Текст книги "The Rainbow Affair"

Автор книги: David McDaniel

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The Russian was holding onto the starboard rail with both hands, facing away from the wind, kneeling on the hard bench that ran around the inside of the cockpit. The tiller was securely fastened at the proper angle, but the wind was beginning to shift again.

Napoleon shouted his partner's name, and Illya straightened at once. "Aye aye, Captain," floated back over the howl of the wind.

"Stand by the tiller," Napoleon told him as he made his way aft. "The wind's turning."

Illya bent over the long handle and released one of the lines that held it, letting the rudder back easily, though it threatened to wrench itself out of his grip. Napoleon refastened the line on the lee side while Illya tied down the other, then leaped, or more accurately scrambled precariously, back to his position at the bow. The jib had to be adjusted.

On the way he took a quick look at the inertial guidance device whose glowing display showed through the spray-splattered glass plate. They had come about a quarter of the way to the island, and were essentially on course. Napoleon checked his repeated compass, and returned to the prow.

At the far end of the boat, Illya crouched in a cockpit that was regularly filled with water and drained, several times a minute. The stern, sturdy with flotation tanks, seemed to bounce about more than the rest of the boat, and he was holding on with his eyes shut against the driving wind-blown salt whipped in froth off the tops of the leaping waves and flung in his face by the storm. The tiller fought viciously against the ropes that held it, bucking and straining against them as the boat strove to hold its course. A few degrees either way in this blindness could land them in Wales, if they held up that long under the hammering the Bristol Channel was giving them – or out in the Irish Sea, where the full fury of the storm swept down over open water for a hundred miles.

He had nothing against boats, certainly; his naval training had left him quite accustomed to them. But it had also taught him the folly of attempting such a passage in rough weather – if rough was quite the word he wanted. Only his sincere faith in the incredible luck of Napoleon Solo convinced him they could make the crossing. He had been with Napoleon long enough to know what kind of long chances he could take and still come out on top.

Napoleon, meanwhile, didn't care. Even the goal of the little island of Donzerly where they were bound shrank to a small corner of his mind. His whole concentration was focused on his personal, physical struggle with the wind for the mastery of the boat.

Now there was a stout rope tied around his waist and securely belayed to a sunken cleat, lessening the danger slightly. Still the storm whipped about him, pulling and throwing him from side to side. This, he thought, was really his element, battling nature with only a stout ship and his own skill between him and disaster. Even his stomach was holding up well, considering the beating it was getting. He wasn't sure how Illya was doing, astern.

Neither was Illya. The world had resolved into two simple bits of awareness – the rudder must be kept set, and remember which is the downwind rail. Time lost its identity, and was blown away by the endless howl of the wind and the slashing of the silver-dagger rain. It could have been an hour or six months before he became aware of Napoleon calling his name again.

During this period, Napoleon too lost track of reality to some extent. Shaken, bruised, pounded by wind and wave for another indefinite length of time, he gradually heard something over the noise of the storm. So faint and blown-about was the sound, fading beyond the range of hearing from moment to moment, he wasn't sure whether it was his imagination. But then he heard it again, a little louder. The sound bellowed against the night that surrounded it, bellowed and fell away as it paused for breath, then bellowed forth again. The deep distant note cut through under the sounds of rain and wind, and it grew as it sounded again.

Napoleon made a quick knot to hold the sheet reefed, and clambered back to the inner cockpit where the internal guidance calculator continued its eerie green-lit gyrations. They were within two hundred yards of Rainbow's island headquarters!

He spun back to the stern and shouted, "Illya! Stand by to come about! Illya!" The Russian stirred numbly from his position at the tiller and nodded.

"Aye, aye. Ready to come about, sir," he said.

"Watch for my hand signal and swing the tiller towards the same direction as my hand points, about half way."

"Got it," said Illya as Solo scrambled back to his look out post.

Now he began to hear something else under the rain and the lonely hoot of the foghorn – a sea-bell, rocked and rung by the leaping waves at the shore of the island. And then, as they swerved to approach directly, he could hear the hiss of gravel as it was sucked and rolled by the roots of the waves that passed over, and he knew they were very close.

Suddenly a sheer wall of jagged rock loomed out of the night, towering into the darkness beyond their feeble running lights. The bell rang clearly to their right, and Napoleon thrust the rock away with his spar.

They were half in the lee of the island now – the back eddies of the storm pushed them fitfully from side to side, but the force of it was cut. With Illya quick on the rudder, and Napoleon switching the jib from side to side as the rough gusts shifted, they beat along not forty feet from the face of a rugged cliff, as the bell grew louder ahead.

