Rated: PG

I stroll across the well kept lawn, taking the opportunity to check out the scene. It is very pretty. Very green. Freshly painted buildings and well scrubbed students with 'individualistic' jeans and t-shirts worn as the uniform of their supposed diversity. Abstract modern sculpture surrounded by geometric Victorian flower beds. Almost a movie-set parody of the campuses I have known.

This section of the campus is quiet. A few young women are skating around the parking lot, and one affectionate couple  at the far end of the lawn is pretending to study between kisses, but otherwise the area is nearly empty. In this section, only one man sits reading on the bench in front of the Sciences building.

"Dr. Allen Decker?" I find it improbable that the middle aged man in faded denim with his graying hair pulled back in a pony-tail is the world-renowned scholar I have come  300 miles to meet, but there is no other likely candidate visible.

"Dr. Kuryakin?" The man gives me a through if quick inspection, but his face indicates nothing of his conclusions. Merely a relaxed and general good humor.

"Yes." I hold out my hand.

He shakes it firmly. "Allen. Please."

"Illya Nickovetch." I glance casually at the book he was reading. Something rather serious looking in German. "My apologies for being late. There was an accident on the road behind me."

"Late?" He looks up at the clock tower over at the administration building. "It's 10:45. That's early by beach time."

"I am still getting used to American ways."

He smiles. "Not sure you'll find any here - at least not that Lompoc crew would claim.They'll tell you most of our students are majoring in surfing. Not true." After a moment, he adds, "Well, not entirely true. Although we do have our share of beach bums." He nods to indicate the direction, then heads off  across the lawn at a rapid pace.  "Don't let that spook you. Whatever you're into is cool here. This is a pretty eclectic campus, so if you hang around you're bound to fit in somewhere. I have an office up there...," which by his gesture I assume means the Sciences building, "but the suits have this weird thing about locking up at night. So we all moved over to the lab annex."

Waving me to follow, he takes off down the path that winds behind a screen of oleander bushes. I follow him past several temporary structures set on a bare lot in what I had assumed was a construction area. A few cars are scattered on the hard dirt at seeming random.

"More space here," he continues, "and housekeeping doesn't bitch at us about the espresso machine. Not to mention we all get parking right at the door."

He strides up to a low concrete block building with air conditioners  wedged in the few  un-boarded-up windows, raps twice on the door, then lets himself in without awaiting an answer.

A young Asian man in an unbuttoned shirt and battered shorts looks up from the lab bench where he is working on some unexplained complication of wires and switches. "This your Russian dude?"

"Yep."

"Righteous!" The young man spins twice in his chair before sending it gliding to our side of the room. "Welcome to the Mad-house. I'm George Tomashi. His TA.  Let me show you our lab."

Reaching past us, he taps a rapid series of keystrokes that set different patterns of colored lines dancing on the dozens of monitors positioned at seeming random about the room.

Decker gazes approvingly at the display. "We basically study the rules of nothing."

"'Cause," the younger man adds enthusiastically. "Nothing in this world makes sense."

"Uncertainty?" I question.

"No." Tomashi answers. "Every *thing*  is certain in chaos physics."

Decker adds, "Just not in *this* world."

"It's a matter of boundaries." Tomashi hits the keys,and the shifting lines snap into near-parallel formation. "Given enough space, the pattern forms." He hits another, and the lines fall apart at seeming random. "Compress the data so it interacts. Chaos."

I nod. "Or only apparent chaos."

"Exactly." The young man spins his chair again, clearly delighted at my comprehension.

"Not everyone agrees with that, of course." Decker wanders over to the bench and begins poking at the bundle of wires there.

I look closely at equation on the screen. "Oh, I think I have experience with... incomplete patterns. Pick the right data? The whole sequence is clear. Too little ...or too much.... and the information is distorted beyond observation."

"But still there." Another keypunch and  order is restored, although the outline is altered.

"Yes." I agree. "The actual pattern would still exist. Only our understanding would have failed."

"So totally true." Tomashi suddenly stands and holds out his hand. "I was told your background  was in quantum physics?"

"Yes." I say, surprised at the sudden formality. Still, to respond would seem the proper thing to so. "Although I fear I am many years out of date. I was.... distracted."

"*Government* job, eh?" The words come with a look of cynical commiseration. "We all damn sure know how that goes. And yes, I  dig, 'you are not inclined to talk about it at this time'." He drops back into his chair.  "Nothing like that around here."

Decker nods his agreement. "Our work here is pure theory."

I consider the lab set up. For all its apparent squalor, the equipment is both modern and extensive. Someone is putting money into this operation. "How do you manage?" I ask carefully.

"Money wise?" Decker shrugs. " It's tight. You'd get a better salary almost anywhere else." He looks at  his assistant, who sighs theatrically in agreement. "But our people think the work is worth it."

"Then I do not know if you would find an obsolete Russian worth the investment."

He turns suddenly serious. "Dr. Kuryakin," he replies. "If you are willing to take over Freshman lab - you are priceless."

As I consider my reply, a young lady bursts suddenly from the back room. "Dr. Decker?"

"What?"

She holds out a plastic handset. "Phone call."

Decker takes it and turns aside slightly. Perhaps I should not listen, but...old habits die hard. "Excuse me..Yes? She did? Well then, why didn't they...? OK. OK! I'm coming over. Just tell her to hang tough until I get there."

Chapter Forty-One: I'd Do It All Over Again

Rated: PG-13

"Thank you, George."

"De nada." The young TA answers as he guides me to the library through another maze of temporary structures. "At least, not if we have a chance of getting you down here on a regular basis. I know the salary sort of sucks compared to the cities, but our neighborhoods are way better. We do have the climate. And besides, you can always consult up around the base."

"That is something I will have to consider." I nod politely. "Please, give Dr. Decker my best wishes for his daughter, and tell him I will call within the week."

"Sure thing."

At the sight of the library, George spins and leaves me on my own. I check my watch. It is early, but..? I press the *1 buttons on my new phone.

Two rings and his voice answers. "Yes?"

"Napoleon?" He sounds rather put out. Perhaps I should have waited?

"Illya." His tone lightens. "Don't tell me. You've fallen in love with the lab and you're staying late."

"Actually, today I am finished early. Although if you are busy....?"

"Not at all." There is a faint clatter, perhaps the sound of a chair pushing back. "We were just finishing lunch.  I'll be right by."

*************

The benches built into the library entranceway provide an acceptable view and solid cover from three sides. The perfect place to wait. Also, there is a vending machine nearby holding copies of the campus paper. Always a useful source of data. I am checking the 'speakers and activities' list when a squeal of tires announces Napoleon's arrival.

I get in quickly. No sense standing still longer then required.

Presumedly Napoleon agrees. He pulls back out into traffic as soon as my door is closed. Then again, knowing Napasha...perhaps it is just his natural tendency to disregard the speed limits.

"How was your meeting?" he asks.

"All considered, very good." Carefully fastening my seat belt, I move the shoulder strap away from my holster. "Merely somewhat shorter then I might have wished." The covered cups are back in their holder. I heft mine. Full. Most considerate. I take a deep sip. Still hot. Good coffee, too. I give Napasha an appreciative smile before asking "Your's?"

"The fish was wonderful," Napoleon shrugs, "but the deal was fishy. The last time I heard a man use that many adjectives with that few nouns, I ended up taking a scenic tour of Korea."

"My sympathy."

"One bad interview is not a problem." Napasha accelerates up the ramp to pull into traffic just in front of a large delivery truck. "If you like Decker's program we can definitely stay here. Mark and David were right about the recruiters. Three more calls today. Plus whatever came in as messages. I'm bound to find some company I can tolerate. But as you left early I assume...."

