At last, their chance came. A brushy ravine dropped off a steep bank to the left. The gunman in the lead had disappeared around a bend in the trail, and all but the guard directly behind Napoleon were down the path out of sight in the trees. Illya ducked around a thick branch of hemlock weighted down with heavy droplets from the earlier rainfall. He turned and paused, waiting for Napoleon.

In a move like a choreographed dance step, Solo sprang forward, pushing the branch before him. Then stepping lithely aside, he let go and allowed it to whip back into the face of his startled captor. With doubled fists, Napoleon delivered an uppercut to the jaw of the Thrush, while Illya quickly wrested away the gun. Together they dove down the bank and into the covering tangle of undergrowth, fighting to keep their balance on the gravelly slope.

Scrambling through a heavy thicket of salmonberry and alder saplings, Illya tripped over a partially buried rock and the gun went flying, disappearing into an impenetrable patch of blackberry brambles. Above them came shouts, then shots rang out and bullets tore through the leaves around them.

The agents ducked for cover behind a tumbled pile of rocks and fallen logs then struggled to loosen the bonds on their wrists. "I dropped the gun," growled Illya as he tugged at the ropes with his teeth.

"I saw," said Napoleon. He reached over and plucked at the knot securing Illya’s bindings. The ropes soon fell away.

"Maybe we can go back and look for it." Illya returned the favor, freeing his partner’s hands.

Bullets continued to fly around them, zinging crazily as they ricocheted off the rocks. The agents had no choice but to stay down. "I don’t think so," said Napoleon pragmatically. "We’ll just have to survive by our wits."

Illya smiled crookedly. "We’re in trouble."

Up the slope, the shooting stopped and they could hear muffled voices. Then came the unmistakable sound of men pushing through the brush, coming down the bank toward them.

"Uh oh --- time to go," said Solo.

They left the cover of the fallen logs and dashed toward a thick stand of cedar. Less underbrush grew here, making for easier running. Not far behind, they heard their pursuers crashing through the woods. There were no trails here, no easy pathways over the mountainous terrain. The U.N.C.L.E. agents were forced to battle their way through the heavy forest.

The springy layers of needles and rotted leaves made little sound as they ran, and whenever possible they balanced along logs or stepped on rocks in an attempt to leave as few footprints as possible. But relentlessly the Thrushmen pursued, firing occasional shots in their direction.

Napoleon had thought at first they might be able to circle around somehow and find their way back down to the cars, but he doubted that was possible now. He figured they’d been running for at least an hour, up hill and down, through vast acres of timber. He was hopelessly lost.

At last, breathing hard, the agents stopped to listen, crouching in a thick copse of vine maple and wild filbert. "I don’t hear them, do you?" asked Napoleon.

Illya shook his head. "I think we’ve lost them."

As if on cue, a voice rang out, echoing weirdly against the mountains and over the treetops. "Mr. Solo! Mr. Kuryakin! --- this game of hide and seek is pointless! We have better things to do so we’re leaving you now. It will be dark in a couple of hours and the temperatures are expected to fall into the thirties tonight. You have two options --- one is to give up now and come with us, and the other is to stay all night on the mountain without food or shelter. And I’m warning you --- there are dangers out here far worse than merely freezing to death!"

Illya looked at Napoleon. "He’s probably right, you know."

"You want to surrender and die where it’s nice and warm?"

"No," said the Russian. "I just wanted to point out that he’s probably right."

"So noted."

The voice rang out again. "This is your last chance! Put your hands up and come out --- I promise you won’t be shot! I’ll count to ten." Loud counting commenced, the sound bouncing hollowly over the uneven terrain.

Napoleon and Illya stayed hidden where they were. The counting stopped and they continued to wait in silence, fearing a deception. Thrush was not known for its fair dealings.

Finally, after what seemed an interminably long time, Illya said, "Well, now what do we do?"

Napoleon ran a hand through his hair, brushing out bits of twigs and spider webs. "I suppose we could try to follow them back. Maybe we can find the trail down to the cars."

Illya nodded skeptically and climbed out of the thicket. He surveyed the vast, endless stretches of forested hills, the rocky cliffs and mountain peaks. "And perhaps we can find the needle in the proverbial haystack while we are at it." Heavy dark clouds had gathered once more overhead, threatening more rain and obscuring the sun, making it difficult to determine direction. "At least the clouds should cause an inversion layer, keeping it relatively warm tonight."

"How warm?" asked Napoleon.

"Well... I doubt it will snow."

"Thank you Mr. Wizard for that encouraging weather report."

Illya gave him a withering look, then glanced around and said, "Okay, which way?"

Napoleon scanned their surroundings. "I think the voice came from that way." He pointed toward a rocky hill some hundred yards away.

"Really?" Illya looked confused. "I would have sworn it came from that way." He pointed ninety degrees to the right, down a wooded slope.

"If I had a coin we could toss it," said Napoleon.

"And lacking a coin, do you have another idea? We will soon be out of daylight."

Suddenly, both men froze as a high-pitched ghoulish scream sundered the afternoon stillness. A covey of partridges exploded from cover and took to the air in panic. "My god," whispered Solo. "What was that?"