At last, dim against the rain-glittering darkness, they could see a tiny floating dock, at the foot of a wooden staircase that staggered up the face of the cliff and out of sight. They steered in as close as possible, and Napoleon, rope around his waist, poised on the rail, holding onto a brace with one hand, gauged the rise and fall of the dock and the boat, waited, watched, and finally leaped.

The ship lurched towards the shore as he jumped, giving an extra impetus which may have saved him. He landed on hands and knees on the pitching surface of the little square dock, and clutched at an upright to save himself from being pulled away. As the pull slacked off, he hauled in the rope and got an end of it around the same upright with two turns before the waves forced them apart again. This time the boat was held near, and he hauled in more line. When the prow was held securely to the dock and only the stern swung free, he tied it down solidly and ran aft, where Illya threw him the stern line.

The procedure was repeated in a matter of moments, since half the weight of the boat was already anchored, and Illya leaped to the dock, an oilcloth bundle under his arm.

Together they fought their way up the water-slick wood of the narrow stairs. Unwilling to surrender them, the storm seemed to increase in fury, trying to pull them from their perch and carry them away. They climbed, back and forth; twenty steps and a landing – turn around – twenty steps and a landing. The sound of the sea fell away beneath them as they climbed, and the storm came at them from below as well. The dock was now lost to sight, and nothing showed above them yet. Each had a waterproof electric torch, which served no more than to show them where the steps were before them. Their beams were swallowed up by the night less than twenty feet away.

Then there were no more steps, and the top of the rock, rainlashed and windswept, spread before them. Forty feet away across an artificial-looking flat smooth area stood the darkened lighthouse, tall and white, gaunt and forbiddingly lonely in the stormy night. No lights showed anywhere. The foghorn bellowed and died again.

Both paused at the top of the stairs and looked at their goal.

Illya caught up to Napoleon and said, "Well, there it is. Shall we just go try the door?"

"Why not? It has to be the right place."

"There's no place like it anywhere near here," said Illya. "Come on. Let's get out of the rain."

They hurried across the open field towards the tower, their lights extinguished. A quick search around the base found a door—the only opening apparent at ground level. Huddling over the handle, lights dimmed by fingers over the lenses, they tested the handle. It turned, and the door gave slightly inwards. No light showed around the frame.

Illya looked up doubtfully, and Napoleon shrugged. "Who would bother to lock a door on an island as well guarded as this? Remember the same situation on Dauringa Island?"

The Russian agent nodded, and pushed the door open, to dart the attenuated beam of his torch into the room.

It was empty. They ducked inside quickly and closed the door behind them.

In the relative silence, they looked around. There was a desk in one corner, and two doors opening in different directions. The one on the right ahead of them showed a light, and led down. The one on the left side bore a sign saying, COMMUNICATIONS. KEEP OUT.

Napoleon smiled. "I knew," he said, "we would find a Rainbow at the end of the storm."

Section IV : "The Rainbow Comes and Goes"

Chapter 13

How A Lighthouse Proved Larger Within Than Without, and Napoleon and Illya Became Unexpected Guests.

THEY HAD ENTERED the lighthouse on the ground floor, and had more or less expected to be at the bottom. But the relative sizes of the doors leading up and down indicated that the far greater portion of traffic went down into the rock. They passed the desk and looked through the glass doors.

"It's Dauringa Island all over again, isn't it?" said Napoleon in a whisper. "Only the stairs go down."

"And shall we?"

"Why not?" After checking the edges of the door for concealed alarm switches and concealing their outer garments in a cupboard, they passed through the double doors into a rough-hewn rock stairwell leading down to a landing and switching back.

"I wonder how far down it goes," Illya murmured.

"Considering its proprietor, the other end probably comes up in the Royal Mint."

They descended past a door on the next level down, and stopped at the second. "How interested are you in getting all the way to the bottom of this?"

"Not especially. Besides, we'd have to climb all the way back up. Let's look in here."

"My idea precisely." They leaned on the push-bar and the door swung open, revealing a narrow corridor some fifty feet long. Flat-painted plywood partitions formed walls, and fluorescent lighting fixtures hung from the rocky ceiling. One light in ten was still on, splashing shadowed blue-white light over the offices and into the corridor. At the far end, under what might have been the generator house attached to the light upstairs, an open door with a heavy bar across it let into an unlit space. They walked, rubber-sole silent, down the hall towards it.

Name tags were slipped into slots on the doors as they passed – normal names with nothing in common to show why they would appear inside an artificial cave under a lighthouse in the Bristol Channel. It was uncanny. Napoleon suddenly had the impression that the western branch of the London Underground terminated two floors below them, and that these offices were daily filled with ordinary commuters. He shook his head to clear it, and looked down at the room beyond the open doorway.