"No," I answer carefully. "Dr. Decker was very kind, and his Mad-house is ... interesting. It is merely that he had to go and pick his daughter up from school. An earache, I believe."

"Poor kid." A sharp honk, and the beige sedan beside us moves over, yielding Napasha the lane. "Where is her mother?"

"Working, I believe."

"Oh yes." Napasha pulls into the fast lane. "Women do that now days."

*****

The afternoon is quite hot, compared either to Moscow or New York, but at freeway speeds in an open car the effect is merely one of pleasant warmth. In this direction most of the road is on high ground, and the limited entrances make ambush unlikely. Even so, we are well past Salinas before I can pull my eyes from the mirrors.

"Sorry we couldn't stop at the beach."  The Beatles have finished singing. Napasha pops out his disc and replaces it with my 'stress' album. "Perhaps next time."

"Thank you, but I believe I have had enough distraction for the day." I raise the volume slightly. I do not know that the music will be effective, but at the moment? I am willing to give it every chance. "Have you heard from April?"

"Nothing much." Napoleon glances at me. "Do you think that was payback for the Tallin affair?"

"Possibly," I concede, although I set my voice to imply the opposite. "Although I do not see why anyone would gain an advantage. Even if they believe I hindered that one theft...I am not an on-going problem.  They will have other chances at Col. Austin."

"I don't like that answer either. But what else could it be? We haven't *seen* anyone interesting since 1968."

"Except Mr. Bond." Who was a most improbable someone. "I am still uncomfortable with that *co-incidence*."

"Likewise. But....." Napoleon pauses, clearly in mental calculation. "No. I can't see it. If 'Her Majesties' wanted us gone..?"

"We would both be in Belarus," I finish. "At the bottom of a mine shaft."

Napoleon pulls over to pass a truck that is blocking his view. "But if all our old enemies are dead?"

"At least retired."

"At least according to April."

I look at Napasha. "That leaves us with?"

"Funny looking guns, monotonously dressed allies...and no target."

The mention of guns has me shifting again. Perhaps I should have changed over? No. Until I can practice, I am better staying with the familiar Makarov. Even with only seven rounds remaining. Still, I slide the strange black case out and tuck it  tightly between the seat and the door. Faster access there. Just in case.

Noticing Napoleon go through a similar check, I am reminded. "Do you think we should tell April about the incident in the mall?"

"Not...just yet. If she's already checking things out..."

I nod, acknowledging the near infinite possibilities. "Do you know, Napasha? I think perhaps life was simpler *before * we retired."

**********

Just past Gilmore, my eye is caught my a crudely painted sign propped up by the roadside. 'Farm Stand Ahead...fresh organic strawberries, raspberries, Olallaberries, Fresh pressed organic Cider.'

"Olallaberries?" I ask.

"Never heard of them."

"Do you think David might want some?"

"He's almost as fond of food as you are." Napoleon signals his move over into the right lane. "Besides. It will be a chance to switch drivers."

"You actually want me to drive?" I strive to sound shocked.

"For once, yes." He makes the off ramp with time to spare and moves slowly into the gravel parking lot. "It's been a long day, and if we still have dinner tonight? I could use the break. Just promise me you wont get a ticket for going *below* the speed limit."

Napasha, with his usual luck, pulls into a just-emptied space right in front of the shop. The white painted stand is simple, but larger then I had expected. Long shelves hold flat after flat of ripe apples and pears, while a glass fronted refrigerator case in the back is packed with little green baskets of plump berries. I am reminded of just how long it has been since lunch. Perhaps, in addition to a gift for Mark and David, we should get a small snack for ourselves as well?

Once I have stepped from the car, Napasha carefully puts up the roof and locks the car before doing likewise. I start to tease him about protecting his Beatles' records, then realize.... we are in clear view from the highway. This will also be a good chance to be certain we are *not* being followed.

"Shall I..?"

"No need," Napoleon answers. "You shop. I'll stay with the car."

