Waverly was still considering his course. "I had you cut off from office information for your own good, you know. When you don't know what is going on, you are less prone to rush in where you shouldn't be. But – yes - some honest work will do you good." He pressed a stud on his intercom.

A woman's voice came over the speaker. "Files and Documents. Mada Adams."

Mr. Waverly said, "I understand you're short of help in your department this week. Could you use an extra pair of hands?"

Solo sat up straighter, astonishment growing on his face.

Mada Adams came through loudly, "Could I! I mean - yes, sir, I'm quite a bit behind. I'm in this department alone."

Waverly told her, "I'm sending you a new man. I think he'll break in quite easily. He knows the alphabet and he's dexterous." His cool eyes came around to Solo with a scowl at the agent's apparent disgust. "Just beware of his bared teeth, Miss Adams." Waverly switched off the intercom.

Solo was still astonished. "Really, Mr. Waverly, you're not asking me to become a file clerk!"

"Report to Miss Adams, and see that you do a good job if it."

"When I asked for work, I didn't mean busywork! I meant something meaningful."

"You are off limits at the moment, Mr. Solo - restricted from everything in Policy, Enforcement, and Intelligence. And let me remind you, there isn't anything that goes on inside this building that isn't meaningful"

Solo surrendered, resigned, but definitely unhappy with his new orders. As he started away, Mr. Waverly called after him, a hint of a chuckle in his voice, "Try not to get any paper cuts. They can be nasty little devils."

---

Solo traveled through the maze of U.N.C.L.E. corridors and elevators, his step slow, headed for Files and Documents and Mada Adams, whoever she was. He entered the Section, found her door, and invaded her private inner sanctum. It was a smallish room done completely in U.N.C.L.E. steel. The walls were stacked high with filing cabinets, and empty ladders scaled up and down to render the top drawers accessible.

There was one big desk piled deep in filing folders, and in front of the desk was Mada Adams. She was a lovely young woman, and lovely was the only word for her. Her dark hair was wavy, but cut austerely short. Her face was shiny and healthily clean. Her figure was definitely not of glamorous proportions, but nice. She was unspectacular all around, but lovely nevertheless. The type of girl some men would "take home to mother."

She was leafing through a stack of folders when Solo came in and called, "Files and Documents? Mada Adams?"

Her reaction was startling. She looked at him, her brown eyes flashed, and she nearly dropped the entire stack of folders. She plunked them down and scurried in an obvious retreat around her desk, her nervous hands attesting to the fact that she thought she needed the desk's protection. "Mr. - Solo!" she said with an explosion of breath. "Uh... yes. Files and Documents. Is there something I can do for you?"

"It's supposed to be the other way around." Solo eyed her closely, equally startled. "I'm here to work for you. Mr. Waverly sent me."

Her expression was entirely blank.

"He just spoke to you five minutes ago, Mada."

"Yes," she stammered, "he's sending me a new man -"

"And here I am."

"Not you, Mr. Solo. Don't play the joke out any further. Please! I mean, I know you like to kid around, but - please."

Solo pivoted in the middle of the room, peering at the file drawers. "All this? Hasn't the microfilm system reached this far?"

"We keep our records three ways," she explained, but didn't calm down. "Microfilm, computer tape, and these originals. Caution and care. Now, what file do you want to see? And why didn't you go to Microfilm to get it?"

"I told you, Mada, I'm here to become a file clerk, not to do research."

"But that will never do!" She was adamant. "It just won't do!"

"I can climb ladders and take the high places for you."

"But I don't want anyone from Section -" She dropped off.

Solo stared straight at her. "Section Two?"

She flushed. "I was going to say that, yes."

"If you intend to insult me," Solo said levelly, "do it and get it over with."

Her thin fingers dropped to the stacks of folders and she riffled them anxiously. "I didn't mean to make you angry. It's just that -" She drew a deep breath and plunged into her real meaning. "I've always, been afraid of you men in Section Two. You carry guns, and -"

Solo smiled at her. He'd try anything to ease her tension. "Guns don't go off unless the trigger is pulled, Mada. I'm not planning to shoot up the filing cabinets."

"I have insulted you."

"Only puzzled me. Aside from the guns, is there any thing else you don't like? Because I can leave my gun outside, you know."

"I'm timid and neurotic, I guess," she admitted, and the admission was somehow feminine and understandable as it came from her. "But you all strike me as trained tigers. I see you sometimes in the corridors and I keep close to the walls."

Solo shook his head, amazed. This was a peculiar little violet to find shrinking in the depths of the building. "Why on earth did you join U.N.C.L.E. if you feel this way? A person shouldn't be afraid of his job. You need to take yourself in hand." He softened his voice. She really was frightened of him and it made him uncomfortable. "Look, give me a chance to prove how wrong you are - to show you my gentle side." He strode toward her, his arm outstretched to take her by the shoulders and calm her down. "Even tigers can purr. And I promise, I'm not a man-eater."

She eluded him neatly, but like a girl who'd had little practice. "Not a lady-eater, either, Mr. Solo. At least not this lady."

He lowered his arms, rebuffed. "We'll see. Mr. Waverly asked us to work together, after all."

Even that magic name couldn't sway her. "What you have in mind and what Mr. Waverly had in mind are entirely different things." She grabbed a stack of file folders and thrust them at him. He took them quickly to keep them from spilling on the floor. "Here, Mr. Solo. Practice on these. I'll have more for you when you've finished."

He laughed. "All right. You win. Where are the R's for Rejected?"

Chapter 4

"I'd Hate to Die for a Parking Space"

ILLYA KURYAKIN parked his car in the tight parking slot and got out, headed for the dental supply laboratory that waited for him behind a closed door. After four days, he and the men working with him had exhausted every sensible source of gold supply in the city, and now he was down to trudging about to dental supply labs searching for bits and pieces.

He hurried because it was so important. Every time he saw Napoleon, the need for hurry was more apparent. The inactivity was beginning to tell on his friend, and Illya couldn't even help him by giving him details on the progress of the search. He was allowed to say, "No luck," and that was all. If the time came when he did have some luck, he supposed he would have to lie to Napoleon. But he had done worse things than that for Mr. Waverly.

He pushed through the door and entered a little waiting room. There were a few straight chairs around the walls and one long counter that stretched the full width of the back wall. On it were displayed false teeth in various stages of development. Some appeared ready to bite.