Solo's hunch had been on the money. At dark, the U.N.C.L.E. agents waited and watched on rooftops all along the affected areas of Cairo. It hadn't taken long before the pigeons began to show up.
    There were large flocks of the birds and they congregated on the rooftops, right next to the air exchanges. Solo and Adel shot two and found they were equipped with small canisters tied round their legs. The dead birds, canisters still intact, were taken immediately to an U.N.C.L.E. laboratory. Meanwhile, the two agents located three more of the birds, sedated them and fixed them with small homing devices before turning them loose again.
    "At least one of these guys should find his way back home to Mommy," Solo said as they released the birds. Immediately, the receiving device began showing a direction. They watched as the birds winged their ways high over Cairo's evening traffic in an unfaltering line. Several minutes went by. Finally the birds stopped.
    "Where are they, Adel?"
    "Giza, from the looks of this."
    "Isn't that where the pyramids are?"
    "Some of them. We'll know better when we get closer." The two men made their way through the perilous Egyptian streets, crowded with cars, donkey carts, buses, foot traffic and old trucks almost too ancient to drive. It took a while. Nothing moved quickly in Cairo.  Eventually they found themselves on the outskirts of the city heading for the Giza pyramids. Guided by the strengthening signal, they arrived on a small side street just before the broad expanse of sand that hosted the pyramids closest to Cairo. Adel pointed to a small hut.
    "It's coming from there. 'Ahmed's Camel Rides'," Adel read in Arabic.
    "I've never seen a camel with feathers before."
    "No time like the present, I always say."
    "Then let's go, my friend. Just give me a moment to let headquarters know where we're at and I'll take the front, if you'll handle the rear." Solo radioed their position to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters and the two men took up their positions.

The hut was relatively easy to enter, since there was no door�only a dirty piece of cloth strung on a rope at the entrance. The man on the other side, a very large, unhappy looking man, wasn't pleased to see him. He punched Solo right in the face, which sent the dapper agent sprawling to the floor.  But he rebounded quickly and the two men began to fight, rolling around the interior of the hut, cooking utensils and furniture flying. Adel, who came in through the rear, ended the fight by bopping the big Arab with a pan he found on the floor. Solo got up and brushed himself off.
    "Ahmed over there likes to hit first and ask questions later. Any resistance out back?"
    "No. Nothing. I think what we're looking for will probably be on the roof. Shall we?"
    The two agents climbed a small set of stairs in the corner of the room and found themselves on the roof, where dozens and dozens of pigeon coops were stacked. The doors were open and many of the pigeons had returned. Each was wearing a small canister around its leg and the canister had been opened and emptied.
    "There's our delivery system. Now all we have to do is find out who's supplying the gas..." Solo began. A shot rang out and Adel clutched his arm and dropped. Solo dove behind a bank of cages.
    "Are you all right?"
    "Just a flesh wound. Nothing to worry about. I can still shoot. That is I can shoot if I can see who's shooting at me. Any ideas?" The two men huddled behind the cages.
    Another shot rang out and a pigeon fell over.
    "I'll work my way around to the other side. Cover me." Adel nodded at Solo and squeezed off a quick three rounds as the other agent moved along the cages until he reached the end of the roof. The only way to get around the cages at the point was to climb over them or push them over. Solo chose the latter. Giving a mighty shove, the wooden cages, stacked seven feet high, began to fall and Solo leaped over them as far as he could, pulling himself into a small ball and rolling. He hit the cages hard and felt the crunch of wood as they gave under his weight. Pigeons squawked and fussed, some flew up and away, others flapped around Solo as he came up from the roll on his feet and spun toward the source of the gun shots, gun waist-level. A man he'd never seen before raised his gun toward the U.N.C.L.E. agent, but Solo was too fast. He squeezed off a couple of rounds, fired by instinct from the waist, and caught the man in his stomach. He dropped. Adel sighed and moved cautiously from behind the cages.
    "He's dead."
    "Do you know who he is?"
    "Yes. He's a Thrush agent, sort of  high level muscle. Ah, my ears tell me reinforcements have arrived. Shall we make sure they don't overlook our friend down below?"

