Текст книги "[Whitman] - The Affair of the Gunrunners' Gold"

Автор книги: Brandon Keith

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27. Zeroing In

SIREN WIDE OPEN, wailing a warning, the scanning truck raced along the highway, eating up the miles. The immense steel armored truck had sufficient room to carry in comfort the veritable army of U.N.C.L.E. agents—sixteen men in all. There was the driver who had brought the truck to the Raymond and Langston Building with Professor Philip Bankhead inside. There were the ten men who had accompanied Waverly. And there were Waverly, O'Keefe, Johnson, and Solo, wearing shirt, tie, and jacket. But of the sixteen, only two men were visible: the driver and the lookout sitting alongside him in the front seat. Inside, Waverly was saying: "... first and foremost, Illya Kuryakin. Our first concern is Kuryakin. We must get to him, Phil."

The scientist nodded. "We shall do that, Alexander."

Outside, the driver nudged the lookout man. The lookout man turned his head to the slitted vent behind him.

"We're on the outskirts of Westbury."

"Turn off the siren," Waverly ordered. "Proceed at normal speed."

Solo glanced at his watch. "We made excellent time."

Waverly looked toward Bankhead. "Now, Phil?"

The scientist smiled. "Now, Alexander."

Philip Bankhead was seated away from the others, in front of a radar-equipped scanning board. To his left was a metal amplifying tray. To his right was an instrument panel with its delicately attuned knobs, buttons, wheels, and levers. He touched a button, activating the equipment.

"Now, if you please, Dr. Blaine. Mr. Solo's earpiece. Just drop it in the amplifying tray, please."

Dr. Blaine did as he was bade. No sooner was the earpiece in the amplifying tray than a faint, hissing sound of breathing was heard by all of them. Solo's earpiece was receiving the sounds of Illya's breathing.

"Marvelous," whispered Dr. Blaine.

Philip Bankhead put a headset over his ears. Clearly, distinctly, he heard the breathing. He turned his head, nodded, smiled at Waverly, and returned to his work. He touched a button on the instrument panel and a directional antenna rose up from the roof of the scanning truck. Watching the scanning board, listening intently through the headset, turning knobs that rotated the outside antenna, Philip Bankhead plotted his course. Suddenly he spoke.

"Tell him he's going too fast. Tell him to slow his speed—considerably."

Waverly repeated the order through the vent. They could all feel the sudden reduction of speed.

Bankhead smiled. "Yes. That's it. I don't want him going any faster."

Waverly relayed the advice through the vent.

Bankhead was smiling up at the scanning board, transfixed, as though in worship. Despite the beads of perspiration on his forehead, his face bore a beatific expression. "I've got a perfect line on him. We're still a distance away, but we can't miss. Right turn now... good, yes... straight ahead… easy, easy now... left... that's it... another left now... good... straight away... no... hold it... right turn now... yes, good... another right… good boy... straight ahead... easy, easy does it...."

And so, slowly but surely, they came nearer and nearer to Illya Kuryakin.

28. Parley Makes His Point

BETWEEN THE TWO of them, Parley and and Raymond, holding Candy upright but dragging her as though she were ill, had gotten her into the apartment without misadventure. Tito had parked the truck around the corner, and then he and Langston had been admitted to the apartment, Parley locking the door behind them. Tito had carried Candy to a bed, and Raymond had seen the bound Kuryakin and Craig.

"Are we going to tie her up, too?" Raymond asked.

"What for?" replied Parley.

"Don't ask me," said Raymond. "You're the guy that tied them."

"Force of habit." Parley's smile was ghastly. "No reason for tying them. No reason for tying her. They'll sleep."

"But not for long," said Raymond.

Parley winced. "Would you explain that, Mr. Raymond?"

"In the living room. We have time to talk, I take it."

"There's time," said Parley.

In the living room, awaiting Brian Powell's call, they made themselves comfortable.

"We get rid of them," Raymond said.

"How?" asked Langston.

Raymond calmly puffed his cigar. "They're sleeping. It'll be a simple matter for Tito to throttle them. You know my motto, Otis—dead men tell no tales."

"But not the girl," expostulated Tito. "Why the young girl? She knows nothing."

"But we won't be able to explain the absence of her father. We don't need a hysterical kid on our hands." Raymond exhaled aromatic cigar smoke, negligently flicking the ash. "I say kill them—get them out of the way—the three of them."

