Solo finished up. "So it's clear to me that I have to make the next move myself, sir. You don't go fishing by hiding and expecting the fish to jump ashore. You dangle bait."

Kuryakin finally spoke. "I agree with Napoleon, sir. Our tries at finding the source of gold could run on for weeks. There's no guarantee that the gold was even purchased. It might have been melted down from old jewelry."

Waverly glanced up, confronting his young agent with the blunt question, "And you want to become the bait, Mr. Solo?"

"Good, juicy bait," Solo said.

"Then here is a surprise for you both." Waverly laid down his pipe. "I agree. This situation is intolerable, so you may as well put an end to it - one way or another."

Solo swallowed hard, acknowledging the threat Waverly had implied.

"Besides, gentlemen, something else has come up. I received a communication - unbelievable really, but disturbing." He opened the folder that rested before him,

drew out a piece of paper, and sent it around to them. Solo picked it up. It was ordinary, dime-store stationery, and on it was printed in big, misshapen letters, Dear Alexander Waverly: By the time you read this the great grain bowls of the world will be harboring maggots. Operation Breadbasket will be underway. Happy hunger. Thrush.

"That's a ridiculous piece of writing," Solo said.

"I agree again," Waverly answered. "Perfectly ridiculous. I gather I am supposed to believe that Thrush would actually send such a warning of their plans."

"You don't, of course," Illya said.

"No. But aside from that, I have an idea that this note is the work of the maniac who is after Mr. Solo. The grandiose play, the melodramatics, are the product of the same mind. However, on the chance that it is genuine and Thrush is up to something called Operation Breadbasket, I'm going to need you, Mr. Solo - need you active and in the field. I can't have you working as a fill-in for sick file clerks any longer. That's why I'm going along with your demands to get out and confront your assassins. I'm reluctant to admit it, but it's even beginning to paralyze me."

"How do you mean, sir?" Solo asked.

"I hesitate to send any agent out of this building, for any reason, when I know that anyone he passes in the street may be an assassin. I even worry about you, Mr. Kuryakin, when you go home at night."

Illya answered firmly, "But he made it very clear that Napoleon is his first target."

"Yes," Mr. Waverly said. "That's the only thing that makes my position tenable at all. This thing must be stopped."

Illya brought up all of their worst doubts. "And if it's a new Thrush method? Official Thrush policy?"

"For the sake of U.N.C.L.E., we must hope it isn't."

Solo said, "That's why I want to take this in my own hands, sir, and find out what's behind it."

"I've already given my consent to that."

Solo sighed, gratified.

"But I do insist that you have a bodyguard with you at all times. When I need you, I want you alive."

"A bodyguard of my choice?" Solo asked.

"If you prefer it that way."

"I choose Illya," Solo said. "Around the clock."

"Not even with time off for good behavior?" Illya protested, but he was clearly pleased.

"You two set a plan, then." Waverly considered the matter settled and was already clearing away the loose ends. "If it makes any sense, I'll authorize it. We must let it be known that you're going outside, of course."

"Everyone must know," Illya agreed. "Not even juicy bait like Napoleon can catch fish in an empty pond. And if there is a spy among us he'll have to know enough details to make the assassins jump."

Waverly nodded. "I'll spread the word by the office grapevine. It works when I don't want it to, so for a change I'll put it to use for myself." He glanced up once more, stuck the unlit pipe in his mouth, and smiled. "I imagine everyone concerned will be greatly relieved to know the bear has quit stalking our halls."

Solo laughed out loud. He felt a man again. His gun waited his command under his arm, he had a plan to work out, and the prospect of danger and victory on whatever dark street his assassin chose to stand and. fight.

Chapter 5

"Never Insult a Neanderthal"

SOLO AND ILLYA cruised out and far away from the U.N.C.L.E. garage, Solo at the wheel of the hard-top sedan. It was already dark on the streets and the motor hardly dented the quiet. They had chosen the late hour to give themselves an edge. Fewer pedestrians and less traffic meant more chance of spotting a shadower, more chance of picking out a killer.

The plan was set. The people inside U.N.C.L.E. had been surprised when the rumors started circulating about the plan, but they had happily circulated them anyway. Usually rumors came in scatterings of bits and pieces, but this one was detailed. Some clerks had been reluctant to pass it on, feeling they knew too much about a Section Two operation. But they had passed it on, surrendering to the human failing.

Solo, wheeled the car into the first official turn, heading down a dim side street. The plan was simple. He and Illya would drive the streets slowly, keeping to little-used ways that would give them the least congestion. The route was carefully chosen, and along that route were ten checkpoints, each a mile apart, where U.N.C.L.E. agents waited to record their passing, check the street behind them, and give assistance if an attack developed.

They were well away from Headquarters in a part of the city Solo didn't know very well. It was the right part for their purpose. The route would take them in a large circle, and then they would start over again.

Solo drove with his hands loose on the wheel, his eyes moving constantly from the road to the rearview mirror, to the side mirror, and on to check alleyways and windows. Illya did the same. But the car droned for twenty minutes and nothing happened.

Finally Illya said, "We were certainly right. We chose nicely deserted streets."

Solo smiled at his bodyguard. "Bombs are messy, and if any are to be thrown at us, I don't want bystanders getting cut up."

Illya straightened himself on the seat after peering out the back window. "Our route is known, our car is known - they should make their move pretty soon."

"I wish they would."

"Nervous?"

"It could be called that," Solo admitted, moving his hands on the wheel to wipe off some of the sweat on his palms. "There's no reason for them to wait for the attack until the second time around. They know we're here, and they know why."

"They also know it's a trap," Illya said encouragingly. "The point is, do they want you badly enough to take the chance?"

"No. The point is, I want them."

"Right. But remember, if anything happens, stay on the planned route so we'll be in shouting distance of our backstops."

"Just be a good little bodyguard and forget the back-seat driving, okay?"

---

U.N.C.L.E. agent Harry Archer, who a few days before had gotten lucky and discovered the lab where Dundee did his business, stood alone in the dark alley. He was officially Checkpoint Eight. The alley made him nervous. Not for himself, but for Solo. He hadn't understood the reasoning behind sending Solo out on deserted streets to bring a killer out of hiding. He liked Solo - Kuryakin, too. What happened to one of them would happen to the other; a bunched target was easy to hit.