It is a quick matter to purchase a flat each of the three kinds of berries. The  cheerful young lady behind the counter even wraps them in plastic so they will not stain our trunk, and her schoolboy brother offers to carry them out for me. I accept. It is better to have my hands free. And of course I should be glad not to risk berry stains on my jacket. Even so... as I carefully watch the packages being loaded... I realize. David will enjoy the berries. I would have enjoyed buying them with Napasha.

*****

Napoleon hands me the keys, takes the passenger seat, and we return to the road unhindered. All the cars that once shared the road with us are now vanished far ahead. Good.  Perhaps April was right, and this morning was merely an industrial incident. In that case once the thieves learn of their error they will stop squandering their resources on a profitless target.

By the time we have passed Milpitas I have all but convinced myself this is true, and am considering what questions I should prepare for this night's dinner. Not that I have not in past days had a list of questions to ask the Director of Laurence Livermore Labs should I ever had the fortune to find myself alone with the man...but somehow I do not think those are quite appropriate to a job interview. At least not for any job I would *want* to do. And really, it has been *years* since my interrogation training.

"Illya?" Napasha interrupts my reverie.

"Yes, Napoleon?"

"Do you see the car behind us?"

I check the mirror. "The green car?"

"Exactly." He makes a slight adjustment to his side mirror. "It has been behind us since San Jose."

"I will slow down."

"Or you could speed up."

"Yes. That would work too." I press down gently on the accelerator. Not enough to appear unnatural, but enough to send us past the regular flow of traffic.  "What are they doing?"

"Still behind us. Same distance."

That is bad. I am considering cutting between two trucks to force them in to open action when I spot a large billboard just off to the right. It reads 'Tiny Naylor's - Next Offramp - One Mile'

"Hold on."

Waiting until the trucks are in block position, I cut between them and bounce over the median barely making the off ramp. The pursuit car almost falls for that trick, which would have brought them under the truck, but at the last moment the driver breaks and safely cuts behind. Worse sign. The man is a pro. Very well, no easy out.

"Can you get a shot?"

"Soon." Napoleon braces himself on the seat.

I cut sharply right, then left again, sending us into a  tight turn.   The other driver sees the first turn, but misjudges it, pulling to the left in an effort to pass us.  Instead he runs past.

Two sharp pings. There is a shooter in the back. One experienced enough to anticipate this chance and cool enough to take it. Almost accurate enough to make it count. Very bad.

Napoleon snaps off five rounds. One for the drivers window, one for the rear, and three for the trailing tire. The first two miss. At least one of the last three makes contact. The tire explodes, and at this speed the driver has no chance to compensate. More so since he is currently trying to break. He spins out and slams passenger-side into the sound-wall. The force sends the car sliding hood first into the drainage ditch running below.

I drive past carefully as Napoleon watches for movement. There is none. Good.

As I turn carefully up to the on-ramp, Napoleon asks. "Didn't we just  do that this morning?"

"I think you had best call April.

Napoleon looks at his watch. "Eight PM in New York. Do you have her home number?"

******

He clips the phone to the drink holder and turns up the volume so I can hear it. Five rings, then... a young voice. " Yes. Who is it?"

"April Dancer, please."

"Mom." A shout. "It's for you. Some guy."

A sound of doors, then...in the background.. "Hang up, dear. I'll take it in the den." Another few beeps, then.... "Dancer here."

"April?"

"Napoleon?"

"I'm afraid we just left another car in the ditch."

The sound of a chair shifting. "I knew you couldn't drive."

"Illya was driving."

"Illya ditched a car?" She sounds properly incredulous.

"Well," Napoleon becomes charming. "Not OUR car."

"Don't tell me. Another car chase." The sharp background sound of a scrambler comes over the line briefly, then she continues. " You didn't shoot anyone, did you?"

"Of course not. You asked us not to. Although I think they took a shot at us. And the rental company is not going to be happy with bullet holes in the paint"

"OK," April sighs. "Give me your location and I'll send out another team. Or should I just send back the same one you had this morning?"

