Posting Another's Fic

[laurose8]

Thank you, Marian. I've found a way around the posting issues, and thought it better post on this site.

One of the first fics I ever recommended on this com was this crossover, which was archived in file40. As the archive is being discontinued, the author has kindly given me permission to post it here on section7. Very appropriately, it's happened in our crossover season.





U.N.C.L.E. Comes to Mayberry
by Nataliya


The few pedestrians in the little town scattered as the squad car careened up the street and came to a screeching halt in front of a fire hydrant. A skinny uniformed man jumped out and raced into the brick building that served as both jail and courthouse, and slammed the door behind him. He gasped for air but managed a frantic,

"Andy!"

"Whoa, Barn, take it eeeeasy," the tall, well-built sheriff said as he stepped out of one of the two jail cells. "You're gonna hyperventilate."

The deputy fought to catch his breath. "Andy, you're not gonna believe this!"

The sheriff chuckled, giving a toothy grin. "Old Man Spencer runnin' around in his long johns agin?"

The deputy shook his whole body with impatience. "NO! This is BIG! REALLY big!"

The sheriff put down his broom and dustpan and perched on the edge of his desk. "How big?"

Barney took hold of his friend's shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Andy, prepare yourself for a shock!"

Andy slumped. "Barney, will ya just tell me?"

The deputy glanced left and right, then leaned in confidentially. "There's Russian spies headin' into Mayberry!"

Andy nodded slowly. "Russian spies, huh? How do you reckon that is?"

"Because the one fella said to the other, 'You clever Russian.'" Barney thought to himself for a minute. "Come to think of it, though, that fella didn't sound Russian."

"Maybe they think we got some intercontinental ballistic missiles hidden in Vernon Kelsey's barn."

"Andy, I'm tellin' ya, they were stopped out there on the highway and talkin' into a fancy fountain pen!"

"What were they sayin'?

"Some kinda weird code, somethin' about Channel D." Barney frowned. "What do you suppose 'D' stands for?"

"How come you saw and heard them, and they didn't see and hear YOU?"

"Well,  I had to. . . make a comfort stop," Barney said with some embarrassment. "I pulled the squad car off on the road that goes down to Myers Lake, and I seen these two suspicious characters stop to take a stretch, so I sneaked up on them and hid behind a big fir tree."

"And?"

"And this blond fella was talking into his pen, and he was Russian, I tell ya, RUSSIAN!"

"Blond fella, huh?"

"Yeah, 'bout my size, only not as muscular as me, and another fella with dark hair, taller. Dressed in real nice suits, like it was Sunday."

Andy nodded as light dawned. "OHHH, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh."

Barney looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

"I think I know who those fellas are."

"YOU DO???"

"Yeah," Andy said as he got up and moved behind his desk, Barney close on his heels. "I didn't tell ya about this, Barn, because I was supposed to keep it quiet."

Barney looked wounded. "Tell me what???" he whined.

"Those two must be the U.N.C.L.E. agents I was told to expect," Andy said calmly as he sat in his chair.

Barney's eyes turned into saucers. "U.N.C.L.E. agents!!!   HERE? IN MAYBERRY???"

Andy nodded.

"But WHY? Are they on a case? Is there some international conspiracy goin' on around here? Is it the Russians? No, I'll bet there's gonna be a summit meeting here! Is that it? A whole bunch of world leaders? In Mayberry! Who told you all this?"

Andy leaned back in his chair. "Barney, you're jumpin' to every conclusion in the book. Now, calm down."

"Calm down? CALM DOWN? Andy, you don't seem to realize that this is going to put Mayberry on the map! Even more so than when Gert Johnson won the regional title and went to the Pillsbury Bake-Off!  And we're gonna be in the middle of it," Barney said, rubbing his hands together with glee. "Yes, sir, we're going to be bodyguards to some real VIPs. And I've got this baby ready,"  he said, resting his hand on his sidearm. "Any ne'er do wells that come causin' trouble will rue the day they ever crossed paths with Barney Fife!"

With that comment, the gun fired into the floor and Andy jumped a foot out of his chair. "BAAAARney!!!"

