"We should have anticipated this," Kuryakin sighed glumly to no one in particular as the group, en mass, entered Robin Masters's house.

As the rest of the men filed into the entrance hall, then into the study, the ever paranoid Kuryakin was scanning the house for bugs. He labeled the area "all clear" and the men settled themselves on various pieces of furniture. Illya put the still functioning bug detector on a table.

The agent was feeling particularly defensive. He hated to be stung -- outsmarted by an opponent. They could not afford mistakes now, any blunder, however small, could be fatal to one or all of them, especially Williams. It made Illya overcompensate in every area.

"Circumstances were against us," Oscar returned listlessly, the comment trite to his own ears, but he chalked it up to surprise and disappointment. If one of his own OSI operatives would have offered that in a report they would have been severely reprimanded. "We can't think of everything," he sighed at last, trying to buoy the flagging spirits of this group and realizing that was as inappropriate an answer as anything else.

"We should have!" McGarrett's condemnation rang in the still air.

"I know!" Solo's bitter retort was accented as he threw incredibly expensive and intricate listening equipment onto the floor near the chair Kuryakin had just slumped into. "That's our job. It's the only way we stay alive. And it's the only way to save our friends."

This altruistic comment brought a surprised glanced from Kuryakin, but the Russian quickly returned to his non-focused stare out the lanai doors -- a posture which discouraged intrusion and enhanced brooding contemplation. Solo crossed the study and poured himself a healthy portion of brandy.

Higgins had anticipated their need for more of the same and brought over a tray of glasses and several other bottles of liquor. Though his mind was clouded with anger and other churning emotions, Solo automatically noticed the liquors were all high grades of brandy and whiskey.

Robin Masters apparently didn't skimp for friends. Higgins poured drinks for those who requested them. Magnum, TC, and Rick had joined the group and Solo took the time to introduce them to the gathering, unable to avoid Goldman's irate stare. Oscar was extremely upset Solo brought Magnum in, and undoubtedly Napoleon would receive the full fall out later.

They had followed Ming along the Waimanalo coast. In a classic case of overkill, which was an embarrassment to all of them, they had trailed the suspected spy with two sedans and a chopper. Five-0 had supplied standard issue surveillance equipment in the sedans. Ming had not gone home, but went to a small bar near the beach and made a call from a public phone.

Solo and Kuryakin, used to operating with more sophisticated instruments, had supplied long-range eavesdropping parabolic dishes, heavy armament, and their own helicopter and pilot. Solo had generously bought the chopper with UNCLE money and hoped he could fast-talk his way around that when Waverly got the expense voucher. It was an insanely extravagant purchase, but Solo was helping TC start a helicopter business, with an understanding that he was at the disposal of the local UNCLE office whenever necessary.

Yet, with all the high-tech assistance, there had been no personal bug on Ming. And the parabolic dish could not decipher Ming's voice from the noise from the bar. By the time Ben Kokua was sent in to check on the gardener, Ming was off the phone and having a beer at the bar.

The rest of afternoon had been anticlimactic. They had followed Ming to his home, a small beach shack which had already been bugged. Ming had done nothing abnormal the rest of the day, and by evening it was agreed there was no need to continue surveillance. Ben was left on stake out and the others returned to home base.

From there the investigation turned to police routine and McGarrett contacted the phone company to trace the call placed at the pay phone. The receiving number was for a public phone at the Ala moana shopping center. Chin was sent to do theleg work on that inquiry, but no one believed they would get anywhere with that.

"We forgot how smart Karkov could be," Oscar commented and nodded his thanks to Higgins, who had brought over a cup of coffee. He ignored the drink. "He's thought of everything."

McGarrett had refused to sit, instead expending his nervous frustration by pacing near the lanai doors. The sun had dropped on the other side of the mountains and the short tropical twilight would soon turn into night. The Five-0 chief stared out at the ocean that was now a dark sheet to the horizon.

"All right, he's outsmarted us," McGarrett finally, reluctantly, admitted. "We can still trap him, it just won't be as easy."

They had hoped for success in the first phase of their plan; that Ming would lead them to Karkov. However, not trusting to such a simple solution, they had arranged a back-up scheme. There were disadvantages to their second plan, but it now seemed unavoidable.

