"It’s impossible," Hodder had paced the floor all night calculating. "He just can’t do it!"
    "Hodder, what are you talking about?" snapped Solo.
    "I’ve seen Illya remember, at times he could hardly stand. He was drinking to stop the pain. Twice he nearly passed out. He can’t do it!" He passed a hastily prepared map to Solo. "See, he’s up here in the roof. The core where the explosive will be set is, here. Five minutes to walk half a mile to the opening of the mine shaft. He can’t do it, he needs twenty minutes if not more. He’s got no intention of coming out."
    "Right, I want a full field backup we’re going into the mines to get him out."
    Waverly sighed, what was the use, it was always the same, one was missing the other would go in. Closeness among agents was not to be recommended. He looked carefully at Solo and the hope on his face. Then to Slate, yes, the same look.
    "Sir, please?"
    "You too, Mr Hodder? Oh, very well," he pushed a button on the console. "Make your teams ready."

"Jack Corner, answer little Bay Blue, Over."
    Nobody moved.
    "Jak Horner from Boy Bule, over."
The hand was slow and the message wrong.

"Don’t answer, it’s not Illya’s hand. Slate had begun to know Kuryakin’s hand which was always quick and flowing. This was different, Dwight perhaps. 

"Wait, I’m thinking," said Solo frowning. If this was Dwight, how had he leant the code? It had taken him weeks to learn.
    "Jack, wake up, an answer Boy blu over."
    "It could be Illya," said Hodder. "Mr Waverly said code could be forgotten if ill or under stress."
    "It’s very slow, if it is Illya he will have to prove it. He will know I can’t answer this mess.

Kuryakin stared hopelessly at his makeshift set, he wasn’t getting through. It was hard to think, his head swam and nausea gripped him. During the night Dwight had found him and the resulting fight had re-opened his shoulder wound, a steady trickle of blood dripped from the end of his fingers. He glanced over towards Dwight’s still form and sighed, he was too weak to hide the body and at any time it could be discovered together with the knowledge that someone had infiltrated THRUSH.
    What was wrong with the set? He tried again and slowly tapped the message.
    "Jak Hor…" What came next? What code was he meant to be using, G or was it B? He bit his lip in frustration, he couldn’t remember any code. He slumped against the wall as another wave of pain and dizziness overcame him. That’s it! Solo wouldn’t answer him because the hand was different, slow, painfully slow. He had to contact Solo, he needed backup to catch escaping THRUSH when the building went up and he had forgotten to give the position of the main doors. He though for a moment then smiled, Channel B, he remembered he was using that. Code A was simple yet would still take any code-breakers an hour to decipher. Solo would know.

"Jack Horner, this is Little Boy Blue. Forgot to remind you, tell Waverly change color of pills, remember? Blue waiting, over."
    "That’s it, my boy, you’ve done it!"
    "What code is that?" asked Slate. "What does he mean?"
    "That’s code A and a private joke, if you can call it that." Solo shuddered at the thought of the cyanide pills. "Blue, this is Jack, how are you feeling? Over."
    "Jack, feel good, slight run in with Dwight, no longer a bother, removed flight feathers, Blue, over."
    "Oh, Illya!" said Slate wincing. "He really enjoys his work, doesn’t he, Napoleon."
    They listened as Kuryakin told of the plan of attack and the location of the main doors. He told Solo to meet him at the end of the mineshaft to give him a lift home. They both knew he wouldn’t be there.

After removing Dwight’s brown overcoat, Kuryakin slowly climbed down from his hiding place. The corridor seemed miles long, every footstep filled with pain. The walls moved at weird angles as dizziness overcame him. This mission depended on him — no matter what he must get there. He rounded a corner and opened the large steel door that blocked his path. The flashing lights from the many consoles and the many brown uniformed personnel told him that this was the core of THRUSH. The room moved — lights enticed him to sleep. He slowly walked through the men and women, too busy with their specialised jobs to notice a stranger. He planted his homemade bomb where it would do the most damage, right under the roof supports and against a large vat of chemicals.
Sirens screamed their warning — the loudspeaker voiced his fear — U.N.C.L.E. agent in the building! He knew they must have found Dwight. Amid confusion Kuryakin slowly walked out into the corridor and headed towards the mine. Even though he knew he wouldn’t make it the instinct to survive had taken over. One glance at his watch pushed him on, four minutes to detonation.
    Sleep beckoned him yet he stumbled on, hardly seeing; incoherent words sprang from his mouth. He stopped briefly to steady his vision. There was no sign of the end of the corridor, miles to go and three minutes to do it.
    A faint cry left his lips; hopelessness crept its way through him. Sleep, painless sleep was all he cared about now. He leaned on the wall and smiled as his blurring mind played another trick, the sound of an U.N.C.L.E. special.
    The corridor suddenly became dark and cold. He slowly slid down the wall and sat as the seconds ticked by.
    "It was good, Napoleon."

    "Thought you’d be sleeping, lazy boy."
    Kuryakin felt a sharp pain and then all pain began to fade, morphine. He half opened his eyes and looked up at the face of Solo.
    "Knew you’d get yourself into a pickle. Thought I’d better come and see what was keeping you."
    "Took your time, as usual."

They emerged from the mine just as half the rock face exploded.
    "Nice," said Hodder.
    "Very nice," added Slate.
    "Clever Russian." said Solo holding up Kuryakin. For a minute the Russian's eyes opened fully and he removed his hand from his pocket and held it up.
    "I have a leak," he said.

END