DECEMBER 26, 4:30 A.M.

Alone.

He was alone but not alone.

The screaming had stopped long ago, but not so long ago that he did  not still hear it...in his ears...in his head...along with the
insistent whisper in his brain that he needed to hear those sounds  again.

Those awful, wonderful sounds -and the fear behind them.

But it was quiet now.

Too quiet.

A slight smile crossed blood-stained lips. Quiet, yes, but not for  long. That much he knew.

Not for long at all.

"Coffee?"

"Hmn?"

"'Coffee', Napoleon? Hot coffee?"

The faint ghost of a smile crossed Napoleon Solo's grim visage as the   dark-haired agent shook his head slightly, declining his team-mate's  offer. "No, thank you, April...maybe later." He caught sight of the  frown of concern that the younger agent cast to her partner, Mark  Slate, who shrugged in return. Neither UNCLE agent was experienced  enough to hide the fact that they were as worried about their   superior's state of mind as they were about the potential dangers of  this mission. A talkative, self-assured Napoleon Solo was normal -an uncommunicative, and frankly "dispirited", Solo was not. They were
among the few who knew that Solo's concern for the well-being of his  partner was far more intimately personal than it was professional.

That had been Waverly's only real concern upon learning of Solo and  Kuryakin's new, more intimate relationship -that personal concern for   one or the other might interfere with their ability to function professionally. It hadn't. But upon being  ecalled to UNCLE New York - upon being told *why*- Napoleon had been tempted to have a very  *un*professional emotional meltdown. He had never liked it when he  and Illya occasionally been sent on separate missions before they had
become lovers. Now, he liked it even less.

A reconnaissance mission to possibly hostile territory was bad  enough -a recon mission obviously gone all wrong for reasons that  were frighteningly familiar was infinitely worse. THRUSH was still  working on bio-weapons -they all knew that now- and the memories of  UNCLE's last encounter with that terrorist group's efforts at germ  warfare were still fresh.

Then, his partner had been one of the fortunate few left unaffected  by a madness-inducing supervirus, but what about *this* time? "It  came... no description is...possible'," Illya had said in his last  transmission to New York. "'DO NOT send help'." Those didn't sound  like the words of a sane man. Was THRUSH playing with the "Wilding"  virus Again? Do not send help..? Even if Waverly had not ordered the  new search and possible rescue mission, Napoleon Solo knew that he
could not have sat idle. It wasn't his nature...and, fortunately, it  wasn't apparently the nature of UNCLE's Number One either -as he had  put it, Kuryakin was not the only UNCLE agent who might be in trouble.

Things after that had moved fast, and after some careful (though  understandably hurried) preparations, Recon Team Two was sent after  their own. Besides himself, April Dancer, and Mark Slate, the arctic  landrover in which they crossed the nearly colorless ice and snow- ridden tundra also carried two members of UNCLE New York's  biotechnics' corps: Dr. Miranda Brewer -physician and diagnostician,  and Dr. Edward Cruise, biologist and forensic scientist. Jimmy Logan,
barely more than a youth and only just having been promoted to field  operative status, had been given the dull task of serving as the  team's primary landrover jockey.

"Penguins."

The sudden utterance broke the relative stillness as Napoleon glanced  at Mark who shrugged and returned his attention to April who  continued to stare out through the tinted windows. "April?" Mark  ventured. "*What* penguins, luv? I don't see any-"

"That's just it," the young female agent insisted. "Something's been  bothering me at the back of my mind for a while and that's it!  Penguins -Antarctica usually teems with them -aas well as God knows  how many sea lions and others- but when we were set down here, I only  saw one or two penguins...and for the past few hours, nothing at all!  Have *you*?"

Solo watched the two junior operatives natter back and forth about a  lack of waddling seabirds -it would have been funny except, he noted   silently, Drs. Brewer and Cruise had also noted the  conversation...and they didn't appear amused. If anything, the  present medical staff from UNCLE looked all the more worried.

Four hours later and the Antarctic was dark for this time of year.  Clouds had covered the already hazy sun and a shrill wind had begun  to blow, whipping up ancient snows. No doubt, new snow would soon  follow despite the fact that this should have been Antarctica's  equivalent of summer. The static discharge of an oncoming polar storm  was already playing hob with the communicators.

The arctic landrover was pulled to a stop. The UNCLE agents'  destination, a dome-like structure of concrete, plexi-glass, and  steel about the size of an average concert hall, stood not a meter  off, seemingly unmolested by the "it" of which their missing Russian  comrade had spoken. Two other arctic landrovers -one apparently  belonging to THRUSH, one definitely belonging to UNCLE- remained idle  and snow-covered beside an open garage. Mark quickly examined both
vehicles. "They - they've both been sabotaged, Napoleon! Their  engines have been gutted!"

"'Do not send help'," Illya had said, Napoleon remembered grimly. If  he knew his partner well, demented or not, "do not send help" might  also mean "because no-one can leave"...and if so, his little Russian  might have been willing to make certain of that. All right...

Hoping that promises of the improved designs of their environmental  suits were not exaggerated, Napoleon Solo, UNCLE's Chief Enforcement  Officer, nodded to Agent Logan whose expertise was in munitions and  explosives.

"Blow the door."