The last of the mastiffs finally squirmed into the burrow, from which issued the most frightful sounds of animal ill-temper Illya Kuryakin had ever heard. He wasted no time. He pinched the brown capsule with his thumbnail to activate the pressure-fused trigger device and dropped the capsule straight down into the dirt a foot above the burrow entrance.

Suddenly a reddish projectile shot from the burrow and landed with a splash in the creek. The earth at the burrow mouth erupted in a low, smacking explosion. A cloud of white billowed, followed by a shockwave sufficient to shear off the limb where Illya hung.

Illya flailed in space and landed on all fours in the creek, sopping wet. From a flat rock a foot away a red fox regarded him with alarm. Apparently, figuring that there had been enough surprises for one morning, the fox bounded away into the forest.

TWO

Breathing hard, Illya picked himself up. The explosion had sealed the burrow. Wisps of smoke curled into the air; frantic barking seemed to rise from the very ground. It would give Illya the slight advantage he needed, even though Illya could still hear the THRUSH agents clattering along in the woods, getting closer.

He fought his way up the bank beside the sealed-up burrow and slipped into the forest.

The THRUSH agents would have quite a time figuring out how nine of their killer dogs had gotten sealed inside a hole in the ground which contained no U.N.C.L.E. agents.

By the time they dug the mastiffs out, Illya trusted that he would be safely hidden away somewhere. This was his immediate goal as he glided through the trees, making as little noise as possible.

His right leg still pulsed hellishly. He knew he would have to hole up soon, not only to wait for covering darkness, but to rest.

After having covered about two miles with no immediate evidence of pursuit, Illya discovered another huge oak which would offer him sufficient shelter. He dragged himself up to the second fork, folded his body awkwardly into a not-quite-comfortable position and settled down to listen.

Far off he heard barking. This gradually died away. The sun rose higher. Illya dozed.

He woke as the shadows of afternoon were lengthening. He heard a party of men passing somewhere, the renewed snarling and snapping of dogs.

He lay still as a stone among the rustling leaves.

By turning his head just a fraction he was able to catch a glimpse of the searchers—fully-armed THRUSH troopers. THis time the two mastiffs which they had with them were leashed. Such was the reward for dogs who failed.

Several tense moments passed before the search party disappeared. Evidently Illya's trail had grown cold. The forest fell silent again, save for the occasional twitter of a bird or the chirp of an insect.

The pain in Illya's right leg had begun to diminish a little. He was incredibly hungry. Satisfying the inner man would have to wait, though. He had to take up his westward course again, and try to locate Napoleon.

Wasting nearly an entire day eluding the THRUSH pursuers did not exactly put Illya in high spirits. There was no telling what had happened to Napoleon during that time.

But there was nothing to be done about it. He wouldn't have gotten this far if he hadn't holed up in the tree to avoid discovery.

At sunset Illya climbed down. He walked cautiously, shivering in the night's coolness.

About an hour later, Illya nearly stumbled across a light beam running between two photo-cells set facing one another in two large tree trunks. His pulses quickened. He bellied down. Carefully he slid beneath the photo-beam and jumped up on the other side.

Warning devices built into tree trunks meant that he was nearly to the target.

Pressing on, Illya thought for the first time since the preceding night about the girl with whom Napoleon had had a date. What was her name? Helen? No, Helene. A German last name. Bauer, that was it. Was she too a prisoner of the unspeakable minions of THRUSH? That would teach her to listen to Napoleon's sweet nothings.

The cynical thought did nothing to cheer him up. As he crept on through the forest suffused with blood-colored sunset light, he still had the depressing conviction that he might be much too late to save his friend.

Presently he heard a sound. It happened only seconds before his keen eyes picked out something ahead which resembled a high stone wall.

Illya advanced to a large tree by the wall. Looking to the left, he saw by the feeble light of evening a large gate guarded by a pair of oversized THRUSH troopers lounging near a booth. This, he realized with a tightening of his nerves, was the place.

THREE

The sound which assaulted his ears took on definition. Voices, many of them, sharp and in unison. The voices chanted some kind of cadence count.

Then Illya recognized the language.

German.

"Ein. Zwei. Drei! Vier! Ein! Zwei! Drei! Vier!"

What made the chant chilling was the savage way the syllables were shouted out. The voices from the other side of the high wall belonged to women.

Drawing back into the trees, he began to work his way around to the right. He was sure the wall itself would be rigged with anti-personnel devices. He decided that he would make a complete circle of the wall to judge its length. Then, if no other means of entrance presented itself, he would make an attempt on the front gate, risky as it might be.

In moments Illya reached the corner of the wall. He peered down the side of the square which ran westward, at a right angle to the front expanse. Trees completely ringed the property, affording him cover as he worked along all the way to the wall's rear corner. There he paused once more to reconnoiter.

The cadence-count had grown much louder. Whatever the women were doing, they were doing it near this rear part of the grounds. A kind of postern gate appeared to be set in the back wall about half way along. A THRUSH soldier walked up and down laconically, a machine pistol slung over his shoulder.

Illya's nerves tightened another notch. He crept along through the underbrush until he was opposite the postern gate, an ancient metal affair with new hinges and polished locking mechanism.

Carefully Illya palmed his long-muzzled pistol, giving one screw to the barrel to snap the silencing baffles in place. He set another control on the butt to feed the proper projectiles to the chamber. Then, with his left hand, he picked up a small stone and lobbed it high against the wall, to the left of where the THRUSH minion was examining his knuckles in a preoccupied way.

The pebble struck. The guard whipped around toward it. Illya lunged from the trees. He dropped to one knee and carefully pulled the trigger.

With a pop the pistol jerked in Illya's hand. The THRUSH guard opened his mouth to scream, slapped his neck. His eyes turned milky as the serum on the tranquilizing dart raced to his brain. Giving a feeble murmur, the guard folded to the ground, out for twelve hours.

Quickly Illya dragged the man into the trees. He yanked off the THRUSH uniform and hastily donned the oversized blouse and trousers. Next he stuffed some leaves in the crown of the too-large visored cap so that it wouldn't slip down over his ears.

He approached the metal postern gate, rapping it smartly with the butt of his pistol and stepping to the right when the bolt rattled. The door opened from inside.

"Ein! Zwei! Drei! Vier! Ein! Zwei! Drei! Vier—"

The massed female voices continued to shout out the cadence beyond the wall. IN the crack of the postern door, a misshapen face loomed. The THRUSH soldier looking out was another of those grotesque, slab-shouldered types. Illya jammed the pistol muzzle against the man's neck and triggered once.

Like a bull the man reared backward, reaching for a red-painted lever affixed to a klaxon. His eyes were already glazed but he was falling in such a way that if his hand missed the lever, his body would fall across it. Illya dived forward frantically and shoved the THRUSH man aside.