Chapter Forty-Two: (Turn and Face the ) Cha-Cha-Changes

Rated: PG-13

"Welcome home." Mark meets us in the driveway. "Was the recruiter enthusiastic?"

"Very." Napoleon tucks his new pistol case under one arm and heads for the trunk.

I put up the roof and lock the car. "We were shot at. And someone tried to run us off the road. Twice."

"That does seen a tad aggressive. Especially since your not signing up for the football team." Mark picks up the berries and starts back to the house. "Are you sure it isn't just someone you annoyed, Illya?"

"I do not annoy people."

Napoleon looks over at Mark. "You don't sound surprised."

"April called." Mark sets the berries down on the outside table and unlocks the front door. "By the way, your new car should be here within the hour. I hope you like black."

"I have had no particular opinions on that color before." I answer as we step into the hall. "But it is fast becoming an acquired distaste."

"Any idea why you chaps made the hit list?"

"Gunmen were local rent-a-thugs." Napoleon shrugs. "April thinks they were sent to even up a little inconvenience we caused a thief on the train outside Tallin."

Mark hands the berries to David and locks the door behind us. "You believe that?"

"Any reason she would lie?" A bitter question, but one that must be asked.

"No." Mark shakes his head slowly, then faster. " No, April's OK that way. She's still..one of us." His fingers brush over his palm. "And  she's probably  positioned the best to solve this."

"If she can." I make it a question.

"Oh, if it's just a money thing, the perps will catch on fast enough." Mark checks the bolts. "I had a bit of a...discussion.... when we first came out. One or two of the China trade blokes didn't want to respect my career change."

"And you persuaded them?"

"With a bit of help from the brothers. It's all just business the dealers. Pop a few underlings, and as soon as losses hit the bottom line, they catch on. Might take a bit more if you riled someone personally, but... I wouldn't sweat. April knows just how to get that message across."

"Just watch out." David came back from setting the berries in the kitchen. "People in her position don't do favors for nothing."

"What could she want from us?"

Davis gives Mark a significant look, but says nothing.

"Mark." Napoleon cuts in. "If she wanted us back in U.N.C.L.E., we'd be there. It's not like we asked to leave. She's the one who offered us desks." Turning to David, he adds.  "She's also offered us a safe house. I was not certain we should even have come back here tonight, but...."

"You've been in this house four days already," David finished. "If anyone was going to move on you here, they would have."

"Even so.. I.."

"Won't endanger an innocent?" David reaches back to pull out his own derringer. "Trust me, Napoleon,  after twenty-five years of Mark I'm a lot less innocent then I was when we started. This wasn't be the first time I covered the front door. Probably won't be the last.

"I regret that.." I begin.

"Don't, Illya." He cuts me off. "I'm a grown man. I caught  what I was getting into the first time Mark took me to the range."

"You're a prince."

"No, I'm a queen."

Mark  snorts a bit at that. "David's right. You are very welcome to stay. Which you *should* know. Seriously. I built this place. It's harder than it looks. With the shutters closed?" Mark flips open a  panel on the wall that I had mistaken for a fuse box. Despite the apparent rows of circuit switches inside I now gather it is not. He flips a switch and  the living room shutters slam shut. Two more, and the same sound echoes from the rest of the house. Mark smiles. " Blast steel. To get past that, they'd have to bring up a tank. And I don't think the bridges are built for that."

"Impressive," I concede.

"That's nothing compared to our old place." David turns up the lighting to replace the now-covered windows. "Mark put gun-ports in the bathroom doors. I used to live in fear some poor old bum would break in to the 'other' apartment while we were at work and run into that mine-field he built in the unused entry hall."

"Really," Mark insists. "You will be better off among friends."

No doubt.  But that leads to the question... "Which April is? Or is not?"

Mark thinks, then answers carefully. "April's a blood sister, Illya. Still and always." He pauses a bit. "But her people? I don't say they're bad... but your going to find a lot of blank palms in the ranks."

