Napoleon Solo had finally done it. Angelique had trapped him. She was good; he had to give her that. After all these years of sleeping with his enemy, he had never seen it coming. Illya would never let him live this down. He had insisted the Russian not follow him. Napoleon trusted her. Illya had listened for once.
The roses were delivered to her. Angelique was flattered. She inspected them for explosives. There were none; she relaxed. Her eyes widened when Illya dropped from the ceiling vent and freed his partner. After they left, Illya smiled, “The greenery; poison ivy.”