"We will no longer be on the offensive," Illya pointed out with distaste. "This will be purely defensive."

"Not entirely," McGarrett countered as he glanced at Magnum and friends. "We have a few surprises I think."

Higgins came over and rolled out a sketch of the estate. The others gathered around the table. Higgins military experience and intelligence training had not diminished, and his map was a meticulous schematic of a major offensive.

"The estate is large, but defensible," he pointed out as he detailed several ideas for troop placement. Magnum stepped forward and contributed his own ideas for using chopper cover. The suggestions were met with approval from the veterans around the table, even Goldman was warming to having the young man in on the battle.

"Then we have about twenty-four hours to prepare," McGarrett said.

"He could attack tonight," Solo countered.

McGarrett shook his head. "He'll wait. We conveniently gave him until tomorrow evening. Karkov will use that time to plan an effective offensive." His voice deepened. "You should remember he never does anything impulsive. He would rather make us wait and let our own nerves play against us."

Solo's expression darkened. "I don't need to be reminded."

Higgins broke into the tension by reminding them they needed to prepare for tomorrow night. He arranged a schedule of meal, sleep, sentry, and work rotations that would assure everyone was fit for the next night, and the estate was fortified. Once everyone had their assignments they dispersed into separate groups.

"We could have used this stuff in 'Nam," Thomas Magnum comments as he watched Solo and Kuryakin place a sophisticated electronic sensor device on the fence. Rick, TC, and Thomas had tagged along with the UNCLE agents when the meeting in the house had ended. Solo was anxious to slip away before Goldman caught him, and the agents had chosen what they considered to be the estates most vulnerable spot as their first improvement.

"These are hardly standard issue," Kuryakin commented smugly.

Solo smirked. "Hardly. Illya's made most of these little wonders himself."

"You guys ever go into private business, give me a call," Rick suggested eagerly as he helped place some of the sensors. "You'd have the competition beat hands down. You'd make a killing."

Kuryakin studied the three younger men and handed a sensor to TC. "See if you can install the next one." He watched over their shoulders and offered sparse instruction. "I'm afraid we are not interested in the private investigation business," Kuryakin commented, glancing with amusement at his partner. "Napoleon could use the money, but could never manage the books."

Solo refuted with a mock sneer. "I would miss the free travel we get with UNCLE."

He glanced beyond the fence to the nearby stretch of beach. Moonlight reflected on the sand and the tide's edge lapped against the beach in a velvet blue line. For the thousandth time he wondered if Karkov would attack, if they would ever see the end of this torment. McGarrett had been right, their nerves were becoming their worst enemy. The waiting, the uncertainty, were harder to endure than a tangible danger.

Solo had been living on nerves-edge for weeks. His moods vacillated from extreme tension to near-normal calm, receding erratically like the tide. Now that they approached the denouement his emotions fluctuated even more. His patience was almost non-existent, humor and optimism diminished, and objectivity gone. Only Illya's consistent moral support had kept Solo 'normal' this long. He realized only part of his manufactured scene with Steve had been faked; part had been real anger and frustration, though not focused at Steve.

And if Goldman had forced a confrontation over Magnum, there would have been a real blow-up there, too. Strangely, Solo could see what was happening to him, but was powerless to stop it, or perhaps didn't want to. As in any operation, adrenaline and nerves gave an agent an edge. Napoleon almost valued this nervous, almost neurotic edge. It would see him through tomorrow. It would justify any actions taken when he finally faced Karkov.

The beam of a flashlight danced on the five men and they glanced around to see Higgins, Goldman and the lads approaching.

"Thought you could use some coffee," Higgins announced as he passed out a few thermoses and cups.

Oscar ran the flashlight over the sensor Magnum and Rick had just completed. "Is that a modified DY-X1?"

"More or less," Illya responded cryptically. From Oscar's puzzled expression it was obvious he expected a more lucid answer.

"Don't be so smug," Napoleon nudged Kuryakin with an elbow and nearly spilled the Russian's coffee. "It's a DY-X3 that Illya got his hands on," Solo explained helpfully.