The pained expression on Barney's face showed that he knew he'd been caught defying Andy's order to keep his revolver unloaded. Andy walked over to him and held out his hand, and Barney surrendered his gun, then watched Andy put it in a drawer.

"But Andy, I can't let them U.N.C.L.E. agents see me wearin' an empty holster---"

As if on cue the door to the jailhouse opened and a dark-haired man paused on the threshold, inspecting the interior with one sweeping glance. He entered, followed by a slight blond man who closed the door behind them. They commanded the room with an air of authority, and Andy knew immediately that these were the two under discussion. The dark haired one smiled and extended his hand.

"You must be Sheriff Taylor. I'm Napoleon Solo of the U-N-C-L-E."

"Mighty glad to have you in Mayberry," Andy said with a grin, shaking the agent's hand. "This is my deputy, Barney Fife."

"Hello, Mr. Solo, sir, am I ever pleased to meet you," Barney said, pumping Solo's hand with enthusiasm. "We sure are honored to have you as our guest."

When Solo was able to free himself he gestured toward the blond man. "This is my associate, Illya Kuryakin."

"Mr. Kuryakin," Andy said with a  handshake. Barney also extended his hand to Kuryakin, but clearly with reservations.

"Uh, are you really Russian?" Barney said quietly.
.
"I am," Illya said with no expression. "Are you the man behind the tree?"

Barney tried to mask his surprise. "Uh, yeah, yeah, that was me. Gotta keep an eye on things around here every minute, ya know."

"Quite commendable," Kuryakin said, and Barney beamed with restored confidence.

"How was your trip, Mr. Solo?" Andy asked.

"Please, call me Napoleon. Our trip was what he always hope for -- uneventful," he said. "I understand that you're familiar with the local population and might be able to help us with our investigation."

"Oh, sure," Barney answered for Andy, sniffing and sticking out his chest. "There's no problem too big or too dangerous for the Mayberry Police Force."

Solo looked him up and down. "Did you, ah, misplace your revolver, Deputy?"

Barney slapped his hand to the empty holster. "Oh, well, uh, I'm just having it cleaned. I usually do it myself but once in a while I like to have it done professionally."

Solo nodded. "I see."

Andy cleared his throat and ushered the U.N.C.L.E. agents toward the door. "We've got the best rooms in the hotel reserved for you, if you'd care to check in now."

"Thank you, Sheriff. That's a good idea," Solo said. Andy opened the door for them and they were suddenly faced with a portly and obviously inebriated man, who fell into Solo's arms. Kuryakin instinctively drew his gun.

"Whoa, now," Andy cautioned, holding out both hands. "This is Otis Campbell, a regular here. He's harmless."

Kuryakin stepped forward just the same and searched Otis for weapons. "In our profession, it is better to err on the side of caution."

Otis looked up at Solo who was still holding him up. "Shay, what is zis???"

Solo uprighted him and straightened his own jacket, appearing annoyed with having had contact with the aromatic man.

"Sheriff, I wanna report an ashault and buttering," Otis said, stumbling backward.

Andy caught him from behind, then steered him toward the far cell of the jail. "We didn't expect you today, Otis, and we've got company, so---"

"So look lively, Otis!" the deputy said, taking charge. He manhandled him into the cell and slammed the door shut, giving the impression of no-nonsense efficiency.

"Hey," Otis said, "that's no way to treat your besht customer. I can take my business elshwhere, ya know!"

"Lay down and go to sleep, Otis!" the deputy bellowed, then hung the keys on the wall just outside the cell within reach of the prisoner. Otis collapsed on the cot and immediately emitted a snore.

"Can't he avail himself of the, ah. . .?" Solo said, pointing to the keyring.

"Well, yes, that's the whole point," Andy explained. "We don't want to have to fetch and carry every little thing for him, now do we?" Solo and Kuryakin looked at each other. "And he can let himself out in the morning when he's slept it off."

"So public intoxication is his only crime?" Kuryakin asked.

"Oh, we don't hold with drinking of ANY kind 'round here, public or otherwise" Andy said. "This is a dry county. No liquor allowed." He returned to the front door of the courthouse. "Shall we go?"

