THE MYSTERY IN THE SKY AFFAIR

By AJ Burfield

ACT I: Diamonds and Lasers

Napoleon Solo tossed his pen onto his desktop and sighed. The writing instrument skittered between two piles of stacked files, careened off a glass paperweight, then teetered tentatively on the far edge of the desk for a curious second before dropping off to the floor below. Hands behind his head, he kicked back and thumped his feet on his desk, crossed them at the ankles, and sighed again.

His blond officemate, hunched behind his own stack of files, continued to scribble furiously as he growled, "Must you make so much noise?"

"It's unbelievable how fast paperwork builds up. If I didn't know any better, I would say it had a life of its own and this office offered the perfect growing conditions." Solo plucked a pencil from the desktop, tilted his head back and narrowed his eyes as he aimed the yellow #2 Ticonderoga at the ceiling. "Maybe you could do a scientific experiment on that. The multiplication factor of ignored reports." With one quick flick of his wrist the pencil stuck in the ceiling with a thud, making it an even dozen hanging from an impressively tight grouping above the Chief Enforcement Agent's head.

Illya Kuryakin didn't even look up and continued to write. "Please. I don't need to generate more paperwork with irrelevant experiments. The reports piled up because we've been working non-stop on cases. No mystery there."

"Ah, mystery! That's what we need. These escort and courier duties have been much too mundane." The bored agent fruitlessly skimmed the table with his eyes for more ammo. "I'm ready for a real mental challenge. You have a pencil?"

One eyebrow on the Slavic face rose with his head, his pen still in his grip and poised on paper. His eyes flicked to the ceiling above his partner's head, then down to meet the brown, puppy-dog eyes gazing innocently at him. "Not for you to launch. Reap what you have sown." He indicated the yellow grouping on the ceiling with a flick of his free hand.

Solo opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the click of the intercom and the business-like voice of their boss's secretary.

"Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, please come to Mr. Waverly's office immediately."

The effect of her words was instantaneous. Before the statement was even finished, both agents were on their feet and shrugging on jackets as they moved to the door.

"On our way!" Solo chirped with a grin. The intercom clicked off. "Saved by the bell!"

The odor of Isle of Dogs #22 permeated their superior's office due to the innumerable lightings Mr. Waverly initiated to his pipe on a daily basis. Solo wondered how often he was able to keep the embers going long enough for a decent smoke.

"Gentlemen, please sit." The curmudgeonly appearance of the Old Man was in total contradiction of his actual abilities as both knew Alexander Waverly could out-shoot and out-think most of the Section Two operatives in U.N.C.L.E. They couldn't respect their leader any more. In a familiar motion of repacking his pipe yet again, he nodded to the wall switch. "Lights, if you please, Mr. Kuryakin."

The room grew darker and Mr. Waverly pressed a switch. The photo of a man appeared on the wall.

"Dr. John Bardeen," Illya commented immediately. Solo gave his partner a surprised glance.

"I see you are familiar with Dr. Bardeen." Waverly's face was briefly illuminated with a strike of a match.

"He won the 1960 Nobel Prize for Physics," Illya recounted. "Currently a Professor of Electrical Engineering at the University of Illinois, before that, employed at Bell Labs. He discovered the effect of transistors and does research on semiconductors."

Solo pursed his lips and looked back at the photo on the wall. "Quite an accomplished man."

"And there are rumors that he may become the first man to receive a second Nobel with his new research," Waverly added.

Illya nodded. "Yes, I've read about it. Something about a theory on superconductors?"

"Exactly."

"So, why are you bringing him to our attention?" Solo inquired.

"It seems that someone had burglarized his offices. Last week. Nothing pertinent to his recent work was taken, however. He keeps that in another lab. The burglary was handled by the local authorities and was considered routine until two days ago. The FBI thinks there was an aborted attempt to kidnap the doctor then."

Solo and Kuryakin looked at each other, questions running through their heads. "And why would U.N.C.L.E. be brought in? Isn't the FBI handling that?"

"Patience, Mr. Solo, I'm getting there." The pushed another button and the picture changed.

"Dr. Arthur Schawlow," Illya remarked. "Considered one of the inventors of the laser."

Solo's nodded. "That was invented at Bell Labs, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Solo, you are correct."

"What happened to Dr. Schawlow to connect the two at this time?"

"Another burglary, four days ago. His field notes on the laser development were taken."

"Did someone try to kidnap him?" Illya asked.

"No. Not yet, anyway." Mr. Waverly puffed on the pipe and the embers glowed in the darkened room. He touched a button and another face popped up. It was an unflattering black and white, obviously taken by a surveillance camera at a distance and blown up. The man was glancing back over his shoulder as he walked, his dark hair spiked up by the wind, his coat collar turned up to his jaw line. The fuzziness of the picture still didn't hide the prominent scar that ran down the man's left cheek from temple to chin.

"A fingerprint lifted at the laser lab burglary belongs to this man, Gunter Voss, a midlevel Thrush operative who normally works out of Germany. He specializes in thefts involving technology. A check on his recent whereabouts show him meeting with this man."

The picture changed again to a sidewalk in front of a small shop. Voss, recognizable by the scar, was speaking to a smaller man with short, blond hair.

"This was taken in West Berlin, three days before the burglary of Dr. Bardeen's office. The other man was identified as Anton Mueller. A cross check shows that an Anton Mueller was a recent graduate of the University of Illinois."

"Let me guess," Illya said. "Electrical Engineering major?"

"Correct, Mr. Kuryakin. A student of Dr. Bardeen."

"Hence the connections to Thrush, and therefore involving U.N.C.L.E.," Solo summarized.

"Precisely. Voss appeared in South Africa two days ago. We think there's something going on involving lasers, transistors and diamonds."

"Diamonds?" Solo repeated.

"Yesterday, Mr. Mueller was seen accepting a package from a Thrush courier outside Port Elizabeth, South Africa. Local sources say it was diamonds."

Illya's forehead furrowed in thought, and then he said, "Could be some sort of communications device. Doesn't Thrush have a lab that specializes in that sort of thing in that area?"

"Precisely. And you two are going there to investigate what it is. We've received information that there has been an increase of Thrush activity in that particular area."

"What kind of activity?" Solo inquired.

"It seems that they are expanding that communications lab, but there's no sign of buildings."

The new picture on the wall showed an aerial view of a vast, barren area surrounding a collection of buildings with an unusually broad area of pavement.

There was a moment of silence, then Illya sat up straighter, his eyes wide.

"That looks like a rocket launch site!"

Waverly nodded. "Yes. And we just got a report late last night that a Dr. Von Heisen has disappeared from Germany."