"They don't..." I unconsciously rub my palm.

"One of the other reasons I left." Another, longer pause, then Mark continues...  "After Sir John came in, he started to hire from the companies. Took people in above the training level. It got to where there were ...regional tensions, and.. a lot of blank palms on the management level. Rather a question of trust."

"If.."

"Not like you, Illya. You never lied about where you stood. To anyone.  But it's one thing to think about the oath, then take it. It's another to take the oath.. then think about it."

"You mean they.." I could not say the words.

"A traveling brother found the whole thing written up in an MI5 file. Words, names, everything. Whole sodding de-brief report."

"Did you...?" Napoleon looks serious.

"No. Not quite a sanction level matter, after all. But after that? Folks got a bit more careful about who came in." Mark shrugged. " Once there were more that weren't than were? It was never the same."

"And now?"

"The black-suit boys? We don't even think to ask."

*************************

A quick shower. No time for more, if we are to make this night's appointment without being 'fashionably late'. That is concept which might amuse Napoleon, but one I will never be comfortable with.

Briefs, my white sweater, and..denims. Black again. The only color I have. Perhaps a trip back to the mall is in order? Something in  light tan might be nice.

As I step from the bathroom Napasha is adjusting his newest tie.

"Nice suit." It is. Another new one. All of Napoleon's suits are always nice. Or possibly he simply has the knack of looking stylish in them. Me? Even when I try to look tailored, I rumple. Not that I would let it bother me, but... it is good such things apparently no longer matter.

"Thanks." He slides his jacket on and adjusts it to lay smoothly over his shoulder harness. "Since it is an interview dinner." He raises one eyebrow at the clothes I am pulling from the closet.

"I will wear my best jeans." At his unconvinced look, I add. "Honestly, Napasha. If you could have seen what Dr. Decker looked like. I don't think they would have let a janitor into Cambridge dressed like that.

"That bad?"

I pull up the stiff denim and tuck in the edges of the knit top. "At least my pants do not have holes in them.

Napasha says nothing. Just shakes his head.

***********

I left my jacket downstairs, so I am still adjusting my holster as I follow Napoleon down to the hall. Mark and David are sitting in the living room when we get there.

David looks up. "You two are still going out to dinner?"

"Should we not?" I ask Mark.

"No reason not to." He smiles and tosses Napoleon a black fobbed bundle of keys. "The new car is a  virtual tank. Besides which, April's people told me they are fairly certain they have all the actives in custody."

"How would they know?" David snaps. "The punks haven't even said who they work for."

"Probably because they don't know." Mark shrugs. "Strict work-for - hire types. A pair of gang bang punks and their crews. Makes it more likely that it's just an industrial job. And my own net is catching nothing against you guys."

"Still..." David begins.

"We cannot remain indoors forever," I remind David. "Otherwise why not just move in to April's safe-house."

"No," David replies quickly. "You're better here."

"And the rad lab has more security then we do," Mark reminds him gently."Besides, luv. If the local crew isn't in on it...the boys may still want the job."

True enough. And, for all my inherent discomfort with the alliance, Livermore was one of the first places to ask for both Napoleon and myself as a team. Which may reflect a better access to sealed documents rather then a better personnel policy, but it still makes their call among the most interesting. If matters are truly changed..? I admit to a certain...curiosity, and it cannot hurt to hear what the man has to say.

"Maybe.. Just be cautious." David hands me my jacket. "Some of these electronic companies play rough."

**********

The new sedan is very comfortable, and very quiet. Whatever shortcomings Mark may attribute to April's organization, their hardware at least is excellent. Our short drive through the home dotted countryside is very pleasant, and as we pull up in front of the well-maintained  'hacienda' where the director lives the first bright streaks of fuschia and turquoise sunset are starting their journey across the evening sky. I wish I could see it through the smoke of the glass.

END CHAPTER FORTY - TWO

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