"The May All Your Dreams Come True Affair"

The two men moved quickly away from the compound, over rough and dangerous terrain. They�d traveled under a full moon, which was both help and hindrance. The desert floor had been easy to see and hazards simple to avoid, but the same moon also made the pair easy to spot�a problem that escaped neither.
    They were making better time in their return to the small military-type vehicle concealed behind a sandstone outcropping. Their initial trip, the day before, had been slower since they weren�t sure of their target. They had spent several weeks piecing together clues, looking for it, but it wasn�t until they�d captured an unusually cooperative THRUSH operative that the pieces finally came together.
    He had drawn a map pinpointing the underground THRUSH installation, neatly camouflaged to fit into the desert sand. Napoleon Solo had studied the map and aerial photographs and was positive he�d found the spot. He and Illya Kuryakin, his partner, had followed the map�Solo with confidence, Kuryakin with a mistrust central to his dour Russian heritage�avoiding and destroying a series of carefully placed traps.
    That part of the prisoner�s story had proven true. Once the pair reached their target they dug in and watched until, just before nightfall, the ground shook and opened up a dark slash in the landscape. Moments later, a helicopter emerged from the opening, which then closed with an electronic hum. The entire operation took less than five minutes.
    "According to our little birdie, the chopper should return and go back inside about thirty minutes before sun-up, with the whole performance being repeated again right before sunset tomorrow," Solo said. He checked his watch. "It�s nearly 7:45."
    "That means they�ll be back a little after six. Any ideas?" Kuryakin�s binoculars were still trained on the now-vanished complex.
    "Too bad we can�t get hold of that chopper."
    "I thought of that, too. Won�t work. We don�t know where it�s going. We need to take down the laboratory with the helicopter inside," Kuryakin said, wiping the binocular lenses with his shirttail. He and Solo were both soaked with perspiration. Even in the shade of an outcropping of rock and cactus, it was more than 100 degrees. Night would bring a little relief.
    Solo continued to contemplate the spot where the helicopter had emerged. From the air, it would appear to be nothing but desert. From the ground one could make out a faint line where the doors had parted.
    "We need to bomb it when it opens," Solo said.
    "The best time is when the helicopter�s coming in for a landing."
    "Agreed, but it�s light then and we need darkness to get us close enough to get the bomb inside." The two men exchanged looks. Solo was right. It would be more difficult at night but they had almost no chance of succeeding if they waited until morning when the helicopter returned. They made their decision.
    "We�ll retreat a mile back and take cover, wait until tomorrow night about this time and make our move."
    Kuryakin nodded. The two retraced their steps until they found a small group of rocks where they could hide and wait. They took turns dozing and keeping watch, listening for any signs of unusual activity. There were none. Both men were alert and interested when the helicopter returned, just like clockwork, a little before sunrise.
    "Right on time, just like our friend said."
    "Your friend, Napoleon. He�s certainly not mine."
    "Tut, tut. I know you don�t believe he�s playing straight with us..."
    "That�s an understatement. I can�t believe we�re trusting the word of a Thrush operative..."
    "A Thrush operative with everything to lose if he doesn�t tell the truth. Come on, Illya. If Thrush succeeds in these experiments, they can control the free world."
    "I grant you that. I just don�t like placing my fate in Thrush hands. What makes this bad guy so believable, Napoleon?"
    Solo shrugged and shifted his gaze across the sand in the direction of the lab. "I don�t know. I just think he�s telling the truth. After all, everything he told us so far has been right on the money..."
    Kuryakin snorted, but before he could answer, his pocket communicator began the steady beeping noise that told the agents from U.N.C.L.E. someone wanted to speak with them. It was their boss�Alexander Waverly.
    "Mr. Kuryakin. Report, please."
    "It�s as Victor said, sir. Napoleon and I have located the installation. The chopper leaves and returns when he said it would. Still..." the Russian agent�s voice trailed off.
    "Still what, Mr. Kuryakin?"
    "I don�t know, sir, I just can�t shake the feeling that something�s not right."
    Solo made a face at his partner.
    "What about Mr. Solo?"
    "He doesn�t share my trepidation, sir."
    "Then we will strike as planned, is that correct?"
    "Yes, sir. We�re going in this evening, approximately at sunset."
    "Then rest for a bit, gentlemen. You have work to do."