It was an empty shaft, faced on the inside with well-finished cement, apparently awaiting an elevator. Light shone against the far side of the shaft many feet below them, indicating the next level down.

Napoleon stepped back from the edge. "If it's all the same to you," he murmured, 'I'll walk down."

"I checked the doors," said Illya. "All locked. Apparently they aren't completely lax on security. Want to check the other side of the stairwell?"

They moved quietly back to the central space, and checked through the facing door. An identical bank of offices, with a large wooden door at the far end, in the same position as the unfinished shaft on the other side. And as they looked, lights faded on behind them. They straightened slowly, and did not turn.

A voice behind them said politely, "Straight ahead, gentlemen, and through the door at the far end." The voice spoke in a tone which indicated it came from behind a gun.

Napoleon was first, and Illya followed him. As their captor came last through the door, Illya spoke. "Good evening, Mr. Rainbow. Sorry to drop in unexpectedly like this, but the storm was getting worse."

A soft chuckle came from behind them. "I am slightly hurt that you spied out my hideaway so quickly. Obviously I erred in attempting to bring Mr. Solo here with inadequate preparation."

"As you see, I made it anyway," said Napoleon. "Nice little place you have here."

"Thank you. It just shows what one can do if one is handy with money. Yes, just push the doorhandle and go in. I'm afraid we haven't got automatic doors yet."

Illya snorted. "Automatic doors? You don't even have an elevator!"

"Illya!" said Napoleon. "That's rude!"

"Help yourselves to chairs, please." The door closed behind them and the room lights faded on. They found soft, form-fitting chairs and sat down. Out from behind them strolled a stocky figure, informally clad, with a pipe in one hand and the other in a pocket.

"I hope you're comfortable," he said. "Would you care for a drink?"

They declined politely. He touched a button on the large desk that dominated the comfortably furnished room. Some thirty seconds later there was a sharp rap at the door, and two armed men came in, both in pajamas.

"Pete, Willy, will you get our guests settled in comfortably? I'll want to talk with them in the morning." He shifted his attention to Napoleon. "It will be a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Solo. I have been warned about you many times."

Napoleon and Illya were helped out of their chairs and hustled out of the room again and down the hail. As they went, Napoleon managed to ask Illya, "He didn't have a gun on us, did he?"

Illya shook his head, and looked sour.

Somewhat to Napoleon's surprise, they did spend rather a comfortable night, although fully aware of the locks on their door. His watch registered nine o'clock when there was a buzz at the door, and a voice announced, "Breakfast."

"Bring it in," said Illya with a shrug to Solo.

Two armed men brought in trays and set them on a table. "Best fresh up a bit," one of them said. "The old man'll be wanting to see you in an hour or so. Just stack the trays by the door, sir." And they popped out, drop ping the latch behind them.

Breakfast taken care of, the U.N.C.L.E. agents found a washstand and other sanitary necessities in an adjoining room. By shortly after ten they were reasonably well-kempt and ready to meet their host again. The escort was announced by another buzz at the door; Illya opened it to find two different men. One of them threw him a casual salute.

"Mr. Rainbow requests your presence," he said. "Come along."

They came, down a corridor, up a flight of stairs, and back into the same master office they had visited the night before. Lights were on now, and the furnishings of the room could be seen. It was almost spartan in its simplicity, with only a few concessions to comfort. The desk was large enough to double as a map-table, and doubtless often did. The chair behind it was upright but comfortable, and capable of some movement. The other chairs of the office were low, form-fitting designs of slick leather. They struck a jarringly sybaritic note in the sturdy practical decor.

Napoleon and Illya sank, side by side, into two of them. "You like to make your guests comfortable, at least," Napoleon commented.

"Quite practical," said Rainbow. "A comfortable man is easier to deal with. They also take quite some time and effort to arise from, giving me an edge should I be forced to defend myself."

He sank into the chair behind the desk and leaned forward to watch them. "At last I have you both where I can ask you. Precisely why is the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement interested in a man who is, essentially, only a very good bank robber?"

Illya looked pointedly at Napoleon and said, "I've been wondering that myself."

Napoleon shook his head. "Only because that bank robber was showing interest in Thrush. Enough of your operations are already known to put you away for quite some time."

"Quite true, Mr. Solo – quite true. But first I will have to be found. This lighthouse represents my stronghold, and a considerable investment as well. Yet here you are, in the midst of it. This could compromise my security." He shook his head.