"The rocketry specialist?" Solo was now alarmed at what the clues were telling him. "Thrush is putting a laser in space? Why?"

Mr. Waverly looked at his watch. "The answer to that is in your hands, gentlemen. Our researchers can't figure it out. Your plane leaves in an hour."

* * * *

Port Elizabeth, South Africa was a charming town that enjoyed mild weather year round. They were currently in their summer and the agents found the sunny warmth refreshing when they stepped out on the tarmac.

"I wish we could soak up some of the local sights," Solo mused as they waited to retrieve their minimal luggage. Two slim, dark skinned beauties, one with startling green eyes, glided by and offered bright, white smiles as they passed. "Ah, yes. The locals sights seem . . . friendly!" He smiled back and centered the knot of his tie.

Illya watched the pair sway by, also appreciating their loose-limbed stride. "Sorry, Napoleon, but our destination is the Great Karoo foothills, not the local discothèque."

"Maybe we should enlist a guide," the suave dark-haired agent suggested. He tilted his head in the ladies' direction. "Or two, maybe!"

"I think we're already covered, there." Illya was looking at a man dressed in a bright shirt just beyond the luggage area. He was bouncing up and down on his toes and waving his arms, trying to get their attention. The man was rather portly and around forty years old with a huge, bushy moustache.

The agents picked up their bags and headed in his direction. The frantic arm waving stopped, but the bouncing didn't. "I say, you must be Solo and Kuryakin. Pleased to meet you! I'm Solly. I'm your driver."

"Pleased to meet you, Solly. You know where we're going?" Solo was disappointed at their guide and gave the two retreating beauties one last look.

"Yes, yes. Please, come with me."

The agents fell in behind their guide who bounced ahead chatting about the weather and the horrible traffic. The two new arrivals glanced around at the half dozen cars idling or moving in front of the terminal. Traffic?

Solly popped the trunk of what appeared to be a retired taxi cab. Although the outside begged for new paint and sported a variety of dents and dings, the inside was crisp and new. Solo slipped into the front and his partner took the back. Solly popped in behind the steering wheel.

"Yes, this is my baby! Working to refurbish her. Just finished the interior. Now to get going on the outside!" He fired up the engine, which purred smoothly. He lovingly patted the dashboard. "Ah, yes. Moxie and I are great friends. We'll get you where you need to go."

"Your car's name is Moxie?" Illya asked.

"Yes, sir. Was my wife's idea. Said a taxi in service as long as this one was must have some street moxie." He laughed and stomped on the gas, flattening the agents against the seat backs. "Odd Americanism, but when the wife explained it, the name simply fit. She's a honey. The car, that is. Well, so is my wife," he stammered, veering wildly between cars and making for the main road. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, yes we do," Solo replied between clenched teeth. His fingers dug into the dash in self-preservation.

After a few hair-raising turns and near collisions and with Solly chattering the whole way, they finally screeched to a stop in front of a neat building. "Here we are." Solly stated as he slammed the retired taxi into 'park'. "U.N.C.L.E. Port Elizabeth!"

Illya and Napoleon leaped from the car, grateful to be in one piece, and followed the jovial Solly into the nondescript doorway. A typewriter and an old, black telephone sitting on a tiny wooden desk identified office space inside. An elderly woman wearing a flowered dress pecked at the typewriter without bothering to give them a glance. Solly skirted her desk and made for the back wall with the two agents following curiously. When they reached a floor to ceiling bookcase on the rear wall there was a loud click and Solly pushed it aside easily to reveal a brightly lit stairway that angled down.

Descending into the basement was a technological shock. High-tech monitoring equipment and sophisticated armaments neatly lined one wall, and a large, orderly desk sat directly in the middle of the room. A small man with large glasses and wild, red hair looked up from a work table to one side and grinned a toothy grin. His hands were tangled in wires.

"Well! You made it! Mr. Waverly gave us the outline of your assignment and I think I have everything you need."

"And you are. . . ?" Solo extended his hand politely.

"Oh! Sorry. Wendell. Wendell Leech, Section 3, Nairobi."

"Nairobi?" Illya asked, confused. Nairobi was a long way away from Port Elizabeth.

"Uh, yes. We rotate shifts in this office. Mostly radar and aerial surveillance. It's really kind of a vacation for us. It's generally quiet down here and an opportunity to catch up on research and such. Anyway, I understand you're here to look into the launch pad. I'm assuming you need to shut down the communications building, too. I have the explosives you'll need plus a layout of the area. And I don't know what you have in mind, but I would suggest penetration by ground. It looks like there are several anti-aircraft devices in the surrounding countryside."

Solo arched his brows. "I'm very curious now to see why whatever they're up to warrants the extra firepower. Recent additions?"

"Yes, according to past surveillance photos. All installed in the past six months." Leech tapped out a half-dozen red dots on the photos.

Solo was impressed by the efficiency of the tiny office and was about to comment when Kuryakin let out a low whistle. Solo turned to find Solly showing his golden-haired partner the contents of the armory.

"Why do you need such a large supply of plastique? This should be more than we need." The Russian was impressed by the collection.

"Explosives are fairly easy to come across down here. I sort of stock up." Unbelievably, the extrovert Solly and the stoic Russian had found a common bond in blowing things up. Solly's eyes shone with excitement as he pointed out the various timers and triggers he'd managed to build up in his short turn in the tiny office. As they chatted about the merits of each device Leech went over the set up of the communications labs with Solo.

After a bit, Solo contacted Mr. Waverly and briefly went over the plans. "Your job is to render the launch area useless, recover the stolen notes, and extract Dr. Von Heisen. Thrush should be unable to launch anything without him."

"Yes, sir. We'll start tonight. Solo out." He closed up the communicator and spoke as he slipped the silver pen into his pocket. "Good thing we slept on the plane."

* * * * * *

Solly came up with a sturdy vehicle for the agents to use and they headed towards the Thrush compound shortly before dark. It took several hours to get there due to the darkness and primitive roads when they finally spotted the lights of the compound from a distant ridge.

There was a security fence surrounding the entire area with lights mounted on the fence as well as on the buildings. They pulled off the road and studied the area with infrared binoculars. The night was comfortable and warm, and the inky black sky sparkled with a dazzling number of stars. Odd animal noises in the distance added an exotic feel to the situation.

"No moon tonight," Solo commented as he admired the heavens.

"It won't be up for another three hours. We can move in without being seen." Illya spoke as he looked through the binoculars.

"No sense in wasting time," sighed Solo.

They hid the dusty vehicle and gathered their things. As Solo darkened his face with grease paint, Illya donned a black knit cap and slung the leather knapsack loaded with explosives over his shoulder. Solo tossed him the paint, and they moved off.

