The Final Affair - McDaniel David. Страница 36

“Okay. I’ll be busy for a while, but the round end of your nailfile fits these screwheads pretty well. I’ll ring you back after I get one off. Hey, which one should I take off first? One is eye level on the far right and the other is halfway to the left about a foot above the floor. And they’re both about a foot on a side.”

Joan relayed the data to Illya, who said, “Tell him… No, give me the phone. Hello. Napoleon —open the upper one first if it’s got an insulated edge around it. The lower one’s probably something —”

An explosion on the floor above dropped blocks of stone from their ceiling and stunned them for a moment. When Illya found the phone under his .

right shoulder, it was saying tinnily, “Hello? Illya? Hello? Are you still there?”

“Right here, Napoleon. All okay. Call me before you do anything else after opening the panel.”

“There’s no insulation showing on either of them.”

“Take the upper one anyway.”

“Check. Upper right panel. I’ll call you back.”

Illya let the handset drop to his pillow wearily. “He’s working on it,”

he said. “He’ll call us back.” His voice was strained, and his breathing irregular.

There was only the endless distant sound of war overhead and the occasional shocks of explosions which had lost their power to terrify. Joan knelt on the plaster-sharded floor beside the metal frame bed and leaned her head against it, suddenly tired. It was quiet for several seconds, and then Illya said, “Joan?”

“Yes?”

“I’m getting a little fuzzy. You’d better talk to me, so I can stay awake. Napoleon should be calling back in a couple of minutes —and I have the feeling if I let go now I might not be very easy to wake up. So talk to me. What was going on outside when you came in?”

“Our main assault force was ashore and moving in. Something was burning, .

down beyond the Long Buildings.”

“What happened in the powerhouse after Sanders tripped the alarm? Do you have any idea?” .

“Oh, yes; Goldin made it out. Sanders managed to accomplish the target and took out a Guard and hiIRSelf in the process. Medal of Honor material.”

“Worthy of him. I wonder how Napoleon’s doing…”

“Illya, I’d like to ask you some questions. If you don’t mind —”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve worked with Napoleon for six years. According to your personal files you are each other’s closest friends —and this business tends to discourage such things. And now that I’ve found him again after all these years —and so close to losing him forever —I wish you could tell me what he’s really like, now.”

There was silence for a moment before Illya said, “Actually, I don’t think I really know him that well. There has always been much about him that I didn’t understand.” He paused, thinking. “for a long time he was fearless —almost suicidally so. But in the last couple of years he’s seemed to sober up. In scxne respects. I’d say —”

The phone rang. and Illya found the handset. “Kuryakin.”

“There’s a valve handle, in a box. Nothing else.”

“Rats. What does it say on the valve handle? Anything stamped or written on it? Is it metal?”

Pause.

“Yeah. Metal, with P.J.V.R. stamped on it. All caps, with periods.”

“Try turning it.”

“It turns in both directions. Shall I leave it centered where it was?”

“No, turn it all the way to the left for good luck,” said Illya. “And go to work on the other panel. ”

“It’ll be easier,” said Napoleon cheerfully. “The lantern’s on the floor. I hope it was full of fuel.”

“You may have a little longer, by the way —whoever was knocking at the back door seems to have given up. The dust is settling back here. But don’t take all night —there are lots of places I’d rather be.”

“You may be there before you know it. I’ll ring back when I get the second panel off. What should I hope to see?”

“Some switches, some wires. Probablya light or t’IIf’o. Call me.” He dropped the phone and slumped back, breathing harshly.

“I just remembered,” he said after a few seconds. I’The rest of the field surgical kit —is in the drawer of that little table —next to the closet. I saw the Guard put it there. Can you find it?”

“Probably,” said Joan, and groped away through the darkness.

“There’s some morphine in there. Just get it ready. I can’t have any until we’re through this, but I’ll want it ready. Besides, they gave me adrenalin before Myron started talking to me and it hasn’t worn off yet.

“But you wanted to know about Napoleon. He likes boats —oh, of course he told you about his 27-footer, the Pursang…”

“What’s his favorite color?”

“Color? I haven’t the least idea. His favorite wine…”

Several wooden buildings on both sides of the island were roaring skyward in flames, and the waning moon was obscured by the smoke of their burning.

The rear of the Big House was a cratered ruin, thin topsoil scattered and coral blasted to dust. No more lightning was flung at the sea, and no more shells were being fired; the surface moved dark and peaceful.

The invading force from U.N.C.L.E~.was stalled, running into concerted defense through the Long Buildings to the south and from the fortified Guard Quarters to the north of the Big House. Once again light machine guns perched behind concrete cornices of the old mansion, sleeting leaden death on anything that moved in their free-fire zone. Their infrared sniperscopes were aided by the flickering heat of the rising flames before which the U.N.C.L.E.

troops advanced and towards which they were forced to retire again. Something fat and shiny in an upper story window spat whirling spheres of yellow-white fire across the open yard to the north, and uniformed figures scampered away from its line of fire, as bullets spattered the stonework about the window.

Downstairs Joan could only tell that the gunfire overhead was less frequent, and the shelling seemed to have stopped. It was comparatively restful now in the darkness of the cell, and breathing was easier as the d~t settled.

“…He played lacrossein college —and I remember he threw the javelin …” Illya’s voice murmured softly. prompted occasionally by Joan, as they waited for the telephone to ring again. It might have been five minutes. it might have been fifteen.

When it rang. Joan grabbed the handset. “U.N.C.L.E. base,” she said.

“How is it?”

“Pretty good, I guess, but I’d better talk directly to Illya.”

Joan helped the Russian prop the phone on the pillow next to his ear, his right hand operating the talk switch.

“Right here. Napoleon,” he said. “What do you see?”

“A mess of wires. There are a few switches —not mounted, just hanging in there between wires. And there’s a red pilot light on —and an orange one, a blue one, and a green one that aren’t on. Is that good?”

“I wouldn’t count on it. What color are the wires leading to the light that is on?”

“Uhhhhh, lemme see… One of them is red and one’s a red-green stripe…”

“Trace them back and see which one goes to a switch. It should be the striped one.”

”…and one is a blue-and-white stripe. What did you say?”

“Never mind. Trace both striped ones, and the red one too. Tell me which goes where.”

“Okay. Hey —the blue light just went on. The red one is still on.

What does that mean?”

“I don’t know yet. Trace the red wire first,” said Illya. “And see if there’s any way you can get through the panel into the triggering mechanism —unless there’s a wiring diagram stuck inside the door.”

“Nope. I looked. The solid red wire goes with a bundle out a little hole in the lefthand side. The red-green goes with a bundle out the back.