"The easiest way out is to clump you off the cliffs into the sea, with your heads staved in. You would have been dashed to pieces by the storm. But I dislike murder."

"I'm inexpressibly pleased to hear that," said Napoleon.

Rainbow smiled. "No doubt. Perhaps this would be the time to try one of the last shipments of largess from Thrush. It's a hypnotic which allows selected portions of the subject's memory to be completely blanked out. It's quite safe, and otherwise harmless. This would be a perfect opportunity to try it out."

Illya glanced around from where he lay. "This isn't much of secret hideout," he said. "No TV monitors, no banks of communications gear, no computers humming away... How do you accomplish anything?"

"Our communications gear is up in the light tower. We have a few small computer accessories – we keep punch-card files on every available worker capable of functioning within our discipline for a period. We can find the right man for any job in a matter of seconds. But we don't have electronic calculators. I'd like to have a television monitoring system installed in the next year or so, but it's taken an unconscionable amount of money getting it this far." He gestured around the room.

"The entire volume of this rock was hollowed out by demolitions experts, trained in the military, now renting their talents out to those who can pay. Other members of our ranks did the finishing, installed the necessary machinery in the lowest level, and got everything working. We have a dependable source of electric power, fresh running water – all the comforts of civilization."

He leaned back in his chair. "You will pardon me for being proud of the place," he said. "You may also be interested to know that when I bought this island from the Crown in 1964, I was faced with only one severely competitive bid. I later traced it to Thrush, before they were even certain of my existence. I have always fancied this as rather a coup."

"You've done all this in only three years?"

"In my spare time, and with a great deal of help. There are three levels below the surface of the rock, and the lowest is also below sea level. That is where the generators, air conditioners, water-purifiers and pumps are located. Presently the generators burn diesel fuel; we are working on a system to use the energy of the waves, or the tides. The second level, where we are presently, contains the offices of my specialists and advisors. The immediately subsurface level contains the residential section. The accommodations are not of the finest, but considering the expense I think I may well be proud of it."

"You well may," said Napoleon. "You do have some security devices around, though you lack television surveillance of the entire interior. Just simple electric eyes?"

"Infrared sensitive photoelectric cell in strategic locations, Mr. Solo. Other areas have conductance-balanced fields around them, so that if anything moves, it triggers a signal.

"Incidentally, our commissary here is quite good. We were fortunate enough to procure the services of a man trained as a cook by the Royal Submarine Service, and our cuisine, despite the limitations of our galley, is among the best in this quarter of England."

"What do you do for entertainment?"

Rainbow chuckled. "The usual things, I'm afraid. We watch the telly evenings, and play bridge. We have a projector and a few films. Actually, this island is still rather a hardship post, because of the isolation. And it is run like a flagship, to be honest. The fixed flagship of my army." He enjoyed the mixed phrase a moment. "We have no uniforms, you will notice," he continued seriously. "Many of our workers have unpleasant associations connected with them. Besides, the informality of appearance is unimportant. They are all independent workers, voluntarily united under my orders."

He leaned forward across his desk. "This is what I have now that Thrush cannot give me. The knowledge that I have earned the trust and respect of these men. Thrush seeks to command by fear, sir, and I will not cooperate with that. The strongest impression I have gotten from my few contacts with the representative of Thrush has been one of depersonalization. In the men I have seen – I call them men, though they acted more like robots – there seemed an absolute lack of individuality. Even if, as has been indicated, this is characteristic of local operatives more than most, any organization that must ever instill such qualities in its workers holds no place for me!"

He leaned back in his chair, silent at the end of his statement, and clipped the tip from a cigar. He looked from Napoleon to Illya, where they sat silent, considering. And suddenly he smiled again.

"Was that what you came five thousand miles to hear? I have no intention of cooperation with Thrush. They are fighting against everything I respect: freedom, individual initiative, the differences between all people. Damme, sir – they're un-English."

He blew a blue cloud of cigar smoke, and rose to his feet. "Would you care to join me for lunch before we tour the premises?"

Illya shifted his weight, preparatory to getting up. "If it's not too much to ask, why are you showing us every thing if you're only going to erase it? Just showing off?"

"Not entirely, Mr. Kuryakin. I am expecting some form of communication from Thrush, and I will want you to hear and consider it while in full possession of your faculties. Now come along with me. The first setting of lunch will be ready shortly, and you should see the galley in operation."

Chapter 14

How The Man In The Gray Suit Appeared Once More, and a Treaty of Necessity Was Made.

SHORTLY AFTER LUNCH they finished a brief tour, and returned to Rainbow's office. Here he produced for their inspection several of the devices Thrush had sent him.

