"Whatever you say. You're the senior agent."

"Exactly. And as senior agent I suggest we defer this issue until we're back home where we can pick your brains and see for certain whether they've been scrambled."

Illya sighed. "Your delicacy of phrasing is much appreciated." He knew Napoleon was right. He needed professional evaluation. His own belief wasn't enough.

"You'll need ... you may need to be on your guard," he said with difficulty. "You might want to--"

"I'll risk it, " Napoleon said.

"Napoleon--"

"I'll risk it," the American snapped, adding in a more normal tone, "Besides -- you and what army? I mean, look at you. You're a wreck. You couldn't do damage to a blancmange right now."

Illya opened his mouth, closed it. He knew Napoleon was using those gruff insults to say something very different: I trust you. Right now that was a life preserver Illya needed too badly to refuse.

"All right then. What's our next step?"

Napoleon looked out the window. "My car was probably wrecked by that moose we hit. We need a phone, for a start, then some transportation."

"Where's your communicator?"

"I lost it pulling your friend Lily out of the lake."

"Ah. That's how that happened. I'm glad you came along when you did. She was only trying to help me." He leaned on the window casement. "You said she's down there?"

"Dancing with the other elves," Napoleon said. "What are the odds these kids have a phone?"

"They don't," Illya informed him -- then gave him a puzzled look. "How did you find me?"

Napoleon opened his mouth, snapped it shut again.

"Auto club," he said. "Come on. Let's go find us a mule or a bicycle or something."

They descended to the ground floor of the great gloomy house, passing numerous indications of the counterculture philosophy of the residents: Posters, guitars, bongos, beads and bongs, beanbag chairs, blacklights and brass censers. The heavy scents of sandalwood and marijuana tinted the air.

"Hippies," Napoleon said, looking around the huge, colorfully cluttered living room.

On the porch they paused.

"There's Lily," Napoleon said, pointing. "By the blonde. See?"

Illya looked -- then, though he was already still, some change in the quality of his stillness made Napoleon touch his arm in concern.

"What is it?"

"Alice," Illya said. He leaned on the porch railing, grasping it for support as Napoleon's fingers wrapped firmly around his other arm.

"She lived with her grandmother, Mrs. Blankenship," Illya said calmly. "Three doors down. She came to my door in the middle of the night."

"That night?" Napoleon asked. Illya nodded. Napoleon gave the girl a hard look. Pretty, tallish, serious looking in wire granny glasses, in a loose gauzy blue dress that revealed long, tanned legs and arms.

"I remember now. She asked for help. I opened the door and two men appeared on either side of her. One of them shot me. Sleep dart."

"And now she's here?" Napoleon said, starting down the steps toward her.

The music stumbled to a halt and the group came together for a hug, then broke up, laughing. They started en masse for the house -- and stopped, en masse, to see the UNCLE agents.

Lily grabbed a hulking bald young man and dragged him over to them.

"I'm so glad you're all right," she said. "This is Teddy. He's the one I met in town before. Remember I mentioned him?" she said to Illya. "Teddy, this is Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin."

Illya nodded, headed for Alice.

"He's not very sociable when he's half dead," Napoleon apologized. He watched Illya approach Alice, now standing talking to a boy with long brown hair.

"Lily says you guys are secret agents," Teddy said.

"Not very, apparently," Napoleon said.

Alice waited for him, white-faced. When he got close, she held out her hands as if she thought he might attack her.

"Illya ... I swear to God. They made me do it. I didn't know who they were or what was happening. They grabbed me coming home that night and ..." She gulped down a breath.

"And yet here you are, safe and sound," Illya said. He hadn't raised his voice, but the boy who was with her stepped closer protectively. Illya looked at him measuringly and the boy flushed.

"I ran away," Alice went on. She was shaking. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. They had guns. They said they'd kill me and my grandmother if I didn't do what they said. When they ... when they shot you ... I just ran. I didn't even stop to tell my grandmother. She must think ... I don't know." She took in another breath, clearly not seeing what she wanted to see in Illya's face. "I know I should have gone to the police. I was too scared. Then I thought ... they wouldn't even believe me. I got on a bus. Then I hitchhiked up here." Tears ran down her face. The boy beside her took hold of her arm. "I'm so sorry."

