The Man From UNCLE series ran from 1964 -1968. Starring Robert Vaughn as Napoleon Solo, and David McCallum as Illya Kuryakin, it set the pace for slick, fun, hip, intrigue/drama for television spies. Using futuristic technology, The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, an international crime-fighting organization, utilized James Bond-like agents in their quest for world justice. Leo G. Carroll played their irascible leader, Alexander Waverly. Napoleon and Illya, the two highest ranking Enforcement agents, globe-hopped to exotic locales to romance a new girl of the week and usually battle their arch-enemies, THRUSH (Technological Hierarchy For The Removal Of Undesirables And The Subjugation Of Humanity). A reunion movie, The Return Of The Man From UNCLE, The Fifteen Years Later Affair, aired on CBS in 1983, with Patrick Macnee as the leader of the UNCLE organization.

Because the characters are contemporaries, and with Intelligence backgrounds linking Napoleon and McGarrett, the possibilities for encounters came naturally. The Man From UNCLE and Hawaii Five-0 are owned by others, and all this is just for fun, no copyright infringement intended. 

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THE NAPOLEON OF CRIME AFFAIR

I

"OH, WE'RE GOING TO A HUKILAU."

"I know MY excuse, Danno, what's yours?"

Dan Williams jumped, dropping the file folder of papers in his hands. Looking up in exasperation, he grimaced at his boss. "Same as yours," was his wry response. He crouched by his desk and retrieved the scattered pages.

Helping with the clean up, Steve McGarrett, head of the Hawaiian state police unit known as Hawaii Five-0, shook his head. "I thought I sent you home hours ago."

"I had to clean up after that wild birthday party," came Williams' sarcastic repost.

Throwing surprise birthday parties for McGarrett had become something of a challenge for the young and enthusiastic second-in-command Williams. McGarrett, serious and committed to his job, rarely allowed any personal aspects of his life into his professional duties. More and more over the years, a private life took a distant second place to Five-0. One of Williams' pet projects was to bring some balance and reality to his workaholic boss and friend.

The night's celebration had been a qualified success. McGarrett, so wrapped up in their latest hot case, remained distracted throughout the birthday celebration. Dan had outdone himself, arranging for catered Chinese food to be delivered by dancing hula girls. No doubt he would pay dearly -- soon -- for the excessive and overt embarrassment, but for that evening it had been worth it. At least for a little while the crass, innocent fun almost took Steve's mind off crime -- specifically the 'Napoleon of Crime'. Almost.

"Yeah, a birthday I won't soon forget," McGarrett admitted, not entirely pleased.

From the grim tone Williams knew his friend definitely would not forget or forgive the overt party. The birthday distractions were legendary around their office, and while McGarrett appreciated the sentiment, he did not like the blatant party revelry, or the embarrassment of the public marking of his age. The annual game, however, was a great boost to morale, and deep down, Steve really was touched by the affectionate display from his guys. At least, Dan hoped so.

Oh well, being a Five-0 cop meant living dangerously.

Steve laid a hand on Dan's shoulder. "Thanks for the thought, anyway."

From the expression and tone of voice Dan knew his little ploy to distract the boss had been found out.

"I was hoping for the 'Napoleon of Crime' all wrapped up in a nice package. But the hula girls looked a lot prettier. At least for a few hours tonight I didn't even think about our notorious cat burglar," he confessed, confirming Williams' thoughts.

Dan smiled. "Then Lani's price was worth every dollar."

"Now, let's get out of here. I'm afraid we'll have more work --" he glanced at the clock, "-- later this morning thanks to our cat burglar."

"HPD's tied up Waikiki's like a Christmas present, Steve. You think he'll strike tonight?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid he will. I just hope some sharp cop spots him first." He shut out the lights and shepherded his colleague out the door. "I'd like to have a pleasant New Year's." He locked up and the two detectives strolled down the koa wood steps of Iolani Palace. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the empty building. "Lani. Was she the one with the plumeria blossom behind her right ear?"

"Yeah. I think she's free tomorrow night."

"Why? You asked already, I suppose?"

"No, I asked Lea, her sister. The one with the hibiscus lei. I just hope we're free tomorrow night."

"I hope so, too, Danno. It all depends on our foe, the cat burglar."

*****

Only a portion of the tropical moon was visible. Cottony dark clouds, nearly translucent silver at their edges, scudded across the faintly illuminated sky. The willowy cloud-patches, blown by the tender Trade winds, occasionally obscured the glowing stars to the south on the winter night.

The brightness of the huge Hawaiian moon shown like a spotlight as it reflected in the mirror-like windows of the high-rise. Far above the beach a black-clad human fly danced from shadow to moonlight and back to shadow as he tracked his way along the wall of the multi-storied hotel. The progress was methodical yet swift as the man climbed from one lanai to another. Special suction shoes and a short safety line were his only aids as he gracefully bounded up each level with a sure and confident pace.

From far below came the quiet murmurs of conversation; and the lilting melody of the 'Hukilau Song' -- the song of a fishing party. The hotel band at a poolside restaurant could be heard along Waikiki.

It took only moments of strenuous expertise to take the man to the top floor of the Sheraton Waikiki. It was a quick and simple task to slip the lock on the lanai's sliding glass door. Once inside, the black-masked figure furtively yet purposefully crossed to the wet bar.

The beach-scape painting behind the wall swung aside. The burglar placed a small magnetic box on the safe door. Tiny lights flashed on the box as the device automatically worked the safe's tumblers. Seconds later the safe door swung open.

With brisk, efficient skill the safe contents were rifled with professional speed. The thief knew exactly what he wanted. Some pieces of jewelry were abandoned in favor of more elegant and expensive gems. A handful of precious stones were slipped into a small pouch tied to his belt. He removed the box, closed the door, replaced the picture and slipped out the lanai door. In less than two minutes after he had entered the penthouse suite, he was gone -- like an imagined specter of the night.

Repelling down one lanai to another was a faster and easier trip than the assent. The Sheraton Waikiki was gull-winged shaped, the middle of the inner curve facing makai was a well sheltered and shadowed place. The cat-burglar escaped undetected as he swiftly descended toward the beach.

His feet touched the railing on a fourth floor lanai and he paused to readjust his line. The rope-grip released automatically when the weight was removed. Balanced on the rail he caught the rope and grip and prepared to repel off again.

A sudden scream ripped through the relatively quiet night. Surprised, the cat-burglar tottered precariously on the narrow ledge. Only his iron nerves saved him from falling to the beach far below. However, he overcompensated his balance and fell forward to the floor of the lanai. The repelling rope and grip fell in a heap atop his shoulders and head. His crash toppled a small table laden with several Blue Hawaii cocktails. In the same clumsy fall he also tripped a woman tourist dressed in a brightly flowered muumuu. The tourist screamed again in an ear piercing shriek. The scream sliced through the background noises of the Hawaiian band; through the constant resonance of Pacific waves as they lapped and caressed the sands of Waikiki.

"Terrorist!" the lady cried.

She was not so overcome with fear that she couldn't defend herself. She picked up one of the glasses partially filled with liquor, and threw both glass and contents at the intruder.

The burglar was instantly on his feet. With monkey-like prowess he snatched up his equipment, leaped the lanai railing and scrambled from lanai to lanai until he could jump to the deck of the swimming pool area.

The hue and cry evolved into a tsunami of general alarm. People gathered at pool side and watched the burglar run across the lawn, vaulting deck chairs and skirting tables in his way. Two security guards appeared around the corner of the hotel and gave chase. The burglar hurtled over the bushes edging the patio area. Still laden with gear he leaped across the concrete sidewalk on the other side and raced onto the sand. Within seconds, he was in the surf and disappearing into the velvet-blue cushion of ocean.

*****

"Your blundering is unbelievable!"

Napoleon Solo poked his sudsy head out from the edge of the shower curtain. His face scowled into a tired expression of irritation that was lost on his target. His partner, the critical member of the team, was in their living area of the hotel room.

"It wasn't my fault!" he yelled in defense. He took out his frustrations by vigorously scrubbing sand from his thick, dark hair. Then he retreated back behind the curtain.

Dressed in t-shirt and swim trunks, Illya Kuryakin walked in and leaned against the bathroom door. He was shifting the cache of jewelry from one hand to the other, a visible extension of his inward irritation.

