The Dagger Affair - McDaniel David. Страница 10

Napoleon and Illya looked at each other and nodded. "I think we'd best go directly to Boulder Dam and wait for him."

"Or for some well-meaning character he could get to do the job for him," Napoleon said. "He might be recognized. But Garnet might also recognize one of his confederates." He turned to the girl. "Will you feel up to a short flight and a couple of days basking in the desert sun?"

She nodded hesitantly. "I'll have to get some clothes from home...."

"We can probably take care of that this evening. I don't think Kim will be coming back there — he'd expect us to be looking for him."

"Mr. Solo...they're...they're not likely to kill him, are they?"

Napoleon shook his head. "I don't think so, Garnet. But he may have to go to a hospital for a while."

"I know that — I've known it for a long time." She sighed. "Let's go."

Section II: "Give Me The DAGGER!"

Chapter 5: "The Most Fun By A Damsite."

The next morning there were three people mixed in the first elevator-load of tourists descending into the depths of Boulder Dam who attracted no attention from anyone but the uniformed guards. Napoleon Solo was resplendent in a white suit of faultless press; Illya had changed from his customary black to a more cheerful shade of midnight blue, with heavier dark glasses than usual in deference to the blazing desert sun; Garnet Keldur was completely casual in slacks and a loose blouse. Alone of the three, she was unarmed.

The guards around the dam had been alerted and briefed in the two hours before the powerhouse complex had been thrown open to the public. Rather than take more time than necessary with complex explanations, Napoleon and Illya had agreed to call the thing a "bomb" — after all, the effect would be just as disastrous if it were successfully planted and set off.

There were two elevators running the full height of the dam — the one on the north carried the tourists down and the one on the south brought them back up. The groups of twenty or so came through with a few minutes spacing between which gave the U.N.C.L.E. agents time to examine them for suspicious behavior. Garnet was stationed behind a window near the entrance to the first generator room, where she could see everyone who came through. If she recognized anyone, she could signal to Illya, who was watching the crowd inside the powerhouse.

Illya, in turn, could see Napoleon, who was lounging against a concrete wall out in the sunlight on the porch-like area before the face of the dam. He watched the groups of tourists in the central area, and followed them into the second generator house, on the Arizona side.

Lacking any more definite data, they were watching for anyone who might leave a box or bag of any kind anywhere in the area. Since there were usually some ten groups at various stages of the tour, this took a certain amount of constant attention.

Napoleon settled on letting his eyes rove constantly over every group in his range. It was well past lunchtime, and the sandwiches the guards had brought were not settling well. There were an amazing number of women with bulky purses in these groups — you'd think they wouldn't want to carry the big things with them on a tour like this. And lots of camera bugs hung about with equipment...He wondered if the thing could be made small enough to slip inside a camera body. He shook his head. It's awkward, he thought, not knowing how big a thing it could be. But if I start thinking too small, I'll be looking for people leaving wads of chewing gum on things....

* * *

He moved casually with a group into the cool darkness of the southern generator building. The guards had been advised to watch for anyone leaving or attempting to leave something — anything — around the area. But it felt good to get inside, out of that sun, for a little while.

Another group was coming out on the other side of the dam, though, and he had to get back outside to watch them. His feet were starting to hurt, too. This was what the detective story writers called "footwork," he guessed. It wasn't really his department — he preferred to work with the other end, mostly....

He saw Illya about a hundred feet away, looking out the door on his side of the dam. He seemed to be watching somebody.

A few seconds later Solo's transceiver whistled softly. He pulled it out and extended the antenna.

"Napoleon — that group out toward the end of the pier. There is a man in a loud shirt and a little straw hat. He has a camera around his neck and a large brown camera bag over his shoulder. There is something I don't like about him."

"You mean besides his taste in shirts? Did Garnet recognize him?"

"She wasn't sure. But Kim probably wouldn't send somebody she would know."

"Has he done anything yet?"

"Only take pictures. Wait a minute! He just took another picture out there in the sunlight!"

"Nothing wrong with that."

"But I've been watching him closely all the time, and he hasn't once used a light meter or opened his case for any reason. And that type of camera doesn't have a built-in meter. Also, I have not seen him make any adjustments of the camera between the dim light in here and the sunlight outside."

"Maybe he's just not a very good photographer."

"That's a good camera — and an expensive bag. Keep an eye on him when he comes over your way."

Napoleon's sighed. Better to be too suspicious than too trusting, he supposed. Here came the group. Now there was one worth watching. And she did look suspicious. Low-cut blouse, full skirt, big broad-brimmed hat and large dark glasses. And a big black purse. Napoleon still held the theory a woman's purse would be the best place to conceal it — and even if the purse were found and opened, no man would be likely to notice something as commonplace as an Energy Damper among all the stuff she probably had in there.

There was the photographer Illya was worried about. Nice camera, big gadget bag. But too obvious. If he left the bag somewhere, somebody would be sure to notice. And that loud shirt was a flagrant eye-catcher. He wasn't the pot-bellied loudmouth one usually associates with loud shirts, though — he was a little taller than average, rather pale, with light glasses and straight blond hair. A little overweight; round, innocent face. Looked as though he might have been a minister in a little rural church. Not at all the type.

Napoleon went back to watching the girl.

She behaved herself perfectly, and a few minutes later he shifted his attention to the next group. He didn't notice the girl again until her party emerged from the access tunnel to the penstocks. She still had the purse, but she had taken the dark glasses off. Could the E/D have been concealed in the glasses frames? Not likely....

A third group came out of the north powerhouse and stood blinking in the sunlight while the guard picked a bullhorn out of a small weather-proof cabinet and addressed them.

Napoleon looked up the face of the dam. It seemed like a sheer wall of old ivory rising almost out of sight between the jagged rock sides of the canyon. Incongruously, far up the cliffs of concrete, there were two steel doors with outside handles barely visible. There was a constant breeze blowing up the canyon towards the dam, keeping the temperature reasonable. In the sun, protected from the wind, it was too hot; in the shade, the wind was chill. And the sun was beginning to disappear behind the cliffs. Napoleon shivered, and moved back inside the powerhouse.

The row of generators filled their huge cave with a penetrating subsonic song of pure power. Napoleon listened to it with his fingertips on the metal railing, and sighed. It was getting on toward three o'clock. He wondered what they would do if nobody showed up. Would they wait through tomorrow and the next day? Would they wait a week and then give up? Perhaps it was a wild goose chase. He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms.