Napoleon Solo was driving the little blue car that finally pulled on to Main Street in Washita, Kansas. His back and shoulders ached from sitting too long in a car too small for his tall frame. He leaned forward to look out at the buildings as he passed them and squinted up at the blazing sun as it shone down from high over head.
    "Lovely," he said, with his voice dripping sarcasm.
    Beside him, Illya Kuryakin looked up from where he sat dozing in the passenger seat. For what was not the first time, Solo envied his partner�s smaller size as well as his ability to sleep in nearly any situation. When it was time to sleep, Illya slept. As with everything Illya did, his body and mind set aside all other concerns and concentrated on the task at hand. As they traveled Illya knew he may not have another chance to rest for some time, and so he slept. However, when Solo spoke, Illya was instantly awake.
    "We�re here," Solo announced.
    "Lovely," Kuryakin deadpanned.
    Solo�s mouth made a small smirk as he slowed the car and pulled into one of the three parking spots in front of the local police department. He turned off the engine, opened the door and slowly stretched the kinks out of his body as he stood. Turning around, he saw Illya watching him with a playful smile hiding in the corners of his mouth.
    "You�re getting old, Napoleon," he remarked, letting the smile reach as far as his eyes.
    Solo glared at him, but didn�t choose to respond. Instead he turned and walked purposefully towards the building. It was brick and there were bars on several of the windows. Above the door hung a wooden sign. It was painted white and in large black letters it read: County Sheriff.

The Sheriff was a large, jovial man. He was very glad to see the U.N.C.L.E. agents and to tell them all of the information he had been able to gather. Washita was not known for much except a low, almost non-existent crime rate. Last summer two teenagers had written sexual invitations on the backs of three buildings in town, the diner, the post office and the church. This was pretty much ignored at the diner but caused quite a ruckus on Sunday morning. Pastor Roberts and the old ladies worship group marched over to the Sheriff and demanded he take action. It wasn�t even hard to catch the boys, as one of them had proudly written his own phone number. So Elmer Crat�s disappearance was more than the Sheriff knew how to or wanted to deal with. He assured the agents that Bill Tilmer had been drunk, was surely drunk now and would be drunk at any time in the future. Tilmer had already paid for damages on three other mailboxes in and out of town. Despite having long since lost his license, having no insurance and having spent many a month or two in jail he still drove his blue pick-up regularly.
    Then he sent the agents out to Mrs. Bear�s ranch. She was the richest resident of Washita as well as the oldest and she had a reputation for being "smart as a whip and mean as a pole cat!"

