Solo knelt and looked under the car trying to find his partner. Nothing. He pulled out his gun and fired two blind shots over the car. Then risked raising his head to search the parking lot. More bullets slammed into the car roof and he quickly ducked back out of sight.
    "Illya!" His call was answered by more thumps as the mysterious gunmen fired in his direction again. He was completely pinned down unable to get a clear view of anything. Unable to locate his partner and unable to tell where the shots were coming from.
    Finally, he heard the distinct sound of an U.N.C.L.E. special being fired and the parking lot was plunged into darkness as the street lamp exploded. He recognized the shot instantly. Sighing with relief, he muttered a word of thanks to "Mother Russia," and took advantage of the darkness to sneak out from behind the car, across the small lot and into the wooded area left of the motel.
    Their attackers fired two or three more shots at the car and showered the corner of the motel opposite Solo, where they must have seen Illya take his shot from. When he reached relative safety, Solo stopped to calm his breathing and look around. To get a good angle on the street lamp Illya had to be on the other side of the motel. From where Solo watched he could see exactly where the attack was coming from. He and Illya would both have to cross the street to reach the gunmen. Solo set off away from the motel, for safety�s sake, before making his move.

Illya had thrown himself to the ground instantly after the window shattered so close to him. There was a large, green dumpster not more than 15 feet away from the car and while the shooters took their first few shots at Solo he disappeared behind it. Standing up with his back against the dumpster he looked around in the dim lighting. Directly in from of him was a walkway that passed between the two buildings that made up the motel. Thrilled by his luck he followed it to the rear of the buildings. He heard Solo call out but didn�t answer for fear of giving away his advantage. His partner would know soon enough that he was unscathed.
    There was a small spot light shining behind the motel and he raced around the building and into the woods. Stopping a good distance from the parking lot he saw that Solo was still trapped behind the car. He took careful aim and fired at the street lamp. It took some time for his eyes to adjust and he had to throw himself to the ground as the gunmen fired wildly in his general direction. Each shot glowed bright orange in the dark across the street. In the quiet that followed he moved off through the woods away from the motel. He reached the edge of the wood and peered out into the street. Nothing could be seen from either direction so he stepped out and sprinted across.
    As Solo and Kuryakin worked their way towards the shooters from opposite sides, quiet descended on the motel and the front door opened a crack. Light from inside spread out into the dark lot and someone cautiously poked a head out. When nothing happened the door was pushed open further and a tiny, gray haired man slowly stepped out carrying a hunting rifle. He gazed out at the darkness and saw nothing.
    His heart leapt to his throat when suddenly a vehicle roared to life in the trees across the street. Headlights blinded him as a large sport utility truck bounced and scraped out of the brush and onto the street. With a squeal it raced away into the dark.
    Solo reached the area as the truck came to life and tore off. He broke into a run but was slowed by the underbrush and never got a good look at anything. He stood on the side of the street breathing heavy and watched in frustration as the headlights disappeared in the distance. Looking across the street he saw the frightened motel clerk and stepped back into the woods. He had no desire to exchange fire with an innocent bystander. The man had certainly had enough excitement for one night.
    "Napoleon!" Illya called him from the trees. Solo turned and followed the voice until he saw the dancing beam of Illya�s penlight flashing on the ground.
    "Are you all right Tovarich?" He asked his friend as he approached.
    "I�m fine. Come have a look at this," Illya answered. Other agents thought Illya�s calm was impenetrable under fire, but Solo could always make out the effect an adrenaline rush had on his partner�s voice. The voice also told him he was indeed "fine." Solo was also well accustomed to the sound of his partners voice when he was injured and trying hard not to show it.
    "Did you find something?" He asked as he approached.
    "Hmm... Lots of somethings." As Solo came through the trees Illya shone his light over him quickly from head to toe.
    Solo turned his head and squinted at the light in his eyes, but did not complain. He knew it was Illya�s way of assuring himself that Solo was also unharmed. It saved him the trouble of having to ask.
    When Solo reached him Illya shone his light on the ground around his feet. It was littered with shell casings. Solo bent down and picked up several to examine under Illya�s light. He turned them over and held one up between them.
    "Thrush," he said with chagrin. He dropped the shells to the ground and took his communicator out of his pocket. "Open Channel D."
    Mr. Waverly answered immediately. "Mr. Solo, is there a problem?"
    "No Sir, but I�m fairly certain we are going to need a new car."

