"I can look after myself, sir."
"Yes. And incidentally, how was it that those men managed to get into your apartment in the first place? Is there something wrong with the alarm system on your terrace?"
Solo felt his face flush and fought to control it. He had personally disconnected the terrace alarms. But he had thought it would be a normal evening, that Rachel might step outside for some air, and he didn't want alarms going off all over the place and scaring her.
Mr. Waverly went damningly on. "This isn't the first time you've disconnected your alarm system, is it, Mr. Solo?
"No, sir," he admitted.
"But it will be the last."
"Yes, sir." He stared hard at his hands, taking the chastisement as he had to take it. He had been off base. But Mr. Waverly wouldn't belabor the point.
As predicted, Waverly changed the subject abruptly. "This is an insidious thing. I'm assigning Mr. Kuryakin to the case. In the meantime, you'll stay inside the building - night and day. Whoever it is, he's declared all-out war on us. We won't have an organization if our agents are shot down in the street one by one." He admitted his own fears. "I'm deeply concerned about this turn of events. It has never happened before, and I don't like it."
"Clever enough idea," Illya put in. "But the methods seem too unsophisticated for Thrush."
"I agree," Waverly said. "From the dramatic way he announced his supposed first victim, I'd say we're dealing with a madman."
"Jolly," Solo muttered.
"I'll find your nemesis for you, Napoleon," Illya reassured him. "I'll start by tracing this charm."
"Then make it fast," Solo said. "I've never liked being caged. And remember the message on the back of the charm. The line for assassination forms right behind me, Illya."
Illya gazed down at him dourly, and left the room, carrying the tiny coffin with him.
Solo prepared to rise, too. "Well, if I've had your final word, Mr. Waverly, I may as well find a bed. Tomorrow I can start on some desk work - perhaps as contact or research director for an active agent."
"No. I don't want you on anything vital in Section Two. As a matter of fact, I don't want you in Section Two at all. For your own safety, I prefer to have you as far away from your normal base as possible."
Solo fought down his first flare of protest as he realized the implications of what his Chief had said. "I see. In case there's a spy in the ointment."
"It's a possibility. Someone had to know your whereabouts in order to make those attacks possible. So to throw them off, I intend to move you out of their reach. How, I don't know, but I'll think about it. Now you get some sleep. Let me do the worrying."
Solo stood up, a smile playing about his mouth. "I must say, that order is unusual. You'd better be careful, sir, or you'll become a father image."
---
The room was small and shabby. The old parchment-shaded lamp cast a gloomy yellow light in a puddle on the rug, and sent fingers of illumination onto the faded wall paper. The furniture was overstuffed and ragged, giving a sure sense that a body settling down in it would produce puffs of dust from its depths. On the tables, on the chairs, on the floor, and everywhere, were stacked books. Old and new, red, green, and brown, they leaned precariously. There was no dust on them. They were well loved.
Louie, the tall killer, and Robard, the short heavy fighter, stood silently in the dim light, watching the old man stalk about before them. Professor Adams pounded his feet down stiff-legged as he paced, hands flapping angrily at his sides. He was a frail man, white haired and wrinkled although he was only fifty-four years old. He had a perpetual squint from reading, and when he focused his eyes they never really focused because there was a glint in them that warned of madness.
Adams stopped his stalking to stand near a leggy end table, his hands resting on some books stacked there. He confronted the two men with his maniacal eyes. "I simply cannot believe that you missed a second time! You made me look foolish. Do you understand? Foolish! Because I sent that coffin and Solo isn't dead! You robbed me of my sting. How could you have failed?"
Louie muttered, "He's fast, Professor Adams."
A thin, bumpy finger pointed at Louis from wrinkled hand. "When I hired you, you assured me you knew your business. That you were in top form."
Robard stepped closer to Louie. "That guy's got reflexes we never heard of; hasn't he, Louie?"
"I didn't lead you to believe it would be easy," Adams shouted. "But you took a third of my life's savings on the promise you could handle it." He gestured violently about the room. "I never had much to call my own, but now see - now see! I live in a slum because of your high price!" His voice was creaking with rage, and he drew a long breath, caressing his books, calming himself. "You say he's gone to ground inside U.N.C.L.E. How long will he stay there is the question."
"After what I've seen of him," Robard said, "I'd say not long. He won't like being shut up with nothing to do."
"It doesn't matter anyway." Adams smiled. "I have eyes that reach right inside U.N.C.L.E. Mr. Waverly may think he's brought his lamb into the fold, but the wolf is in the fold, too." His laugh was short and sharp, like a sneeze. "Poor little killer Solo. He doesn't know that every corner in the building can be a deathtrap if I give the word." The laughter drained from his face, leaving it white and splotched. "I want that man; do you understand? I want him to taste blood. I want him dead! All the killers - dead. And Solo first."
Louie caught Robard's attention and shrugged, whirling one finger to indicate he thought Adams was crazy.
Robard asked, "If you feel that way about Solo, what do you have in mind for Louie and me after we finish with him?"
"You two?" Adams sneezed out another laugh. "You're trembling with that question? You're not even in Solo's class! Napoleon Solo is a highly intelligent, capable man, trained and honed in the arts of destruction. He chose his way. A man of potential, turned bad. You two are no threat to the world - only to the gutter."
Robard inched forward, tense and angry, but Louie grabbed his coattail to pull him back. "Forget it, Robard," Louie said. "We're getting paid for the insults, too." As Robard halted, Louie shifted his to Adams. "If you want Solo that bad, why don't you use your contact inside the building and get it over with?"
"I might. I might." Adams smiled. "For the moment I enjoy visualizing him as he walks the corridors thinking he's safe, and all the time there's a shadow creeping behind him. And I've had second thoughts. I may need him alive for a little while to help me. Once I've killed four or five U.N.C.L.E. agents, I can go to Thrush and prove how easy it is to dismember their enemy by simple surprise assassination. Every agent they have. I can command anything I want of Thrush. Don't you see the perfect beauty of that picture?"
"Tell us what to do and we'll do it," Robard said between his teeth. "But don't ask us to conjure up visions."
"Don't worry. I'll tell you what to do every step of the way. I'm going to accomplish two things at once here. That is the sign of true genius. I'm going to rid the world of a killer and also prove to Thrush what fools they were to underestimate me. They were fools, you know. Giving me bits and pieces of things to work on and never anything spectacular."