"I say kill none of them," interjected Parley.

"You say! Who are you?" Raymond's gaze was contemptuous. "You're nothing, that's who you are!"

"May I express an opinion?"

"You may express nothing."

"Let him talk," said Langston.

"Why? He's a lackey. A servant. He does what he's told and nothing else. He has no right to talk back to his superiors."

"Just an opinion," wheezed Parley.

"Let the man talk," said Langston.

"But he's merely a—"

"Let him talk, Felix."

"Okay, Mr. Parley, Mr. John Parley talking back to his superiors–talk!" Raymond blurted.

Parley's nostrils were compressed to white ridges. His lips trembled. "An opinion. I just wish to express an opinion," he quavered.

"This is talking?" sneered Raymond. "Talk, brave Mr. Parley—but remember, I won't forget this insolence."

"What I'm trying to say," said Parley, "is why not leave this decision—life or death—to the higher echelon, the T.H.R.U.S.H. executives?"

"In the field, I make the decisions," boomed Raymond.

Parley pressed on. "The high echelon in T.H.R.U.S.H. might want to talk to these people, might want to examine them. We had no idea that Craig was a man from U.N.C.L.E. The T.H.R.U.S.H. executives might want to question him on that. They could learn a lot from him. And they can learn a lot from the other agent—the one posing as Evan Fairchild—once we deliver him—alive!"

"He's got a point," piped Langston.

"Your decision, Mr. Raymond, might not meet with the approval of the men above you—and there are men above you." Watching Raymond, Parley was beginning to regain composure. "But once we execute your decision, then these people are dead and we cannot reverse the decision."

Parley hesitated.

Blandly Felix Raymond smoked his cigar. "Please continue, John."

"They're in coma. They won't be any trouble to us. We'll have a special van here. I'm sure I can get them onto one of our planes—just as I know I can get you three onto the plane. I say we bring them over to Europe with us, to a T.H.RU.S.H. sanctuary, and let the big shots there make the life-or-death decision. They might very well appreciate that we brought them two U.N.C.L.E. agents—alive. And without any real trouble on our part. It would be different if we had no alternative–if we had to get rid of them."

"The man has a point," said Langston.

Raymond sat back, eyes half-closed, smoking his cigar. "Maybe you do have a point, John," he purred. "Perhaps I've been a bit stubborn; I have a hard head, you know." He laughed briefly. "And a quick temper." Raymond sat forward. "John, if I've insulted you—and I have—I humbly apologize. Quick temper, quick tongue."

"His bark is worse than his bite," Langston said lamely.

"John," said Raymond, smiling, "you've presented some excellent arguments, and I propose, right here and now while we still have time, that we put those arguments on the table and discuss them—a full, forthright discussion. All of us—pro and con. That includes you, too, Tito. I want you to feel free to..."

29. Circus Catch

THE SCANNING TRUCK came to a stop.

Waverly, Bankhead, and Solo alighted.

Bankhead pointed. "He's in that house."

"I'm going in for a look," said Solo.

"Careful," said Waverly.

"Sure," said Solo.

"And I mean careful." The Old Man smiled wearily. "We almost lost you once today."

Solo winked, then strolled into the lobby of the apartment house. There he looked at the name plates. CRAIG was printed in blue ink on a white slip-in cardboard. The apartment was 1-A.

Solo tried the lobby door. It was not locked. Silently he entered into a hallway. Apartment 1-A was on the ground floor, in the rear. He paused at the door of 1-A and listened. He heard the sound of voices, but did not tarry long enough to distinguish them. One of them sounded like Raymond's boom, but Solo was not certain.

He returned to the street to report to Waverly. "Craig has an apartment in there. One-A. Ground floor, rear. The lobby door's not locked. I sneaked in for a listen at One-A. Voices. One of them sounded like Felix Raymond's, but I didn't stay long enough to make sure."

Bankhead said, "Illya Kuryakin is in that apartment house."

"Then he figures to be in One-A," said Solo.

The Old Man nodded. They went back to the truck.

Waverly gave instructions. "We're going to have to go in en masse—all of us, in a great group. We're going to have to rush them. Whoever is in there– and Solo suspects Felix Raymond is one of them—they're probably armed. We've got to go in so fast that they won't have a chance to go for their guns. Where's Colin Walker?"