"You could have blown the whole operation!"

"It was bad luck, Illya. It could have happened to anyone!" he insisted as he shut off the water and reached for a towel. "Even you," he pointedly added. He poked his dripping head around and glared at his partner, again. "If you'd have been up there instead of me!"

Kuryakin returned to the main room and deposited the jewels in a secret compartment of his suitcase. His movements were sharp and quick, reflecting his annoyance. The close call at the Sheraton was a reminder that this affair was not all fun and games.

This had been the fourth burglary in Solo's recent career of crime. Their mission was to establish a pattern of cat-burglaries in penthouse suites in Waikiki. Commissioned by Alexander Waverly and given to his top team, the string of burglaries would culminate on New Year's Eve, when the final burglary would be committed. Then the theft would not be only jewels, but the new code book for world-wide THRUSH operations. Thus, the break-in at the THRUSH suite would be tabbed as another cat-burglary. The code book would remain and Solo would take away a few jewels and photos of the codes. UNCLE would be able to cripple every THRUSH operation listed in the book. It would be a telling blow to the criminal organization. The assignment appealed to Kuryakin and Solo; a crime against the criminals.

Soaking up the sun and scenery of Waikiki by day and dangling outside skyscrapers by night was almost like a game. So far, the agents had reveled in the sport and fun of the almost- riskless commission. Tonight's near miss was a sobering reminder that the mission was not without its usual dangers.

However, the crimes were real enough to the Honolulu Police Department and Hawaii Five-0. In the interest of believability, none of the local organizations -- including the UNCLE Honolulu office -- had been notified of the ploy. This was strictly a three-man, top, top secret operation.

Kuryakin didn't like to speculate on the consequences if they were caught. UNCLE in general, Napoleon in particular, would be in serious trouble. Their main enemy this time was not THRUSH, but, ironically, the head of Five-0. Steve McGarrett was a fellow Naval Intelligence associate of Solo's. The two men admired each other a great deal, but sometimes came to verbal blows when jurisdictions overlapped on the Hawaiian Islands. McGarrett oversaw law enforcement on the Islands and was not known for lenience or understanding if ANYBODY broke the law. He had tangled with CIA, FBI, and UNCLE before and would not condone this plot. On a more personal level, Napoleon hated tricking his old friend with the burglar ruse. The crime wave publicly embarrassed McGarrett, and Solo hoped he could make it up to his old friend in some way after the operation was over. An anonymous penance, of course. If Steve ever found out the true identity of the 'Napoleon of Crime' . . . well, the painful possibility didn't bear thinking about.

The cat-burglar of Waikiki had become notorious in the press. The police were targets of an unforgiving media, and the protests were fueled with bad press because rich tourists were the victims. One paper had suggested the burglar was so much more clever than the police, he was a modern-day 'Napoleon of Crime'. The tag was so apt, Kuryakin had taken to teasing his partner by saving clippings on the crimes.

However, there were other very real dangers that Illya did not find so amusing. The woman on the lanai was a minor snag that could have been far more serious. Too easily, Solo could have slipped and fallen to his death, or at any time been shot by overzealous policemen.

Dressed in beach shorts and a polo shirt, an irked Solo emerged from the bathroom. He massaged a sore shoulder that had collided with the lanai table. "You could give me a little credit for having the presence of mind to remove the UNCLE equipment," he still defended as he towel dried his hair.

"The irreplaceable new climbing equipment that now rests at the bottom of the Waikiki reef," Kuryakin reminded. He crossed the room and opened the lanai door.

A cool, stiff breeze swept off the nearby ocean and into the room. The agents resided in a second story cottage bungalow of the Halekulani Hotel. Notable for being the site of Charlie Chan's first case, the Halekulani was the only hotel on Waikiki that retained a rustic atmosphere of bungalows among the sterile high-rises rimming Waikiki.

"What are you going to do without the equipment?"

Solo shrugged. "I'll have to pick an easy hotel, I guess. You know, Illya, you worry too much."

Without comment, Kuryakin removed two sodas from the room's refrigerator and took a seat at the lanai table.

Solo tossed the towel onto his bed and joined his partner on the lanai. He settled into a chair and propped his feet on the railing. Once the bottle-cap was removed from his drink he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Just above the slight rustle of palms, the quiet rushing and receding of surf provided a lulling subliminal rhythm. He sighed as he shifted to an optimally comfortable position.

"What's bugging you?" he quietly asked.

Illya stared out at the dark patch of horizon that was the Pacific Ocean. "I'm not sure," he almost sighed. "Perhaps there are too many angles. Too much secrecy."

Napoleon took a long drink of the cola. He swallowed and scowled. The self-imposed sobriety diet for this mission was almost an over-caution. However, alcohol was too potent to play with when he balanced precariously dozens of stories above the ground.

"Secrecy is our business," Solo quipped. "Isn't it engraved above Waverly's door?" He glanced over at his partner. The silence, the set expression, revealed the humor had not penetrated the Russian's soberness. "We can always trade," he teased, knowing Kuryakin would rather stay on the terra firma than be suspended high above the Hawaiian tourist mecca.

"I don't have the qualifications. You are the Napoleon of crime," Illya returned wryly, finally responding to Solo's efforts to lighten the mood.

"Cute." Seeing the standard raparte did nothing to lighten his partner's mood, Solo changed gears and tried honesty. "Look, Illya, I don't like this level of deceit, either. Steve McGarrett is my friend! You think I like sneaking behind his back?"

"No. Aside from the ethical complications, I also dislike the danger. The Honolulu Police, Five-0, or McGarrett himself, could catch you. They don't know you're a good guy in criminal clothing, my friend."

Solo made a sour face. "I know. Fortunately, Steve IS the kind to questions first and shoots second." He grimaced in distaste. "That might change, however, if he finds out the real identity of the 'Napoleon of Crime'."

The beachside band music carried on the wind. Solo recognized the song. The 'Hukilau' again. He smiled ruefully, remembering the last time he had heard the tune. In retrospect, he saw the humor in his near escape.

"What's so amusing?" Kuryakin wondered, his tone a little more relaxed.

"The song. Made me think -- if you want we can always go get the gear and have an impromptu hukilau."

"With you as the catch?" Illya dryly queried. Then, in a more surprised tone asked, "Where did you learn about hukilau?"

"Remember that one assignment on the Big Island?" Solo asked. He speculatively raised his eyebrows. "That tour guide in Hilo named --"

"Don't tell me," Illya interrupted.

"Lanikai --"

"Napoleon I don't want to hear another of your escapade stories," he retorted with finality.

The senior agent took another drink. "All right. I guess we should earn our pay instead."

"Another target? Tonight?"

"They'll never expect another hit tonight," Solo explained, then added with a crooked twist of a smile, "Did you know the Moana Hotel is not a skyscraper?"

"Chicken."

*****

Steve McGarrett wove through the poolside tourists crowded on the beachside deck of the Sheraton Waikiki. He reached a spot near the walkway leading to the sand and stopped to look up at the ocean-view rooms. He focused on the fourth floor lanai where lab crews from Hawaii Five-0 searched for clues. He would lay odds they would find none. The irritatingly elusive 'Napoleon of Crime' had so far proven to be a total professional. No clues, no traces, and no easy task for the state police to catch him.

"Steve?"

McGarrett continued to study the distant hotel lanai. "So he got us again, Danno," he sighed. He turned to look at his second in command. "The lab boys come up with anything yet?"

Williams shook his head. His gaze flashed toward the lanai and back to his boss. "We might have something, though. The burglar had to make a run for it down the beach and into the surf. He swam -- well, could be anywhere -- but some distance, because officers were covering most of this side of Waikiki within a few minutes of the alert."

"Looking for a suspicious character in black?" McGarrett countered with a tone of skepticism. "He could have had trunks under the clothes and come up anywhere on this beach without being noticed."

Williams shrugged and in frustration brushed at his sandy, curly hair. "True. When he ran, he was carrying his grappling equipment. It's my guess he didn't carry it far. I'm having the area swept by scuba teams. With some luck, we could find the equipment." He stifled a yawn and rubbed at tired eyes.

"Good work, Danno," McGarrett congratulated and patted his friend on the shoulder. "If we can trace the equipment we'll have our first edge on this guy." He smiled at the younger detective. "You should have gone home earlier."