Illya rubbed the bridge of his nose; a tightness above his eyes presaged a headache. "Do you people have a car here, or a telephone?" Lily had said they didn't, but he wanted to be sure.

Alice stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure whether she'd been forgiven or merely dismissed.

Doug said, "No phone. Minerva's taken the truck into town. She'll be back soon. I'm Doug, by the way, and I think you should believe Alice. She's a really cool person and very honest."

"Lily told us you and your friend are secret agents. From UNCLE," Alice said. "Is that...is that why that happened? Why they shot you?"

"Actually I was just late paying my electric bill," he said coolly.

Alice flushed, taking the hint -- at least partly. "How did you get up here, of all places?"

"How did you?" he replied.

"I come here every summer. For three years, anyway. When I ran away ... I thought I'd be safe here. Is my grandma OK?"

"I have no idea," Illya said tiredly. "I've been a houseguest of your friendly neighborhood mad scientist--" He indicated the house across the lake-- "for the past few days."

Alice and Doug looked at Dr. Xavier's house.

"Oh my God," Alice said. "You've been here? I mean, there? The whole time? Why?"

Illya sighed. "Because he wants to take over the world, of course. Isn't that what all mad scientists want?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know ... what to think. I had ... I had this image in my mind of you, I guess..." she blushed.

"And it didn't include guns and mad scientists?" he concluded for her.

"My grandma really likes you. She always says 'such a nice, polite young man. Quiet, scholarly, good manners. You can tell he was well brought up, not like kids today.'" Alice did a pretty good imitation of Mrs. Blankenship's thin, shaky voice.

"She thinks you need a haircut, of course, but she thinks every male under the age of 60 needs one, and she doesn't hold it against you."

"I'd rather you didn't tell her what I do for a living," he said. "Better for her own peace of mind, among other things."

She nodded. "I see what you mean ... boy, did I ever have the wrong idea about you."

He rubbed his temples. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"No. It's the other way around. I mean, I thought you were interesting, but ..."

"In a boring way?" he said.

"Not any more," she replied seriously.

"Hey," Doug said. "Does anyone want to tell me what's going on?"

"...and Mum patched you guys up," Teddy finished explaining. Napoleon looked at his watch. It was a little after noon.

"And where is Mum?" he asked. All the other residents had scattered.

Teddy scanned the yard. "Donno. She might be washing your clothes and stuff. She was gonna do it before, but we had the ritual."

"Ah yes, your solstice rite," Napoleon said, watching Illya limp toward him, trailed by Alice and the other boy.

"Wow," Teddy said, blue eyes wide. "You know about that, man?"

Napoleon shrugged. "Well, it is June 21."

"Wow," Teddy said again. "That's pretty cool."

To Lily, Napoleon said, "You looked quite at home out there."

She flushed. "I woke up and came out while they were getting ready. I was talking to some of the kids and ... it seemed like a fun idea at the time." Her blush deepened.

"I'm all for propitiating any gods who might need it," Napoleon said. "That done, however, we need to get a little farther away from your uncle and a lot closer to mine."

"The house belongs to Minerva," Doug said as they followed Illya to the house. "She inherited it. Then she opened it up for people who wanted to try a life without ..."

"Without modern conveniences?" Illya said, thinking of Russia. He knew many who lived the bucolic life and would trade a limb for a washing machine or a tractor. He'd willingly trade his throbbing head, at the moment, for a telephone.

"And modern philosophy," Doug said, touchy.

"I'm not attacking your lifestyle," Illya said. "Live and let live, that's my philosophy."

"That explains the guns," Doug countered.

"Don't--" Alice censured him as they climbed back onto the porch.

"What guns?" Napoleon said, overhearing.

Teddy said, "We left them in the car. We don't have anything to do with that kind of thing here."

"Good," Illya said. His head was spinning.

Napoleon took his arm. "Okay, old chum. Back to bed for you. We've got a while to wait for the next bus back to civilization."

"Are you a doctor?" Doug asked.

Napoleon blinked in surprise at the question. Illya said:

"Let's just say he's seen me pass out before." He let his partner half carry him back into the house and up the stairs to the tiny room he'd been assigned. Illya lay down immediately, without even a sigh of disgust, and Napoleon's gut clenched.

"Napoleon."

"What now?"

"Dr. Xavier had to know I was gone within minutes," he said quietly. "He may have found your car."

