[The Girl From UNCLE 01] - The Birds of a Feather Affair - Avallone Michael. Страница 16

A murmur of surprise raced around the conference table. A haze of blue cigarette and cigar smoke hung over the room. Mr. Waverly pushed out his lips. It was always difficult convincing the powers-that-be of the need for forceful steps and measures. But now was the time.

"Zorki has somehow found a chemical formula that defies all probability and yet we have incontestable proof of its existence. Yet, he has kept no papers, no records, no data on his work. In short, it is all in his head. The man possesses that rare phenomenon—a photographic mind. If we give him back to Thrush, he will surely give them the secret. He may never give it to us but at least, if he is on our hands, the secret is safe, allowing for the vast sociological difference in the world aims of the United States versus Thrush. Therefore, we must keep him. Were he to return to them, I could not answer for the safety of civilization as we know it."

The Chief of the Marine Corps snorted.

"That's a mouthful of frogs, Waverly. What could be that big? Another cobalt bomb? Germ warfare?"

"No," Waverly said quietly. "We could combat those evils."

The Chief of the Navy looked less skeptical than the rest of his colleagues. A slow, unworried smile crossed his face.

"Mr. Waverly, I've had some indications about your man, Zorki. Fact is, our own G-2 has been working on him but—you'd have to go some to top the bomb. Overkill is nothing new, you know."

"I realize that, sir, but what else is there to surpass the simple, unalterable truth that Alek Yakov Zorki, Thrush agent and scientist extraordinary, has discovered a chemical agent which guarantees everlasting life?" Mr. Waverly phrased the words very slowly and very carefully. "Nobody will ever die once they are innoculated with this amazing solution. Life everlasting against the fast statistics of old age, accidents and even intentional homicide. Think of it."

The Joint Chiefs of Staff began to laugh. The low ripple of mirth played about the table. The laughter reached the Secretary of Defense. He bit his lips, and reluctantly rapped his gavel for silence. A sudden quiet greeted the hollow thud of the hammer, as if all the participants were somewhat embarrassed by their own reactions.

The Defense Secretary leveled a stern gaze at Waverly.

"You can prove this preposterous revelation?"

"I can, sir," Waverly said, without hesitation. "I wish to God I was in error."

"But that's absurd!" The Army Chief exploded.

"Incredible and impossible," agreed the head of the Marine Corps. "Why if—"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," the Defense Secretary cut in. "It isn't in our province to discuss the niceties of the matter. I'm sure we are all aware of the consequences of such a discovery."

"Precisely, gentlemen," Mr. Waverly said firmly. "They go on living, we go on dying, in the normal order of things. And soon we would have a world of people who think alike and live alike for all time. Thrush people. Thrush conquerors and dictators. And Thrush, of course, will gain what it has sought since the very day of its birth. World dominance."

The Defense Secretary nodded.

"I'll talk to the President. This calls for an executive decision. Meanwhile, I suggest you take that plane back to New York, Mr. Waverly. You hold onto Mr. Zorki until you hear from me. I'll leave the details to you. I'm sure our Washington scientists will want to know all there is to know about this—ah—discovery."

"Thank you, Mr. Secretary."

The Chiefs of Staff exchanged hopeless looks and incredulous gestures. A man of some merit and obvious importance had said a most remarkable thing. Was it true? Could it be true—even in this amazing day and age?

"Proof," barked the Chief of the Army. "You mentioned you had proof. What kind of proof can you have of a thing like this?"

Mr. Waverly stood up, bowing to the officials surrounding him. His leathery face was furrowed.

"The proof is Mr. Zorki himself. When we first got our hands on him, we put him through the usual tests. Physical, mental, etcetera. A Security precaution. There was an accident the first day in the laboratory. One of my men left a ray machine on which fires, literally, radium bullets. Mr. Zorki received enough radioactive particles to kill a roomful of people. He survived with no more than a mild headache. When we questioned him about it, he made his boast about his chemical. We believed him. The proof was before our eyes. That was about a week ago, and Mr. Zorki is still very much alive. Need I say more? Obviously, he himself is innoculated with this drug of his."

"I can think of an easier way to test him," the Army head growled. "Line him up on a firing range and cut him in two with some automatic weapons. Life everlasting! It's ridiculous, I tell you."

Mr. Waverly had no more to say of an important nature.

"Thank you for your attention. I'll be going now. Please remember that we at Uncle will do all in our power to hold on to Mr. Zorki."

The War Room was quiet long after Mr. Alexander Waverly had left the table.

Not even the outspoken Army Chief dared repeat his infamous suggestion. As practical as it would be, the government just didn't operate that way, did it?

Outside the Pentagon building, a long dark touring car was waiting for Mr. Waverly. He entered it quickly and settled himself in the interior. His kindly brown eyes were unaccustomably grim.

"Airport," he said tersely to his special driver.

The nation's capital lay quiet and serene in the gathering darkness; the mammoth illumination of numberless lights and glares gave the impression of an immense, lit-up stage where great dramas were about to unfold.

Mr. Waverly's special car shot away from the curb, wheels spinning on the gravel, grinding almost in protest.

Away All Girls

The explosion, when it came, was something to remember the rest of one's life.

For April, it marked the beginning of a new appreciation for the effects of a detonation under water. She had gambled on the physical principle that liquid would dissipate the bursting concussion of a charge of explosives. She had counted on the rolling force of torrents of water, pushed by the powerful thrust of the blast, wherever it might come from, to collapse the walls of the basement. But she had not reckoned on the maelstrom that would ensue.

Eternities seemed to have passed since she and Joanna Paula Jones (Lord, what a name that was!) first huddled in the locker. The swirling, dirty waters had flooded their narrow stall, rising in a steady surge. It had sloshed against their chests, reaching their chins—a thunderous cataract of noise.... And then had come the biggest noise of all. A cyclonic, ear-pounding whoooommmmpppp of sound and fury. The world had turned upside down.

A skyrocketing, roller-coastering universe in which the heavens opened wide and the waters of the deluge carried them away like two bits of flotsam in a roaring ocean. Wherever the explosives had been planted, there was no escaping the waterfall. The watery room split into mountainous columns of flying foam and rubble. The locker cubicle that held herself and the girl buckled apart, the tin sides flying. Their two helpless figures whipped forward, like two grains in an elevator chute. Tons of water and wreckage poured through the collapsed walls of the building where the mammoth, gaping holes allowed them passage. April tried to hang onto something, sought to reach the girl, but it was useless. She was swept along on a tidal wave of such force that the breath almost burst from her lungs.