It took over an hour to drive out to the Bear Ranch, then twenty minutes to drive up the path to the huge, log cabin that Mr. Bear and his four sons had built for his wife before he died. When the trees parted and Solo saw the house he sighed in quiet relief. The two agents climbed out of the car and looked around at the secluded homestead. Several horses were corralled near an old, but well built barn and a friendly, little, floppy haired dog ran up to them, tail wagging uncontrollably. Two steps from the car, the loud blast of a shot gun sent both men diving to the ground.
    A high pitched, scratchy voice called out to them from the house. "Hold it right there, strangers! We don�t take kindly to trespassers here, especially the cityfied kind!" Another blast from the shot gun punctuated her announcement and froze the agents when they started to rise.
    Solo looked up from the ground and called to their assailant. "Uh...We�re looking for Mrs. Bear. We..."
    Before he could finish a man ran from behind the barn yelling towards the front porch.
    "Margret! Stop that shootin� right now! These are fellas the sheriff told me about. Crazy women, put that shotgun away!"
    Illya and Solo slowly rose to their feet as the man reached the porch and stood between them and the old women on the porch. Illya stood with his UNCLE special in his hand, Solo brushed the dust off his suit and straightened his tie.
    After taking the shotgun the man turned to the agents. His skin was dark and wrinkled from working in the sun and his gray hair poked out from under a dingy baseball cap. He called out to them. "Hey there! Come on up, I got the gun. She ain�t gonna shoot no more." He waved them to the house. The Russian looked at his partner with some doubt. Solo smiled, with much more confidence than he felt, to reassure him. Then he took cautious steps towards the couple on the porch. Illya followed slowly, but did not immediately put his gun away.
    "Sorry about the ornery welcome, Mrs. Bear�s been a little on edge since Elmer... Well, you know." The old man grasped Solo�s hand as he mounted the stairs and Solo responded with a hearty hand shake and a casual grin. "I run the place, you know, feed the horses, mow the grass, do the fixin� up, been workin� for the Bears thirty two years! Name�s Rodney Walters."
    "Hello, My name is Napoleon Solo, this is my..." He paused when he saw Illya�s gun. "similarly �on edge� partner, Illya Kuryakin."
    "Glad to meet ya, and this is Mrs. Bear."
    The frail women that took Solo�s hand looked up at him and squinted to see more clearly. She wore a flowered sun-dress and her white hair was neatly fashioned into a bun on the top of her head. When she spoke Solo almost forgot she had just tried to run them off with a shotgun.
    "Mr. Solo, I apologize for the greeting, Rodney failed to inform me you were coming. You can�t be too careful, you know. Strange things have been happening around here!" She smiled at him and offered her hand to Illya who finally holstered his gun and briefly took her delicate hand.
    "Mrs. Bear, we wanted to speak to you about Elmer Crat." Solo began.
    "Oh no, I�ll not have it, you boys come in and have a bite to eat, maybe some cookies. I�ve been baking all week, just waiting for someone to share it all with." She reached and took the shotgun back from Rodney. She held it loosely at her side as though it belonged there. "Rodney, back to work. Have you finished with those horses?"
    "Yes, Ma�am... I mean, no Ma�am." Walters sauntered off the porch and towards the barn. "Save me some of them cookies, ya hear?"
    She waved her hand at him and took Solo�s arm, leading him in the door.
    "Really, Ma�am, We appreciate the offer, but we would like to get back to town early..." Solo stopped in mid sentence, when Mrs. Bear turned and innocently lay the shotgun in the crook of her arm across her chest. "...but we do have time for a few cookies. Don�t we Illya?" He looked at his partner for support.
    Before Illya could respond to Solo�s suggestion, Mrs. Bear spun on her heals and left the room. "Wonderful, gentlemen, please have a seat. I�ll be right back."

Two hours and a dozen cookies later, Mrs. Bear told them that she had been walking down Main St. towards the hairdresser, when she had seen Elmer, an old friend of her husband�s, walking toward her from across the street. He called out a greeting and smiled, she stopped to wait for him to reach her. Suddenly he paused in the middle of the road and looked at her in confusion. He called her name, flexed his fists and looked at his hands. Then, as she stood on the sidewalk and watched, Elmer "went all fuzzy and disappeared."

They left the Bear ranch early in the evening, barely making it out before being invited to dinner. They drove back to Washita in search of Bill Tilmer. Just as the Sheriff had suggested, Tilmer was drunk. They met him coming out of a Millie�s Sports Bar �N� Grill. Stumbling and slobbering on his flannel shirt, Tilmer told them how Elmer had walked out into the street in front of him. How he had expertly swerved to miss the old Farmer, and how the old coot had sneakily decided to disappear so that no one would believe his story.
    When they finally pulled into the empty, motel parking lot the sun was completely gone. One street lamp gave off a flickering circle of light that was eerily swallowed by the thick darkness of the country night. The only other light was a neon sign over the office door and a faint yellow glow that came from a curtained front window. Illya turned off the car but neither man made a move to exit.
    Solo reached into his jacket�s breast pocket and pulled out his pen communicator. Holding it up, he spoke into it. "Open Channel D."
    "Yes, Mr. Solo." Waverly�s voice came back through the pen instantly. "You have a report?"
    "Hmm... Not really. We spoke to everyone, Sir. Their stories are strange, to say the least, and they are very similar, but they are in no way helpful or informative. The man who vanished is a farmer from the area. He is well known in town. Never done anything unusual or suspicious and hasn�t been seen since that day on the street when he "went fuzzy and disappeared."
    "Very well. There has been another incident. A gardener in London, England. Your flight leaves Topeka at 10:17 tomorrow morning."
    Solo gave his partner a woefully resigned look and put the pen back in his pocket.
    "I�ll get the bags, you check us in." Illya commented as they got out of the car. Instantly, the rear driver�s side window exploded in a spray of glass. Kuryakin cried out in surprise and threw up his arm to protect his face.
    Solo jumped and called out in concern, "What the...? Illya...!" Something whizzed by his ear and he leaped back as a bullet plowed through the roof of the car.
    Solo heard several more shots, but reflex had already sent him to the ground and he crawled around to the front of the car. Another shot kept him from peering over the hood. "Illya!" he called. There was no answer.

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