"Yes," Napoleon said, covering his partner with a hideous quilt. "The idea had occured. Rest."

"They might be here at any minute," Illya persisted. "You should get out while you can. Get to Clearlake and call for help."

"What, on foot?"

"Better than being caught here."

"Are you going to be quiet and rest or do I have to have nurse sedate you?"

"Na--"

"Illya," Napoleon said patiently, "Shut up. You're delirious."

Illya blinked, and his eyes only reopened halfway. "I'm not delirious. I--"

"Shut up anyway. Rest. That's an order. I'll be close by."

Napoleon turned around and saw a girl standing in the doorway, looking at him with a smile like a newly opened rose. Her hair was a mass of black curls; large grey eyes darted briefly in Illya's direction, then returned to Napoleon, whom she beckoned out of the room with one curled forefinger.

Outside the room she took his hand, hers light, cool, barely there in his palm, and led him back downstairs in a silence that seemed too comfortable to immediately break.

She led him back onto the porch where Alice, Doug and Lily stood talking. They opened their circle to include the newcomers.

Napoleon began, "Ah, this young lady brought me back down here, no doubt for some nefarious purpose."

He smiled at her and she returned it, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"That's Mum," Doug said. "She and Teddy found you."

"Aha -- you're Mum," Napoleon said, unable to keep from grinning. "That explains your silence."

"No it doesn't," she said. "It's short for Chrysanthemum."

Napoleon rolled his eyes. "I know when I've been had."

"How is Illya?" Alice asked.

"I don't know," he said, smile erased. "I need to get him back to HQ so the doctors there can take care of him."

"Lily said her uncle is an evil man. She said he was holding your friend hostage."

"Sort of."

"She also said he has a batch of men with guns and that they might come here looking for you guys."

"That is possible. We hope to get away before that happens, but I'm afraid my friend is in no condition to walk to the nearest town unless it happens to be in your back yard."

"There're phones in Clearlake," Alice said. "But it's an hour away."

"We'll just have to wait for your hostess," Napoleon said. "Minerva, you said?"

"Yes. She should be back soon."

Alice came up close.

"Mr ... I don't even know your name."

"Call me Napoleon," he said, thinking in passing that if Illya hadn't asked this lovely girl out yet, he was out of his mind. Or just Illya.

"Napoleon," she said. "I swear I was forced to ... to do what I did. Illya doesn't believe me. I feel terrible. He must think I'm some kind of horrible ... Mata Hari or something."

"Are you?" Napoleon asked.

"I'm a grad student in anthropology," she said. "I hate to think he believes I ... did that on purpose." Her eyes filled, and she slid her fingers under her glasses to wipe them. "I'm sorry. I really feel bad about this. I swear I would never do anything to hurt him."

"Never mind. Illya's pretty forgiving about this sort of thing. It happens to us a lot. You get used to it."

"But I didn't have anything to do with it," she exclaimed. "Not willingly. They said they'd kill me and my grandma."

"Then you're lucky," he said drily. "THRUSH usually follows through on its threats."

Her face fell. "I know I should have gone to the police. I was scared."

"I can understand that," Lily said with feeling.

"So can I," Napoleon put in. "Don't worry, Alice. Illya's an odd sort, but rumor has it he's human. Just hold his hand and gaze at him with those gorgeous eyes. He'll forgive you for things you haven't even done yet."

Her blush deepened.

"We were talking about this," Doug said. "You know, we're pacifists."

Napoleon smiled. "Me too."

Doug was not amused. "I mean it. We believe most of the world's problems could be solved if we loved one another instead of attacking everyone who's different."

"I agree," Napoleon agreed.

"You're a spy," Lily said. "You carry a gun."

"So does Illya," Alice said. "I've seen it."

"And you use them," Doug concluded the condemnation with, Napoleon thought, all the smug superiority of someone who'd never been shot at.

"Well," he said mildly, "in our defense, I may say we never start the fights. And in my experience, the men -- or women -- who're shooting at me never seem persuaded by my rhetoric to stop shooting and simply--" he smiled-- "love me."

"We've heard of UNCLE," Doug said. "But we don't support the use of violence as a means to even a good end."

Napoleon sighed. "And your point would be?"

"The violent have no patience for nonviolence," Doug said. "You'd never even consider doing things our way."

Mum, unexpectedly, laid a hand on his arm and said to her friends:

"You're wrong. He's a good man."