When they got closer to the fence Solo noticed the sentries. "There's an awful lot of perimeter security here for a communications lab. You don't think they're further along on this than expected, do you?"

"There's no launch vehicle yet, so they can't be that close. Unless of course it's in one of those outbuildings." Illya commented. "None of them look big enough, though. All I see are a couple of helicopters. I think we're in time."

The extra security gave them pause and they decided to study the routine for a day before moving in. They familiarized themselves with the surroundings outside the fence and found a perfect hiding place for the day. By the time they set up camp and concealed their presence, dawn was breaking. They settled in to shifts and Solo nestled down for sleep.

Around nine a.m. Illya spotted Dr. Von Heisen and noted where his room was situated. He compared the map with the actual layout, and noted all the possible entries to the main communications lab. By noon, when it was his turn to rest, there was only one vent that perplexed him.

"I think there may be an underground part of the facility," the tired blond agent told his yawning partner. "It's the only thing that makes sense for the placement of that vent. The guards tend to stay outside. Once we get in the building, we should be able to work undisturbed for most of the time."

Solo nodded, now fully awake. Illya briefed him on the location of Von Heisen's room and the routine of the guards, and settled down. He was asleep immediately.

Solo tapped his partner awake at dusk. "I took advantage of the guards' routine and managed to start an opening on the fence. There may be a lot of guards, but they sure aren't very attentive. I don't think they are expecting company."

Illya stretched. "You'd think they would simply send us an invitation."

"Thrush was never known for their manners. Von Heisen is in his room now. I'll take him. You plant the explosives and find the papers. We'll rendezvous before the big bang."

Illya threw the knapsack over his shoulder. "I want to exit through the underground labs and that vent." He pointed at the lone orifice located nearly at ground level. "I'm curious about what's down there."

"If there is a 'down there'. Just remember that curiosity killed the Russian," Solo warned.

Illya frowned. "I think you mean dog," he corrected incorrectly as he moved off into the growing darkness.

Solo opened his mouth to set his partner right. "Oh, forget it," he mumbled, following quietly.

They reached the edge of the natural concealment and stopped to wait for the complete cover of darkness break through the perimeter. After several minutes Solo perked up. "Looks like Von Heisen’s leaving the grounds." Sure enough, they could only watch as Dr. Von Heisen hopped into a dark sedan and drove out of the compound. "Well. I guess there's a change in plans."

"We'll get in and out faster with two of us looking for the plans. Maybe we'll get the Von Heisen in town. Ready?"

Solo appeared disappointed. "I guess. Another search and destroy mission. I wanted something a bit less mundane. You know, a mystery to solve."

"Don't count your chickens before they escape, my friend."

" 'Hatch'," Napoleon corrected as his partner melted into the night. Solo fell in behind. "That's 'hatch'!"

They were barely slowed by the fence. Illya headed to the low-placed vent and loosened the bolts. Tilting the grate sideways a bit, he dropped in a pair of portable breathers to sustain them on their escape. The devices dropped down for several seconds before hitting bottom, confirming the agent's suspicions. They expected to use the smoke from the explosions to cover their retreat via the duct, so the breathers were good insurance. "I hope the inside opening to this vent is the same size," the Russian commented.

"I hope we can find the inside opening to this vent, since it's not on the blueprints!"

"You're sounding more Russian every day," Illya replied.

"There's no need to be insulting."

The main entrance was within sight of the guard tower so the agents selected a nearby window that was deep in shadow for their entry point. The blueprints showed that it went into an office-sized space, so they weren’t surprised that on entry they found themselves using a desk as a stepstool.

Solo squatted down on the desktop, picked up the name plaque and read it out loud. "Dr. E. Von Heisen. What luck!"

Illya was busy securing the window so it appeared unmolested. "It's only lucky if he were here. I doubt the papers we want are here, either."

"You're probably right. Knowing Thrush, they probably keep the left hand from know what the right hand is doing."

"Precisely. Von Heisen is the rocket vehicle expert. The papers we want should be in the payload specialist's office or one of the labs."

They moved quickly and silently through the hallway to the next office. Solo picked the lock with ease and slipped inside after he indicated with a nod that Illya should start on the offices lining the other side of the hall.

When he closed the door Solo found that he was in a file storeroom. He quickly deduced that the files they wanted probably weren't in here, either, because most of the drawers weren't locked. He quickly scanned the drawers' contents and found most of them to be personnel files. A lot of the names were familiar - minor and mid-level scientists and technicians known to work for Thrush. Another cabinet was locked and easily opened under the agent's pick. He found that it contained the files of the upper-level scientists, Von Heisen included.

Solo grinned, and pulled out the files one by one and photographed the first pages with his cigarette pack camera. Some of the names were unknown to him but would surely pique the interest of U.N.C.L.E. Section 3. He read the specialties of the men as he photographed: Rocketry, satellite electronics, and lasers. Two of the men were physicists whose names he'd heard before. The one that caught his eye was Stefano Partini; he was listed as a diamond cutter.

It took nearly a full roll of film to get them all then he moved down the hallway. He spotted his partner leaving the office two doors down. The blond mop shook in a negative to his unspoken question and they continued checking offices on both sides of the hallway. Solo didn't find anything interesting on his side of the building and joined his partner in the last office. Labs made up the rest of the building.

Solo stepped in and found Illya applying explosives to a large safe. A few seconds later there was a 'pfffft!' and a pop, and the safe door sprung ajar. Illya pushed it open and Solo joined him in inspecting the contents.

"This is it," Illya whispered. "Collect all this and I'll start setting the explosives in the labs."

"Have fun!" Solo quipped. He began to fill his knapsack as Illya slipped back into the hallway. When the pack was filled to capacity with the stolen papers, Solo's curiosity drove him to at least glance at some of the other files in the safe. He decided to use up the rest of his roll of film on them before he set the incendiary device inside the safe. "Sorry, boys, but if we can't have it, neither can you!"

He slipped from the room and entered the labs to find Illya fitting a plastique pack with a remote sensor. The blond agent glanced over his shoulder. "We have a problem, I think."

Solo glanced at his watch in response. "Yeah, I think the moon will be coming up soon, so we have to hurry."

"No, that's not it." Illya swept his arm around the room. "All this is basic equipment. I'm sure now that there's another level of labs below where that vent exits. I haven't seen a way down yet." He affixed another load of explosives at the other end of the hall.

Solo began a careful search of the walls and cabinets, looking for a concealed door. Illya did the same after he finished with the explosives.

"Here." Solo found the back wall of a built-in closet seemed loose. Illya had just come to his side when he twisted a coat hook on the inside of the closet and the wall slid aside. He looked at Illya. "Think they got that idea from us?" he commented with a nod at the hook.