The agents exchanged glances, then followed the sheriff across the street to the town's only hotel, where their large room fronted the street. Andy left them with an invitation to his house for supper. "My Aunt Bea makes the best fried chicken and apple pie north of Atlanta," he said, and the U.N.C.L.E. agents seemed pleased to accept.

***

"Have you ever ridden in the subway, Mr. Solo?" the red-haired boy asked eagerly.

Solo took a scoop of mashed potatoes from a generously filled bowl. "Why, yes, Opie, many times."

Kuryakin gave a snort and the others at the table looked at him. "I beg your pardon," he said. Solo gave him an odd look.

Barney was also a guest for supper. "Ya see, Ope, all New Yorkers ride either the subway or the bus, like the one Ralph Kramden drives. You know, on the Honeymooners. Right, Illya?"

Illya looked up from his plate. "I am unfamiliar with Mr. Kramden, but buses are indeed a common form of transportation, as are taxis."

"Oh, my goodness," the impeccably groomed Aunt Bea said, "I don't believe we've EVER had visitors from New York in Mayberry. You'll excuse us, gentlemen, if we have a million questions!"

"We're delighted to answer all your questions, Miss Taylor," Solo said, turning on his charm, "in gratitude for this classic Southern cuisine."

"Oh," Aunt Bea tittered, her hand smoothing her lace collar, "who ever said big city people aren't nice?"

The front screen door opened and a man in khaki shirt and pants entered without waiting for an invitation. "Excuse me, everybody, but, Andy, I thought you oughtta know that the squad car is leakin' oil."

Andy frowned and his voice went up an octave. "It is?"

"Yessir, I saw a big ole oil spot over at the courthouse where you usually park it, so I came over here and looked under it out yonder, and there it was, another big ole oil spot, gettin' bigger and bigger. Why, by mornin', you won't have any oil at all. You could ruin the whole engine!"

"Well, thank you, Gomer," Andy said. "I appreciate you bein' so alert."

The mechanic blushed. "Oh, twern't nothin. I'm used to spottin' those kinda things. I'll fix it for ya right away."

"Gomer, won't you sit down and have some supper with us first?" Aunt Bea said.

"Well, I don't mind if I do." He eyed the two strangers. "Are you sure ya got enough room?"

"Oh, yes, there's always room for one more," said Aunt Bea as she rushed into the kitchen to get another place setting. Gomer grabbed a chair from against the wall and wedged it between Solo and Kuryakin.

"I don't reckon I've ever seen you two fellers around town before," he said, looking left and right.

"Oh, Gomer," said Andy, "let me introduce you to Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin. They're here on business from New York."

"Shazam!" Gomer said, wide-eyed. "New York City?"

"The one and only," Solo said, as Kuryakin concentrated on his fried chicken.

"Goawwwwwly! I would love to visit New York. Do y'all have a YMCA there?"

"Of course," Solo said.

Gomer stared into space and imagined it. "I could go on the bus, and see the Statue of Liberty, and the Empire State Building, and. . ."

"Gomer," said a worldly wise Barney, shaking his head, "you'd be a babe in the woods there, a BABE in the WOODS."

Gomer's face lit up. "Say, Barney, you could go with me!"

"Well, that IS a good idea," Andy said. "You two could have a grand time up there."

Barney put on an air of devil-may-care bachelor. "Well, I suppose we could paint the town several shades of red."

Andy laughed. "Maybe meet a coupla girls. . ."

"If there's one thing New York has, it's beautiful women," Solo said, feeding the fantasy.

Barney's head bobbled. "Yeah, well. . .I have been known to step out now and then."

Kuryakin smiled at his partner. "Perhaps you could pick up a few pointers, Napoleon."

Solo gave his partner that look again, then suggested they adjourn to discuss business.

"We can talk privately on the front porch," Andy said. "We'll have our pie out there, Aunt Bea." He led the team outside and the conference began in hushed tones.

"Sheriff, and, ah, Deputy," Solo began, "we suspect there may be counterfeiters operating in Mayberry."

