They trekked off the brown lawn and away from her mangled flower beds into a lane normally used by the cows to reach their pasture. The ground was uneven, and on both sides it stretched away brown and ruined. Solo kept glancing at the woods to relieve his eyes. Something in the terrible death of the crops was depressing. It seeped into his soul and made him uneasy.
Gloryanna stopped to let them catch up. "Well, this is it."
Illya left the lane, going into the field and squatting down. He took up a stick and dug a bit in the earth, then picked up a handful of soil, squeezed it and let it run through his fingers. He looked expert, and Solo smiled at him. Illya was expert at everything, it seemed.
"It's beautifully fertile soil usually," Gloryanna told Illya. "It just seemed to turn on us. Almost like a plague from biblical times."
"It's a plague, all right," Solo said, "but not of locusts or borers. I'd call it a plague of thrushes."
She stared at him in astonishment. "You really don't know anything about farming, do you? Thrushes never hurt our crops. Have you ever even seen a thrush, Mr. Solo? Napoleon?"
"Too many," Solo said.
"Which one is your favorite then?" she pressed, trying to make him admit his ignorance.
"I'll always vote for the yellow-bellied thrush. They're easier to handle."
"There isn't any such thing!" she laughed. "I knew you'd hang yourself if I gave you enough leeway."
Illya stood up from his soil sampling. "He's teasing you, Gloryanna. Napoleon believes in the theory that if you don't know something, never admit it; just use your imagination."
Solo grimaced at Illya and stiffened. His eyes had picked up something else - strangers in the field, moving toward them with a steady pace. Two big men. "Is it my imagination that tells me two men are walking toward us across this field? And that they don't look especially friendly?"
Illya stepped a yard away, braced, as he took in the menacing appearance of their visitors.
'Those are just Agriculture men." Gloryanna was confused by their wary behavior. "I told you they weren't nice, but you don't have to look like you're going to attack them."
Solo watched the men approach. They were both tall and dark. One of them was familiar. "Check the one on the right, Illya."
"Got him," Illya said. "I've seen him before and he was in full feather."
A Thrush operative. Solo's right hand moved with a will of its own toward his coat, but he held it back. It was too early to pull guns. Maybe this particular Thrush wouldn't remember them, anyway.
Illya asked quietly, "Do we play innocent, or do I shoot? You give the word."
"Shoot?" Gloryanna gasped. "Those men are from the Department of Agriculture! You can't do anything. You have to let them have their way. And you have to be polite."
"We'll try," Solo said and relaxed his right arm.
"There's no trying about it, Mr. Solo. You simply have to, or you'll make trouble for my father. These men are in charge here now."
"All right." Solo surrendered to her worry. "Play it cozy, Illya. Back out gracefully."
The two men were twenty feet away and they came striding fast to stop in front of the little group. Their faces were pinched and ugly. "What's this supposed to be?" the one Solo had recognized demanded. A sight seeing trip?"
"Exactly," Solo answered. "Quite a sight, too."
"Unauthorized personnel aren't allowed in the fields."
"Yes, sir; sorry, sir," Solo said with mock subservience. "We didn't know that rule."
"Miss Piper knows it!"
"I'm sorry. I mean, really sorry," Gloryanna said. "I didn't see any harm in showing -"
The second man cut her off abruptly. "If I were you, Miss Piper, I'd pay attention to our rules. Careful attention."
The man's voice was edging upward. Solo backed off a few feet. "We'll get out of your way right now."
"I'd advise it," the man said. "And don't come back." Solo caught Gloryanna by the hand and started off as Illya followed, saying, "We'll leave the field entirely to you, sir." He caught up with Solo and muttered, "It's downright embarrassing, Napoleon, running like this."
"We'll have our chance," Solo promised. He looked over his shoulder. The two men were watching their re treat. He kept walking doggedly, starting to follow u the clues the girl had given him to keep his mind off the Thrush guns behind him. "Now, Gloryanna, where did you say this road show is set up? On the estate you showed us?"
"Yes. But I won't take you there. Something funny is going on. I can sense it."
"Woman's intuition?" Illya asked from the same need Solo had to make conversation.
"Plain common sense. Do you two carry guns? What the devil are you? Gangsters come to rob our bank?"
"We'll explain all of that," Solo told her.
"You'd better, and right away. Come into the house and I'll give you coffee and you can tell me. My guided tour is over."
---
An hour later she drove them back to town, satisfied with the brief explanation they had given her, and oddly proud to be part of an U.N.C.L.E. operation. It had taken no convincing. She had doubted the identity of the Agriculture men all along, though she hadn't admitted it to anyone. She knew her County Agent, and her other contacts with the Department had been with polite men who didn't order the farmers about like strangers on their own land.
---
Back in the hotel room, Solo finished his report to Waverly. "They weren't U.S.D.A. men at all, sir."
"I discovered that, myself," Waverly said. "The U.S.D.A. is aware of the problem and was just ready to move in. Since we're there already, they've decided to let us handle it. After all, Thrush is our regular adversary so they feel we have the better chance. Do you have any substantial leads, Mr. Solo?"
"An insubstantial one, sir. The Cosmic Theater. It's a road show of some sort that came into town a few days ago. Headed by a Mr. Saturn. They're ensconced in a trailer camp on a country estate. They haven't put on a show yet because no one around here is interested with their fields dying under their feet."
"They came after the devastation?"
"They did. But their advance publicity men came before. That's why I'm considering them. Naturally, all of the Thrush operatives posing as U.S.D.A. men came after the trouble started, too. But there has to be a link somewhere."
"Find it then, and quickly," Waverly said. "We have indications that Thrush is stirring all over the world, preparing for something. Probably this chemical. If they distribute it before we have the antidote, everything is lost." Waverly paused briefly. When he resumed, his voice had changed from command to concern. "And how are you making out personally, Mr. Solo?"
Solo winced at the question, a bit angry. Was every one at U.N.C.L.E. going to mother-hen him until he proved himself? "Everything is fine here, sir. But if you're really not sure of me, then -"
"Temper, Mr. Solo."
To himself, Solo said, "Ooopsl" but to Waverly he said, "I'm sorry, sir.
"That goes without saying," Waverly answered.
Solo switched the transceiver off and looked, at Illya. The blond agent was barely suppressing a laugh.
"So, I put my foot in my mouth," Solo snapped at him. "You'd better watch when you smile or I'll carry your head home in a box, shaggy hair and all."
"Temper, Mr. Solo. Let's eat and soothe the growling bear in you. Peace?"