Illya was beginning to boil. Outwardly, his face was a mask of calm determination, but inwardly, his frustration was mounting. He had been on his back in U.N.C.L.E.’s Medical Section for thirty two hours. He had awakened there twenty six hours ago, instantly remembering the eerie vanishing of his partner and friend.
   Since then, he had been growing more and more convinced of the incompetence of the people assigned the task of locating Napoleon’s homing signal. Illya knew with certainty that the tiny device was still securely encased in Solo’s tooth. Even if his partner was dead, buried, burned or lying at the bottom of the ocean, the signal should be coming in clearly. It would require extremely powerful shielding to hide the signal and Illya was convinced that if he could get his hands on the receiver he could sift through any interference and find Napoleon quickly.
   Unfortunately, the doctors and Mr. Waverly were still united against him, and without Napoleon’s assistance he had been unable to connive his way out of medical.
   There was a call from outside his room, and finally, the nurse left him alone and he heard her leave the outer room. Holding his bandaged right shoulder with his left hand, he painfully pulled himself to a sitting position. His blue eyes creased and he grimaced.
   He paused a moment gathering his strength and smoothing the creases from his face. Holding his breath, he slid slowly off the bed and stood on the ground, swaying slightly. Lights danced before his eyes and he paused again, waiting for them to fade.
   After a moment he took a cautious step forward. A small smile curved his mouth when he realized he did have enough strength to continue. With increased confidence, he walked to the door and peeked out. The outer room was quiet, there was no sign of the doctor or the duty nurse. He crept past the nurses station and listened. He could hear voices speaking in one of the other treatment rooms. He wondered briefly who was under their care, but quickly thanked whoever it was for the distraction and walked out the door and down the empty hallway. There was a closet at the end of the hall that he had used before. Opening the door quickly, he ducked inside when he heard voices coming from further down the hall.
   On a shelf in the back of the small, musty room was a stack of lab coats. Pulling one on over his bare back was painful. He wanted to sit and rest before venturing out into the hall again, but decided to wait until he made it to his office. There he would put on his own clothes and rest sitting at his desk where he could make some phone calls.

Two hours later, Mr. Waverly found him sitting at his desk studying a long sheet of paper that had just been delivered from the Communications Section.
   Mr. Waverly didn’t knock, he didn’t yell or reprimand, he didn’t even question how Illya had escaped the doctor. He simply pushed open the door and stood puffing smoke in the doorway. Illya heard him enter, expecting an argument. When none came, he looked up from his work.
   "Well," questioned Waverly, "Have you found anything?"
   Peering over his glasses, Illya cleared his throat and answered. "Yes, Sir, we have." Illya cursed the weak sound of his voice, but Waverly did not seem to notice.
   Bushy eyebrows arched on Waverly’s face and he questioned again. "Oh? That is not what they say in the radio room."
   "Sir, the signal is there, loud and clear. It only took a little tweaking to find it."
   "And where did you find it."
   Illya blanched. He avoided the answer. "It has to be right, Sir, I can’t find any discrepancies that would lead me to any other conclusion."
   "Where, Mr. Kuryakin?"
   With a worn out sigh, Illya quietly said, "It’s in the Volcano. In Mt. Varsaiy, just as they said."
   "Mr. Kuryakin, I’m sure that everyone in the lab has assured you that it is simply impossible."
   "Why, Sir? Why is it impossible? A week ago I would have said that it was impossible for a man to vanish into thin air." Illya worked hard to keep the weariness and pain out of his voice. He spoke calmly, determined to convince Waverly that he was fit and in his right mind. "Let me go and have a look, just an external survey of the mountain."
   Waverly, narrowed his eyes, puffing smoke.
   With practiced nonchalance, Illya continued, "Someone has to go anyway, we need to know what the signal is and how it is working so well in the middle of an active volcano, even if it is not Napoleon’s tooth." He watched as his superior pondered. Inside, Illya was tired and anxious, outside he displayed a perfect picture of calm competence.
   Finally, Waverly straightened and pulled the pipe from his mouth. He spoke with no trepidation.
       "Very well, Mr. Kuryakin, assemble a team, and," he paused slightly, "if you can stand up from that chair and walk down the hall without fainting dead away, I will allow you to go with them." When he finished, he folded his arms across his chest, replaced the pipe and smiled, certain that he had made the right move.
   Illya’s eyes widened and he leaned back from the edge of his chair, where he had been sitting. He dare not show his own uncertainty, but let out a sigh before rising to his feet. He clenched his fist against the shaking and the pain in his chest and arm, and with an extraordinary, outward confidence marched out of the room and down the hall.
   Waverly watched in wide-mouthed disbelief.