"Another incentive to catch this creepy guy," Dan sighed, staring up at the side of the high-rise hotel.

"We will, Danno. I promise."

It was McGarrett's nature to seek out and bring to justice those renegades of society who defied the laws of the land. Hawaii Five-0, organized by McGarrett, was an elite force honed to pursue those criminals a step beyond the petty offenders handled by the regular police force. The cat burglar was one such criminal; costing the hotels their reputation for safety and Five-0 their reputation of success.

The Honolulu press had so far ridiculed McGarrett and his unit. Used to the unfair treatment, McGarrett still was irked at being a target of the one-sided media. The 'Napoleon of Crime' had provided the press with more fuel against Five-0, and that gave McGarrett even more incentive to catch the successful burglar. There were very few cases in the open-case file of Five-0, and he did not intend that this case would be included in that small stack.

Steve followed Williams to the beach and the younger detective showed him the spot where the burglar had jumped into the water.

"If you can believe our witnesses," Williams countered dryly. "We have descriptions: 'Not too tall, not too short, fast runner, good build.' In otherwords, nothing useful."

For a moment, McGarrett watched the HPD divers scanning the shallow shelf of underwater Waikiki. With one hand he shaded his eyes from the bright Hawaiian sun.

"We'll get him," he finally said, then glanced at his companion. "And I have a feeling it won't be easy."

Williams scoffed. "It hasn't been easy yet. He's a real pro."

Steve studied his younger companion. "You know, we keep saying how good this guy is. Uniquely qualified maybe?"

"An inside job?" Dan guessed. "Different hotels, different security personnel and systems."

"No, I'm thinking a professional at breaking and entering, escapes, daring and unusual feats."

"Like Special Forces?" At McGarrett's nod, Williams considered the idea. "Yeah. A lot of military in the islands. Some recently discharged vets around who probably qualify. Even someone on leave from Vietnam."

McGarrett warmed to the theme. "Or a spook from the CIA maybe? Get with our contacts in Washington, Danno."

"Official contacts?"

"For now. I might have to call a few of my old friends in the spy game if we don't get some decent answers."

"Like your Napoleon?"

McGarrett grinned at the pun. "Yeah, maybe." He gave his friend an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "If we don't catch this 'Napoleon of Crime' soon. He's good, Danno, but we're better."

---

II

"ON THE BEACH AT WAIKIKI."

No late-night beach strollers took notice of the two men wading through the surf. With rolled-up pant-cuffs, shoes in hand, they looked like any other tourists on an after dinner walk in the tropical sand. There were many visitors on the beach listening to the bands that played at every hotel bar and restaurant. A hundred different styles and songs could be heard by beach-strolling toward Diamond Head on the sand from the Hilton Hawaiian Village to the Moana Hotel.

Tonight, the beach was unusually crowded and the hotel bands were unusually loud and peppy. It was New Year's Eve. Revelers jammed the sidewalks of Kalakaua Avenue, the main thoroughfare of Waikiki. Traffic was bumper to bumper with night-club hoppers and partiers. Every restaurant and bar was jammed with locals and tourists out to sample Honolulu's night life on the wildest night of the year.

Solo and Kuryakin stopped and surveyed the tall, impressive blue and white, multi-winged Ilikai Hotel. The agents had leisurely walked from the Halekulani, to the Ala Wai Yacht Harbor that backed the Ilikai. Almost every day since their arrival, they had 'cased' the Ilikai in preparation for the culmination of their mission.

Yesterday and today they had been forced to reevaluate the strategy since they no longer had the special UNCLE equipment and could not replace it.

Waverly had been quite piqued at the loss of the experimental one-of-a-kind gear. He had muttered dangerous threats about never trusting Solo with such equipment again; with docking the agent's salary -- except none of them could live long enough for Solo to repay his debts to the organization. Waverly had signed off with a grim warning that the mission had better be completed satisfactorily or else.

Neither Kuryakin nor Napoleon questioned what that dangerous phrase meant. They did not even speculate between themselves. Some matters were just too serious to contemplate.

Most of the day had been spent around the Ilikai reflecting pool courtyard or on the nearby dock. The agents had studied the penthouse from every side and had even visited the suite (by using a skeleton key on the elevator). They'd removed themselves just before the THRUSH agents had arrived.

The UNCLE agents walked from the beach up the long, broad ramp that led from the harbor to the courtyard. Illya stopped at a newspaper machine and grabbed his partner by the arm. "Look."

The Honolulu Star-Bulletin headline was a story on the 'Napoleon-of-Crime's' latest caper; the double thefts at the Moana Hotel and the Sheraton the night before. A side article featured comments by Five-0's Steve McGarrett, who promised to bring the criminal to justice.

Solo nervously shifted and tugged at the sleeves of the black sweater slung over his shoulders. "Five-0 has been known to not solve a case," he commented with forced optimism. "Once in a while."

"And you can count those cases on the fingers of one hand," Illya replied dryly.

"Thanks for the confidence," was the stinging reply. Napoleon lowered his voice. "I did fine last night without the gear."

"On the third floor of a very old hotel, Napoleon." Illya glanced up the nearest wing of the tall Ilikai. The penthouse was lost in the darkness. "I am more sure-footed than you," he reminded.

The American shook his head. "Let you take the credit for the crime of the year? No way."

"And I look much better in black," Illya persisted.

This time Solo laughed. "Score for you. However, I have a better head for heights. And I'M a much better Robin Hood than you, tovarich."

Napoleon had come to relish the ultra-high adventure and risks of being a cat-burglar. He understood the mentality of toying with danger. He did it every day. However, this was a new kind of thrill and he wasn't ready to give it up. There was also a personal blow to make insurance companies sweat a little. They deserved the anxiety. However, at the end of the mission, all the jewelry would be quietly returned to the owners, with explanations provided in exchange for secrecy.

"Besides," Napoleon continued, emphasizing his comment by gently tapping Illya on the shoulder. "Your arm is still healing from that nasty break."

"It's been two months."

With an expression of annoyance, the senior agent took his friend by the arm and steered him to a secluded corner of the railing.

"You are getting cold feet, my friend, and it's making me a little nervous. Now tell me what's wrong?"

Kuryakin shifted his head as if trying to come to a decision. "I don't know."

Napoleon's countenance mellowed to concern. "This isn't doing anything for my confidence, you know," he confided and leaned his elbows on the railing.

"Sorry. That was not my intent."

"Is this one of your mysterious Old World premonitions?"

"Perhaps."

Solo had a few worries of his own, though he revealed none of his concerns. At the top of the list was the threat of his capture by local authorities. Aside from destroying the mission, an arrest would bring down the full Irish anger of his old acquaintance, McGarrett. It would not only alter their personal relationship, it would disrupt UNCLE credibility in the Islands. McGarrett had a great deal of authority here. To cross the Chief of Five-0 was to court serious danger.

He resisted the urge to massage his sore shoulder. He did not want to give Illya another reason for concern. With a little luck, he could pull off this last burglary without difficulty. He knew it would be a rough climb without equipment and with an injured shoulder. Still, he could not back out now, nor could he ask Illya to substitute. Therefore, his only option was to succeed with the mission.

Solo placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I think we need to forget about sixth sense messages and finish our job."

Illya nodded in reluctant agreement and followed his partner along the walkway. The courtyard lanai was crowded with people. A hot dance band was playing, and happy party-goers packed the deck.

Rolling down their trouser-legs and replacing their shoes, the agents blended in with the crowd. They slowly wound their way over to the bar where Illya ordered a vodka for himself and a Coca-Cola for his partner.

"Have you spotted them?" the Russian asked as he joined Napoleon at the railing of the courtyard that overlooked the harbor.

Solo accepted the drink without acknowledgment. Kuryakin followed his friend's gaze and was unsurprised to see a good-looking blond standing a few yards away in the reflected light of a rail torch. The blond wore a Hawaiian print, tight fitting sarong.

Illya sighed. "Don't you ever give up?"

"No," The American smiled -- not at his friend, but at the blond. "I've already located our birds. They're not as good-looking as the blond. And she's got a friend," he added, nudging Kuryakin in the ribs.

"Napoleon --" was Illya's impatient reply. His reprimand died away when he saw the blond's 'friend' was an exotically beautiful Polynesian girl.