Illya shrugged. "After you."

Solo poked his small flashlight into the opening and it revealed a down-sloping staircase. He followed the light and descended.

Illya alone heard the sharp noise behind them. He had just stepped to the top stair when he heard the lab door jiggle, then open. The doorway framed the black outlines of two men as one shadowed arm was reaching for the lab lights. Illya had a fraction of a second to act. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the remote trigger button for the explosives. When the light snapped on the lead shadow turned into the form of a surprised guard who happened to be looking directly at the U.N.C.L.E. agent.

"Hey!" the guard barked as he reached for his gun.

Illya pressed the remote button as he threw himself down the stairs.

The explosion rattled the walls and Illya slammed into the back of his partner. They both tumbled down the last few steps and spilled out on to the hallway floor. Black smoke billowed in behind them and Solo's flashlight spun away on the floor.

The agents untangled themselves and sat up. They glanced at each other then up the hidden stairway that was now emitting waves of sharp smelling black clouds.

"We had company," Illya said simply, a single cough punctuating his words.

Solo reached into one of the many pockets of his knapsack and pulled out two tiny breathers. The smoke continued to roil into the hall. "Good thing you were right about the basement." He coughed and wiped his watering eyes, then stuffed a breather in his mouth. He tossed the second one to his partner.

They stood up and oriented themselves in the darkness. Emergency lighting flickered on, but didn't help much. The stairs ended in a small alcove that was so filled with smoke that they could only see the floor and the lower portions of two doors. Illya opened one door while Solo opened the other, and they rejoined in the alcove moments later. They both indicated with head shakes that the rooms did not contain exits. Shouting voices from the stairwell caught their attention. Catching each other's eyes, Solo indicated with a nod of his head that it was time to leave the alcove.

Shrill alarms pierced the smoke-clogged air as the agents dashed along the hallway. They could hear shouting and the crash of destruction above them but the noise lessened as the plunged deeper into the bank of smoke. Out of habit, both agents hunched forward as they ran, prepared to bowl over any obstacle in their path concealed by the black clouds. The tiny breathing devices they pressed to their mouths would only last a few minutes - just long enough to get out if Illya's exit plan was correct.

Illya waved his hand in front of his face as he ran, fruitlessly trying to bat away the darkness. His partner was somewhere ahead of him lost in the smoke. Using the wall as a guide, Illya's hand felt the smoothness of the hallway walls, and realized that the walls were lined with glass. Curious, he hugged the wall and saw that each glass framed the view of a pristine lab. The contents of each room were clearly visible, as each room was sealed to prevent smoke and dust from entering. Something in one lab caught the attention of the scientist in Illya and he skidded to a stop.

Backpedaling quickly, he pressed his face to the glass of the last lab. At first the contents of the room seemed innocuous enough - a chalk board covered in writing, files and papers spread out on a table and schematics tacked to wooden crate - but it made a connection in the agents' brain: Laser, diamonds, launch pad, Dr. John Bardeen. Each was a dot in a connect-the-dots puzzle that had confounded U.N.C.L.E. researchers. This lab revealed the final dot in the puzzle.

In Illya Kuryakin's brain a picture suddenly appeared from the various and sundry clues. His first thought was, 'Why in a communications lab?' The next thought he whispered out loud when the realization hit him. "Impossible!"

He was filled with horror at what the picture in his mind showed him.

"Illya!" Napoleon's voice was barely heard in the cacophony of destruction above them. The billows of smoke suddenly doubled in thickness and intensity, blinding the Russian completely. It took another shout from his partner to move Illya's feet but his pace slowed considerably as his mind raced.

These labs had to be completely destroyed.

Illya’s mental calculations told him that the current destruction sequence left too large of a margin of error. Some items on this floor had the possibility of recovery, and with what he had just seen, that couldn't be permitted.

These labs needed to be completely obliterated and every connected scientist tracked down and detained. Suddenly, this simple search and destroy mission had turned into an issue of global security and Illya Kuryakin was the only one not affiliated with this lab that knew why.

Momentarily overwhelmed with the task ahead, the agent turned on his heel and mentally counted the extra explosive packs in his knapsack. It would be close, but possible. Dropping to his stomach, Illya low-crawled back down the hall ignoring his partner's calls. If his timing were perfect, he could destroy these labs and they could both still escape.

Illya focused on his duty and shut out all else. These labs were sealed and separate but he knew that most labs shared the same air filtering and circulation system. The main service room was at the far end of the hall in the alcove; it was the first room he had checked, and he remembered seeing canisters lining the walls. Some had been labeled "Oxygen".

It took only a few moments to find the correct room. The blond agent slipped inside and removed his breather to conserve the air supply, noticing at the same time that the seal of this door wasn't as tight as the labs which allowed smoke to trail in around the door frame. Quickly, Illya pulled several oxygen tanks from the wall and dragged them to the common vent. He pried off the vent cover and yanked out the layers of filters until it was a straight shot through the ducts to the labs, and then he turned on the fan that pushed air into the labs through this common duct. One by one the trembling agent opened the oxygen tank valves and shoved them into the ductway.

Illya was breathing hard and could feel the sweat rolling down his face and chest. Ever so slowly, the room filled with smoke and the hallway outside the small square of glass in the door was completely black. It was incredibly hot. Stars flashed in front of his foggy eyes as he worked; the heat and smoke were getting to him, and there wasn’t much time.

After eight open tanks were shoved in the ducts, he slapped his remaining plastic explosives on the walls of the duct, connected them, then attached the igniter and set a timer device. The cautious agent didn't want to take the chance that the remote ignition device wouldn't work in the vents.

Illya’s vision blurred with tears from his irritated eyes and floating stars indicated he'd inhaled too much smoke. His throat was raw from coughing, and his mind wondered briefly at the possible contaminants that could be in the smoke entering his lungs.

Finally, the Russian started the timer and made his way to the door while inserting the breathing device back in his mouth. After two gasps and a coughing fit, he opened the door and plunged into the darkness on wobbly legs. After two steps, the agent dropped to the floor and low crawled double-time under the layer of thick smoke that nearly reached the floor.

'Napoleon has to be warned about the extra explosives,' he thought dizzily, using the shouts of his partner to guide him. 'And I hope he found that escape vent.'

Illya’s arms quivered and his heart raced as he gasped for breath - the breather had run dry. He spat out the useless device and instead, tried to keep as low to the floor as he could. Wheezing and coughing produced stars in his vision, which multiplied into a spinning galaxy. Darkness began to invade the edges of his sight; his head whirled.

