The worst thing about this costume thought April as she regarded herself sourly in the mirror, was that it was going to be next to impossible to conceal much in the way of tools and weapons under the meager amount of fabric it contained. "Definitely designed by a man," she said out loud as she tugged at the mini skirt, trying in vain to make it cover the knife that was strapped to her thigh. "Dammit." Removing the knife, she tossed it on the bed where it joined an ever increasing pile of implements that she wouldn't be able bring with her. Her gun had been the first casualty, as the midriff baring top left no place to hide a shoulder holster. Still, she wasn't going to be *totally* weaponless.

"Thank God for handbags." April grabbed her small but surprisingly roomy bag from the bed and started packing it. Not with the gun or knife of course, they were going to go back in the secret compartment in her suitcase, but with the compact that doubled as a communicator/camera, the perfume that when sprayed on somebody's skin caused them to lose consciousness within seconds, the lipstick holder that fired two bullets, and finally, after the bag was almost full, April managed to squeeze in a small hair brush. Well, she had to be sure of looking her best at all times, didn't she?

---------------------

Mark Slate glanced over at Illya as the jet brought them ever closer to their destination. As soon as the plane had taken off, the Russian had curled up on one of the seats and fallen immediately asleep. Mark didn't know how the guy could relax so completely, especially when his buddy was in the hands of a psycho. But then, for the next few hours, there wasn't anything that he could do about it, so maybe he was wise to be taking the opportunity to recharge his batteries. God knows he was unlikely to have much chance to rest once they reached the spa.

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Looking good was one of the main criteria for the female employees at this spa, thought April as she let herself out of her tiny room in the staff quarters. Looking good and wearing very little seemed to be the only qualifications one needed to get a job in this place...even without a friendly UNCLE to pull some strings. Checking her watch - the one where the winder doubled as a lock pick - she realized that she hadn't much more time. The last communication from UNCLE had confirmed that Angelique's jet had landed safely and passengers had transferred to a private limo. The agent watching the airport hadn't been able to get too close for fear of being observed, but he had confirmed that Solo was still alive and mobile, if not exactly unmarked. However, once Angelique was in the safety of the Spa, it was impossible to tell how long Mr. Solo's safety could be guaranteed.

-----------------------

"You're very quiet, cherie," said Angelique, as the limo sped towards its destination. "Don't you enjoy my company, hmm?" She stroked the side of Napoleon's face. "Such a pretty face. I can see why my Illya was attracted to you." Her nails dug deep into Napoleon's neck and he gasped involuntarily. "But you won't be so pretty when he sees you again."

Napoleon tried to pull away from the madwoman beside him, but he had been securely tied to his seat. "Would it make any difference if I told you that Illya *wasn't* interested in me?" he asked, his mind working frantically trying to think of some way to distract Angelique. "His only concern was the assignment, he..."

A resounding slap made Napoleon's head spin, "Liar!" spat Angelique. "You think you can deceive me, but I know him...I know him better than he knows himself. I know that he will have forgotten all about his mission now that you are in danger." She leaned in closer to Napoleon and hissed in his ear, "And I know that he will be willing to sacrifice himself to save his lover...in fact, I am *counting* on it."

Napoleon stared at her in horror.

--------------------

Angelique had a knife to Napoleon's throat. "Come in Illya, I've been expecting you," she said.

Illya walked into the room with his hands up. "Let him go Angelique, this is between you and me, it has nothing to do with Napoleon."

"On the contrary, mon cherie," laughed Angelique. The sound sent shivers down Illya's spine. "This has *everything* to do with Napoleon." The blade pushed harder into the skin and Illya could see a drop of blood appear. "You see, while he is alive, he will always be first in your thoughts...and I refuse to take second place to anybody." With a sudden movement the blade sliced through the flesh, making a gush of blood spray upon the floor.

"NO!" screamed Illya as he lunged forward.

"Illya, ILLYA, wake up."

Illya sat upright in his seat on the plane, eyes wide open and frantic with terror. Mark Slate was standing beside him, shaking him gently. "You okay there, Illya?

"I thought...I saw..." Illya took a few deep breaths to try and restore his breathing to normal.

"You looked like you were having a bad dream, tossing and turning, yelling something in Russian," explained Mark as he returned to his seat. "Thought I'd better wake you."

"Thank you," said Illya, shaken by the vividness of the dream. Not one for being superstitious, he was still unnerved by the experience. It had been so *real*...and he had the horrible feeling that he had just had a premonition of Napoleon's death.