To catch a spy.

Now he felt totally alone even though he knew that the people from the Village were on his side. The question remained, was he on their side. He knew that the Musician was in the area of Slate�s map and that the location was just not being seen. Brainwashing would make it impossible for Slate to associate what was probably under his nose. It was obvious that Kuryakin couldn�t destroy the Musician otherwise he would already have done so. Solo had a dilemma, go to London and find the Musician�s base, order Slate to stand down and get another agent to cover the map area or find Kuryakin before the Burn notice was taken out of his hands.
    The decision was simple, Kuryakin might be the only person able to resist the Musician therefore Solo must try to convince him that U.N.C.L.E. was still on the side of good so that once again they could work as a team. He knew his location now as in the thin dawn mist he had seen him slip from the cover of the woods and run across country. Solo smiled, the cold driving rain had vanished to be replaced by a stifling heat unusual for England, Kuryakin hated this kind of weather and hopefully would be slowed down.

I need a cigarette, he thought, then scowed as he realised that one, lit and half smoked was still in his mouth. Once again he tried to look at the usually dim light and again pain shot through his temples. The shadows it cast reached out to grab him with menacing claws as giant cockroaches tore at his flesh.
    Slate moved whimpering across the floor and sat hunched with his back to the wall. Some form of sanity crept into his brain and he mumbled to himself to convince the small amount of sanity to stay. The empty cigarette packet crumpled in his hand and he thumped it hard on the rubbish strewn floor. I feel as if I need a cigarette yet I have smoked one after the other. I need a drink yet the bottle is empty after a few minutes. I am missing, needing something that I usually have� Somehow I am an addict. Brightly coloured lights escaped from cracks in the wallpaper and formed a vortex in the centre of the room as Slate tied his wrists to the brass bedstead. The desire to leave the room and head for what he knew would be his undoing was fast overcoming the diminishing sanity. One puff of magic mushrooms was not enough to cause this terrible need. Somewhere, someone has given me a something that I need more of. As monsters howled around the room Slate closed his eyes and waited for the agony of going cold turkey to pass.

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