When the beleaguered agent reached the end of the hall it took him a few seconds to realize he had to make a turn. He responded automatically to the sound of Solo's voice yelling his name and turned towards it. Totally blind he clawed his way along like a drowning man fighting his way to the water's surface. Finally, he bumped into a wall.

'Up,' he ordered himself. 'The exit it up.'

The agent struggled to his feet and pressed his wobbly legs to the wall for support. He was completely surrounded by thick, acrid smoke, his sight obliterated by tears and darkness. In a last ditch effort he leaned his body against the wall and stretched both arms above his head.

If his fingertips reached the escape vent above him, Illya never realized it. As he sucked in his last gasping breath of foul air he felt his world fade to black accented with an unbelievably loud roar.

ACT II: "Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-jig."

The legend of Solo's luck had dogged the suave agent since his days in Survival School. And in all honesty, the very same phenomenon could actually be traced in his mind back to his days in the Korean War. This time, however, he knew that it was more than luck that had saved him. Divine intervention coupled with fate and a bit of good timing thrown in, perhaps? He didn't bother to try and understand why he was alive. He simply accepted it as he leaned over his partner in the darkness of the smoky duct.

Solo was beginning to think Illya would never find him in the vent. Finally, when he had heard coughing just below him, he reached out with both of his hands and immediately found the sweat-slick hands of his partner splayed against the wall below. Desperate, the American locked his grip on Illya's forearms and managed one good pull before the world exploded before his eyes. Solo’s instant reaction was to clamp down harder.

He could feel the buffeting his limp partner took and somehow managed to pull the Russian’s body into the narrow crawlway. The amount of debris finding its way into their escape route amazed him; the duct became entirely blocked behind them as the smoke blinded agent dragged his unconscious partner towards escape, kicking the knapsack of stolen papers ahead of him. Sections of the duct wall crumpled inward, threatening to pin them in forever.

Solo’s famous luck and quick reflexes snatched them from death's door once again, and he didn't have time to figure out what went wrong. The second explosion was completely unexpected and the air was instantly thick with smoke and black as pitch. Thankful for the extra breathers they had tossed into the duct, the desperate agent automatically snaked along the cramped path on pure adrenalin, dragging his partner behind. When they made it to a section where the smoke was thinner he stopped and took the time to check the limp form by the light of his meager flashlight.

"Hey!" Solo barked as he slapped his partner's blackened cheeks. "Illya! I'm not carrying you out of here, so wake up!" After what seemed like forever, the pale form gagged, choked and coughed. The dirty, dark-haired agent jammed a breather into his partner's mouth and continued to the exit, gasping partner in tow.

"Illya!" He yelled when he found the ground level opening. "Illya, come on. You have to help me."

Coughing raggedly and shaking his head Illya roused and rose to his knees. Talking was out of the question, but he was able to regain his senses and boost Napoleon and his knapsack out of the opening.

Solo quickly glanced around as he shouldered the pack. He could hear panicked shouting, running feet and a shrill alarm within the compound, but the thick smoke issuing from the doomed building concealed their escape in the glare of the perimeter lights. With a feeling of deja vu, the dark haired agent leaned into the vent opening and clamped on to his partner's wrists once again. This time, however, Illya was ready, willing and able to assist in the extraction.

The agents coughed around the breathers as they stayed low and ran below the smoke to the opening in the fence. Solo only realized they were running in the wrong direction when a brief opening in the smoke revealed that they were between the adjacent buildings. He skidded to a stop and flattened against a wall. Illya, coughing furiously and alarmingly red-faced, stopped beside him. They both spit the breathers to the ground.

"We're turned around," Napoleon croaked. "You OK?"

Illya nodded, his face slowly returning to its semi-normal paleness beneath the grime. Any attempt to talk, however, triggered another coughing fit. His eyes watered uncontrollably as he shook his head to clear his hair of debris. He motioned with his hand which way they should go, then pointed up.

"The helicopters." Solo felt like his throat was made of sandpaper and could only image how his partner's felt. Illya had been in the thick smoke much longer.

Illya nodded and led the way. After ducking around a few corners to avoid the busy footpaths they found themselves at the edge of the tarmac, flooded in lights. The prevailing wind kept a lot of the smoke from the parked aircraft, but truck noises and distant yelling told them the burning building was still the center of attention. Seizing the opportunity of distraction, they slipped unnoticed between the two French-made aircraft.

"Can you fly these?" Solo asked as he glanced around. Illya replied with a withering look. "I'll take that as a yes. Pick your steed."

Illya climbed in the left seat of the smaller craft. As he fiddled with the controls Solo asked, "Do you have anything left to disable other one?" Illya shook his head as he fired up the craft.

Solo buckled the 5-point restraints as he spoke. "You used the rest of the explosives? That explains the big bang, but why?"

"Necessary," Illya croaked, his voice barely audible. "Talk later." The blades began to whirl. Between the engine noise and the agent's damaged throat, talking impossible.

Solo nodded in response and the chopper lifted gently from the ground. They were just above the fence line when an audible 'PING' of a bullet announced that they had finally been noticed.

Illya dropped the nose and increased power. The responsive craft darted off through the smoke towards the Great Karoo Mountains and cover. Solo estimated the mountains to be about five miles away. Speed wasn't a virtue of particular model, but it was extremely maneuverable. The Russian, aware of the anti-aircraft stations, executed an evasive zigzag course below radar level to try and limit any successful tracking by the anti aircraft stations.

The first two missiles weren't even close. The third caused Illya to change course rapidly, but still missed them cleanly. The foothills below them grew quickly in altitude and steepness and Napoleon felt they were home free. He pulled out his communicator and briefly reported to Solly, saying only that the mission was complete and they were being pursued.

"Not over," Illya rasped painfully, his voice barely audible. "There's more . . ."

Suddenly the craft lurched to one side with a blinding flash that made Solo's head ring. There was a second explosion, but to the agents it was one huge concussion that seared away their night vision.

At least it's close to sunrise, Solo thought crazily as the craft lurched sideways. He dropped the communicator to grab something solid. Hints of gold in the tallest of the mountains below announced the arrival morning sun. Black gashes of valley shadows stretched away like death's fingers between them.

The craft began to twist and picked up speed with each passing second. With the catastrophic loss of the tail rotor their spin was uncontrollable as they fell out of the sky. The blurred sight of his grim partner wrestling with the helicopter's bucking controls, pale features illuminated by the console lighting, was the only vision that made any sense at all.

In a weird second, Solo reacalled the horror stories passed between agents of such a mechanical failure; it had happened to Illya once, but he had landed successfully, lucky to be close the ground. The Russian always laughed the incident off as dumb luck combined with skill.

Illya wasn't laughing now.