They did rest, though somewhat fitfully. And when the afternoon had passed slowly toward evening, the agents worked their ways back to the underground compound and began preparations.
    Knowing from their THRUSH turncoat that a camera system picked up any signs of movement within 100 yards of the compound, the two agents realized they�d have one quick chance to lob the explosive into the open door before someone saw them. If they missed, they would both die. The launch had to be perfectly timed. Solo prepared the rocket-launcher, which held a small, but massively powerful explosive canister. The canister was timed to explode after a 30-second delay, igniting a special charge of deadly gas that not only would kill all who came in contact with it and but also burn for hours, eliminating the possibility of anyone surviving. Solo was to fire the explosive while Kuryakin calculated the coordinates and directed the launch.
    Shortly before 7:45, the U.N.C.L.E. agents heard a smooth grinding sound as the door slid open. Solo tensed, holding the weapon tightly on his shoulder. Kuryakin watched through the binoculars. The sound of rotor blades began to fill the air.
    "Now!" Kuryakin shouted. Solo pressed the trigger. Unbelievably, nothing happened. Sweat poured from Solo�s brow.
    "Fire!" Kuryakin hissed. "Hurry, Napoleon, the chopper�s leaving, the door�s are closing!"
    Solo pulled the trigger again. This time the projectile shot out and flew straight and true toward the open door, yet the helicopter continued to rise.
    Suddenly, the earth shuddered as a huge explosion ripped the air, a ball of fire shooting high into the night sky.

"Run!" Kuryakin yelled. And as they ran, they could hear the sound of explosion following explosion as each level of the THRUSH compound caught fire. Pieces of burning debris rained down on the two, once causing Solo�s shirt to catch fire. Kuryakin beat it out with his hands even as the two men continued to flee.
    Eventually the light from the blazing compound gave way to moonlight and the men slowed their pace slightly, catching their breaths as they returned to the truck.
    "Well, I guess you were right on this one, Napoleon. I don�t know what it was, maybe it�s just the thought of trusting a Thrush agent. It just felt all wrong to me."
    They soon came upon their initial encampment.
    "You drive back," Solo said. "It�s your turn."
    "You�re absolutely right, Mr. Solo, it is Mr. Kuryakin�s turn," a voice said from other side of the truck. The U.N.C.L.E. agents reached for their guns, but a half dozen hands stopped them. A man stepped into the light. A tall, dark man with a cruel mouth, he smiled at the two captive agents, now held at gunpoint.
    "I want to thank you gentlemen for ridding us of that installation. You see, our esteemed colleague, the good doctor, recently decided he didn�t want to play any more. He even threatened to go to Uncle. It was important to convince him to stay with THRUSH. Bombing the site when the doctor was in our London office, particularly when his only son was still in the laboratory, will be all we will need to convince him Uncle is the true enemy. And we have it all documented, Mr. Solo," the man smiled. "Now, we need to provide the good doctor both a token of our good faith and a target for his hatred. I think you two gentlemen will do nicely. Bring Mr. Solo over here," the man gestured to the two large men who had Solo by the arms. They roughly guided the dark-haired agent over to the truck.
    Solo struggled, managed to loosen their grip for a brief second, then suddenly, something hit him hard on the head and the ground raced toward him.

Solo awoke with a massive headache and a mouth full of sand. Slowly, painfully, he rolled over and found himself up against the truck�s tires. How long had he been out? The U.N.C.L.E. agent pushed himself into a sitting position and felt the back of his head. It was sticky. But he didn�t have time to worry about himself. Kuryakin had also been hurt.
    Solo staggered up to his feet and over to where the small Russian lay face down on the ground. Kneeling down, he gently turned his partner over.
    "Illya, how bad is it?"
    But Kuryakin didn�t answer. Kuryakin couldn�t answer. Solo felt a sick helplessness wash over him. He had always known one of them might not make it back someday. The thought was permanently in the back of his mind. But he�d always assumed it would be him, never Kuryakin. He could not imagine himself without his partner. They�d faced down death many times, had many false alarms, but there would be no miracle this time.
    Kuryakin was obviously dead, his eyes open to the moonlit sky, blood dried in a trickle at the corner of his mouth, a large hole in his chest. Solo had seen death many times and recognized it, but still he felt along the Russian�s throat for a pulse.
   Kuryakin�s skin was cold and unyielding. He had been dead for several hours, his blood pumped out to drench the still-warm sand.
    Solo hunched over the slight body, immobile with grief. Somewhere he heard a communicator beeping, but he ignored it. Instead, he reached over and with great care closed Kuryakin�s eyes, blue and fixed, staring at the sky.
    "I should have listened to you, Illya. I should have listened. You were right all along, oh God, you were right, you were right..."

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