All of them -- Napoleon included -- looked at her in surprise. Teddy came out of the house, stopped to stare.

"He's a killer for hire," Doug said.

"Doug--" Alice hissed.

"He's a good man with a good heart," Mum said, making Napoleon uncomfortable and not a little mystified.

"How do you know?" Lily asked, not arguing, just curious.

"Violent people don't know anything about peace, or love," Teddy said. Mum shook her head. Her gaze caught, held Napoleon's. Quietly she said, "I saw you. I heard you."

Napoleon scowled. "I beg your pardon?"

She pointed up at the house, and Napoleon realized what she meant.

"Oh," he said, shrugging. "Well..."

"You're full of love," Mum said. "But you don't show it. Except sometimes, like that, when you can't help it, or when you think no one is looking."

Acutely uncomfortable, Napoleon said, "Yes, well, he is my partner and all. You know, you get kind of used to having someone around."

She smiled and squeezed his arm, mercifully letting him off the hook, saying to her friends:

"They're both good people. If we really believe what we say we believe, should we shun them just because they've chosen a path different from ours?"

"All I need is transportation to town," Napoleon put in. "Believe me, I don't want to involve you all in any kind of trouble."

Teddy and Doug exchanged a look.

"Mum's always right," Teddy said. Napoleon got the impression that Teddy wasn't very bright, but Doug nodded and said to Napoleon:

"Okay. We won't get involved in any violence, but we'll help if we can."

"Thank you," Napoleon said sincerely.

Napoleon sat in the window where he could see the road. Mum stood beside him, looking out, while Napoleon tried to decide if he had ever seen a lovelier girl. She had a certain wild, elfin quality far removed from his usual tastes, but here it seemed fitting.

"You two are spies," she said. "Lily said your friend was kidnapped and you came to rescue him."

"It sounds so simple put like that," Napoleon said, thinking back on a week he wouldn't relive for a million dollars -- although he'd go through it all again a thousandfold if that was what it took to see his partner safe.

"Do you believe that what you do--" she gestured at Illya-- "the guns and the bombs and the fighting and the deceit ... do you believe it will make the world a better place?"

Napoleon smiled. "No. Personally, I do it for the money."

She had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Sorry. I don't mean to attack you. We just ... we all wish there was some way for people to live in peace."

"So do we," Napoleon said with feeling.

"And we feel your methods, which have been tried for centuries, haven't worked."

Napoleon massaged his forehead. "Please don't make me question my value in this world just now. I really don't have the energy."

She laughed. "I think your friend would defend your value. And if we have friends who love us, isn't that enough?"

He raised his hands in surrender. "Whatever you say."

She came to him, laid her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the forehead, then departed, leaving Napoleon feeling as though he'd received some sort of benediction.

Sick, he clutched the machine gun hard to his body. His finger, like a stranger's -- an enemy's -- squeezed the trigger and the gun bucked, straining, the heat and stink of it washing over him. He thought the gun would explode; holding down the trigger, sweat and tears burning down his face, he prayed for it, wished for it fiercely, anything to stop what he couldn't stop himself. The noise of the gun battered his ears.

 And Napoleon hung there before his horrified, helpless gaze, torn and bloodied, the stream of bullets hammering his body into a grotesque dancing puppet. And he would not die. And his eyes never left Illya's.

He realized he was screaming, one word, over and over: No!

Illya sat up with a shout -- "No!" -- eyes wide, stunned, and Napoleon caught him, felt the rigid shoulders go limp under his hands as Illya came fully awake.

"Easy," he said. "You're safe. We both are, for the moment."

Illya stared gasping at his partner for a few heartbeats, then threw back the blankets. Napoleon let go of him so he could sit on the edge of the bed, throbbing head in his hands. "How long was I asleep?"

"About 20 minutes. We're still waiting for our ride." Napoleon waited a moment, said, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. On the other hand, we seem to have a little down time, and it might help."

Illya got up carefully -- his muscles felt like bungee cords -- and limped to the window to sit. He faced his partner, opened his mouth.

"What?"

Illya closed his mouth, eyes roving as if searching the room for something. "I don't think I can talk about it."

"What do you mean?" Napoleon got up, came closer, jolted by his partner's agitation.

"I ... I know what happened." He scowled fiercely. "I can't say it."