"Counterfeiters!!" Barney said, then looked around nervously and lowered his voice. "Counterfeiters?"

The Russian was the only one standing, leaning against a porch pillar and keeping an eye on the grounds. "Have you ever heard of an international organization called Thrush?"

Andy and Barney looked at each other and frowned, then shook their heads in unison.

Kuryakin continued. "Thrush seeks to create chaos anywhere they can with the hope of toppling governments, instigating wars, whatever it takes to seize power. They wish, in the end, to take over the world for their own ends."

Andy looked grave. Barney gaped in disbelief.

Solo took up the tale. "U.N.C.L.E. has detected counterfeit money in this region of the south. When we mapped the radius of its movement, Mayberry was dead center. We suspect Thrush may be operating right here, with a grassroots effort to wreak havoc with the economy."

Andy was puzzled. "But, nobody at the bank here has found any counterfeit bills; they would've told me."

"Precisely, Sheriff. Counterfeiters don't pass bills in their home territory. They travel at least fifty, a hundred miles away," Solo said. "Mind you, we have no hard evidence that Mayberry is the source, but it's seems logical."

Barney swallowed hard. "The only person with a printing press is Burt Frawley; he prints our weekly newspaper."

"Oh, no, I'm sure Burt can't have anything to do with it," Andy said. "Noooooo, sir. Besides, the money'd have to be run off during the day, in plain sight of his big plate glass window. And we'd know if anyone was workin' in there at night."

"You could do a lot with a very small press," Solo said. "These ten-dollar bills have quite a few flaws , but the average person wouldn't notice them."

Andy reached for his wallet and extracted a ten, and Solo showed them where there might be a mistake in a curl in Hamilton's hair. "There's no one else in town that has a printing press?"

Andy shook his head. "Not that we know of. But I can't say for sure on the outskirts of town, or out in the country. There's a lotta buildings out there that could hide a lotta things."

Solo thought about it. "Do you know anyone who's been taking short day trips, perhaps on business?"

Barney turned to Andy and spoke to him as if there was no one else present, a habit the two U.N.C.L.E. agents recognized. "Jake Potter has been takin' that prize sow of his to all the county fairs he can manage."

"Mmmm," Andy mused. "We could pay a visit to Jake tomorrow, check out his barn and outbuildings."

Solo nodded. "Anyone else?"

They discussed other possibilities as they ate apple pie, but no one was an obvious choice.

"Well," Solo said, standing, "we can get an early start in the morning and check on Mr. Potter, hmm?"

"We'll be ready," Andy said. "Say about six?"

Solo buttoned his jacket. "Uh, how about seven?"

Barney laughed. "You city boys like to sleep in, huh?"

Solo and Kuryakin glanced at each other and Solo smiled. "Yes, we're pretty spoiled."

***

Illya locked the door behind them, slid off his jacket and reclined on one of the beds. Napoleon went to the window and parted the curtain just enough to observe the lack of activity on the street. "That was the best meal we've had in a long time," he said. "I wonder if we can manage an invitation every night, and twice on Sunday."

"You don't mind listening to the deputy expound on his knowledge of the world?"

Napoleon grinned as he left the window and unlocked his suitcase. "Now, now, IK, he's not so bad. He knows his territory and his townspeople, and that's all we need from him."

"I suppose he CAN open many doors." Illya looked over at Napoleon in time to see him pull a flask from the recesses of his bag. "Napoleon, we can't very well investigate this case if you're confined to the Mayberry jail."

Napoleon held up the flask and raised his eyebrows in question.

"You'll need a bodyguard should that happen, of course," Illya said as he rolled off the bed to get two glasses from the bathroom.

Napoleon poured a finger of scotch into each glass, and lowered his voice. "Cheers."

Illya clinked his glass on Napoleon's, downed a swallow of the liquor, then replied softly. "You produce rather good moonshine for a city boy."

***

Daybreak found Solo and Kuryakin accompanying the sheriff to some of the more rural spots in the county, including Jake Potter's farm, while a disappointed Deputy Fife was assigned to man the sheriff's office. He strolled the street in front of the courthouse, his thumbs looped in his belt, waiting for someone to engage him in conversation. There seemed to be a dearth of pedestrians on that particular Friday morning, but his attention soon turned to a scraggly figure looking in a shop window. Barney approached him from behind.