When Solo and Kuryakin arrived in London, the airport clock read 9:04 am. They met their local U.N.C.L.E. contact and drove out to meet the family of Clarence Mclain. He was an old man and grandfather to four young boys. He lived with his son, his son�s wife and their children. For thirty years he had tended gardens that belonged to others. Since he had retired and until two days ago, he had been lovingly tending only his own. The only witnesses of his disappearance were his two oldest grandsons. The oldest, Jeffrey, was nine, his brother, Micky, was seven. They had been playing in the yard when he called out to them. They looked his direction in time to see him lift his arm as though he were reaching for them. He had a look of confusion on his face. Then, Jeffrey said, "...he got blurrier and blurrier until he was gone."
    As the car pulled into the long asphalt driveway, Illya gazed out the window at the luxurious lawn and flowering garden. The man had certainly known his Rhododendrons. The house was large and had two stories. It was an old wooden building, parts of which had obviously been standing for 100 years or more. It was, however, far from run down. The Mclains had lived there for many years and had cared for it and the grounds with love and loyalty.
    On this day, what should have been a pleasant sight, left Illya feeling uneasy. Something wasn�t right. He didn�t voice his feelings but shifted uneasily in his seat. Solo noticed the movement, and when he saw the dark SUV parked in front of the house he cleared his throat. Illya looked at him grim faced. Solo frowned and pulled the car up short of the house so as not to draw attention from anyone inside.
    They got out of the car and drew their guns. As they approached the house they saw that the front door was not closed. Turning in separate directions they entered the yard and began to circle the house.
    Solo went to the left and found a low window that he could sneak up to. Peering in he saw no one. He was looking down a long hallway. He was about to turn away, when a dark haired, unshaven man walked out of one room and crossed the hall to another. He did not look towards the window, but he carried a gun, hanging loosely at his side. Moving away from the window Solo continued his search for a way inside.
 

Illya approached a large picture window on the opposite side of the house. He had to crawl on his belly to get close. He pulled himself up and leaned against the side of the house. Sitting under the window, he closed his eyes and listened. He heard crying, perhaps more than one voice and he heard footsteps walking away from the wall he leaned against.
    Cautiously he raised his head above the window sill. The room was large and furnished with a plush couch and two easy chairs. From the window Illya could see the dining area as well as the kitchen. He also saw the entire Mclain family, minus one grandfather. Mrs. Mclain and her four boys sat clutching each other on the couch, crying. Mr. Mclain was tied hand and foot. Illya could tell he had not been treated well. There were bruises starting to appear on his face and a small trickle of blood ran from his nose. There was no one else in the room. Kuryakin sat back down, thinking for only a second, then crawled away from the window towards the back of the house.

Solo found a window that was open in the rear of the house. It led to a room that was dark and closed off from the rest of the building. Slowly, and carefully he pushed the window open, knocked out the screen and squeezed in. He dropped to the floor and froze, listening.

Kuryakin stood against the outside of the building behind a tall bush that grew to the right of the back door. A gruff voice called out inside the house.
    "I�m goin� out!"
    A different voice answered him. "No, we were told to stay put and stay alert."
    "I�m just going to the yard, I�m sick of sittin� around waitin� for them to get here."
    "I�m tellin� you to stay in here!"
    "Yeah, O.K. and your the boss now right? I�ll have to remember that."
    The words sounded contrite but the footsteps grew louder and Illya saw the door knob turn. He froze in place. 

