"Uh-uh," Solo said gently. "None of that. Just pick up that rag from the floor, wipe that stuff off your arm, and sit down."

"My arm?" She stared at the place where the yellow liquid was drying. "What is it?"

"I don't know, but wipe it off while you can." He felt a sense of urgency that she should get the liquid off her skin. He had no basis for it except the mislabeled bottle.

She grabbed the rag and dabbed at her arm, then rubbed, getting it off just before the biggest man pushed her again, sending her down on the hay beside Solo. No one bothered to restrain her. They simply made gestures with their rifles which she understood.

She wriggled close to Solo, whispering, "I was hoping you'd gotten away. They had a hard time catching me, but they did it."

"And Illya?" He didn't whisper. Whispers drew more attention than a full voice kept low.

"I think he made it. I haven't seen anything of him."

"Then sit still, do what they say, and have hope." Solo winked at her.

"For Illya to come?" She shook her head. "He could hardly walk by himself."

"Never give up where Illya's concerned. That's one thing I've learned over the years. He has the courage of a Russian wolf."

She patted his ropes with her hand. "So have you. I'm sorry I let myself be caught after you risked your life to save me. But - what is this all about? Why are they all gathered here?"

"They're shipping everything to Thrush Central tonight. I'm part of the shipment."

"What do they want with you at Thrush Central?" She said the words stiffly, not used to them yet.

"They want to ask me some questions."

"Questions you can answer?"

"No," he said pointedly.

"That's what I thought. Then, you can't -" She broke off suddenly and clasped her arm where the yellow liquid had been. She gasped and doubled over.

Solo lifted her straight as best he could with his hands tied, his eyes questioning.

"It hurts!" she cried. "I've never felt anything hurt so much. Napoleon! I hurt!" Her forehead was beaded with sweat and her eyes glazed over. She doubled up again.

Solo shouted at the big man who had brought her in. "What was in the bottle she spilled on her arm?"

The man didn't bother to answer. Solo tried again. "Barber! What was in that ink bottle?"

"What would you expect, Solo? The Breadbasket chemical."

"And what will it do to her? Does it affect people?"

"Of course it does. It's dangerous stuff when it's liquid. We have to wear special suits to handle it in liquid form." Barber shuffled close. "All over her arm, huh? Well, I'll tell you what to expect, Piper. Your arm will hurt like you've never been hurt before, and then it will wrinkle up and wither and turn brown and the flesh will fall off to the bone. In a month's time you'll be deader than -"

Solo cut him off with his own shock, "You've actually tested it on a human being?"

"By accident only," Barber growled.

"And the counter-chemical, Barber! Will that cure her?"

"Probably," Barber said. "If she could use it."

"There are no 'ifs', Barber. Get some of it and rub her arm with it," Solo ordered.

Barber laughed. "Look who's in command of Thrush!" Gloryanna was writhing on the bales of hay, gasps and moans escaping her. She acted wild enough to tear her arm off to be rid of the pain.

"Get her the antidote!" Solo commanded. "You haven't any orders to kill her!"

"Take it easy, Solo," Dundee cut in. "You're getting too excited."

Solo took the final chance. He stood up, ignoring the guns. "If you have the antidote, get it for this girl, Dundee!"

Dundee put his hands on his hips again, his favorite posture. "Just what is your bargaining point, Solo?"

"Myself!" Solo hissed, his black eyes sparking. "Be cause if you don't help her I'm going to throw myself at you and you'll have to kill me on the spot. You'll only have a corpse to deliver to Thrush Central."

Dundee rocked back on his heels, thinking fast.

Saturn peeped over his shoulder. "It's a grandstand play. An empty threat."

"No," Dundee said. "Solo will do it. I've heard about him."

"All we need to do is hit him on the head and he can't throw himself at anybody."

Dundee hesitated. "But why let the girl die. A pretty girl like that. We may need her later to help Solo co operate." He smiled down at Gloryanna, who was writhing in agony. "Get the stuff, Barber. Fix her up. I like blondes."

Solo watched as Barber took up a bottle labeled BLACR INK and brought it back. Barber poured it on Gloryanna's arm, washing it thoroughly. Solo knew now where the prizes were kept in this game of Operation Breadbasket. In ink bottles.

Dundee was in command again. "Move off, Solo. Stand clear of Barber if you want her treated."

Solo obeyed, resuming his role of prisoner.

Barber finished. "That will do it. Had it happen to me once. Thought I was going to die from the pain, but it will stop hurting right away and it won't wrinkle, even. I got it in time."

Gloryanna sat up, amazed, her eyes big and already surrounded with dark circles from the intense pain. She gasped out a thank you to Barber and another to Solo.

With the crisis passed, Dundee swung into action. "I've got new orders from Central. Fasten Solo down. He makes me nervous on his feet." He pivoted, eyeing the barn, floor to ceiling. Fling a rope over the rafter there and dangle our U.N.C.L.E. friend from it. First, strip off his shirt."

"What's up?" Barber asked, motioning his men to obey Dundee.

"We're all due for a bonus - if we can deliver. Central is overjoyed at having Solo. They're sending a helicopter for him. But they don't want us to take chances with him. Since we have to wait for the helicopter we're to get what we can from him here, and on the way in, just in case. They'll take over on delivery."

"They don't trust us very much," Barber complained.

Solo said, "No Thrush ever trusts another Thrush, don't you know that?" He stood between two big men while four guns were aimed at his stomach. His jacket was gone and his shirt was being pulled off his anus. It followed the jacket to the floor. Hands free or not, he had no chance to fight out of the situation. His arms were grabbed hard, rope knotted about each wrist and attached to the rope that hung from the ceiling. He was stretched upward, and on Dundee's orders raised three inches off the floor. But he still had his feet free and that comforted him,

"Get something heavy over here and fasten his ankles down," Dundee ordered, careful, always careful. "We'll all get our teeth kicked out otherwise."

"No!" came out of Solo involuntarily. He swallowed hard, humiliated, but sweat broke out on his forehead as he felt his legs being immobilized. He was going to hang here completely helpless. A half-man with no use of his limbs.

Dundee noticed the sweat. "Scared already, Solo? Good boy."

Solo battled the feeling of panic that came in a wave from his stomach and made him want to flail about. It was unreal panic. He had to remember that. It was left over from Adams.

"He's ready, Dundee," Barber said, "but what are we going to use on him? We don't have any drugs and probably Central won't want him too bloody."