"Napoleon we have a job to finish!"

"Well, the job will be done very shortly. And we do have to celebrate New Year's."

"First business," Kuryakin insisted.

Solo scowled but reluctantly complied. "Spoil sport. The courier is the flashy redhead." He nodded toward a woman who was wildly gyrating to the music. Dressed in a silver and green jumpsuit, the lady seemed gaudily out of place and a bit drunk. "The gorilla next to her is the bodyguard."

Illya nearly choked on his drink. "And you want me to distract them?"

"Just in case anything goes wrong."

"Nothing will go wrong as long as you stick with the plan. Is my electronic box working? You didn't damage it, did you?"

"It's fine, and thanks for the optimism. The mission will succeed because of your brilliance, Mr. K."

Illya raised his glass in a droll toast. "Here's wishing you a perfect mission," he quipped and finished his vodka in one gulp.

With a nod, Solo quietly wished, "Good luck. It's show time on Waikiki."

He walked toward the harbor ramp. The agent paused for a moment to speak to the blond. With amusement he noted his friend's disapproval. In a moment of mischieviousness he suggested the girls, Tara the blond and Anuinui, the Hawaiian, join Illya until he returned.

He walked down the ramp and from the dock below Solo could see his irritated partner trying to discourage the girls. However, Illya didn't seem to be trying too hard.

Napoleon walked around the back of the Ilikai to Hobron Avenue, then in a side entrance of the hotel. His thoughts were now totally focused on his mission, all anxieties, doubts and speculations pushed to the background.

Napoleon picked the lock on the service elevator and hitched a ride to the floor just below the penthouse suites. He chose a room at the end of the corridor and again picked the lock to gain entry. Illya had ascertained that the room was vacant, but just to be sure Solo cautiously tip-toed to the lanai. He removed his black sweater from around his neck and pulled it over his shirt. Then, before he ascended the dizzying heights above Waikiki, the last thing he did was place a black ski mask on his face.

*****

McGarrett leaned back from the illumination of the desk lamp, light that had become too harsh and bright with the advancement to late night. With vision too blurred to read the words he rubbed his eyes and tried to refocus on the papers scattered on his desk. He gave up trying and pushed away from the desk, taking a stance in the open doorway of the lanai.

Fresh winds blew in from the ocean, and the cool night air helped revitalize his spent energy. He had been at this nonstop all day, since before dawn when he had received the news of the burglary at the Moana.

There were other cases on the dockets of Five-0, but this case had snagged the personal attention of the chief detective. He was determined to catch this impudent, arrogant lawbreaker. Although the burglar had given them few clues to work with, McGarrett sensed it was only a matter of time. He also sensed he did not have much time left. This burglar would not stay here forever, and McGarrett would have to have some breaks to catch the criminal in Hawaiian jurisdiction.

McGarrett stepped out to the broad walkway of the lanai. He leaned his hands on the wrought-iron railing and studied the lights of the traffic in front of Iolani Palace. Every possible precaution was being implemented tonight. If ever there was a perfect time to strike for this flamboyant burglar, it would be New Year's eve. So, every HPD and Five-0 officer was on the job, ready to move when the burglar struck.

The door to the office slammed open. "Steve!" Williams raced out to the lanai. "We finally got a break! The equipment we found yesterday. I told you the experts I consulted thought it was CIA or something."

"Yeah?"

"Tom Carter, our local agent, said this stuff is much too specialized for a domestic agency." The younger man paused dramatically. This was his significant find and he was savoring the victory. "He suggested we check the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement.!"

McGarrett's eyes widened as surprise. "UNCLE?"

Then realization, coursed through his mind. Yes, UNCLE would have this kind of equipment and the men to use it expertly. United Network Command for Law and Enforcement -- a multi-national crime-fighting organization with seemingly unlimited resources and technology. Their arch enemy -- THRUSH -- was a world-wide criminal alliance. UNCLE, a super-spy group much more effective and deadly than Interpol, countered bad guys on a global scale. If the international organization was responsible for this crime wave, they were operating here without HIS permission or cooperation. Other places on the globe they might get away with that, but not on his rock!

"Did you contact the local UNCLE agents?"

"Yeah, they denied everything," Williams confirmed.

"They would. Did you call Napoleon?"

"Not yet. You want to call him, or go through official channels to the New York headquarters?"

Before the boss could respond the phone rang, and Williams moved to answer it. "Right," he said sharply and hung up, then spun back out to the lanai. "Duke reports some nervous tourist at the Ilikai just phoned the manager. It seems she thought she saw someone walking along her lanai."

McGarrett practically pushed his friend out the door ahead of him. "Let's go, Danno!"

"Great! Just how I wanted to spent New Year's Eve!"

*****

Kuryakin had managed to remove himself from Tara and Anuinui. Forcibly reminding himself it was all in the line of duty he made obvious and overt eye contact with the THRUSH courier. She had responded with obvious interest but had not advanced on him. Yet.

Determined to fulfill his part of the assignment, he plowed through the crowded bar and stood next to the lady. The THRUSH courier had taken time out from her wild dancing to order drinks from the bar.

"Allow me," Illya insisted and laid several bills on the bar. He handed the lady her drink.

Now that he was so close he realized she was a good four inches taller than he was. It was a bit disconcerting, but he didn't let it deter him.

"After that --"

"What?" she yelled.

Before he could restate his proposal the band halted their song. The leader announced it was only thirty seconds to midnight. Everyone in the bar shouted out the count-down. At the strike of midnight the room exploded in wild shouts and yells. The band struck up a loud and raucous rock version of Auld Lang Syne.

The THRUSH bodyguard hurried up to the woman and frantically spoke into her ear. Illya realized the game was up. They had been alerted to the break-in.

"Happy New Year!" The Russian shouted in his most obnoxious, drunken manner. He literally swept the woman from the floor and executed a ridiculous version of a quasi-tango. The woman struggled to get free, but he pretended to ignore her reluctance to continue the dance.

The vigorous display lasted only as long as it took the huge bodyguard to reach the couple. The giant roughly pried Kuryakin from the lady. Illya noted the man was about twelve inches taller and twice as wide as he was. However, the agent was determined not to let size intimidate him. After all, he had a duty to perform.

Suddenly, through the din of ear-breaking music and over the crackle of fireworks, came a new sound. Police sirens warbled above the other noises -- sirens from many police cars converging on the area. From his vantage point in the bar he could see three blue-and-white patrol cars speeding dockside toward the hotel.

The woman yanked away from him and rushed from the bar. Illya tried to follow her and Godzilla Bodyguard, but the crush of spectators for the fireworks, and the mob of curious spectators clogged his path. By the time he reached the railing of the lanai he saw five HPD cars and two unmarked police sedans at the back of the hotel.

For a moment Kuryakin remained where he was. If Solo had been cornered his first duty was to assist his partner. If Napoleon was still at large, he would have to find his friend before THRUSH or HPD did.

*****

In the first few seconds of the New Year a splashy, crackling fireworks sunburst display exploded in the air above Waikiki. In that same second, Napoleon clicked open the glass door and stepped into the penthouse.

Working as quickly as he could, he ran to the first bedroom and instantly found the wall safe. Within seconds he had opened the door and removed several pieces of jewelry. No codebook was hidden in the vault. He slammed shut the door and ran to the master bedroom where he rammed directly into a man just emerging from the room. Both bodies landed on the floor. Solo's reflexes were slightly faster, and he leveled a karate chop to the man's neck.

Leaping back to his feet, Solo rushed to another wall safe and attached the combination decoding box to the door. The safe did not open! He tried a second setting and again failed. Sounds of running feet in the corridor -- his solitude was about to end. There was no time to waste on confusion. Solo was experienced enough to know when to employ the better part of valor. He removed his magic box and raced from the room.

The man on the floor was coming around, but Napoleon didn't pause. He dashed across the wide lanai and to the railing. Hands tightly gripping the edge, he swung down to the next lanai. Then he ran through the vacant room, shedding his mask and sweater by the time he reached the door. Instinctively cautious he opened the door slowly and peeked into the corridor, then quickly closed the door again. An HPD officer was in the hall.