The motion of the machine pinned Solo in his seat as he hung on for dear life. Time slowed down. As they spun the brightness of the morning sky and the darkness of the valley intertwined like a crazy strobe; then the sharp rims of the mountains thrust up into his line of sight and his world tipped sickeningly to an impossible angle.

And still they spun.

A deafening screech made the dark- haired agent grimace. One hard jolt caused his head to rap the side window, and Solo saw stars. Groggily he also saw his partner still trying vainly to save their souls with the useless controls. With his vision darkening and the sight of his partner's hair standing straight up Solo was momentarily confused; they were inverted and Illya still fought for control.

Finally the yellow and silver curtain of the dawn sky was erased by the dark, grey hues of boulders and mountain. A loud BOOM! announced their collision with the earth. Illya jerked once against intruding rock and finally released his hold on the controls, his head lopping loosely forward between limp shoulders.

I guess we're in trouble now, Napoleon Solo thought drunkenly as his world went black with the shrill shriek of torn metal.

* * * * * *

Solly and Leech gaped at the communications console. What they heard had not been encouraging; there was no response with their repeated efforts to raise either Solo or Kuryakin.

"What was Kuryakin saying at that last moment?" Leech asked. "I couldn't quite get it."

Leech listened to the recording over and over as Solly continued to try and raise the pair. Leech fiddled with the console, frowning in concentration. Finally, after filtering out several layers of background noise, he put his hand on Solly's forearm.

"Time to call for backup," the wild-haired agent said. "Kuryakin said 'there's more'."

"More what?"

"Obviously, more than meets the eye. Call Nairobi."

* * * * * *

The smell of something burning was the first thing Solo noted, followed by the crackling sound of … something. He felt himself jerk which unleashed waves of pain from all quarters and forced himself to be still and breathe.

"Where . . ." His own voice sounded garbled and far away, and he thought he might be frowning but he couldn't tell. A command to open his eyes was reluctantly obeyed by his eyelids, but difficult to achieve. One set was stuck together and the other was damaged somehow; what he saw from the one eye didn't make sense. He heard a groan and it took a confused moment for him to realize that he was the one groaning. He ordered himself to stop immediately.

His head began to throb and hours? minutes? seconds? passed before a vague sense of what had happened began to come to him.

Car crash?

The myriad of visual input was baffling even though it was dark. Wires dangling and a smell - electrical.

Something electrical is burning. That can't be good.

Napoleon Solo forced himself to concentrate. Snatches of memory came to him and connected with what he was seeing in front of him. They had crashed.

They?

Flashes of his partner's white blond hair against black shadows came to him.

Illya. He's here somewhere.

Turning his head porduced fireworks of unbelievable proportions with pain to match, but he wouldn't be put off. "Illya?" Not recognizing his own slurry voice, Solo groped for the restraints release clawed at it, bringing more pain. It took him a few moments to realize that only one hand obeyed him; the other was unconsciously cradled against his chest and acknowledging it brought stabs of agony. He decided to let it be. The hand that worked was able to free him with only minor discomfort, and his body unexpectedly lurched to the side when the straps sprung loose. His partner should have been right there; stupidly, the injured agent looked down only to see a gaping hole where the pilot's seat should have been. The motion created a spark in some dangling wires, bringing home the realization that it was dark outside.

Disorientation flowed into mere grogginess as Solo freed his feet from the remains of the console. White skin was visible through great rents in his pants, and moonlight made his exposed skin glow. Slowly, ever so slowly, his immediate surroundings organized itself into some semblance of reality as he went with gravity to get out, maneuvering over the hole in the floor of the pilot's side. The time it took to get out increased with his alarm - Illya was out there, somewhere, and much too quiet.

With his injured arm pressed to his torso and his bloody legs begging to be left unmoved, the agent finally found himself sitting in the open hatch of the pilot's side. The door wasn’t open in a traditiona sense, but ripped away, offering the only escape. Solo’s legs dangled; the cockpit was tilted obscenely over a black abyss that had no bottom.

The groggy agent squinted into the darkness below, the meager light blocked by the body of the copter. After a few minutes his eyes adjusted to the darkness enough for him to differentiate the lighter forms below him from the shadows. It struck him that he didn't know how the broken chopper was suspended; it obviously wasn't on the ground.

Unable to determine where the ground was, exactly, he swung a leg in a circle outside the hole until his foot struck something solid. Solo wiggled until both his feet were flat on the protuberance and he realized it was a huge boulder.

A memory flash showed him a boulder smashing through the door and into Illya's head.

Fear clutched the agent’s heart and adrenalin pushed him into action. Carefully, Solo lowered himself onto the massive rock and looked around. He was perched on one boulder that was one in a pile of huge boulders that held the remains of the helicopter above him. With a bit more confidence Solo let go of the craft and began his descent, praying that his partner was somewhere below and waiting for him.

The climb was eerie. The agent had to stop more than once to let the world stop spinning and there was the constant sizzle and crackle of the dying helicopter to remind him of his famous Solo luck. He should be dead. It took awhile for him to recall where he was, but he couldn't remember the exact details as to why they had been flying around South Africa.

It had to be Thrush. Perhaps Illya would remember. He remembered everything.

After what seemed like a lifetime Solo finally touched level ground. With both aching feet firmly planted on the floor of the narrow valley, he looked up and was blinded by the sun suspended between two edges of the valley rim. The silvery-dark outline of a barely recognizable helicopter was draped like an obscene Christmas ornament on the boulders making up the valley wall. A shiver ran up his spine and his legs gave away in shock. He sat unceremoniously on the hard ground. Every part of his body throbbed in pain.

Too tired to get up, he decided to start his search from right here. Temporarily blinded by the sun he squinted at the shadows of the valley.

Shock, his brain was telling him. You're going into shock.

The thought made him concentrate more as he studied each outline around him. It took him a while to realize that there was one dark, ragged form amongst the smooth, light boulders that made up the geology of this valley. He blinked at it.

Illya?

Solo commanded his body into action and stumbled to the form. It was nestled amongst a collection of sizeable rocks and tilted at an odd angle. With his good hand he reached out between the two large boulders blocking his way and felt cloth. An arm, it was an arm, which led to a shoulder and hair? He peered into the opening between the rocks; yes, it was hair, but darkened and matted with something wet and sticky. Blood.

"Illya?" he called softly, feeling the face to orient himself to the neck artery that would tell him if he was really as alone as he felt at this moment. He held his breath, fingertips probing, and found a very faint and erratic pulse.

