Napoleon Solo sipped the hot, black coffee and tilted his head back to gaze at the ceiling.
    "Give it up, Napoleon," Kuryakin said.
    Solo started at the sound of his voice. He�d been remembering the dream�was it a dream? It had seemed so real�he could still feel the sand against his cheek, smell the blood, feel the dead weight of his partner in his arms... his stomach clutched and he slammed the cup down on the coffee table in front of him. Kuryakin looked at him quizzically, his right eyebrow rising ever-so-slightly.
    "OK, Napoleon. This time you�re going to tell me what�s going on." Kuryakin settled into the chair opposite the sofa where Solo rested.
    "What do you mean?" Solo hedged, attempting to look indignant.
    "First, this is the fifth time in two months you�ve called me in the middle of the night to see if I�m OK. Napoleon, what�s going on? Why do you keep checking on me? I appreciate the concern, but I�m a big boy and capable
of taking care of myself. I don�t need a mother, thank you and if I did, I wouldn�t pick you for the job," Kuryakin paused and sipped from his cup.
    Solo didn�t answer. Kuryakin glanced at his partner and then stood up, pacing, his coffee still in hand.
    "So, my friend, what is it? Why the sudden concern for my safety? Do you know something I don�t? Have you a crystal ball and a gypsy lady hidden in a closet? Is my lifeline diminishing..." Kuryakin stopped, catching a particularly wounded look from Solo. Kuryakin placed his cup on the table and looked at his partner. "What is it, Napoleon? Please tell me. I just want to help," Kuryakin�s voice was low and gentle.
    Solo sighed. "You�re going to think I�m crazy."
    "Probably."
    "Oh, all right. I keep killing you, Illya. Or getting you killed. Every single night, over and over and over. It�s terrible and it�s always my fault. And it�s so real," Solo looked away. His hands flexed nervously in the silence.
    "You mean in your dreams, Napoleon? Is that what you mean?"
    Solo took a deep breath. "Yes, that�s what I mean. I guess. But I wouldn�t call it simply a dream or even a nightmare. Illya, you just don�t understand how real it is. I can feel the heat from the desert, the grit of the sand, the... The blood... Dammit, I can smell it, Illya, I�m telling you, it was so real, so damned real, that I�m not sure what�s real any more�now or the dream..." Solo�s face contorted in pain. "Maybe you really are dead, lying in the desert with a hole in your chest, my fault, God, it was all my fault and this is the dream. Maybe I got you killed and I�m trying to black it out by pretending it was a dream. I just don�t know any more," Solo paused and put his head in his hands. "I don�t know what�s wrong with me, Illya, I just know I can�t keep reliving your death. I can�t keep killing you over and over, I just can�t keep doing it."

Alexander Waverly reread the report. None of it made sense.
    "So what exactly does Dr. Spain think is wrong with Mr. Solo? I�m afraid this report is long on words and short on conclusion," Waverly tossed the sheaf of papers on the table in front of him. Illya Kuryakin, his shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair disheveled and in his eyes, had been analyzing Spain�s findings since the previous evening. He�d even spoken with the physician and, like Waverly, wasn�t sure what to make of them.
    "Well sir, from what I understand, there is no physiological cause for Solo�s recurrent dreams. The doctor believes he may simply be showing the strain of too much time in the field. He�s ruled out some types of interference with Solo�s thought processes, although there are admittedly more tests to run..." 
    "What does that mean, Mr. Kuryakin? Are we talking brainwashing or indoctrination or are we talking about something entirely different? I just want a straight answer and all I�m getting are suppositions!" Waverly gestured impatiently at the report.
    "If Mr. Solo is having a nervous breakdown, then we need to deal with it. If he�s been the victim of some insidious plot, then we need to deal with that, too. But until we know, I want Mr. Solo sidelined. I don�t want anyone in the field who can�t differentiate between what�s real and what�s not."
    "But Mr. Waverly, I can vouch for Napoleon..."
    "Nonsense. You can�t be certain that Mr. Solo�s two worlds won�t collide and truly kill you�or some other innocent, Mr. Kuryakin. No, I�m afraid until we�ve isolated the cause behind Mr. Solo�s dreams and his anxiety, I�ll have to sideline him. I�m sure he�ll understand."

The funny thing was that Solo did understand. He actually looked relieved when the slight Russian told him he was on temporary medical leave.
    "I told Mr. Waverly I knew you could handle it, but he insisted, Napoleon. I want you to know I trust you. I always have, haven�t I?"
    Solo looked gratefully at his partner. Yes, he thought, we�ve been through a lot together and always managed to pull one another through. Always. And I�m not going to be the reason you don�t make it back. If it takes being sidelined to keep you alive, then that�s the price I�ll pay.
    "I could use a vacation, Illya," he said.