"What are you up to, Ernest T?"

The little man with a crazed look in his eye turned toward the deputy and squinted. "Ain't up to nothin'," he clipped. "Cain't a body look in a winda?"

Barney rocked back on his heels and gave him a warning. "You better make sure it's LOOKIN' and not BREAKIN.'"

"I don't throw rocks like I used to," Ernest T said, sticking out his chest. "I'm a responsible person."

"Yeah," Barney said dubiously, "and I'm the Queen of Sheba."

Ernest T furrowed his brow. "You ain't the deputy no more?"

Barney rolled his eyes. "It's a figure of speech, Ernest T. Now move along!" He waved his hand toward the other end of the street and Ernest T slinked away under his watchful eye. But when the wiry little man reached the corner, he whirled around a streetlight, did a mocking jig, then disappeared around the side of the building.

Barney shook his head and muttered under his breath. "A first class, dyed-in-the-wool NUT."

"Barney, oh, Barney!" Two elderly ladies in flowered print dresses and straw hats rushed up behind him.

The deputy turned and tipped his hat. "Morning, Miss Clara Belle, Miss Jennifer."

"How is Mayberry's best deputy sheriff this morning?" Jennifer Morrison said in her sing-song voice.

"Well, I---"

"Barney, would you like to buy a raffle ticket for a handmade quilt we're making for the church bazaar?"

"Why, sure," Barney said magnanimously. "How much are they?"

"A dollar apiece," Clara Belle said. "How many would you like?"

"A dollar? Gee, that's kind of steep," Barney said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just deposited my paycheck and all my walkin' around money for next two weeks is twenty dollars."

"Oh, we can give you change," Jennifer said. "That's no problem, is it sister?"

Miss Clara Belle rummaged in her purse with some reluctance. "Well, I suppose not. . ."

Barney took out his wallet and stared at the solitary bill in it.

"It's generous people like you, Barney, that will get us a new bell for the church!" Jennifer said.

"And every time that bell rings, you can be so PROUD!" Miss Clara Belle added.

"I guess so. . ."

Barney had extracted the bill only halfway from his wallet when Miss Jennifer plucked it from his fingers. "Did you say you wanted five tickets?"

"Well, no, I didn't actually say. . ." Barney mumbled as his eyes followed the bill into Jennifer's purse.

"You mean you want MORE than five?" Clara Belle said, her eyes dancing with excitement.

"NO, uh, five'll do." Barney said. "That's five dollars, huh?"

"It's a VERY worthy cause, Barney."

"I don't really need a quilt, ya see. . ."

"Think of what a wonderful Christmas present it would make."

Barney frowned. "Well, Christmas isn't for six months yet, and. . ."

"Here's your change, Barney," Jennifer said as she handed him two bills. "We've got to run now. Bye, bye!"

The two of them scurried down the street, leaving Barney looking at the fifteen dollars in his hand. He sighed and stuck the bills in his wallet, then headed to the barber shop.

A bespectacled man sitting in the barber chair looked up from his magazine. "Hi, Barney, need a little trim?"

"Yeah, Floyd, even though I can't afford it," Barney grumbled, slamming the door behind him. "I just got clipped by the Morrison sisters."

"Oh, they were by here, too," Floyd said, getting up. "Got me for two tickets. Mmmm. That's two whole dollars. That's, let me see, two haircuts. Yes, two--- it's for a worthy cause, though."

"My meals are a worthy cause, too," Barney said as he climbed into the chair. "You see this body? All lean tissue and the metabolism of a racehorse. Food is fuel, and a peace officer has to make sure he doesn't run out of fuel at a crucial moment."

"Mmm, going to have to give up the nightly triple dip ice cream cone, huh?"

Barney's mouth went into a tight line, but he didn't have time to ruminate on his loss. The sheriff and the two U.N.C.L.E. agents entered the barbershop.

"Did you find anything out at Jake Potter's?" he asked.

