The Mind-­Twisters Affair - Stratton Thomas. Страница 21

Illya smiled graciously. "I'm sure the spirit of Mr. Solo could be caught more completely in brass, if you have any available," he said pleasantly.

Flavia looked a trifle uncertain as she shifted the chain and edged toward the stairs. "You must excuse me, though. I have some iron rods heating and I must get back and shape them while they're at the right temperature." She clanked down the stairs.

"Now, gentlemen," Whateley said, "I'll show you to your rooms."

Napoleon nodded, then snapped his fingers as if he bad suddenly remembered something. "We haven't informed New York that we've moved yet," he said. "If you'll excuse me a moment..." He pulled out his communicator.

Waverly answered promptly, accepted Napoleon's report with bland unconcern, and requested that Illya return to New York that evening. Illya turned to Whateley.

"It appears I must eat and run," he said. "I'm sorry to appear so ungracious."

Napoleon watched Whateley closely as their new host assured Illya that he understood perfectly, and that Illya was welcome to return at any time. Whateley's expression was, as always, somewhat unpleasant and a trifle frightening, but it was not at all informative.

Chapter 10

"You're Developing A Very Creditable Mean Streak"

DINNER WAS SUPEREB. Napoleon decided that the food alone would have been ample justification for moving into the Whateley mansion. After the rash of drive-ins, anything would have looked good; but a menu that included pieczen barania a la sarna, pierogi z kapusta, mizeria, and dasza jaglana, all topped off with babka zrumern, was enough to send Napoleon's palate into a spasm of ecstasy. Even Illya, normally as taciturn about food as about most other subjects, was delighted. The Kuryakins, he said, had been fond of Polish food ever since a distant ancestor had been a member of the Russian occupation forces in 1795. Napoleon only raised his eyebrows at the information, but Casimir poked his head through the swinging doors long enough to glare briefly at Illya; then withdrew to his kitchen.

After the meal, Napoleon strolled with apparent aimlessness around the house and Illya returned to the library. Entering the huge, book-lined room some time later, Napoleon found him engrossed in a large leather-bound tome, the name of which seemed to have been worn away through years of use.

"Time to get you to the airport," Napoleon announced, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening.

Illya looked up. "I hadn't realized it was so late," he said. "Alhazred is a particularly fascinating writer." Illya rose, returned the book to the crowded shelves, and followed Napoleon into the hall.

Jabez had apparently withdrawn to some other part of the huge house but Flavia met them at the door, wearing a black sheath dress that caught and held Napoleon's interest.

"No sculpting tonight?" he inquired.

"No. The drama group is meeting to plan the Halloween program."

"That would seem to be more in your father's line," Napoleon remarked.

Flavia laughed, a little uncertainly, Napoleon thought. "He does offer suggestions now and then, but they tend to make the rest of the group a little nervous. In fact, they occasionally make me that way, and I know he's only joking. Rita is the only person I know who enjoys his sense of humor entirely."

"Yes, he does put up an effective front," Napoleon admitted, then glanced at his wrist watch. "But we really must be going if we're going to make the airport in time." The two agents bowed slightly and walked across to the U.N.C.L.E. car. After the few seconds it took to fit themselves in, it purred away from the Whateley mansion.

After driving ostentatiously through Midford on the highway to Fort Wayne, they waited until they were out of sight of the town and then swung onto a side road. Some minutes and several turns later, they emerged on another highway, about a hundred yards from a Bippus city limits sign. Just beyond the sign, they passed a large, ramshackle building with the words "Bippus Vending Service" barely visible in the chipped paint over the front door.

"Bull's-eye the first try," Illya murmured as Napoleon drove past the building about fifty yards to another side road. "Amazing."

Napoleon doused the lights and pulled the car well off the side of the road. They were hidden from the building by some trees and a rise in the ground. Despite the fact that they were officially within the city limits, there were no other buildings or houses in sight.

"It doesn't look like the sort of place that would be worth guarding," Napoleon said. "But I don't suppose everything can be as easy as the TV station was, particularly if they're on their guard now."

Illya nodded his agreement. "One of us had better check it out and dispose of any watchman. The other can stay with the car until the coast is clear."

"Eminently logical," Napoleon agreed. "I'll bring the car around behind the building as soon as you give me an all-clear signal."

Illya glanced at Napoleon, comfortably ensconced behind the wheel. "Okay, I owe you a favor from last Tuesday. You can sit here in safety while I dispose of Thrush's minion or minions. I skulk better than you do, anyway." He opened the weapons compartment and pulled out the Mercox.

'That seems rather drastic for quietly subduing a guard," Napoleon observed. "As I recall, it made a good anti-aircraft gun not long ago."

"It's a very versatile device," Illya assured him as he reached down for a handful of projectiles. "These, for instance, are hypodermic darts. They were originally developed for animal control, but a few modifications in the U.N.C.L.E. labs have made them suitable for Thrush control. And these," he reached for another handful, "are tear gas. And I'll take a couple of the explosive loads just in case there's a safe or something our normal burgling tools won't handle." Stuffing the projectiles into his pockets and carefully stowing the long- barreled pistol inside his jacket, he climbed out of the car and started up the wooded hill that separated them from the Bippus Vending Service.

It took only a few minutes for Illya to top the hill and dodge through the trees and bushes until he stood behind a small tree a few yards from the building itself. The place looked deserted. An old truck stood in the driveway behind it, and the weed-grown yard was littered with broken bottles and odd pieces of rusting machinery.

Illya remained behind the tree for several minutes, observing the building closely. Nothing stirred, and only one window showed light. Waiting until there were no cars on the highway, he slipped across the yard and examined the back door. Surprisingly, it yielded to a few turns of his picklock. Holding the Mercox in readiness, he eased the door open a crack and slithered in side.

Closing the door quietly, he stood where he was for a moment to accustom his eyes to the blackness inside the building. The night light he had seen from the out side was apparently in a front office at the other end of the building. He cautiously felt his way forward. He had reached a workbench which blocked his way and was starting to move along it when he heard the sound of footsteps. He froze, shading his eyes with one hand and bringing up the gun with the other.

A door across the room opened and a figure was momentarily outlined against the light in the background. The door shut and a flashlight beam swept across the floor.

Illya aimed as carefully as he could in the blackness for a point just above and to the right of the flashlight. He squeezed the trigger. The report was alarmingly loud in the confined quarters and was followed by a sharp exclamation from behind the flashlight. The light swung up to shine on Illya for an instant, then wavered and dropped. There was the sound of a falling body and the clatter of the flashlight as it hit the concrete floor and went out.