Kuryakin was floating gently in the sea. It was warm and sunny and he bobbed in the water like a human cork. Idly, he wondered if he was dead. He tried to move his injured shoulder but found he couldn't. Perhaps his luck had finally run out after all. And, now that he was dead, maybe his shoulder would stop hurting. That seemed rather odd. If he was dead, would his shoulder still hurt? Kuryakin opened his eyes, half-afraid he would find Anna peering back at him. Instead, he found himself eyeball to eyeball with a goat.
    "I hope you weren't my last date," he said. The goat backed up and Kuryakin got a good look around. He was in a barn of some sort. That much he knew. The agent struggled to sit up, but found he couldn't move. His chest and arm had been heavily bandaged and he was unable to sit up at all. When he tried he found himself growing dizzy and starting to black out. Still, there had to be someone nearby, someone who'd found him, bandaged him...
    The mystery was solved moments later when a young boy, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old, came in to check on him. Finding Kuryakin awake, he ran outside and called someone else in... Italian. That's it, Kuryakin thought, he's speaking Italian.
    The boy brought an elderly man back with him and together they knelt by Kuryakin's side.
    "Are you feeling better?" the old man asked.
    "Yes, yes, I am," Kuryakin answered in perfect Italian. "To whom do I owe my life?"
    "My grandson, Guido. He found you in the fields. Said you came down from the sky like a bird. But you've been hurt very badly. My wife cleaned your wound and bandaged you. We were hooking up the cart to take you into town to the doctor."
    "No, please. I need to make a call. Have you a telephone?"
    "I have none, Signor. But there is one in the village at the doctor's house. We will take you. My wife says if you do not receive medical care soon you will die. You've lost a lot of blood and the bleeding, still it does not stop. You need help and you need it soon."  But Kuryakin didn't hear the end of that sentence, for he had lapsed again into unconsciousness.

"Carrier pigeons," said Alexander Waverly. "And with little canisters that opened by radio signal. Then the birds that return with empty canisters receive a reward. Primitive, but ingenious."
    "Yes, we thought so, too, sir," Napoleon Solo spoke to his chief from U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in Cairo. Adel, his arm in a sling, sat next to Solo, filling in the gaps. The THRUSH agent, Ahmed, had talked. He told the U.N.C.L.E. back-up units where he received the gas canisters and how they were deployed. U.N.C.L.E. agents met the next shipment and were able to trace it back to a warehouse in Zurich. The THRUSH lab was the base of operations for Operation Pinnacle. It had been raided, the gas confiscated and all THRUSH personnel taken into custody. The objective had been to disrupt U.N.C.L.E. operations by killing off the Section One chiefs and sowing the other sections with distrust and insurrection. They would also begin to work on diplomats, heads of government and captains of industry by inducing "worst nightmare" scenarios.
    "You see, gentlemen, the gas they referred to as Pinnacle induced dreams that played out a person's worst fear. It was so real that one in the grips of Pinnacle couldn't tell the difference between dream and reality. Then THRUSH took it one step further�they added some touches of their own. They would suggest that someone else was responsible for the misfortune in your dreams. The goal, of course, was to convince you to do their bidding. This was usually to kill someone who wasn't in sympathy with their goals. All in all, it was a very successful operation, gentlemen. Job well-done. Mr. Solo..."
    "Yes, sir?"
    "I have one more errand for you. You've been booked on the next flight to Rome and after you've had a chance to visit with Mr. Kuryakin in the hospital...
    "Illya's alive?"
    "I would hardly send you to interview a corpse, Mr. Solo. Please review Mr. Kuryakin's information and make certain we've covered all the details. It was through his efforts we were able to thwart THRUSH's plot to destroy Section One. But I'm told Mr. Kuryakin's still pretty groggy�lost a lot of blood, you know�and I want to make certain we didn't overlook anything."
    "Is he going to be all right?"
    "As I understand it, now please take see to it, Mr. Solo."
    "Yes, sir."
    "And while you're at it, have Mr. Kuryakin provide us with a better description of this place he was supposed to have been held captive, this place in the Alps, uh, let me see, what's it called..."
    But Napoleon Solo was no longer listening. In fact, he was no longer in the room. He was already on the way to the airport with a heart lighter than air.

The End

If you would like to comment about the Dreams Come True Affair, submit your own or just talk to the team then contact the following:-

Author:-  M. E. Wells. 

Photographer and technical adviser:- Kurt Tzavros.

Illustrator and editor:- Sepia.

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