"You and Mr. Kuryakin will drive out to see Dr. Armden personally. Find out what has made him so violently opposed to us and try to rectify any misconceptions he may have formed since he last worked with us."

"Drive, sir?" Napoleon asked distastefully.

"Correct, Mr. Solo. Dr. Armden lives in Midford, Indiana, a small university town some distance from the nearest airport. In fact, the town has no public transportation. Of course, you could fly in to Fort Wayne and rent a car there, but there is no immediate crisis requiring your attention. You can afford a leisurely drive across country. I understand the leaves are just beginning to turn." Waverly sighed quietly. "You might even regard it as a sort of vacation. I almost wish I could take the time myself. It's very beautiful this time of year."

Napoleon glanced at Illya. Neither seemed thrilled over the prospect of pastoral perfection. "Vacation," he said.

"Quite right, Mr. Solo. As an additional attraction, I have persuaded the other Directors to allow you to drive the special U.N.C.L.E. car."

Napoleon brightened slightly. "I've heard it's quite a car, sir. I've been hoping for a chance to try it out."

"I rather suspected you might. Bear in mind, however, that its devices are intended to be used against Thrush and not for evading traffic officers. And that speeding tickets are not paid for by U.N.C.L.E."

"Of course, sir," Napoleon agreed. "Our public image…"

"I don't mean to sound stupid," Illya said, "but I'm afraid I haven't been keeping up to date as Napoleon evidently has. Just what is special about the new car?"

Waverly smiled briefly. "I'm sure Mr. Solo will be more than willing to fill you in on all the details later. A few of the salient points include flame throwers behind the grill, a laser system, rocket launchers in the doors, a device for laying a smoke screen, a bullet proof shield, a high speed supercharged exhaust, and a braking parachute for emergency stops."

"I hope they have securely locked garages in Indiana," Illya remarked.

"There's no need to be apprehensive, Mr. Kuryakin. A channel in the car's computer has been programmed to respond to a special voice code from your communicators."

"Computer, sir?" Illya looked skeptical.

"Oh, didn't I mention that? It's something our engineering department developed. It's really quite versatile; a step beyond the miniature integrated circuit models most missiles use. There is a direct radio link with our main data and communications center here in New York."

Illya looked impressed at the mention of something more advanced than integrated circuits, but still had a few doubts. "I hope, sir," he said after a moment's reflection, "that such rudimentary devices as seat belts have not been overlooked?"

Midford struck Napoleon as being similar to Mukwanago, the little town in Wisconsin where the search for Thrush's invisible dirigible had begun. Distinguishing between small towns, however, had never been one of Napoleon's strong points; anything much smaller than Chicago struck him as a village. The major distinguishing feature of Midford was Midford University whose enrollment almost equaled the town's native population.

The university was a sprawling affair, made up of several blocks of one- and two-story buildings on the north edge of town. Three-quarters of a mile away, near the southwestern edge of town, was a branch plant of Falco Industries, where Dr. Armden was employed. It turned out he lived only a few blocks from the plant, near the end of a street which dead-ended at an open field a few doors farther on.

Napoleon made a short U-turn at the end of the street and pulled up behind a dark green Sprite with a racing stripe running along the hood. As they got out, Napoleon eyed the stripe for a second and glanced at the unmarked gray surface of the U.N.C.L.E. car.

"I suppose using the computer in a rally would be unsporting," he said regretfully.

"Very," Illya agreed as he rang the front door bell. A few seconds later, the door opened cautiously. A small woman, apparently in her late forties, peered out, squinting against the setting sun.

"What can I do for you?" she inquired.

"I'm Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin," Napoleon began, holding out his identity card.

Before he had a chance to say more, the woman darted out onto the porch, closing the door softly behind her. "From U.N.C.L.E.?" she asked. "You're the ones who've been writing to Richard?"

"Mrs. Armden?" Illya inquired. Receiving a nod, he continued. "It was actually our superior, Mr. Waverly, who wrote your husband; he and Dr. Morthley. But we represent U.N.C.L.E. and…"

"I'm very glad to meet you," she said, "but I don't think it would be advisable for you to come in right now. There are two of Richard's associates with him, and the conversation just turned to Dr. Morthley and U.N.C.L.E. They seem quite bitter."

"Speak of the devil," Napoleon said. "You mean it's not just your husband who has suddenly decided that U.N.C.L.E. is basically evil?"

"Oh, no. Sometimes I think it's the whole town. Yesterday I even heard Richard talking to the boy who delivers our groceries. Maybe the boy was just being polite, but it didn't sound that way."

"Do you have any idea what happened to change them?" Napoleon asked. "Your husband worked for us several times before."

"I know," she said. "When we got the first letter about a month ago, I assumed he would work for you this time. Now that I think back, he'd been acting strangely for a short time previously, but I hadn't paid any attention. This time he just ignored the letter, but the next one seemed to annoy him. Finally, when Willard phoned last week, he seemed to go off the deep end. Since then he's been ranting about U.N.C.L.E. to everyone he meets."

"But do you know what changed him?" Napoleon persisted. "You obviously don't feel this way yourself."

"No, I can't imagine what could have changed him. Of course, I was sick for some time; I wasn't noticing much. I'm over it now, except for a strict diet and avoiding exercise. The doctor said I'm as good as new. But apparently the change came while I was still in bed."

"He's never mentioned anything specific to you?" Napoleon asked.

"Nothing. I'm not even sure what he dislikes about U.N.C.L.E. He never says anything specific."

"Could we see him?" Illya asked, moving toward the door. "Perhaps he'd tell us what's troubling him."

Mrs. Armden shook her head. "I'm afraid you'd just make him worse."

"We'll have to see him some time, Mrs. Armden," Napoleon said politely. "We've driven almost a thousand miles. Mr. Waverly and Dr. Morthley are very concerned about him."

She silently debated with herself before answering. "Very well, I suppose you must. But try not to..." Her voice trailed off for a moment before she continued. "I hope you can help."

"We'll do our best," Napoleon assured her.

Mrs. Armden gave the impression of squaring her shoulders as she turned to open the door and lead the two agents into the house. They stopped in an archway leading to a comfortable-looking living room. A small, wiry man with a bristling gray crewcut rose from an armchair to greet them. Two other men, both younger, remained seated on a couch.

"Richard," Mrs. Armden said to the older man, "these are friends of Willard. They've come all the way from New York to…"