"And you're already teaching Magnum the finer points of espionage work, I see," Oscar observed. Solo waited for a more scathing remark or attack, but none came. He realized he was being overly paranoid. "I thought Thomas should be introduced to some new ideas."

Goldman locked gazes with Solo for a moment and nodded his head, accepting the nebulous, blanket statement for what it was meant to convey. It explained why Solo had brought the young NI officer into the operation, why the long secret of the Manchurian mission had finally been exposed. "I was about to patrol the fence along the highway," Goldman said to Thomas. "Would you like to come along?" This cryptic statement was also accepted as the multi-leveled invitation it was meant to be.

"Sure," Magnum agreed readily and walked away with Goldman. By an unspoken understanding, the others stayed behind.

Higgins brought their attention back to the work at hand by closely examining one of the sensors. "This is much more sophisticated than what I'm used to of course, but I remember an incident in Cuba before I left MI6 . . . ."

Solo and Kuryakin exchanged rueful glances, knowing this would be a long story and stoically accepting their fate.

"Napoleon said you'd be mad about our involvement with this case," Thomas began as their long strides took them quickly across the wide lawns. Thomas grinned to lessen the blunt answer.

The grin was infection and Oscar laughed ruefully. "Someday that man will find himself in a situation he can't charm himself out of." He became more serious as sobered thoughts of Thomas's father cam to mind. Memories that were never deeply buried. "I see you father very clearly in you. He would be proud of you."

As they made their leisurely rounds Oscar recounted stories about Magnum senior, incidents that had been safely secured in the past and had not seen the light of recollection for many years. It still hurt too much to think about a close friend who was no longer with him. But in Thomas, Oscar had found the curiosity of a boy who had never really known his father, whose hunger for knowledge would never be satisfied. The conversation became easier, and hours passed as they found a secluded patch of beach to recount stories of a man who was keenly missed by both of them. The telling and the listening healed wounds that could never otherwise have been sealed. The eastern sky was pink with the advent of dawn before they realized the night had passed.

"What about your future?" Oscar asked as they started for the house to scrounge breakfast.

Thomas shrugged uncertainly. "TC and Rick are out of the Marines. I've been assigned to San Diego. They're going to stick around Hawaii and see what comes up. I'll visit them when I can. I don't know what the NI will be like without a war to fight."

"There's a job waiting for you at OSI if you ever want one," Oscar offered, then quickly added, "And this is not charity. Good intelligence officers are hard to come by."

The young Magnum shook his head. "Not now. I don't want out of the Navy -- yet. I might, but I have to see how things go for now." He paused thoughtfully. "It's tempting to think about resigning. One reason is that I never really experienced life, just the Navy. Someday I'll probably need to get away from the structure." He smiled a winning smile that could rival Napoleon Solo's famous charm any day. "But thanks for the offer. I feel very popular."

Goldman scowled. "I suppose Napoleon already tried to recruit you for UNCLE."

"Actually, Illya asked," Magnum laughed as they entered the house.

"Any ideas about what you want to do if you stay in the Navy?" Oscar was again the recipient of that devastating smile.

"Well, I've learned a lot from you, and Steve and Napoleon. Something in investigations would be fun," Thomas admitted.

By the time Ming came to work for his regular shift, the covert defenses were intact and the participants prepared. Higgins manufactured some leaky pipes to keep Ming occupied for the day. Several hints were dropped within the Oriental's hearing, a few arguments were staged, and phone conversations were taken nearby. When Ming left that afternoon, the performers felt they had primed the pump as much as possible.

The sun was behind the hill when the audio sensors at the tide pool fence picked up the distinctive sound of chopper blades.

"They're flying in from the beach," Illya reported into a walkie-talkie as he tracked the signal.

The command post had been set up near the guesthouse, a central location and defensible area for the equipment. Kuryakin and Solo were there, monitoring the defenses and waiting to see where their services would be needed.

The warning was picked up by McGarrett, Duke and Ben stationed at the front gate, Oscar, and Higgins at the tennis courts, Magnum, Rick, and T.C. in a chopper concealed down the beach.

From beside Kuryakin, Napoleon moved his Walther from his right to left hand and wiped a sweaty palm on his trouser leg. It had been a long time since he had been so nervous for a mission. But it had been a while since the circumstances were so personal, or so he rationalized. Maybe he was just losing his nerve, getting too old for this emotionally shredding business.