Bruno Van Buren had never left Zane Druthers' side. After the initial shock, he stood silently waiting for the others to finish. Order was barely kept by the three guards that surrounded Druthers. One at a time each man spoke, pleading his or her case. Most spoke in terms of money and power, a few called upon his duty to the human race or the goodness of his heart, but Bruno stood stoically beside him and waited.
   Finally, the room grew quiet. When it seemed that no one else would speak Druthers began to rise to his feet. Bruno stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Leaning over he quietly spoke only to the Doctor.
   "I’ll double it," was all he said, and then he stood.
   Druthers’ eyes grew wide and he smiled with delight while the others began to murmur and speak to each other. Druthers stood from his chair and took Bruno’s arm, guiding him out of the room. The three guards, carefully watching the crowd, followed them through the door and locked it.
   Solo returned to the room in time to see Bruno lean over Druthers and watch them walk out. He pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest. The room was starting to come back to life, when the pale, greasy haired, young man entered from the wide double doors with a few armed guards of his own. He still seemed timid and uncertain as he spoke.
   "Please, everyone, come with me. It’s time to return to your rooms."
   Indignantly, Adeem Kramaq spoke out. "What happens now? Where are we going? Get Druthers back here!" The others in the room chorused their agreement.
   Matthew Sparks sauntered to the front of the room, "What about you, little man? How much money does it take to buy you?"
   As Solo watched, the room grew loud. Everyone there was a leader, they all expected to be heard and obeyed, not herded back and forth or cast aside as Druthers had done. "Pale and Shy" was out of his league. He stepped behind the menacing guards and let them roughly push the crowd out the door, up the stairs and down the hall. Each was deposited in a room that looked just like the one Solo had recently awaken in.
   Adeem Kramaq put up a fight, when they came to his room and Solo used the scuffle to quietly disappear again. Stepping into an open room he held the door almost closed and waited for the hall to grow empty and quiet.
   When the last of the "guests" was locked away, Solo’s absence was surprisingly unnoticed. The gunmen walked back up the hall, past Solo and down the stairs the way they had come. Solo stepped out of the room and followed the little man down the hall in the opposite direction.
   The man walked to an elevator and stepped in. Solo stood back until the doors closed. Then he watched the blinking lights above the doors, the car stopped two floors down and went no further.
   Solo pressed a button, calling the elevator car back to his level, and rode it down two floors as well. He walked up and down several halls trying doors and peering in any available windows. He was determined to find the man with the keys. There were too many doors to pick them all, even if Illya were there to help him. Finally, he reached a familiar hallway and peered into the same room he had met Miss Brandon in earlier. She was there still, bending over a computer and speaking in hushed tones to the very man Solo was seeking.
   He silently snuck into the room, the sounds of machinery hid his footsteps. Coming up behind his prey he raised his arms to grab him around the neck.
   Gilda looked up at the last second and squealed with surprise. "Aahh!" It was too late, Solo had his man by the throat. As the little man gurgled in fear, Gilda reached out to Solo. "Oh! Mister Solo, please, stop! There’s no need for that. David is helping me!"
   Solo smoothly released David and spun him around. He was easy to hold, immobilized.
   "You... I... I..." David stuttered.
   "You’re certain you trust him, Miss Brandon?"
   "Oh yes, Mr. Solo. He’s my son! Please, let him go."
   Solo released the young man, dropping his hands to his sides. "Good, than you’ll give me those keys."
   "Uhh... Um... Of course... Uh, the keys?" David fumbled in his pockets, but finally came up with a small ring of keys.
   "Good man." He said with a smile that instantly helped David to relax. "And how is your work coming Miss Brandon?"
   "Oh, were ready!" She spoke with giddy excitement.
   "Excellent, you two find anyone else that’s coming along and head for the V-kar. Fire it up and be ready to leave."
   "What about the guards?" Gilda interrupted him.
   David answered for him. "He’s called them all to him." He looked at Solo and explained. "Dr. Druthers is a paranoid man, brilliant, but paranoid and foolish. He wants all six of his hired guns around him tonight!"
   "Good, it makes things much easier for us, doesn’t it." He smiled mischievously. "Get going now. If I’m not there in thirty minutes, blow the V.E.T.I. and leave without me. Do you understand?"
   Gilda looked for a moment as though she would protest, then she sighed and nodded her head.
   Solo nodded back at them with a look that conveyed his confidence and determination, then he spun on his heels and headed back for the dignitaries.