"You mean ... could it be part of the process?"

Illya opened his mouth again, closed it, shook his head. Then, finally, he said, "Ask me questions."

Napoleon said, "Where were you?"

Illay's eyes narrowed as he tried to respond, to force out the truth. After a moment he blurted, "I don't know."

"Were you a prisoner?"

Illya stiffened, shook his head, again said, "I don't know."

"Did Dr. Xavier kidnap you?" Napoleon snapped. Illya winced, tried to answer. He clenched his teeth, shook his head, looking at his partner as if for help.

"Napoleon..." The plea trailed off into Russian curses.

Tempted to say 'Don't panic' -- realizing Illya didn't need to hear stupid platitudes -- Napoleon swallowed his own alarm and said:

"If it's any comfort, your lies aren't very convincing. You usually lie flawlessly. And you obviously can talk about it, just not ... specifically. Probably because the process wasn't completed."

Illya looked up at his partner, calmer. "It's somehow small comfort to know I'm only half brainwashed."

Napoleon smiled. If Illya could joke, there was still hope.

"It's a good thing I pulled Lily out of the lake, for more than the obvious reasons."

"Yes," Illya mused. "If she hadn't told you you might never have found out. But ... what are you doing in Vermont? How did you know where to look?"

Napoleon grimaced. "I'd prefer not to answer that question on the grounds that you'll think I'm insane."

Illya's brow rose. "I'm hardly in a position to pass judgment on anyone else's sanity." All humor, all the usual defenses, left his expression, wiping years -- a few too many, in Napoleon's concerned estimation -- from his face. "I'm glad you found me, however you did it."

"So am I. Breaking in new partners is so time-consuming."

Illya looked out the window. "A car's coming."

Napoleon was beside him in a moment.

A battered red pickup clattered out of the trees, rolling to a shaky halt in the yard. A few kids gathered around it, talking, and a brunette in blue jeans and a white sweater climbed out.

"Get everyone together," she shouted. Her tone was brusque, almost anxious, and the agents looked at one another.

"Where is Lily?" Illya asked.

"Downstairs comparing notes with Alice," Napoleon said.

"Notes?" Illya echoed.

Minerva, surrounded by her tenants -- Lily and Alice excepted -- threw a nervous glance over her shoulder, up the road, and Napoleon's insides tightened.

"Oh boy. I think this Minerva has sold us out."

"Minerva," Illya said, his tone calling himself a fool. "Dr. Xavier's accomplice from Bogota." He looked hard at his puzzled partner. "Minerva. Athene."

"If you say so."

Illya hauled himself to his feet; Napoleon grabbed him as he swayed. Everyone below was chattering in anxious puzzlement. Minerva again glanced up the road, then spread her arms, herding the kids toward the house.

"I think we need to leave now," Napoleon said, pulling his partner's arm over his shoulders.

The sound of many bare feet thudding across the porch was drowned out by the roar of an engine. A black paneled truck roared up to the porch and ground to a halt. The back of the van opened and THRUSH uniforms poured out, rifles at the ready.

"Okay, the stairs are a no-go," Napoleon said. "The roof?"

Illya looked out. "Not with this leg. And this hangover. You go." Heavy booted feet clomped up the porch steps and into the house.

"Wrong answer." Napoleon started to bodily shove Illya out the window, but they both saw it wouldn't work. The roof was steeply pitched; it would take strength and balance the Russian did not currently possess.

"Go," Illya snapped. "He doesn't want me dead, remember? But they might kill you."

"Might?" Napoleon interjected.

"Go. If you're free we've got a chance."

More shouts and pounding carried to them from the corridor, coming rapidly nearer.

Illya shoved Napoleon. Cursing, he grabbed the casement and swung himself out onto the roof, ignoring the pain from his injured shoulder, pivoting to the side to get out of sight. He crouched there, hanging onto the gable, taut as a bowstring, listening as the door inside slammed open.

"There he is!" a man snarled. "Take him."

Napoleon clenched every muscle in his body, forcing himself to stillness at the sounds of the brief scuffle that ensued.

"Tell Dr. Xavier we've got him," a man said. "See if he wants us to take care of the others." The men marched out.

The others. Napleon slid down the roof to a convenient tree branch, then climbed into the midst of its foliage and reconnoitred.