Solo did not pause to catch his breath. He raced back to the lanai. From the shadows along the wall he studied the exterior of the hotel. Fireworks exploded in bright, multi-colored candescent rain. The extra light would work against him if he had to scale down the floors on this side of the hotel. He had not considered this extra difficulty.

His communicator beeped and he pulled it from his pocket. "Happy New Year."

"It doesn't look very happy from down here," Illya soberly replied. "Where are you?"

"Oh, hanging around just below the penthouse."

"Don't come down on the outside. Somehow, HPD knows you're here. And so do our feathered friends."

Napoleon wiped the sweat from his face and studied the string of lanai stretching across to the center of the hotel. Three wings extended from a central core where glass elevators encased in blue lights ran up and down the length of the hotel.

"You've got to get out, Napoleon!"

The warning elicited a deprecatory laugh. "Any ideas?"

"No," Illya admitted.

"Well, I might have one. Where are you?"

"The ramp leading to the harbor."

Solo asked for and received placement of the HPD officers around the outside of the hotel. Most of the police covered the obvious emergency exits, lobby exits and courtyard lanai. Solo instructed Illya to remain where he was and get ready for a fast exit.

Solo glanced over the lanai railing to make sure the route was clear. Sighing out a long breath, he carefully stood on the railing and jumped to the next room. The soles of his shoes slipped on the damp metal and he slid into the wall with a crash. His shoulder throbbed from the blow. For a moment he considered surrender instead of this foolhardy escape. Visions of an irate Waverly and outraged McGarrett pushed him on to the next lanai.

As rapidly as possible he leaped from one lanai to another, careful to cross only when the fireworks did not illuminate him. He would be a hard target to miss in the brightness of the light displays.

The abominable ache in his shoulder was a dangerous distraction and he tried to shut out the pain. However, ignoring the injury would not improve his grip. There were a few close calls when he almost fell because his arm muscles just couldn't take the strain. A few times he was nearly discovered when he nearly swung onto a lanai occupied by spectators. He had been forced to drop down to the next level to avoid detection.

'Holy trapeze, Batman,' he thought ruefully as he practically sailed from one room to the next. Despite the dangers and soreness of his shoulder he was having the most exhilarating experience of his life! The flying-through-air business was breathtaking and energizing. A New Year he would remember, this little escapade brought a whole new meaning to death-defying assignments.

He finally reached the last lanai in the row. He waited for several minutes until the elevator approached from the top of the hotel. This would be the toughest part of his dangerous plan. One slip, one miscalculation would send him plummeting to the deck far below. He tied his sweater to the railing of the lanai above him and tested the strength. It would hold together for one swing.

He hoped.

The elevator moved past at a faster rate than he had guessed. He launched off the edge of the lanai and swung to the top of the elevator car.

His body slammed into the glass with an agonizing thump. For a frantic moment he had no hand holds or support, and he nearly slipped from the car's slick, rounded glass top. Fingertips clung to the edge as he established a handhold with his left hand while the fingers of his right hand clung onto the top of the car. The grip was his only lifeline for the precarious seconds it took him to regain balance and laboriously pull himself atop the lift.

It seemed like an eternity before he was perched on the curved roof. His left shoulder was afire, throbbing in the agony.

Once settled, he took several deep breaths and wiped the sweat from his face. Luckily, the elevator was an empty express to the lobby. Occupants would have been a serious complication, especially if the elevator had stopped on a floor with nearby police.

'Maybe my luck is back,' he thought optimistically.

With nothing else to do for the moment, he paused to appreciate the brisk, spectacular ride. The pace was faster than he remembered when inside the elevator. The fresh, crisp air rushed up into his face with the lingering moistness of the sea. The incredible view of the Pacific, the fireworks, the harbor and the hotel strip along the beach were all breathtaking. It was an incredible high, he thought and laughed at the unintentional pun.

The elevator descended to an awning just above the main lobby. Solo leaped to the overhang and sprinted to the edge, pleased he had not been spotted during his amazing descent. He swung down the roof's edge and raced across the patio toward the ramp where Illya was supposed to be waiting.

"Stop!" ordered a voice behind him. "Police!"

Solo kept running.

Gunshots exploded in the air. His trained ear could distinguish the sounds of the shots from the fireworks. Most spectators were too caught up in the skyward spectacle to take notice of the plainclothes officer chasing the spy, which made it easier to weave through the crowd. Solo was grateful for the confusion. The pursuer was slighter than him and not quite so fast. Napoleon was also counting on conscientious police training compelling the officer to shoot into the air and not risk hitting an innocent bystander with wild gunfire.

Kuryakin emerged from the shadows just before his partner reached the beach ramp. To add confusion and further complication to the pursuit the Russian toppled deck tables and chairs as they raced toward the sand. The pursuer cleared several of the obstacles, then finally tripped over two chairs toppled together.

"It took you long enough," the blond agent shouted.

The ramp was surprisingly sparse of spectators, and the agents leaped to the beach before the concrete walkway ran out at dockside. Solo led the way across the sand as they weaved in and out of the crowds. Most people were too busy watching the fireworks from the Halekulani Hotel to notice the two runners on Waikiki.

*****

Unable to return to their hotel -- the Halekulani was most conspicuous at the moment -- Solo led the way through the Hawaiian Hilton Lagoon. Running across the smooth sands of Fort DeRussy, the US Army base located on prime real estate at Waikiki, the agents disappeared into the shadows of the Waikiki high-rises.

"Where are you going?" Illya shouted to his friend as they ran though a beach access between two hotels.

"You don't want to go for a swim, do you?"

"No."

The agents emerged near the entrance of the Reef Hotel. Within the shadows of the skyscrapers Solo had shed his belt pouch. Both men rolled-up their pant legs and held shoes and socks in their hands. The best disguise was to blend in with the crowd and slowly work their way inconspicuously back to the Halekulani.

Kalia Road, the closest road parallel to the beach, was packed with people in partying moods. Solo and Kuryakin wound through the high-spirited groups as they steadily progressed toward their the colonial-styled hotel. They stopped just in front of the entrance. Two HPD cars blocked the drive.

For a moment the men quietly debated whether they should try to bluff their way through. Kuryakin decided the risk was too great. They turned around and started back toward the Reef when an HPD officer called out to them.

"It's your suspicious nature," Solo accused and kept walking away.

"They've got your description," Kuryakin countered.

Solo didn't react until he heard the sound of feet running after them. Then he and Illya broke into a run. They coursed their way through small alleys and parking lots. They cautiously emerged on Beachwalk Road, a small, narrow street next to a wide sand strip leading to the water. HPD officers were everywhere. The fireworks had stopped and the sidewalks would soon clear as people gradually returned to the bars and private parties.

Solo suddenly pulled his partner into a doorway.

"What is it?"

"Look," Solo pointed down the street.

The girls from the bar, Tara and Anuinui, were standing near a jeep conversing with a sandy-haired, slightly built man with a torn trouser-leg. The girls accompanied the limping man to the end of the block, bidding him good-bye.

"He looks familiar," Illya pondered aloud.

"Can't tell from this distance, but I think he's the one who was chasing me."

"The one who tripped over the deck chairs I threw out? I hope he doesn't catch us. He'll probably charge us for the suit."

"I know MY expense account can't handle another tailor's bill!" Napoleon quipped, then dismissed the comedic banter. He tugged at Kuryakin's sleeve. "I have an idea."

The agents circumspectly approached the jeep. When they seemed to be unobserved, they crawled under a tarp covering the back seat.

"What if the jeep belongs to the light-haired man instead of the blond girl?" Illya asked sarcastically as he folded himself into an uncomfortably small ball.

"Move your foot, Illya. And my luck is never THAT bad," Napoleon confidently countered as he scrunched against the tailgate.

Illya muttered something under his breath, then added. "Your luck doesn't seem very good lately," he accused unsympathetically. To himself he absently said, "Perhaps the man is with THRUSH. Perhaps the girls are, too. That would be quite a coincidence."

Solo did not reply with a snide retort. How could he when his partner could well be right?

*****

"Danno! You all right?" The concerned Five-0 chief spotted his detective limping across the poolside area of the Ilikai and crossed to join him. His younger colleague's pant leg was ripped, revealing a large, red scrape and discoloring around the knee. Steve winced. "What happened?"

" 'Napoleon' cheated."