Solo heard voices moving away from the room he was listening in. He moved to the doorknob and tried the handle. It was locked, but from the inside, when he turned it he was rewarded with a quiet click. He opened the door a crack and looked out. He was in a room along the same hallway he had peered into earlier. At the end of the hall he could see sunlight and shadows moving. He heard a grumbling voice and the footsteps of a man pacing back and forth. Silently, he crept down the hall until he was outside the room where the pacer seemed to be complaining.
    "Damn fool... Where the hell are they?... It�s been hours..."
    As the door burst open Illya tensed for action. The man exited with a flourish, anger and sarcasm twisted his face. He took three steps and Illya moved behind him. The brute fell to the ground before the door finished closing. Reaching down with caution, Illya made certain the man was unconscious. Then he turned back to the door and quietly entered the house. Somewhere ahead of him he heard a shot. Giving up caution, he ran to the front of the building.
    Solo stepped boldly into the room and announced, "All right, hands over your head, your wait is over."
    The shocked thrushman didn�t obey. Instead his gun hand swept upward. Without hesitation, Solo fired his own weapon. Hearing running footfalls, he spun expecting to be set upon by more Thrush. Instead Illya burst into the room, gun raised. Both men instantly relaxed. Illya looked around and shook his head, his voice was utter calm. "Oh, Napoleon, that is very messy."
    Solo holstered his gun, and muttered an apology. Then he approached Mr. Mclain to untie him. Illya put away his own gun, looked at the frightened faces of Mrs. Mclain and her children and tried his hand at a charming, comforting smile. It may not have been effective in beguiling beautiful women, but to the Mclains, it was a most beautiful sight.
    "Open Channel D." Holding his communicator in his hand, Solo called Mr. Waverly.
    "Mr. Solo?" As usual his answer was prompt.
    "Sir," said Solo, "We�re going to need a clean up crew. Thrush has paid the Mclains a visit."
    Illya interrupted, "We have a pick up as well out back. My work is much neater, he will come to in a while."
    Solo rolled his eyes and continued, "Add a pick up to that request, Sir. Illya has a gift for the interrogation team."
    "Excellent work, Mr. Kuryakin!" Mr. Waverly almost sounded excited. "We may get to the bottom of this yet! Oh, I nearly forgot. You�re needed in Maine, gentlemen. A quaint little village called Lane�s End. Our London man will make your flight preparations. Carry on"
    Solo put the pen away and turned to speak with the battered and bruised Mr. Mclain. Mrs. Mclain took the children into the kitchen and Illya went outside to collect the "garbage" for "pick up".

Several hours later, the London division of U.N.C.L.E had removed all the signs of Thrush�s presence at the Mclain residence. The local police were stationed outside in case Thrush decided they needed to return and Solo and Kuryakin walked out and down the driveway to their rental car. They had learned nothing more from the Mclain�s than they had learned in Washita.
    Solo watched his somber partner walk around to the passenger side of the vehicle. To Solo he looked even more pensive than usual. "What are you mulling over. You look absolutely, heartbroken." He asked.
    Illya looked up at him, insulted, "Heartbroken? I do not!" When he saw Solo grinning at him he realized he was being teased and snorted in disapproval.  

    Solo chuckled and gave in, "O.K. O.K., but I know that little wrinkle in your forehead means you�re worried about something."
    Illya rubbed his forehead as he got in the car. "What wrinkle?" he said, frowning.
    Solo got in the drivers seat and turned on the car without saying anymore. They drove away from the house and Illya�s mood grew even darker as he stared out the window watching London pass by. Finally, Solo pointed at his partner and continued. "That wrinkle, right there. Now tell me what it is that you�re thinking."
    Illya sighed in resignation and turned to speak. "Just a feeling, Napoleon."
    "What sort of feeling?"
    "I don�t think Mr. Waverly is going to get the information he wants from that bird we sent him."
    Solo frowned and responded without conviction.  "What makes you think that. They certainly weren�t the brightest couple of birds we�ve dealt with, and you know how good the interrogation team�s new techniques are."
    "No, what I mean is, I don�t think he has the information Mr. Waverly wants. Were not learning anything from any of the people that we talk to, but Thrush is still pestering us everywhere we go. If there is no information, no trail for us to find why do they care that we are here?"
    "Maybe they don�t, maybe they�re just following us. We do have quite a reputation you know."
    "Hmmm... then how do you explain the Mclains? Why beat up Mr. Mclain? Why question them about their missing grandfather if they know where he is?"
    Solo was quiet, thinking. He had been wondering the same thing. "Illya," he said, "I don�t think Thrush knows anymore about these �vanishings� than we do."
    It was Illya�s turn to quietly sit and think. "Well, now you know what I was worrying about." Illya finally responded. "If it�s not Thrush making hundreds of normal, innocent citizens with nothing in common vanish into thin air, then who is doing it!?"

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