The truck, van and yard were empty. He could hear voices inside the house. He swung to the ground and ducked around the corner of the porch to crouch in the bushes.

A man and a woman -- Minerva -- came out of the house and off the porch. The man had his back to Napoleon, but the agent supposed him to be Dr. Xavier.

"Hang on, hang on!" Doug shouted over the gabble of voices. "Let me find the light." He felt his way along the cellar wall to the foot of the steps and hit the switch. One bare bulb flickered to life, illuminating the brick walls and floor of the basement, lined with cans and sacks and boxes and bottles. In the middle the other residents of the house huddled together. All eyes turned to the light, then to Doug.

"Everyone be quiet," he called out. Silence spread as he trotted up the stairs. The door was locked. He descended.

"What's going on?" someone asked.

"I don't know," he said. "Did Minerva say anything?"

Lily and Alice quietly prowled the walls. The narrow windows were nailed shut.

Lily sat on a crate of canned soup. "I hope Napoleon and Illya got away," she said.

"You think this has something to do with them?" Alice asked.

"I think it has everything to do with them. And with my uncle. We need to get out of here."

Alice went to a window. "This one's at the back of the house. They may not notice."

The others, seeing their intent, crowded around; Lily stood between Alice and the group.

"Listen," she began. "I think I know what's going on. Minerva has locked us all in here to keep us out of the way while she turns those two UNCLE agents over to ... to a very evil man."

Voices rose in a chorus of disbelief.

"Listen! I know you all thought Minerva was your friend. Maybe she is. Maybe she's being threatened or something. But listen--" She raised her voice as the group began to babble again.

"Listen to her!" Doug shouted. He ploughed through them to stand beside her. Alice, standing on a crate holding a hammer, watched them.

"I'm going to sneak out," Lily said. "I don't think you should follow me. If ... if they find out you aren't still in here there's no telling what they might do to you. Just wait. Probably when they've taken the UNCLE agents away, Minerva will just let you out."

"What if she doesn't?" Alice asked quietly. Her faith in just about everyone and eveyrthing had been dealt a severe blow.

"Then you all can get out this way too. But they're bound to notice a dozen people running off into the woods. Wait. If you have to run away, do it, but be careful."

Doug asked, "Where are you going?"

Lily, climbing onto the box beside Alice, glanced back at him. "My uncle already tried to kill me once. I'm not staying where he can find me."

"There's no one around," Alice said, and started prying up the nails.

"Here--" Doug jumped up. "Let me."

"I'll try to get some help," Lily said as Doug unsealed the window. He opened it and gave her a boost. She slithered out onto the grass, heart racing, and ducked behind some bushes.

"Thank you for your help, Minerva," Dr. Xavier said. "I didn't like to let Kuryakin go until I was sure his ... reprogramming was complete."

Minerva smiled. "You've always been very generous to me, Francis. I'm happy to repay the favor. Although it is a trifle inconvenient." She looked back into the house.

"Ah yes. Your guests," Dr. Xavier said. "Most regrettable."

Napoleon tensed. Those words had the familiar ring of cold-blooded murder.

"I have a gas," the doctor went on. "No telltale bullet holes."

"The cellar windows are sealed," Minerva said helpfully.

"Excellent."

Two columns of THRUSH men marched out of the house, past Dr. Xavier and Minerva and down the steps to the van. Napoleon, seeing Illya borne limply between two hulking THRUSH men, quickly whistled a brief birdcall, an old signal, and had the satisfaction of seeing the blond head rise fractionally. The THRUSHes opened the van and bundled him inside, getting in after him. Napoleon counted 10 of them.

A grey sedan pulled sedately up to the house. Four men were in it.

Astonished, Napoleon recognized the man in the front passenger seat as Lt. White.

The quartet of army men climbed out of the car. Dr. Xavier and Minerva came down the steps while Napoleon, agonized, pictured the THRUSH men bursting from the van, guns blazing. To warn the army men, though, risked his liberty and chance of helping Illya and the hippies.

Dr. Xavier took a step toward the van and Napoleon decided. He bellowed:

"Lieutenant! Look out! Get under cover!"

The army men froze into alert crouches, drawing their sidearms. At the same moment, however, the van doors opened and the THRUSH gang surged out, rifles trained on Lt. White and his men. The army men dropped their guns.