"You mean his accomplice? I heard someone helped him escape."

Williams sneered. "Yeah. And he fought with tables and chairs!"

"At least we know why he's evaded us so completely. He's had help. Did you get a look at them?"

"They're pretty average build -- one blond, the nasty accomplice -- the other dark-haired. They were spotted running Ewa on Kalia Road. No one's come close enough to really see their faces. They probably slipped into a hotel somewhere and changed, or even bought new clothes." With a frustrated sigh he leaned against the railing on the beachside of the courtyard. "We're not much closer than we were earlier."

Unlike his associate, McGarrett felt energized with resolve and reminded his friend of their progress. Discovering an accomplice, with partial descriptions of both men, gave law enforcement another edge. While investigative advancement came slowly because of the skill of their adversary, the good guys, nonetheless, continued to close the gap. Confidence building, he reminded Dan of their greatest advantage.

"They're on the run now, Danno. Each time they strike, they come out worse for the encounter. As with any criminal, it's only a matter of time before we put our cuffs on them." He smiled with humorless intent. "These two are nearly in our grasp."

"Not soon enough for me."

In sympathy McGarrett grinned and helped Williams to his feet. "Come on, Danno, let's have someone look at your leg. I'll take you over to the ER."

"It's not that bad, Steve. Besides, I'd rather stay on top of this tonight. These two have slipped up bigtime. Maybe they'll take a fall tonight after all."

"I have a hunch you're right, Danno. By the way, Happy New Year."

" 'Houoli makahiki hou' to you too, Steve. Let's hope it's a lucky one."

"Oh, I think it will be, Danno. I think it will start out with the arrest of the notorious 'Napoleon of Crime.' "

*****

After only a few moments of the agents' pretzel imitations, Anuinui and Tara climbed into the jeep. The vehicle started through the concourses of Waikiki.

"My instincts were right on target," Solo smugly whispered.

Traffic crawled through the jammed Honolulu streets. The jeep constantly lurched; stop and go. To the concealed agents, time crawled even slower than the car.

"This brings a whole new meaning to 'covert operations'," Illya whispered at one point.

A sharp jab from his unamused partner kept further sardonic comments silenced.

Neither agent felt it safe to offer more than an isolated whisper. When the jeep merged onto the H-1 freeway, Illya dared to shift his position. Solo peeked an eye out from under the tarp and could not determine their route or destination. "This always seemed a small island," Illya sighed.

The jeep left the main highway and rumbled onto a short dirt lane just off the main road. They came to a stop and the women exited. Seconds later a house door slammed shut. Then, only night noises of the crashing surf; the chirping of insects, and the muted hum of traffic filtered to the secluded spot.

"I hate it when you're always right, Napoleon," Illya sighed.

"I'm never wrong about women, comrade."

"May we now end our pretzel disguise?"

"Yes," Napoleon breathed with relief. His injured shoulder was so sore, he felt slightly dizzy.

The tarp was removed slowly, cautiously. First the agents poked their heads up and threw off the covering. They jumped to the ground and stretched aching arms, legs and backs.

Two high-intensity flashlight beams suddenly struck them in the faces. They raised their arms to block the glare.

"Keep your hands in sight," a voice warned.

"Anuinui?"

"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin," the melodic voice of the pretty, Polynesian girl was falsely sweet. Her tone was uncompromising and steel-tough.

The unwavering beams came closer. Solo saw Anuinui and Tara both held flashlights in one hand and .38's in the other.

Solo glanced at his partner. "I hate it when YOU'RE right about my luck." He turned his attention to the blond woman. "You're very good. I never guessed you were with THRUSH."

Tara's face took on a quizzical expression and she glanced at her friend. Anuinui also seemed confused.

"Never mind, just keep your hands in sight and slowly step forward."

Solo grimaced with chagrin. "Sorry. I can't move. My legs are asleep."

"How embarrassing," Illya dryly said. "So are mine."

Anuinui giggled. "Some bust," she said to her companion.

"Bust?"

Anuinui revealed a shield-shaped badge. "Honolulu Police."

Kuryakin slowly and carefully reached into his pocket and removed his own wallet. He pulled out the gold card. "U.N.C.L.E. Illya Kuryakin." He nodded toward his partner. "My friend is Napoleon-of-Crime Solo." To Solo he said, "Policewomen." Suddenly placing the faces and circumstances, he frowned. "The man they were talking with was Danny Williams."

"Five-0," Napoleon sighed as a curse. "Great."

"No, HPD. Robbery Division," Tara concluded, also displaying her ID. "And Danny gave us your descriptions."

The women were clearly miffed with UNCLE's representatives.

"A dark-haired, athletic man, and his accomplice with blond, shaggy hair," Anuinui said sternly, directing her gaze mostly at Solo. "You're our suspects."

"My hair is not shaggy," Illya protested.

"You make it sound almost fun," he responded with the slightest trace of flirtation in his voice. He took a step closer.

"Your legs weren't really asleep, were they?"

"No," Illya admitted. He massaged his legs. "Just dozing. Are we under arrest?"

"This is one bust I don't think I'll mind," Napoleon commented, then smiled at the women.

"Just one thing," Kuryakin grimaced as his wet shoes sloshed on the sand. "Can we get some dry clothes?"

"No," Tara denied. "Move slowly into the house. We're calling for a squad car."

Solo raised his eyebrows teasingly. "No telling what kind of plea bargains we could arrange. Can I throw myself on the mercy of the court?"

"Just walk, don't talk," was Anuinui's stern order. "You're the 'Napoleon of Crime' and you're as tricky as a magician. We're not taking any chances."

Kuryakin slowly moved across the dirt. "A Napoleon of some kind," was his muttered aside. "I just wish we could be captured in comfortable clothes sometime." A prodigious sneeze caused him to stop suddenly.

Tara, following too closely, bumped into him. Distracted by the collisions, Anuinui never saw Solo spin around and deliver a karate chop to her neck. When the agent straightened, his partner gently laid the unconscious Tara on the ground. He suggested they put the women inside. Once the hapless robbery detectives were locked in a room and the phone line cut, the agents climbed into the jeep.

"What do we do for an encore?"

Solo smiled. "No one would expect the cat burglar to hit the same hotel twice in one night!"

---

III

"I WANNA GO BACK TO MY LITTLE GRASS SHACK."

When Illya pulled the jeep into a curb spot along Ala Moana Boulevard, most of the New Year's revelers had departed. A few stragglers still roamed the streets, but traffic and crowds had thinned considerably. Few HPD cars were still in evidence. Solo had been dropped off at the far end of the yacht harbor. Kuryakin took the elevator to the floor just beneath the penthouse. With a skeleton key, he locked the elevator there and kept the doors open.

The communicator beeped, and Solo reported he was prepared. He had found an unoccupied room on the floor below the penthouse, from which he was ready to reprise his role as cat burglar. This time he would be aided by a Kuryakin distraction.

"Watch your shoulder."

"You knew."

"For a spy you can sometimes be quite transparent. Good luck."

"Same to you. Out."

Illya was motionless for a beat, concern etched on his features. Then his expression cleared and he whispered to himself, "Here we go again."

*****

The view from the top of the Ilikai was nothing short of spectacular. Along the beach all the way to Diamond Head, the vista of hotel lights was impressive. Out to sea the illuminated boats bobbed and swayed with the roll of the ocean. Many dinner cruise ships and pleasure boats were out on the water tonight to celebrate the new year.

Solo leaned over the railing and studied the climb he would have to make to the penthouse. He would face his greatest challenge tonight: a rough ascent with no equipment and a sore shoulder. When he had awoken that morning he'd realized he had somehow damaged a shoulder muscle. A twinge of pain rippled from the muscle every time he moved. He had not mentioned this little complication to his partner. No need for the pessimistic, worrisome Russian to know of this extra tid-bit of bad luck.

With a long, deep intake of breath he hoisted himself up to the rim of the rail, reached up and over the ledge of the penthouse lanai.

Climbing across three lanais was the greatest obstacle Solo encountered. As he had anticipated, THRUSH was on alert after the first robbery attempt. However, their upgrade seemed in manpower instead of security gadgets. This time Solo knew what kind of alarm to expect.