Solo unlocked each door, he only hesitated briefly at a few of them, wondering what kind of trouble he could save the world if a few of these ‘dignitaries’ never showed up again. In the end he had twenty confused but anxious followers as he made his way through the labyrinth-like hallways. It took some time, but eventually they entered a humungous room that reminded Solo of an airplane hanger. To the left, the tall V-kar towered as it rumbled to life. The rear of the vehicle was open and as the group climbed the ramp the room was filled with an ear piercing squall.
   From the top of the ramp Gilda Brandon called down to Solo. "Mr. Solo, the alarm! What do we do?" He could tell she was starting to lose the feeling of excitement that kept her from trembling with fear.
   "Will this explosion keep us from getting out?" he asked, purposefully staying calm and slowly making his way up the incline behind the others.
   "Not in the V-kar, nothing can stop it." She said with pride.
   "Then blow it and let’s go!" he smiled and touched her elbow as though he were suggesting tea with lunch.
   She looked upset and confused, uncertain how to continue. "What about Dr. Druthers, and the other men with him?"
   Solo frowned, but understood. "Is there a radio on this thing? Can we call him?"
   "Not a radio exactly, but we can contact his control room I think."
   Walking past the room where thirty or more people were strapping into large cushioned seats, Solo continued. "Call him then, we’ll give him a chance to join us. But only if he is here in ten minutes, I don’t want to give him a chance to stop the explosion."
   "Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Solo, He can’t stop it! I’m sure of that." She turned to enter the bridge of the V-kar, but stopped and spoke again. "Thank you, Mr. Solo." She smiled, her confidence returning, and left to make the call.

Solo turned to the room lined with rows and rows of high backed chairs. "All right now, Ladies and gentlemen. Please, fasten your seat belts and return your tray tables to their upright and locked positions. Extinguish all cigarettes and stow your bags under the seats in front of you as we prepare for take off."
   No one was listening to Solo, but they did strap themselves in tight, when, with a blast that shook their bones, the V-kar leapt into the air and came down with tremendous force.

 Dr. Druthers was irate. He grasped the counter in front of him and trembled, staring at the view screen before him. It showed the teary eyed face of Gilda Brandon, as she pleaded with him to come to the V-kar at once.
   With his face turning red he screamed at her. "How dare you! You can’t stop me now! You’ll never get out of here alive!"
   Behind him Bruno Van Buren was quickly losing the smug, confidence he had been enjoying. He silently berated himself for not keeping a closer eye on Solo. He grasped Druthers' chair and spun him around to face him. "You do have your people under control, don’t you?" Bruno’s anger was much more dangerous. It frightened Druthers out of his own.
   "I...I..." Druthers stammered. Then grew sure of himself again. "I can stop her. I know it. The V-kar can be controlled from here." He turned back to his controls and dove furiously into his work.
   On the screen, Miss. Brandon’s eyes grew wide. She turned to her son. "David, the override! Did you disable it?"
   David sucked in a breath behind her. His voice was barely audible over the speakers. "No... It will take some time!" He jumped from his seat and ran out of the range of the screen.
   Bruno stood again with a smirk growing on his face. He’d beat Solo yet. And take Druthers and his molecule machine back to Thrush.
   On the screen, completely ignored, with tears running down her face, Gilda Brandon pulled out a small remote control device and pressed in a short sequence of numbers.

A warm tropical breeze blew through the camp Illya and his small group of scientists had set up at the base of the Volcano. Mt. Varsaiy poked its head up from the waters of the Pacific Ocean and formed a tiny island. With its volcano dormant for many centuries, the island had developed lush vegetation and inviting beaches. Its small size and "off-the-beaten-path" location, had protected it from the ravages of man.
   Illya studied his computer readouts and adjusted settings on his satellite hook-up. Around him, palm trees waved, birds called in the distance, insects buzzed, and small animals, displaced by man’s sudden arrival, peered through the brush at his feet. Normally, Kuryakin may have taken the time to breath the fresh air, view the beautiful scenery, and silently daydreaming about his cold, snowy homeland. Now, his attention was completely engrossed in his work.
   The quiet beeping of his communicator pen jogged him to attention. Reaching into the pocket of his white lab coat, he pulled out his pen and opened the frequency.
   "Open Channel D," he said distractedly.
   "Your report, Mr. Kuryakin, is over due," came Waverly’s instant and aggravated response.
   A rumbling tremor in the ground around him interrupted their conversation before Kuryakin could respond.
   Illya’s brow furrowed as he steadied himself. When the trembling stopped he held up the pen again. "Sir, I think something is happening here..."
   He never finished.

Seconds after the tremor had passed, the ground beneath his feet shifted horribly, throwing him to his back. This time the shaking didn’t stop. Illya heard voices yelling above the roar of the quake, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Scrambling to his feet he reached out to the table for security.
   Another loud roar shook trees and small fissures began to appear in the earth around him. As he grappled with the table he lost his grip on the pen communicator he had been holding and it tumbled away, out of sight. For an instant he looked at the equipment on the table before him and considered how to save it. As the table collapsed in front of him, he impulsively grabbed for the small tracking device.
   The shaking intensified as his fingers closed around the device and he fell backwards, rolling down an ever increasing incline that had not existed minutes before.
   Rolling in the opposite direction his communicator beeped incessantly as it disappeared into a deep, dark opening in the earth.

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