A grotesque kind of pleasure went through him as he realized that his partner was at least alive. He felt the Russian's face. He squeezed his arm and found that some bones made stomach churning grinding noises. The fact that his partner was still firmly strapped in the dislodged pilot's seat was probably the only reason he was still alive, Solo realized. He was afraid to move him; any one of those grinding bones could be a deadly splinter poised to pierce a vein or artery.

Solo's mind slowly began to tick again. Thrush had shot at them, so Thrush must be looking for them now. He peered up at the eerie, backlit skeleton hanging on the rocks and realized that it would be difficult to find thanks to the narrowness of the valley. He slipped around the boulders and settled next to the pilot seat. He fruitlessly felt for his communicator pen.

Solo turned to his silent partner and felt his pockets. Luckily, Illya's pen was clipped to an inside pocket under his jacket. Solo carefully dug it out. Opening it one handed proved to be a tricky endeavor, especially since he couldn't really feel his fingers. It ended up an exercise in frustration when all that came from the device was static..

Disgruntled, Solo slipped the pen safely away and hugged his throbbing arm to his body, mentally preparing for a difficult day ahead. "Hang in there, partner," he whispered, telling himself the same thing as he nestled among the biggest rocks that still held some measure of warmth and unwillingly shut his eyes.

* * * * * *

Normally, April Dancer hated paperwork, but this time she was thankful for it. She and her partner had just finished up an assignment that had taken them from New York to Spain and finally Nairobi in pursuit of a Thrush courier. Explaining the complicated course that was supposed to end up in Australia had taken much longer than expected, but she and Mark Slade were glad to be available to round out the Nairobi team in their recovery of Solo and Kuryakin.

"Here." April's manicured nail tapped sharply on the map pinned to the temporary wall of the field command post. "They checked in here, and shortly after there were reports of large weapons fire in this area." The two spots were too close for comfort.

"Large, as in anti aircraft?" Mark had already put two and two together and ran a list of required equipment for a rescue operation through his head. The others in the tent merely waited for orders.

"Yes. We need to get in there, reconnoiter the area and keep an eye on Thrush at the same time. Their last message said the mission was successfully completed so I'm sure, if anyone of rank survived the explosions, they very much want their hands on our agents now that their base is a charred hole in the ground. They'll want to have something to offer Thrush after such a loss."

The team was small and April and Mark knew each man from previous assignments. This should be a routine rescue. Her heart told her they would find them; it was what her head told her that kept her on edge.

* * * * * *

When the sun passed out of sight it brought a chill he hadn't noticed before. Napoleon knew his body was fighting shock when he finally came back to consciousness, and the real chill came when he laid eyes on his partner. His nightmares didn't seem nearly as bad as the reality; Solo was again surprised his partner was still alive.

Survival instincts kicked in, allowing the conscious agent to push aside his growing alarm as he visually surveyed the area. This was obviously a dry riverbed; tiny rocks made up the groundcover, and were edged by the monstrous boulders that had been Illya's downfall. There had to be water around; the brush attested to that.

It didn't take long to find a rancid pool tucked away under a collection of rocks on one side. Solo found a curved chunk of metal from the chopper and scooped up what he could. He tried to rouse his partner without luck, and rooted around for a container, which he found tucked in the survival kit still attached to the back of the pilot's seat along with several emergency ampoules of morphine. The weary agent tucked it all away in various pockets, knowing he had to get out of this valley if he hoped to signal for help.

He eyed Illya. The combined weight of his partner and the seat would be too much for him; the seat was the only splint the broken body had. It wouldn't be wise to remove the still unconscious agent from it. Reluctantly, Solo knew this was coming down to a race: Would he get to U.N.C.L.E. before Thrush got them? A coldness rushed through his veins at the challenge setting the dark haired agent into motion to find the best place to climb out.

A bend in the narrow valley would put the body of his friend out of sight, and Solo looked back with reluctance. "Hold on, Illya. I'll be back," he said softly.

* * * * * * *

The position of the shadows told Solo he wasn’t making very good time. The day would be gone before he got to the top. Pain and the use of only one arm reduced the agent to a snail’s pace and reluctantly he stabbed himself with one of the morphine ampoules and waited for it to take effect.

Seeking a distraction, the agent tried the communicator and wasn't surprised that it didn't work. A distant sound alerted him and he held his breath. Aircraft - somewhere to the south. Friend or foe? One more sip of the foul water and he pushed on. The warmth of the morphine radiated through Solo’s body and the climb became less painful. He was just over half way up when the first aircraft presented itself as a flash of dark against the bright blue slash of sky above him, far to the south.

Three quarters of the way up the exhausted agent paused and counted two more passes of the aircraft, still too far away to help. Solo decided to take a chance and tried the pen again.

"Where are you?" The reply was sharp and urgent, barely audible through the static, but recognizably April.

"Valley. Deep and shallow with a dry creek bed. I think we're south of our last contact." He noted another pass by the distant chopper. "You wouldn't happen to be south of our last contact, would you?"

The static popped noisily, but the reply was clear. "No. We're north of that location."

"Then I think there's another search in progress.”.

"We read another craft, and it's not ours. And they are probably listening in." Solo heard her bark an order to her pilot, and knew the race was on.

It wasn't long before the rocks begin to vibrate with the growing sound of an approaching craft from the north. To the south, the zigzag pattern of the first copter tightened up in the ribbon of blue sky. Would April get back-up in time? Solo slipped the pen back in his pocket and clung to the wall. Within seconds a craft appeared around the bend to his north between the valley walls. It was a very tight fit.

The helicopter drew alongside and nosed up slightly to a hover. The wind from the rotors whipped the weary agent’s hair and pummeled his face with dust and dirt. With one eye barely cracked open Solo watched the pilot rest one runner on a nearby jutting rock, the blades barely clearing the valley wall. Two bodies stepped out and quickly climbed to Solo’s aid. After a brief assessment, they strapped the weakening agent to a lightweight stretcher and hauled it to the waiting chopper.

The rescuers quickly whisked their charge into the cabin and released the straps so he could sit up. Solo began to direct the pilot to Illya. By air it took a fraction of the time to retrace the American’s steps.

"Whoa," he heard the pilot's British-toned voice breathe. "There's a scary sight."

Even in daylight, the body of the chopper was barely recognizable for what it was, and the sight momentarily shocked everyone. The Solo luck had saved the legendary pair once again.

"He's down there," Solo indicated. "There's no room to land. He's still in the pilot's seat." The metallic click of safety harnesses punctuated the end of his sentence.

"We'll get him. Mark, just fly the bird. Hennessey, watch our back. That other chopper will be here any second." April, clad in a flight suit, gave orders in a clear and commanding voice as she and another similarly dressed airman attached themselves to a cable. "Let us down."