The penthouse did not have just a lanai, but a private courtyard that overlooked the harbor. Solo did not pause to admire the view. He swiftly crossed to the sliding glass doors and removed a small box from his pocket. He quickly scanned the door and found added THRUSH electronic security devices in effect.

This was where the plan got tricky. If he jammed the security signal THRUSH would be alerted to UNCLE intervention. If he broke through like a naive cat-burglar he ran a very good chance of getting caught by the THRUSH agents.

'No one said it would be easy, old boy,' he silently sighed to himself. He removed his communicator and whispered, "Open Channel L."

"Channel open," Kuryakin replied, his voice barely audible above the blasting music in the bar.

"I'm ready to go in."

"Wish me luck," Illya deadpanned.

"That's my line," Napoleon protested.

"You don't have to distract the wicked witch and her friend Godzilla. This is usually your job, Romeo."

"I can't have all the fun."

Illya's retort was dry. "Thanks."

"Oh, Illya."

"Yes?"

"Happy New Year. It's been a fun one."

"Same to you. I hope the new one starts out better than the old one ended."

"So do I." he checked his watch. "It's almost time for me to turn into a pumpkin."

"Napoleon?"

He detected a hint of concern in the Russian's voice. He didn't want to hear anymore of Illya's distracting pessimism. He had quite enough on him mind right now. "Yes?"

"Uh, watch out," Illya stuttered.

Solo grinned. 'At least it wasn't the cliché of "be careful",' he mused.

"Remember what happened to the first 'Napoleon of Crime'?"

"He took a great fall," was the American's sardonic retort. "Thanks for the reminder."

Solo wouldn't admit it to Illya, but he had his own symbolic mental comparisons between the Ilikai and Reichenbach Falls. He had not forgotten 'the infamous Professor Moriarty' and 'the foremost champion of justice of his generation', had battled in a monumental clash of good and evil at the Falls in Switzerland. The 'Napoleon of Crime' had plummeted to his ignominious end at the hands of Sherlock Holmes.

Right verses wrong; good guys verses bad guys, law enforcement verses crime, etc.

On this steel and glass-slick Reichenbach, the roles of good and evil had been blurred, melded, mixed and swirled. Solo was a grey knight who lived in a world that was no longer black and white; just and unjust. 'Champions of law' in this generation had to compromise and bend the rules to achieve modern justice. Yet there was enough of a glimmer of old fashioned idealism. Solo imagined he yet belonged to a class of crime-fighter that deserved to live somewhere within the broad shadow of the Master Detective.

"Maybe a sober reminder will keep you on your toes," Illya said. "See you downstairs," he finished with a bit more optimism in his voice. "Out."

Napoleon tucked the communicator back into his pocket and removed the tools to pick the door lock.

*****

Illya donned a straw hat and glasses, then unlocked the special penthouse button. The elevator stopped at the top. Illya then pushed the button to send the elevator back to the next floor. With exaggerated dramatics, he swayed against the wall, loud and obnoxious in his supposedly drunken revelry. Almost instantly, two armed men -- one of them the huge bodyguard from the bar -- emerged from the penthouse. If the man recognized the UNCLE agent, there was no comment made. Illya took this to mean the man was duped by the simple disguise.

The THRUSH men demanded the drunk leave. In return he harassed the bodyguards. Occasionally, Illya would unobtrusively glance at his watch. He had agreed to give Napoleon as much time as possible, but would try for a minimum of five minutes. The opposition did not want to cooperate. Not even three minutes had elapsed before the huge bodyguard slammed Kuryakin against the wall. With profuse apologies he slinked to the elevator. When the doors closed Kuryakin looked at his watch; three minutes forty-four seconds. He hoped it was enough time. he stopped the car on the next floor and waited for a signal from his partner. If Napoleon did not signal within another minute, Kuryakin would know the plan had failed and he would have to rescue Solo.

*****

One of Illya's jamming boxes eliminated the security sensor on the door. Napoleon simply slipped the lock and entered on the courtyard lanai sliding glass door.

His entry was timed simultaneously with Kuryakin's elevator antics. If Illya was off, then Solo was dead. Napoleon entered the suite without a second thought. He never doubted his partner's skill at distraction. One lucky thing about having Kuryakin as a partner -- he was completely trustworthy.

He carefully stalked through the suite directly to the master bedroom, where he gingerly opened the door. A THRUSH bodyguard was slouched in a nearby chair. Solo silently drew his Walther and popped a sleep dart into the man. Tiptoeing into the room, he removed the dart and shot another dart into the woman sleeping in the bed. He checked his watch. Only thirty-five seconds had elapsed.

With rapid, efficient skill he opened the safe, courtesy of another Kuryakin-device, and rifled through the contents. The codebook was still there! The miniature camera was whipped out of his pocket, and he quickly snapped through the pages.

There was a loud disturbance in the hall. 'Illya,' he thought and smiled to himself. The last page was photographed and he slipped the book back into the safe while Illya was still arguing with the bodyguards.

He nearly ran from the room and out the lanai. Like a monkey, he skipped across the lanais and back to the empty room where he had started two floors below. His feet hit the deck and he stopped, catching his breath for the first time. Adrenaline still raced through his body, and his hands were slightly shaky. He took a moment to brush back thick, windblown hair off his forehead and wipe off the sweat his face. He didn't realize how anxious he had been until now.

The camera was removed from his pocket. For several seconds he tightly clutched in his fist, as if he couldn't believe the prize had been won at last. He removed the black shirt (a bit too tight since he had borrowed one of Illya's turtlenecks) and tossed it to the floor. He reached through the open glass doors for an Aloha shirt hanging on the back of a chair on the lanai.

Cold metal suddenly slapped onto his wrist. Solo jumped back in surprise, unable to move more than a few feet. A silhouetted tall, broad-shouldered man emerged from the other side of the open lanai door. Lights snapped on, bathing the spy in brilliance.

"Happy New Year and welcome to Hawaii, pal!"

Solo gasped in a breath of surprise when he identified the man on the other end of the cuffs. He was stunned. He couldn't remember when he had been caught so dead-to-rights. And after he believed the mission a success!

The dark-haired, square-jawed detective was equally amazed. "Napoleon?" Steve McGarrett incredulously wondered.

Solo smiled bleakly. "Hi, Steve."

Revolver trained on the cat burglar, Williams limped from the shadows. "Napoleon? You're the -- the --"

" 'Napoleon of Crime'," McGarrett finished dangerously.

Solo raised his hands in surrender. The moment of greatest dread had come to pass. Capture meant failure of his mission. Now, eye to eye with his old Naval Intelligence colleague, he had to explain to his friend of over twenty years why he publicly played McGarrett for a fool.

"Steve, I can explain."

Barely controlled rage worked McGarrett's jaw muscles. His eyes sparked fire. "I'll bet you can." He roughly shoved Solo into the wall. "Search him, read him his rights." Napoleon started to protest but Steve cut him short. "No special treatment for Mr. Solo. Keep him isolated until I get this sorted out. Now book him, Danno."

McGarrett stalked out of the room leaving Williams to comply with his orders. Unsympathetically snapping the cuffs on Solo, Five-0's second-in-command leaned over his shoulder and said, "Aloha, Napoleon. That also means good-bye."

---

IV

"BLUE HAWAII."

Dawn of January First arrived in a weak reflection of gold over the city of Honolulu. Thick, early morning clouds of pink, gold and purple hugged the horizon and split the lilac sky and deep blue sea. The billowy, multi-colored puffs were precursors of an oncoming storm hovering just beyond the horizon.

Tropical storm McGarrett had already hit the offices of Hawaii Five-0. Iolani Palace was the only royal palace on American soil. The beautiful and historical edifice now housed the elite State Police organization. Appropriate, since Five-0 retained a monarchy-type spirit on the Islands. Few men in Hawaii held the power and authority wielded by Steve McGarrett. The tight-fisted control had kept Hawaii surprisingly clear of major criminal activities. Hawaii was the center of East-West relations on a world-wide basis, and Five-0 had managed to crush insidious plots of incredible, illegal scope.

At the moment McGarrett was slouched in the comfortable chair behind his desk. Tie askew, hair fallen across his forehead, he irritatedly twirled a coffee cup in small circles on the desktop.

When he glanced up the detective glared icy daggers at his audience. Kuryakin paced near the open lanai doors, too disgusted and angry to converse any more with the obstinate detective.