The defenses, thanks to UNCLE equipment, were largely automatic. Remote control mines and gas jets were utilized, designed to eliminate the opposition without too much danger to the good guys.

Another blip appeared on Kuryakin's monitor. "West fence by the highway," he reported to his listeners. "Get ready to move, Steve," he warned.

The chopper landed on the beach a few hundred yards east of the estate. The attackers were dressed in black, nearly invisible now that the faint light of sunset had faded and the moon had not yet risen. Obvious professionals, the adversaries removed several electronic devices before Kuryakin realized the danger. He activated the mines that were in the area of the first breach.

"The east fence," he snapped to Solo. "They took out the sensor. I don't know how many there are."

Without bothering to reply, Solo vaulted away, his dark clothes effectively camouflaged him and within seconds he was no longer visible.

"Napoleon!" Kuryakin whispered, but knew it was too late.

Cursing under his breath, Illya realized the mistake he had made. There should have been someone else monitoring the equipment so he could stay with Solo. They were the most effective enforcement agents in UNCLE North America, and worked best together. Separated, Solo was likely to get himself killed. Kuryakin quickly warned the others and the defenses were tightened, mines and gas canisters were set off. Yet the attackers had gained some inroads and heavy fire could be heard near the tide pool. Kuryakin could not hear the telltale sound of an UNCLE Special, yet, and worry for his partner was distracting his concentration.

The surprise appearance of TC, Rick, and Magnum was the effective coup they had hoped for. The chopper had been called in and the Vietnam veterans were helping the Five-0 detectives on the west lawn.

Suddenly Higgins scrambled up beside Kuryakin. "Oscar was separated from me," he reported breathlessly. "He's pinned down near the guest house."

"I have already released those explosives," Kuryakin muttered angrily.

"How did the intruders get past them?"

Higgins shrugged, not offering an answer. "I came for some of your grenades."

Illya quickly grabbed a handful of grenades along with his UNCLE Special. "Stay on the monitor. I'm going over there. Did you see Napoleon?"

"No."

As an afterthought, Kuryakin put on a pair of inferred glasses that most of the teams had been issued. He would head for the hot spot. Undoubtedly that was where Napoleon would be.

Solo was on his stomach, waiting for more cover fire. Steve, Oscar, and Higgins were pinned down by steady fire from the sea wall along the east beach. From his vantage- point on the makai side of the house, Napoleon saw the opposition could hold out as long as they wanted, then escape via a clear path to the beach, before the defending forces could rally. Solo wasn't about to let that happen. These invaders were their only link to Danny and Karkov. Solo was tired of being outsmarted at every turn and ready to end the cat and mouse game that Karkov had controlled for the entire chase. Solo knew he was the only one in a position to stop the enemy. All it would take would be a dash across the lawn to the cover of the sea wall, then over the wall and along the beach in back of the assault team.

Naploeon never doubted his ability to stop them single-handed, after all, he had been responsible for collapsing entire fortresses all by himself. How hard could a group of assassins be? When Illya reached Oscar and Steve, it was clear the defensive position on this side of the estate was in jeopardy. Several attackers' bodies were sprawled on the lawn but there was still heavy fire from the beach. McGarrett and Magnum's groups were still occupied.

Illya's small contingent would have to hold the fort. "Have you seen Napoleon?" the agent asked between shots.

"He was heading for the sea wall. He thought he could get behind them," Steve answered.

"Fool," Illya whispered and scanned the area through the night-vision glasses. From this angle he could see the position of the enemy and knew they were trapped here until helped arrived.

A dark blot moved at the corner of Kuryakin's peripheral vision. He turned in time to see the figure cross the no-man's land of open lawns at a dead run. There was no doubt of the identity. Solo was heading directly toward the main nest of attackers., head on into the enemy's position.

"Napoleon, stop!" Kuryakin yelled in warning, though a sickening premonition told him it was already too late.

Steve roughly pulled him down, shoving him against the wall of the house a split-second before a rain of fire hit their position. The three watched as Solo dove toward the safety of the sea wall. Strafing bullets riddled the area and Solo's body jerked, then fell over the sea wall, and disappeared from view.