Hennessey worked the winch and watched the sky south of them. Through the open hatch next to him, Solo observed them quickly attach the cable to the pilot seat below and double check the harness holding Illya secure. April signaled to pull and the winch whined with effort. The chopper dipped slightly with the load.

A short time later Hennessey pulled in the unconscious agent, unceremoniously disconnected him and lowered the winch again. Solo moved in and checked for a pulse, alarmed at the weakness of it. April and her partner had to be recovered before they could do anything else.

"Got 'em!" Hennessey fired up the winch again. "Here they come!" he yelled at Mark as he pulled up his rifle. Solo could see the craft approaching them quickly, and nearly lost his stomach when they shot straight up.

The gunshots rang above the sound of the engine and Solo kicked himself free of the stretcher. He grabbed April's rifle from the deck and leaned out the side opposite from Hennessey. He could see muzzle flash from the enemy machine and heard the ping of bullets striking them. Solo and Hennessey returned fire. April and her partner spun on the cable below. The winch squealed protest at the abuse but kept rolling.

Mark shot up from the canyon and passed directly in front of the pursuers, who then had to arc aside to avoid a collision. Slate angled to the nearest forested mountains for cover. Solo admired the British agent's cool thinking. A noise across the fuselage caught his attention and the turned just in time to see two bodies pop into the craft. Hennessey tossed them guns before they were disconnected; none too soon, either, as bullets pinged the side of the craft.

"Hang on, mates! Secure the cargo!"

Hennessey slammed his door shut and leaped over to do the same to Solo's side. He then positioned himself to stabilize one side of the recovered pilot seat while April's helper secured the other side.

"Look out!" April yelled. She leaned over the empty co-pilot seat and shot from the small open window. The other helicopter had circled around to meet them head on.

"Ballsy move," Mark commented sharply as he initiated an evasive maneuver that relocated Solo's stomach to his toes.

April had managed to get into the empty seat and secure herself before Mark found their adversaries again. Her hands worked furiously over the control panel.

"Line it up, darling. I'm ready!" she announced as if they were heading out for a stroll.

Mark banked sharply, ducked under the enemy in an unexpected maneuver and brought up the nose. One more right bank brought them up directly behind their quarry.

"Perfect!" April grinned as she pushed the missile launch button in her grip. A projectile shot from the belly of the craft. Mark immediately pulled up and banked away from the anticipated impact.

Hennessey held his stomach with his forearm. "I hate it when he does that," he murmured sickly. His comment was answered with a loud explosion below them.

"But I like it when he does that," Solo replied brightly.

"Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig," Slate quipped as he turned the helicopter around and headed home.

* * * * * *

By they time they reached the closest secure medical facility Solo's morphine had worn off and he was finding it difficult to focus. April finally pried his hand from the damaged pilot’s seat with a reassuring whisper that everything was under control. The CEA visibly relaxed at the words.

*************

Napoleon Solo wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when he was finally aware again he found himself in a white hospital room, unable to lift his arm. In fact, he couldn't even see his arm. Clad in thick wrapping from fingertips to shoulder and secured tightly to his body, only the very tips of his fingers were visible. That’s exactly what the nurse pinched when she came into the room a moment later.

"Ow!" he yelped.

"Circulation's good, Mr. Solo. Don't try to move around too much. I think you'll find that to be uncomfortable." The pert young lady's sparkling brown eyes weren't enough to distract Napoleon from his self-assessment as she took his vitals.

"Will I ever play the piano?" The agent said innocently as he wiggled his toes and fingers.

"I don't know. Did you play before?" She grinned and adjusted his blankets, then cranked the bed to a sitting position.

"Ah, heard that one before, huh?"

"Many times, Mr. Solo. But feel free to try again." She swayed her way to the sink to get him some water. The coolness brought him to full awareness.

"I guess I'm intact. How's Illya? Mr. Kuryakin?"

She plunked a straw in the glass and put it on the table next to him. Her eyes softened.

"I really don't know. Mr. Waverly's on his way and I'm sure he'll fill you in." The nurse’s final act before she departed was to fluff his pillow. "Ring if you need me," she winked as she whisked out the door.

"Certainly," he said as door swung shut. He'd just completed a frustrated sigh when the door opened again and admitted his boss.

"Mr. Solo. Finally awake, I see." The bushy-rowed patron stood by his top agent's bedside and scanned the monitors.

"How long have I been out?" Solo asked.

"You were brought in yesterday afternoon and had surgery last night." He waved a hand at the agent's arm. "The doctor had to pin a bone in your wrist. You also received a minor concussion. All in all, not bad."

"What about Illya?"

Waverly took a breath and looked his CEA in the eye. "Mr. Kuryakin wasn't as fortunate, I’m afraid.”

Solo felt a jolt go through his body. Flashes of the crash pieced together in his mind to form a picture. "He hit his head," he murmured.

"Yes. Skull fracture. They are trying to stabilize him now."

"Where is he?"

"Intensive care, two hallways down." Mr. Waverly held up a stack of papers in his hand. "We've been going over the papers brought in with you. There is a lot of information here, but that states exactly what they intended to send into space.”

"I took pictures." Solo frowned through the headache that was forming. "Names. Several names."

"Yes, I looked at the list before it went to the lab. We're trying to locate Dr. Von Heisen. He may know what was going on. Our operatives are also trying to find out who commanded the base. It's a long road ahead, Mr. Solo, and we need you. Get well in a hurry." With a nod, Waverly stepped from the room.

Like I can control my bones healing, he thought.

Solo spent the next hours trying to convince every nurse that came in to help him visit his friend while denying the headache, dizziness and nausea that came with having a concussion. Exasperated, he was painfully trying to worm his way out of the bed by himself when April and Mark came in.
"Trying to escape already, I see,” she commented as she laid the flowers she brought down on the table.

"I need to see Illya. Bring that wheelchair over, will you?" Without question, Mark rolled the chair over and the partners gently maneuvered him into it. Mark pushed the chair and April rolled the IV rack to the wide window in the hall that looked in on a solitary bed. The three of them looked in on the white lump that was Illya Kuryakin in silence.

The blond head was heavily wrapped above his eyes, not a single trace of the golden mop visible. His skin was as bleached as the sheets of the hospital bed. A ventilator rose and dropped next to a heart monitor that showed a steady beat. The nearly flat line on another monitor was frightening testament to Illya’s condition. Countless tubes and wires trailed over the headboard and sides of the bed.

"So, what's the word?" Solo finally was able to croak.

April put her hand on his shoulder. "Not good, Napoleon. They're trying to control the pressure and swelling on the brain. " She took a breath. "The good news is that the autonomic systems are working; breathing and such. And amazingly enough, nothing else is broken. It seems the aircraft seat protected him."