"Hi, Floyd," Andy said soberly. "No, Barn, we've been lookin' all morning and don't have hide nor hair of a clue who might be doin' this."

"Uh, doing what?" Floyd asked.

"Barney hasn't told you?" Andy said.

"I just got here," Barney said.

"Oh, Floyd, this here is Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin," Andy said.

Floyd approached Napoleon. "Say, you have a nice, thick head of hair. Good haircut, too."

"I have a reliable barber in New York," Solo said.

"New York, huh?" Floyd turned his attention to Illya and walked around him, inspecting his shaggy blond hair. "You must not go to the same fella, huh?"

Illya peered left then right as the barber circled him.

"How would you like a nice crew cut?" Floyd said, pointing to the illustration on the wall. "Keeps you nice and cool in the summer," he purred.

"I appreciate the kind offer, but no, thank you," Illya stated firmly.

 Andy returned to the subject. "These gentlemen are investigatin' a counterfeitin' operation 'round here, Floyd."

"Counterfeiting? Here in Mayberry?" Floyd said. "Oh, that's no good."

"So far none of the local merchants have received any bad bills," Solo said, "but do you mind if we examine your cash drawer?"

"Oh, nooooo, I don't mind," Floyd said, and pulled out a tin box from under the counter.

Kuryakin took it and opened it. "There's three dollars and twenty-five cents here."

"What are you looking for?" Floyd asked.

"Ten dollar bills, Floyd," Barney said. "Funny ones."

"Oh, I haven't had a ten in several days."

Barney reached to his back pocket for his wallet. "Well, you have one now. Or can't you break this for me?" He handed the ten to Floyd.

Kuryakin intercepted the bill in mid-pass, took it over to the window, and pulled out his reading glasses. He examined it for a full minute before speaking again. "Where did you acquire this bill, Deputy?"

A look of concern clouded Barney's face. "Uh, why? Is there something wrong with it?"

Andy and Solo joined Kuryakin at the window and they huddled over the bill, murmurring.

"Hey," Barney said, "don't tell me that's counterfeit. That's my walkin' around money!"

The three men came back to the barber's chair to break the bad news. "I'm afraid you're gonna be sittin' down a lot, Barn," Andy said.

Barney slumped in defeat, then rallied. "It's those Morrison sisters!" he said. "They must be makin' counterfeit money in their shed, just like they were makin' moonshine last year!"

"Morrison sisters?" Solo said.

Andy sighed. "They're two elderly ladies who were makin' bootleg liquor once. I shore hope they haven't gotten themselves mixed up with somethin' else."

"That something else being Thrush," Kuryakin said.

Andy shook his head. "We better get over there."

The four men got into the squad car and headed for the sisters' home on the edge of town. Andy looked uncomfortable as he watched the U.N.C.L.E. agents in the rearview mirror check their weapons. "There won't be any call for that," he said.

"Sorry, Sheriff, but we have to be prepared," Solo said.

When they pulled up to the cottage, Andy told Barney to watch the front door while he and the agents made their way through the garden to the back of the house and the over-sized shed. There were sounds of activity from within. Andy knocked gingerly on the door. "Uh, Miss Jennifer? Miss Clara Belle?" he called.

The door opened and Miss Jennifer beamed. "Sheriff! What a nice surprise!"

The three men could see a printing press in clear view behind her, and Miss Clara Belle in rubber gloves wiping ink from the rollers. "Oh, hello, Andy!" They entered the small building and looked around. Cans of ink and various solvents lined some wood shelves. A guillotine-like paper cutter sat in one corner. A metal bin held some spotted rags.

Kuryakin picked up some apparent rejects that had fallen on the floor. "Rather damning evidence."

"Miss Jennifer, Miss Clara Belle, how COULD you??" Andy said, appalled.

"How could we what, Andy?"

"Don't ya know you're breakin' the law??"

"But, Andy," Miss Jennifer said, "it's for such a worthy cause."

"A worthy---" Andy became flustered. "You beat everythin', you know that??"

"Please don't be angry with us, Sheriff," Miss Clara Belle pleaded. "We were just looking for something to do in our spare time."

