. "Look, if you have to throw me to the dogs, do so. At least, he'll be out of everyone's hair. Meanwhile, I need to get this taken care of. How's the day otherwise?"

Mercurial that was the word Napoleon was searching for. Suddenly, Cheri Yuconovich was much scarier than he had thought. "Exactly what ..."

"Shh. Least said, soonest mended. This way gentlemen." They proceeded down the corridor as though business always needed four gun toting guards to proceed. This being THRUSH, maybe it did.

A few moments later, they entered a spacious office. Cheri shooed them into a room suite beyond the office where they found a change of clothing and access to a palatial bathroom. The lock clicked behind them, but they were alone. While Napoleon showered and shaved, Illya took a thorough inventory of the room.

"Seems to be her home away from home," he told Napoleon as he availed himself of hot water. "The file on the desk is of interest."

"Still don't trust her."

The blond head poked out of the curtain, frowning. "Of course, not. She is THRUSH. But I think we are safe enough for the moment. She doesn't seem to approve of viral slaves." He disappeared back into the steam.

Napoleon dressed before perusing the file indicated. Crane's virus apparently had three stages. He and Illya survived the first one which had a ninety percent kill ratio. Like small pox and the plague, it was not particularly useful for more than killing. Those who survived were either carriers or cured. Carriers could look forward to two more phases of the infection: the slow erosion of will that Crane had tried to hurry into place and a final stage that Crane had only produced once and was not entirely certain was due to the virus. Some of the samples taken from the other survivor had abnormalities in them. There was an infinitesimal bacteria that paired with the virus that troubled the researcher. Her notes stopped abruptly. Well, they would. Crane was dead, caught in a fiery maelstrom of her own making.

Still, the second phase seemed relevant to his and Illya's ending up in England instead of Jamaica. If they were becoming suggestible to that extent …

The door opened. Cheri had changed into less formal dress, denim pants, low heeled boots and a button down cowboy style shirt over which she'd pulled on a suit coat. "Feeling better? Take the file with you. I'm sure R&D will want a look at it."

"Where are the other agents?"

"Gentlemen, I'm THRUSH. I'm under no obligation to tell you anything." She held out two pairs of airline tickets. "New York or Jamaica?"

"New York," Illya answered. He took the tickets, glaring at her.

"This way." In silence she led the way out of the building and turned them loose.