Napoleon cursed and darted around the back of the house in case someone got it into his head to find out who'd shouted. He had no doubt Dr. Xavier would kill the army men as easily as the hippies. If he left no witnesses, there would be no one to reveal what he'd done to Illya. Napoleon's partner would be a perfect Judas goat.

Around the back corner of the house Napoleon bumped into Lily, who almost screamed.

"What are you doing?" Napoleon whispered as she slapped her hand over her mouth.

"She put everyone in the basement. I sneaked out a window. Are they ... is my uncle going to kill them?"

"Yes," Napoleon said. "Go back. Get them out. Tell them to hide in the woods." His mind raced, desperate to find some way one unarmed man might turn the tables on 10 armed THRUSH agents. "Go."

She ran back to a basement window and crouched down. Napoleon slipped onto the back porch and into the house. He hurried through, wishing it were the home of a sportsman rather than a bunch of antiestablishment pacifists. He slipped behind the open front door, just able to see between the door and the jamb.

Dr. Xavier said, "Bring him to me."

Lt. White was escorted before the doctor and Minerva, one rifleman at his back. The other THRUSH agents remained in a semicircle around White's colleagues.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" Dr. Xavier asked. Lt. White said nothing.

Dr. Xavier called out, "Kill one of them. I don't care which."

Napoleon tensed a second before the shot cracked the quiet.

Lt. White started forward with a shout, but the THRUSH behind him brought the butt of his rifle around and hammered him to the ground.

"If any of you move he dies," Dr. Xavier said to White's men. To the lieutenant, he said, "Get up."

White struggled to his feet, rumpled and glaring.

"Answer my questions."

Lt. White stared at him.

Talk, you fool, Napoleon thought at Lt. White. Make something up. Stall for time. But White had no experience with this kind of situation. He and all his men were going to die because of that.

Napoleon darted around the door and stepped onto the porch. "I'll tell you."

All heads snapped around.

"Solo," Lt. White exclaimed in a kind of angry satisfaction. Dr. Xavier glanced at the lieutenant, then back to Napoleon.

"Solo," he echoed. "Napoleon Solo?"

"So you've heard of me," Napoleon said.

"Indeed yes. I confess I'm surprised to see you here. How did you track us?"

Napoleon smiled. "Crystal ball."

"Solo ..." Lt. White snarled.

"You won't get away with this, you know," Napoleon said, overriding the lieutenant. "Reinforcements are on their way even as we speak. You'd be wise to surrender." He glanced toward the nine THRUSH men still holding their rifles on the two remaining army men. One body lay sprawled supine between them.

"Really, Mr. Solo," Dr. Xavier said, waving at his men. Two of them turned their weapons on Napoleon. "Do they make you memorize those sorts of ridiculous lines in spy school?"

Napoleon started to answer -- stopped, galvanized at the sight of Illya climbing unsteadily out of the van to stand like a newborn foal in the sunlight.

"Ah," Dr. Xavier heartily. "Mr. Kuryakin."

Napoleon watched as Illya took in the scene with no apparent understanding. His eyes touched Napoleon's for a moment.

"Your associate, Mr. Solo, has come a long way to rescue you," Dr. Xavier said. Illya turned his gaze to the doctor. "What a shame that an ... accident should have befallen him." He beckoned one of the THRUSH men to him, took his rifle, and -- to the startlement of everyone -- handed it to Illya. In his state it nearly knocked him over.

"Kill him," Dr. Xavier said.

Illya stared at the doctor.

"Do as I say," Dr. Xavier said. "Kill Solo."

Slowly, shakily, Illya raised the heavy THRUSH rifle, his eyes fixing on Napoleon, who didn't move. He saw the tension in every line of his partner's body and face, saw the sweat beading on his forehead, saw his jaw and hands clench as he lifted the weapon and took aim.

"Traitor--" Lt. White hissed. Suddenly rigid, Illya squeezed the trigger. The rifle coughed, bucked; Napoleon spun to the porch floor.

"You son of bitch--" Lt. White growled.

Illya dropped the rifle. His arms dangled for a heartbeat. Then he crumpled onto the grass.

"Excellent," Dr. Xavier said. "Put Mr. Kuryakin and the lieutenant into the van. Take the other two and lock them in the cellar with the children."

He leaned into the van for a moment and came out with a small, pearshaped plastic object. "Throw this in after them and make sure the door is locked. Hurry."