The girl took his arm. "Illya dear," she said, "do you think we'll have time to make a quick trip to Bahia before the girls' plane arrives tomorrow night? There's two churches and a sixteenth century presbytery I'd love to take you to there."

The agent was looking at her aghast.

"Churches?" he said faintly. "Presbytery?"

"Why, yes," Coralie Simone said, tucking his hand under her arm and walking firmly away from the bar. "You must remember, after all, that we are the Daughters of America Missionary Emergency Service…”

But Illya Kuryakin had already pulled free and burst through the swing doors onto the field.

The plane, a glisten of stressed metal at the far end of the runway, was turning into the wind. "Napoleon!" he shouted, sprinting across the hot tarmac towards it.

"Napoleon! Wait for me, Napoleon!... I've changed my mind. Stop the plane - I want to come with you!... Napoleon…"