Miss Jennifer continued. "The ad said, 'Make Money from Home'. . ."

"We didn't know it meant literally," Clara Belle said.

"Miss Ellie recommended it, though, so we thought it must be the right thing to do."

Andy frowned. "Miss Ellie?"

"Yes, you remember her, the druggist?" Clara Belle said. "She sends a car for us every Wednesday morning, and we meet her for lunch at a different town each time."

"SUCH a sweet girl!" Jennifer gushed.

Andy was dumbfounded.

"We bring a big box of the bills with us, and she ships the money to Africa, to buy food for the orphans there," Clara Belle explained. "And we have SO many nice lunches!

"Are, are you talkin' about ELLIE WALKER?"

An attractive brunette stepped through the door from outside. She was armed. "Hello, Sheriff. How long has it been? Almost two years?."

"Ellie!"

"I take it you know this lady, Sheriff," Solo said.

"He knows me as Ellie Walker," the woman said, "but in other places I'm known as Nan Butler, Jane Summers, Betty Anderson. . ." She moved further into the shed, placing herself at the best angle to keep them all covered. "I've been the 'lady druggist' in little towns all over the south, Andy dear. I ingratiate myself with the locals, then move on. Didn't you ever wonder why I was here one week, gone the next?"

Solo took a subtle step toward her. "So, ah, these ladies trusted you."

"Oh yes," Ellie said with a smug smile. "They trust me about as much as you and Mr. Kuryakin MIStrust me."

"We do?" Solo said, puzzled.

"I forgive you for not recognizing me," Ellie said, "because not only do I have many names, I also have many faces."

Illya took a step forward and squinted at her. "Dr. Egret."

"You'd get a gold star from Alexander Waverly for that deduction," the brunette said. "Unfortunately, you'll never collect it."

At that moment Barney appeared in the doorway behind her, balancing a stack of boxes in his arms. "Andy, look what I foun---"

A startled Egret turned her gun toward Barney and his eyes turned into saucers. Solo took the opportunity to lunge forward and chop the gun from her hand. Kuryakin got behind her a heartbeat later and pinned her arms.

Barney dropped the boxes in a panic, currency paper scattering on the floor.

"Good work, Barn!" Andy said, rushing to his side.

"Huh?" Barney said, speechless.

Andy took the handcuffs from Barney's belt and handed them to Kuryakin, who took Dr. Egret into custody. "You know, the diversion. And carrying those boxes of paper was a good idea. They would have stopped the bullet if she'd shot at you."

"BULLET?" Barney said, blanching.

Andy steadied him. "That's the way you had it all figured, isn't it?"

"Uh, oh, yeah, yeah, that was the plan, all right ... I guess ... " Barney stammered.

Solo approached Barney and extended his hand. "That was good work, Deputy. If it wasn't for you, we'd be in Thrush hands right now, or worse."

Barney's ego asserted itself as Solo shook his hand. "Oh, well," he said with a shrug, "just another day on the job."

Napoleon smiled and nodded. Andy grinned from ear to ear. Illya raised an eyebrow.

***

"Now there's plenty of fried chicken and four slices of apple pie in here," Aunt Bea said as she handed a large paper bag to Illya. "I didn't want to say this when I first met you, Mr. Kuryakin, but you could put on a few pounds."

"Thank you, dear lady. We will savor what you have prepared, as usual." Illya handed the bag to Napoleon, then turned on the ignition and began backing the powder blue Thunderbird down the driveway.

"Don't be strangers now," Andy said with a grin.

Aunt Bea waved her handkerchief. "Good-bye, good-bye!"

"Best of luck to you and yours!" Gomer called.

Opie ran alongside the car. "Don't forget to send me that subway token, Mr. Solo!"

"Do svidanja!" Barney called as the two agents drove away.

Andy looked at Barney in surprise, and Barney shrugged. "Just a little Russian I picked up from Illya."

"Ohhhhh," said Andy, "you're not so leery of Russians now, huh?"

"Andy, Andy," Barney said, shaking his head, "try to be a bit more cosmopolitan, will ya?"
 

The end.