The door to the office opened. Dan Williams, in an undamaged suit, limped into the room towing a rumpled, handcuffed, and very subdued Napoleon Solo. The two weary people in the room automatically straightened. Solo's expression brightened when he saw his partner.

"Ah, the cavalry has arrived." He held his hands out to Williams. "Can you remove these ridiculous bracelets now?" He shot an accusing glare at McGarrett. "You've proven your point, Steve."

The unrepentant attitude nettled McGarrett even more. "You're lucky to be on this side of a cell in the first place!"

Not in the best mood himself, Solo played the dangerous game of blatant antagonism. "Do you know how embarrassing it is being seen in these cuffs?"

"Less than you deserve," McGarrett shot back with barely restrained anger. He nodded to Williams. "Let him go, Danno."

Dan unlocked the handcuffs at bit roughly. "All prisoners have to be cuffed, Napoleon. Regulations." Obviously the younger man sided with his friend. The Five-0 team felt stung at the spy's underhanded operation. "Until I hear otherwise, you're still under arrest."

In a show of solidarity, Illya came to stand next to his partner.

Napoleon scowled. "Well, the least you could have done was kept me in interrogation," he said to Dan. "You're mad about the suit, aren't you? I promise Illya and I will reimburse you." Glancing at the replacement attire, Solo scoffed, "I see you could use the new threads." He massaged his sore wrists and turned to McGarrett. "I guess it was your idea to throw the book at me?"

"You bet!" McGarrett assured as he came to his feet, coming face to face with his old friend. In a near replay of their confrontation in interrogation, the detective shouted, "No super-spy card in the world gives you carte blanche on my turf, Napoleon! You know that!" He spared a glance at Kuryakin. "The minute you pulled the first caper you were in my sights!"

"I was under orders --"

"You knew better!" Steve ruthlessly cut in. "You know ME, Napoleon! You knew I could be trusted!" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Or did you think you were better than Five-0? You thought you could play your little spy game and leave without us being the wiser, didn't you?"

"It was a calculated risk," Kuryakin interceded. The distraction worked, angling McGarrett's considerable ire momentarily onto the Russian.

Solo stepped back and slumped into a chair next to his partner. "You know we must obey certain orders, Steve. We do not have latitude in some operations." Illya gave a nod toward his friend. "Napoleon objected to the secrecy, but there was nothing he could do." Argument complete, he sat in a chair next to Solo.

Eyeing the two agents as if doubting their veracity, Steve paced back toward his desk. "If the Governor hadn't interfered, it would have been a lot more than a night in jail, Napoleon!"

"At least I'm saved from more than one," Solo said with a nod of thanks to his friend.

Kuryakin added, "I'm not so sure about that."

Warily Illya explained the political machinations flung between New York and Honolulu in the early, pre-dawn hours of this New Year's Day. While Solo had rusticated in the Honolulu jail, Kuryakin, McGarrett, Williams, Waverly, Governor Jameson, Officers Kaapuni and Wells had negotiated. The future of UNCLE relations in the Fiftieth State and the future of North America's top UNCLE agent were discussed and finally settled.

Alerted by Illya's attitude, Solo was equally circumspect. "You mean we don't get to go home in time for the Rose Parade?"

Kuryakin shook his head. "Not exactly."

Napoleon sighed with exasperation and looked at McGarrett. "Steve, we've known each other a long time --"

"Not long enough if you think friendship will save you."

The worst part of his night had not been the time in a jail cell (although that was NOT his favorite place to be on New Year's morning, or any other morning). The worst moments had been in interrogation when he and McGarrett had come head to head. Both stubborn, both remembering too much from past associations (mostly good times), which made the crimes seem all the more deceitful. The battle had been unpleasant and disturbing for both men, with Steve finally leaving feeling betrayed and angry, Solo feeling abashed as he was jailed.

Napoleon wasn't very proud of himself, but he had been under orders. His fealty to UNCLE had to transcend old friendships and debts, at least this time. Countless times he had apologized for the deception, but never for the criminal acts. He didn't dare mention it, but he had done far worse deeds in the name of the job. If it had been under his control, he would have avoided the whole mess by confiding in McGarrett and telling some of the truth. It would have saved a lot of trouble, anger, hurt and an old friendship. It would have avoided damage to both men's reputations here in Hawaii and preserved something of their former bond.

"Steve, I am sorry. If I could make it up I --"

"Oh, you will," McGarrett sternly assured with a hint of satisfaction.

Napoleon looked at Illya. "What does that mean?"

"We may not have a Hauoli Makahiki Hou."

"Happy New Year," Dan translated when he saw Solo's perplexed expression. "Technically, you're under diplomatic immunity, so we can't prosecute you or release your name to the press." The young man still treated the turn of events seriously, but calmly. Good thing someone was keeping a perspective, because his boss was angry enough to chew bullets and spit them out at the UNCLE agents. "But that doesn't mean you'll go unpunished," Dan clarified with satisfaction.

"We've arranged a very special penitence," McGarrett assured with relish.

*****

The stolen jewelry was recovered and returned to the rightful owners. The insurance companies were appeased, and a convincing story was fed to the press: a car had catapulted over a pali, into the ocean, with the cat-burglar's cache. The badly ravaged body was declared the notorious 'Napoleon of Crime' and officially listed as dead, true identity unknown. Yet the legend lingered on, much to the amusement of another Napoleon.

Solo sighed as he looked back at the view of Diamond Head from the window of the HPD gym. With dismay, he thought of the current weather in New York: snow, traffic, cold. Yes, things could be worse: he could be in New York, he continually told himself. Exiled to an eastern seaboard winter -- a fitting punishment for his crimes. Especially a chill reception from Mr. Waverly, considering all the diplomatic feathers ruffled on the assignment. If his superior was in a very bad mood, Solo might find himself on an extended assignment to Siberia.

A solid blow landed him on his backside and he caught his breath. His punishment of choice was so much better, he reasoned sarcastically. Coming painfully to his feet, he squared off across a mat with a massive Polynesian SWAT officer eager to take him apart. Special training classes, supplemented by exclusive, high-tech UNCLE equipment, was Solo's penance for the cat-burglary debacle. No sun-soaked vacation for the wayward agents.

A broad Hawaiian flipped through the air, seemingly defying laws of physics. Illya gave his partner a superior look before dusting his hands. The Russian was making it all look easy. In realty, both agents had taken a lot of pounding in this training seminar, but then, it beat jail.

Solo's giant Polynesian came toward him. Instructively, Napoleon lectured a move, pretending to hold a knife in his hand. The opponent moved in, hoping to win with a bulky tackle. Solo feinted to the side, then shouldered into the man, using the momentum to flip the immense officer on his back.

"All in the wrist," Solo quipped, more winded than he wanted to admit.

Sparse applause came from the side of the gym. The two top Five-0 officers joined the UNCLE agents at the mat. Solo scowled at McGarrett and Williams.

"I think HPD is finally getting the best of this deal," Steve remarked smugly.

"I thought corporal discipline went out with Captain Cook," Kuryakin countered tiredly. "Don't you think your officers have had enough training?"

Williams shrugged, eyes buoyant with amusement. "Maybe when these guys can take you two, you'll be finished. Besides, it's just snow and rain in New York anyway."

This was undoubtedly the worst start of a New Year he could ever remember. Solo sneered. "We haven't see a lot of sun and sand here, Danny." Hopefully, he addressed McGarrett. "When can I cry UNCLE, Steve?"

McGarrett took betrayal seriously, but he was not without mercy. There were acts in his past he was not proud of, duties performed under orders that he would never do again. Shades of pity softened his heart.

"I guess I'll let you off the hook when I think you've learned your lesson, Napoleon."

"He's learned," Illya assured fervently. "I've learned."

"And just to make it even," Solo offered, "We'll throw in some personal training for you and Danny."

Williams quickly shook his head. "Not a chance."

Napoleon stared out McGarrett, daring him to accept. After a tense moment the Five-0 chief smiled and shook his head. "I'm not too proud to admit when I'm outclassed, Napoleon." He smiled mercilessly. "But I would like to hear the 'Napoleon of Crime' say 'uncle' ."

With a chagrined, sour expression, Solo responded in the only possible way he could. "Uncle!"

PAU