"Here," said Walker.

"The lobby door's open, but the apartment door figures to be locked. Can you open it without making noise?"

Walker grinned broadly. "A simple lock? An apartment door? You've got to be kidding."

The Old Man lost himself. For a moment, in a fatherly gesture, he hugged the young man. Then, embarrassed, he released him.

"Good luck," he said dryly.

"We'll need it," breathed Solo.

Fifteen men followed Colin Walker into the building. Fascinated, they watched as he inserted the slender, steel picklock.

Inside, the life-and-death debate still raged. Raymond was for the immediate disposal of the three in the bedroom. Parley and Tito were for keeping them alive. Langston was not convinced either way—he wavered between the opposing factions—and it was toward him that the arguments were directed. Raymond said, "Make up your mind, Otis. I don't want to carry the brunt of this all alone. If you vote with me, we do it. If you vote with them, we don't do it. It's up to you. Your decision."

But the decision was never made. The door burst open and they were overwhelmed by U.N.C.L.E. agents.

Dr. Blaine went to work on the three in the bedroom.

Illya came out first, then Kenneth Craig, followed by Candy, yawning deliciously. She stared in amazement at Parley, Raymond, Langston, and Tito—all handcuffed.

Solo rushed at Illya and they embraced. "Brother, you sure had me worried," said Solo.

"I had you worried!" Illya cried. "You seem to have things reversed, Napoleon."

"Napoleon!" exclaimed Kenneth at Solo. "Is your name Napoleon?"

"My first name."

Illya introduced them.

"Napoleon Solo, meet Kenneth Craig."

"Napoleon!" Craig laughed, pointed at Illya. "I thought this guy had lost his marbles; I really did. I thought he'd gone mad. There he was, talking into thin air—to Napoleon Bonaparte!"

"I wasn't talking into thin air," said Illya. He took the palate-plate out of his mouth. "I was talking into this."

"What is it?" asked the astonished Craig.

Waverly took him aside and quickly brought him up to date on current events. "I doubted you, Kenneth. I admit it. But in all the circumstances, can you blame me?"

"Not at all, sir. I understand. Of course I do. I'd have reacted in exactly the same manner."

"Good of you to say that, Kenneth."

"I mean it with all my heart, Mr. Waverly."

"Thank you. And now back to business. You're going to have to get those ingots out of there."

"No problem, sir. I'll need a couple of your men and—a conveyance."

"We've got a truck outside."

"Perfect."

Just then the phone rang. Craig answered it. He listened, frowning. Then he said, "Hold every thing, Brian," and he hung up.

And once again he and Waverly were in private conference.

"The circus is shipping out tonight."

"Well, it'll have to ship without John Parley," said Waverly.

"Good enough. Brian Powell and I can handle it."

"What you can say about Parley—a form of truth without telling too much about it—is simply that he was arrested in the United States. Now, what about the gold ingots, Kenneth?"

"Without an outside cage for the lions, it's going to be more difficult. But leave it to us."

"Us?"

"Candy and I."

"Candy?"

"My daughter."

"Fine." Waverly turned and pointed. "You, you, you, you," he said, pointing separately and individually. "You will go with Mr. Craig. And take the truck."

"Come on, Candy," Craig called.

"Where, Dad?"

"We've got a job on our hands."

Candy smiled brightly. "Whatever you say." She joined her father and they went out in the company of four men from U.N.C.L.E.

And so the Parley Circus departed that night, minus John Parley, and minus Felix Raymond and Otis Langston and Tito Zagoro, and minus six million dollars in gold bullion.

Table of Contents

1. Welcoming Committee

2. Lone Wolf

3. An Extraordinary Discover

4. Interrogation

5. Thunderbolts

6. More Thunderbolts

7. Agent or Double Agent?

8. Tools of the Trade

9. Solo Delivers the Goods

10. First Report

11. An Evening Chore

12. Invitation Declined

13. Second Report

14. Illya in the Lions' Den

15. Invitation Accepted

16. Sight-Seeing

17. Guessing Games

18. Name-Dropping

19. Unmasked!

20. More Guessing Games

21. "Kitten on the Keys"

22. Say "UNCLE"

23. Change in Course

24. Ten Long Minutes

25. The Old Man Takes Charge

26. Candy Lulls the Lions

27. Zeroing In

28. Parley Makes His Point

29. Circus Catch