"No," Oscar whispered and fell back against the wall. Steve closed his eyes and his grip tightened around Illya's arm.

For several seconds Kuryakin was stunned into mobility. He couldn't breath, couldn't think, as if his mind and body were suddenly seized with an immobilizing shock. His chest felt like it had been hit with a pile driver. He functioned automatically, throwing grenades with shaking hands and blindly firing toward the enemy, oblivious to the excellent target he made. No longer did he think of safety or tactics -- he had just seen his best friend shot, probably killed. He couldn't deal with emotion now, professional instinct saved him from facing the real agony of accepting Solo's death -- and his mind automatically labeled it death. Pessimistic nature instinctively thought the worst, perhaps as a natural defense, theorizing that it was easier to live with a tragedy he had already accepted.

Fleetingly, he thought his judgement could be premature, after all, Napoleon had staged some miraculous recoveries. Even if Napoleon was alive, there was a burning, overwhelming hate, a lust for revenge he had never experienced before with such passion. His scientific mind analyzed it even as his darker nature welcomed it. He understood what Napoleon had felt toward Karkov, understood the bittersweet agony of revenge sought and gained.

These faceless minions had taken something from him that could never be replaced and he would see that they paid for that loss with their lives. Nothing else seemed to matter.

"The attackers at the west fence are dead," Oscar reported as he listened to the update on his talkie. "They're on their way."

Kuryakin loaded a fresh clip into his pistol. "Then we can attack."

Goldman put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "A kamikaze run is not going to help."

Kuryakin considered several plans, all of them rash and suicidal, but instantly lethal to the enemy. It took a few minutes to comprehend the enemy fire had stopped. His two companions had come to the same realization and they looked questioningly at each other. Comprehension dawned slowly and they came to a common answer simultaneously even as a familiar voice reached them.

"Is anybody around or am I manning the bastions by myself?"

Kuryakin released a long sigh as he stood and walked toward the sea wall. The moon had come up and he could see Solo's silhouette against the shimmering dark ocean. Illya's relief that Napoleon was alive mingled with his anger at the American's foolhardy heroics. Kuryakin decided not to give in to either emotion and said nothing to his partner.

The estate floodlights came on and the rest of the defenders straggled over to join Solo. The agent was sitting on the ground, leaning against the lava wall, his feet propped on the unconscious form of black-clad man. TC's chopper landed on the beach near the tide pool and within minutes Rick, Magnum, and TC completed the gathering. They reported six dead bodies on the beach.

"This man is the only one left alive," Higgins concluded and checked the man's pulse.

The irritation in McGarrett's voice was palpable. "You couldn't save any others?"

Solo shrugged unrepentantly. "It was killed or be killed." He kicked the invader. "But we needed someone to give us information and here's your present, Steve."

"You think he'll tell us where Danno is?" Steve asked hopefully.

"I'm sure of it," Napoleon responded darkly.

McGarrett stepped forward, unable to restrain his objections any longer.

"I can't allow vigilante tactics, Napoleon. Nor can I allow you to torture this man for information."

Kuryakin was offended and assured the Chief of Five-0 their methods were completely humane and legal. This was not the first time they had come head to head with McGarrett over legalities. The Five-0 detective was extremely protective of these islands and would permit no bending of the law, not even in this extreme instance. And McGarrett's adherence to strict black-and-white justice had been intensified by Danny's kidnapping and the death of innocent citizens during an operation. The UNCLE agents would not be allowed a loose interpretation of rules.

The Russian snapped a packet off his belt and extracted a syringe. "This contains a most effective truth serum," Illya explained proudly. "He'll even live through the experience."

Skepticism dominated McGarrett's hard features. He glared from Kuryakin to Solo and back again. "I'm aware UNCLE agents are allowed a great deal of latitude, but you still have to operate within a system of due process. Remember you're on my rock now. Don't think you can get away with anything beyond your charter." He looked meaningfully at Solo. "Or murder."

Solo's expression was hard and cold, every bit the professional espionage agent. "It was self defense, Steve. You'd have a hard time proving otherwise." There was a dangerous edge in his voice. "You want to save your friend, don't you? Then get out of Illya's way and let him do his job."

...Continued