Ten days later, Solo stood in Alexander Waverly�s inner sanctum carefully presenting a case that he was fit for duty.
    "I haven�t had one of those dreams since I�ve been in here. Not one. They�re over, Mr. Waverly. Whatever was causing them has vanished just as mysteriously as it started. I�m fine and Dr. Spain can find nothing wrong with me. I need to be out in the field. I�m going quietly nuts in here."
    Waverly looked over the top of his glasses. He had been reading Spain�s latest report regarding Solo�s fitness for duty when the subject had requested an audience. Waverly sighed. If Dr. Spain�s report were to be believed, Solo truly had recovered from his nightmare bouts. Spain added that he�d found no explanation for the dreams and offered no opinion as to whether they would reoccur. Waverly noted the doctor had not divulged the reason for his optimism. He continued to thumb through the report, lost in thought until Solo, who was growing increasingly impatient, politely cleared his throat.
    "After 10 days of being sidelined, I don�t believe another five minutes of inactivity will bring you any harm, Mr. Solo," Waverly said, as he settled down to finish Dr. Spain�s summation. But as he returned to the report, he was interrupted by a priority message from U.N.C.L.E.�s Italian bureau.
    "Put it through," Waverly said as Solo leaned forward to listen.
    Kuryakin had left for Rome six days ago with another agent named Gabe Allen. The two men were to penetrate a secret THRUSH project code-named "Pinnacle", destroying it if practicable, reporting back if not. Neither had been heard from in two days, but their silence wasn�t cause for alarm. Their task could take weeks, even months, and depending on the degree of difficulty a progress report could prove dangerous. The voice of Tony Marguzzi, a Section Two officer stationed in Rome, filled the room.
    "I�m afraid I must be the bearer of bad news, sir. We received a message that leads us to believe Mr. Kuryakin and Mr. Allen have been detected and are most likely dead. The transmission breaks up but is understandable. I will play it for you, if you like sir."

"Yes, Mr. Marguzzi, please do so." There was a pause, then the voice of Gabe Allen, low and urgent, filled the room.
    "...inside Pinnacle, Dr. Rosetti talked before... Discovered. Chemical�s to be introduced from the air somehow... Gas of some sort... U.N.C.L.E. is  primary target, then Cairo�s test run, followed by Tokyo... Don�t know beyond that... It affects your mind... Severity depends on dosage... Breathing causes paralyzing fear... large doses can induce mental delusions... Realize your worst fears... Counting on panic, terrible consequences..." Allen�s voice faded briefly. Then the sound of him speaking to someone else, presumably Kuryakin. The conversation was unintelligible, but what sounded like muffled explosions rang in the background.
     Allen continued. "Flex their muscle... Paralyze the agency... Then..." the sound of rapid gunfire filled U.N.C.L.E.�s New York headquarters followed by a huge explosion. Abruptly, the transmission halted. Marguzzi�s smooth voice filled the room.
    "That�s it, sir. We received the transmission exactly twenty-seven minutes ago. The first part was garbled. We aren�t sure what Allen may have said at the beginning but we�re working on the tape. There were other parts lost in the transmission we are also analyzing. We tried to raise both Allen and Kuryakin but have met with no success. I don�t have to tell you sir, it doesn�t sound too promising."
    "Tell me, Mr. Marguzzi, have you or anyone in your unit been in touch with either Kuryakin or Allen since they penetrated Thrush? Do you have any idea where Pinnacle is located?"
    "Yes, sir. We know it�s location, to the south of us, outside of Naples, and we have a team enroute at this time. But I sincerely doubt we�ll find anything, sir. Thrush has had quite a head start."
    "Very good. Please try to locate Mr. Kuryakin and Mr. Allen and keep me advised." Waverly started to turn his attention back to Solo when Marguzzi spoke again.
    "Uh, sir, I apologize for interrupting, but the lab boys have managed to decode the garbled part of Allen�s transmission..."
    "Yes. Well, Mr. Marguzzi..."
    "I�m sorry, sir. It appears Illya and Gabe set explosives in the basement, then tried to make their escape, being caught inside the building when they detonated. It is highly doubtful either could have survived the blast."
    "That is certainly regrettable. They were both good men. But right now I�m more worried about what could be going on with the dastardly chemical this Dr. Rosetti cooked up. Do we have a clear picture of the chemical�s effect?"
    "No, sir. All we know is that it plays on the mind and can be controlled by increasing or decreasing dosage. According to Gabe... Mr. Allen�s transmission, it induces fear, apparently at extreme levels. I�m afraid that�s it, sir."
    "Thank you Mr. Marguzzi. Your opinion, Mr. Solo?"
    "Even if the base of operations is destroyed, it doesn�t necessarily mean they�ve put all their eggs in one basket. They may have a back-up plan. They could also have already distributed that stuff. If they think we�re on to them, they�ll possibly move up their Cairo test. I think the chances of finding Illya and Gabe alive in Italy�is slender at best," Solo said levelly keeping the emotion out of his voice. Even though the chances were better than even that both men were now dead, or at the very least as good as dead�in the hands of THRUSH and subject to that organization�s tender ministrations, the agent was a professional. He knew, as did they all, the mission came first. The possible loss of his friends and fellow agents was a tragedy that would follow him forever, but at that moment Solo couldn�t afford to allow himself the luxury of a reaction.
    "Well, uh, Mr. Solo, I happen to agree with you. And I believe I�ll have to trust the doctor�s opinion on your readiness to return to duty. I want you on the first plane to Cairo. I�ll make contact with our office there and fill them in."

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