"I just have a feeling about it, sir," Solo said. "I'm certain it's the same man."

Alexander Waverly allowed his voice to become somewhat more soothing. "Very well, Mr. Solo. Your judgment has proved excellent on other occasions. And I trust you gentlemen will forgive my seeming reluctance to become interested in this matter. I must be interested, of course. But we are going through a rather difficult period in the organization. Several assassinations of operatives have thinned our ranks. If THRUSH attempts to attack on still one more front, we may be in grave difficulty. I wish we had some additional evidence so that we might assign a priority to this problem—"

Illya rattled the blue sheet of paper again. "This won't convince you, sir, in the sense that it's inconclusive regarding what THRUSH might be up to. But I believe it's interesting in the light of Napoleon's recollections—"

"What is that, Mr. Kuryakin?" Waverly asked.

"Some dossier data excerpts from the material the computers fed out concerning Felix Klaanger. If you'll permit me—"

Illya began to read, skimming over details of Felix Klaanger's birth in a suburb of Berlin, his rise to eminence within the Nazi party, and his sordid history as a mass executioner during World War II.

"That is by way of background, sir." Illya went on. "Here are the significant points. General Klaanger did manage to escape from Nuremburg at war's end. As of this writing he is still at large. He was seen as recently as three years ago in both Portugal and Argentina. Most interesting of all are these items from the section of the dossier marked Description." Illya read out in a flat voice, " Hair, brown. Eyes, brown. Distinguishing marks, none. Height, five feet three and one half inches. Weight, one hundred and eleven pounds."

Solo burst up from the chair where he'd sprawled a moment ago. "Five feet three?"

"I'm sure this record is correct, Napoleon," Illya said. "Of course the details were compiled twenty years ago."

"Mr. Waverly, the man we saw in the desert stood nearly seven feet tall. He weighed well over two hundred pounds."

Into the quietness of the conference room where filtered air whispered through wall ducts crept a new atmosphere of tension and menace.

Mr. Waverly rose. He began to pace, fingers laced behind his back.

"Let us assume that Mr. Solo's memory is not faulty and that the Klaanger of Nuremburg and the Klaanger of the desert are one and the same man. In destroying the desert headquarters of the THRUSH cell, you gentlemen successfully closed off one source of harassment.

"On the other hand, the presence of this man Klaanger as an aide to the THRUSH station chief—oh, by the way the station chief was picked up in Vienna at six last night. Picked up in a garment cleaning van and taken—well, no need to give you the grisly details. Only Klaanger slipped through the net. His presence in the desert is disturbing.

"Mr. Kuryakin, you alluded to Klaanger having been seen in certain countries known to harbor ex-Nazis. Does the report contain anything to indicate that Klaanger has been engaged in activities designed to bring the Nazi party to life again?"

Illya ticked his index finger against the blue sheet. "Some suggestions of that only, sir. He is rumored to be a motive power behind the Fourth Reich. But you know how such things go. The iceberg theory. One-tenth is visible, nine-tenths are hidden from sight. I think we can assume that if Klaanger still has Nazi sympathies, he will be actively at work preserving the party for a return bout, as the American fight announcers put it."

Under his breath Mr. Waverly murmured a single strained syllable of anguish. Then he straightened, becoming more his old, business-like self.

"Assume then also, gentlemen, that some sort of working coalition has been formed between the remnants of the Nazi party and THRUSH. Assume that somehow, by means of its devious and sophisticated technological resources, THRUSH has found a means to increase the size and muscular capability of a human being. We have evidence to suggest that a man who once stood five feet three and weighed one hundred and eleven pounds has somehow been changed, mutated, so that his height has increased by nearly two feet, and he has gained weight and become a creature of nearly superhuman strength.

"If this is so, U.N.C.L.E. faces an extreme crisis. What if THRUSH has discovered a means to manufacture creatures as powerful as Klaanger? What if this is nor merely an isolated, freakish phenomenon but the beginning of a planned program to put scores of these extremely powerful operatives into the field? With such a force THRUSH could in a very short time decimate our own forces and bring us to our knees. And the world as well."

Mr. Waverly paused. His tone hardened. "We are stretched thin. But we cannot afford to overlook the possibility that a new and massive THRUSH menace confronts us. You gentlemen have convinced me of that."

Napoleon Solo uttered a long, relieved sigh. "For a couple of minutes I was afraid you were going to retire us to the funny farm."

"I did not say I was convinced that Klaanger is the first of a new breed of incredibly strong THRUSH agents, Mr. Solo," Waverly corrected.

"You didn't?" Solo said, distressed.

"No. But I am convinced we must find out whether it's so."

"Napoleon and I can take over the job," Illya put in.

Waverly shook his head. "I cannot spare you immediately. We will issue a world-wide Phase B alert, with detailed information on Felix Klaanger. As soon as he is spotted somewhere, I will try to release you to follow up. Until then—Mr. Solo, what are you doing?"

"I was just practising my ukulele fingering." Solo glanced at Illya. "We have at least one more assignment coming up before we can tackle Herr Klaanger."

Now it was Illya's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Assignment? I thought we were dining downtown tonight. With that little singer friend of yours. What's her name? Trixie?"

"Mitzi," said Solo with a sigh.

"You told me she had a friend," Illya said.

"I regret that must wait," announced Mr. Waverly. "You two are going to Hawaii while I put the complete U.N.C.L.E. network on Phase B alert."

In Napoleon Solo's mind, visions of marching men, ominous shadows against a darkened sky, bedeviled him. They were all identical—huge slab shoulders; arms that hung nearly to their knees; heads that were bulbous and lemon-shaped. An army of Felix Klaangers marching on U.N.C.L.E.. On the world.

No ordinary U.N.C.L.E. operative, no matter how fine or rigorous their training, could stand against men of Felix Klaanger's strength. And it was the thin line of U.N.C.L.E. operatives, in the last analysis, which maintained the delicate balance between peace and anarchy, and staved off time and time again the drive of THRUSH for world domination.

This time THRUSH might succeed if Klaanger was not located. And soon. Things were very bad. Solo and Illya were needed in Hawaii. Precious days would slip by—

"I don't understand this Hawaii business," said Illya.

"Mr. Solo will explain it to you," Mr. Waverly said.

"Aloha, Mitzi," Solo said. Thinking of what THRUSH might be up to while they raced around on other, equally pressing assignments he wondered whether it would be aloha, world before very much longer.

TWO

Three weeks, two days, six interrogations, four hand-to-hand combats and one extended visit to Greenland later—after the Hawaiian affair was handled, Illya and Solo had to extinguish a bonfire of THRUSH sabotage directed at the free world's missile defense system—Felix Klaanger was sighted on a street in Munich, Germany by an U.N.C.L.E. man on station there.