"And me?" Gloryanna asked. "I'll help Illya?"
"You'll come with me," Solo said. "We have to give Illya time to get free and clear. I'll take you home, Miss Piper." He winked at her to still her fear and she smiled. Then she threw herself against him, tall and strong, and kissed him a big smack on the lips.
"That's for saving me from becoming an old crow."
"Thank you. But I'll be horsewhipped if your father finds out." Solo put a hand on Illya's shoulder. "Move, Illya. I'll cover you as far as I can."
Illya limped away, forcing each step out of his exhausted body. Solo suddenly dashed sideways to the burning area of grass and caught up a Thrush rifle. He pounded ahead and gave it to Illya. "Wrong make, but it fires," he told the blond agent. "Chin up, Illya. You're halfway there."
Illya continued his painful progress and Solo took Gloryanna by the hand and pulled her panting and galloping to the back of the field. He turned his head every few steps to judge Illya's escape. Illya had to be out of sight before he let himself take cover. But Solo still reached his goal before Illya did. Solo stopped, ordered Gloryanna into the trees and waited, gun ready. At last Illya limped out of sight, the trees closing over him. Solo took his own plunge for shelter and came up to the girl. There were voices calling behind him. He had cut it just right.
"Now what?" Gloryanna clasped his arm."
"We run like hell, honey."
The woods were cool, at least, but not as deep as Solo had hoped. He was forced to run a course in the middle. The Thrush men would have to come inside to flush him out, giving him a chance to pick them off. As he ran, dodging trucks, he switched his gun clip back to bullets.
There were crashes in the forest with them now. Crashes in front that meant men coming, and crashes behind. Solo stopped, gasping in unison with Gloryanna. Shouts came to his ears. The shouts of hunters looking for human game. He made out seven or eight separate voices, sounding off in a search pattern. He took quick shelter behind a tree trunk and drew Gloryanna close.
"Listen, from now on you're on your own. Okay? I want you to run to the back of the woods, go outside it, and tear for home as fast as you can. Don't stop until you get to your father."
"But what about -?"
"I gave you an order, Gloryanna. Now, do it! I don't want one single argument."
"But I hear those men! There are so many."
"Oh, and take off those red slacks. Roll them into a bundle and carry them. You can be seen for two miles in those things."
She took off her slacks without question but showed no inclination to obey anything else. She rolled the slacks into a tight ball and tucked them under her arm.
"Move, Gloryanna!"
Her blue eyes met his with a dreadful hesitation. She was unable to leave him to fight this alone. He had to force her. "I can handle them better without you. Look, Gloryanna, if you stay you'll undoubtedly get me killed. I have a better chance alone. So - go!" He slapped her on the rear, startling her as she realized she was half naked, and she took off with surprising speed, her tanned legs disappearing into the woods.
Solo fled against the direction he had told her to follow, drawing the men away. He had two little pheasants running through the woods on his orders now and he had to try the broken-wing bit to lead the hunters off.
He sprinted, skittering from tree to tree, hearing the Thrush men close in. But he had a good chance and knew it. He crashed deliberately through a clump of dead underbrush, making as much noise as possible to call the hunters, and came up short with a biting pain in his ankle.
It was a fire that toppled him onto his face. He rolled over, sat up, and examined his foot. Caught in a nasty trap. An actual steel animal trap that surrounded his foot and bit into his ankle. He fought it frantically as the steps crackled closer. He should have expected something like this but he hadn't.
He couldn't open the teeth. There was a special knack to it and he didn't know that knack. All he managed to do was bite the jaws deeper into his flesh.
Then it was too late anyway. The first Thrush hunter came out of the trees, rifle pointed. He was quickly joined by more, finally making ten altogether.
"Your gun, Solo," one of them said.
Solo tossed it over. There was no chance to fight this time. Better to stall it out and see if a chance developed later. He raised his hands uselessly.
"What's the matter, Solo? Didn't they give you a course on removing animal traps at U.N.C.L.E.?"
"I suppose they don't consider us animals," Solo answered.
With a flick of his hand the Thrush in command ordered the steel jaws removed from Solo's ankle. When it was done, the man said, "On your feet, Mr. Solo. You're coming back to the barn. You have some explaining to do."
---
The interior of the barn was dim and cool. Solo entered with what he called his "entourage" and was plunked down on a bale of hay. It was comfortable, so he relaxed. There was nothing else to do with fifteen Thrush musclemen at hand, their rifles pointing his direction.
A quick scan of the barn revealed no stacks of any thing to be shipped out. If they were making a shipment, then it must be already packed in the trailers.
Barber came to him and bound his wrists with rope, leaving his hands in front of him and his feet free as an act of disdain.
Look down your nose all you like, Solo thought and leaned his back against another bale. He was tired and the hay, though old, smelled incredibly good.
A half hour passed and word came that Dundee was outside. Mr. Saturn began buzzing about like a long-legged insect, setting up a folding chair and card-table, pouring out cold drinks, opening sacks of sandwiches, all for Dundee. They acted as though the man's entrance would require a call of trumpets.
Dundee stamped across the stage boards and stood hands on hips, surveying the barn. Solo recalled him clearly from the picture he had carried about New York. He was a short man, bulky and given to flabby muscles. He had red hair, blue eyes, and thousands of freckles. Only the eyes were a relief, because when they encountered Solo they glinted with intelligence. At last a Thrush who wasn't a lackey, who wasn't tottering on the edge of insanity. Solo watched him intently.
"Ah, Mr. Solo." Dundee paced over. "They told me you were here and I could hardly believe our good fortune. Especially with this group of operatives."
"They do leave a lot to be desired," Solo answered.
"From your experience you know they aren't representative of Thrush."
"Oh, really?" Solo opened his eyes in mock surprise. "I was convinced you had sunk to this level since you let them be in charge of Operation Breadbasket."
"In charge?" Dundee laughed. "You know better. These men actually offend me."
"You all offend me."
Dundee stiffened, then relaxed himself. But he couldn't hide the redness that swelled over his face. "I learned long ago not to let a prisoner raise my temper. After all, a prisoner has no dignity. He isn't worthy of contempt."
Solo didn't speak. He simply leaned back, settling himself more comfortably on the hay.
Dundee eyed him up and down. "I hear you even stooped to personally dispense with Abel Adams. A harmless little idiot like that - wasn't it a waste of your time?"