"This is designed for the smuggling of small valuable items past any customs system in the world. It looks like a torch cell, and is carried in a torch."

"An old gag," said Illya. "If the flashlight doesn't work, they check the batteries."

"So old no one would be likely to try it. Except that this one works. Built into one end is a 1-1/2 volt mercury cell. The body of the case is lead-shielded to protect film from fogging. Film, by the way, is always sent exposed but unprocessed. Unless the container is opened in a darkroom, the information is destroyed."

He set the battery back on the counter and moved on. "We have seen some of Thrush's current attempts to maintain technical superiority. Now over here is an eavesdropping device which…"

A bell chimed softly, and Rainbow turned. On a ground glass plate in the wall a picture appeared, in somewhat hazy color, of a small power launch approaching. The scene was distorted as if seen through a long telephoto lens.

"Another unannounced visitor," said Johnnie Rainbow. "I wonder who else has developed a sudden interest in my ocean hideaway."

"I thought you didn't have television," said Napoleon.

"Come now!" said Rainbow. "This is merely a projection of the view seen by the periscope above the top of the light tower. It is manually guided by a lookout whom I can reach on the intercom system." He touched a button on the desk. "Bert, do you have a higher magnification?"

A second later the view seemed to flip over and was replaced by a flattened, hazy, slightly quivering shot of the cockpit. "Thank you," said Rainbow. "Hold on the cockpit."

He walked over to the ground glass and looked at it very closely while Napoleon and Illya looked at each other. Perhaps he didn't have television, but he got along all right. The Russian muttered, "Just as I thought. It's all done with mirrors."

Rainbow paid no attention to them. He studied the unsteady image for several seconds, and then nodded. "It's the Thrush representative. I met him officially once, in the City, and I've had him watched off and on for some time. He's been trying to talk to me again. Apparently he has decided on a direct approach. Well, I suppose I'll have to let him in."

He ordered the picture of the wall to a full shot again, and had the boat tracked visually all the way to the dock. As it was coming in, and for a minute thereafter, he spoke quickly to Napoleon and Illya as they got to their feet.

"The Thrush has been becoming increasingly importunate in the last few weeks, and frankly I am beginning to be somewhat concerned. You will probably find it educational to watch the proceedings. Through that door you will find a short stairway leading to an observational post where you will be able to survey the room and hear all that transpires. I hope I can trust you not to betray your presence."

They went up the stairs to a slightly cramped cubby hole somehow fitted into the structure of the office. Gauze-covered windows allowed them to view the room below through sections of the molding, and sound reached them clearly. They crouched, and watched.

Rainbow returned to his desk, looked carefully around the room, and checked the observers with a glance. He sat as a bell chimed, and rose again as the door beneath the spy-hole opened and the Thrush came in.

From overhead, he appeared as a faultless gray bowler, which he doffed as he entered. His hair was black, graying slightly, and thin. Johnnie Rainbow invited him to sit in one of the deep form-fitting chairs, and he placed his briefcase beside it and carefully perched on the edge.

"Let us get directly to business," he began. "We have reason to believe that two agents of the U.N.C.L.E. infiltrated your island in the storm last night. We also assume that you captured them. Now we would like you to turn them over to us."

Rainbow looked at him with an expression of injured disbelief. "Infiltrators he said. "On Donzerly? Ridiculous!"

"Two men, one fair, one dark. Will you claim that they are still here undetected?"

Stung by the implied insult, Rainbow snapped, "Sir, my security is unparalleled. A ghost could not penetrate without detection."

The Thrush nodded. "Then you have them. What would you like in return for them? I am authorized to offer you a fifteen-passenger hydraulic lift, completely installed and maintained, for these men."

Rainbow paused, and looked thoughtful. Above and behind the seated Thrush, Napoleon and Illya I at each other and wondered. But finally he shook his head.

"I'm afraid your offer, though attractive, will not be able to tempt me. I have my own uses for these men."

The Thrush shifted his weight uneasily. "The local satrap wants these men," he said, "and will therefore have them."

Johnnie Rainbow rose and looked down at him. "These men are my personal prisoners, and mine to be done with as I please. I am not pleased to give them over to you."

The man in the gray suit allowed the trace of an edge to appear in his voice. "Mr. Rainbow, please sit down." The command was voiced in such a way that when Johnnie gradually sank to his chair it seemed as though he was obeying. His visitor continued. "We have invested quite a fair amount in you. Many of our most advanced devices were given to you for field testing, and you have made considerable profit through them. You owe us a debt for this, and the time has come for payment. Give us the U.N.C.L.E. agents."

Rainbow was recovering his aplomb. "Why are you suddenly so anxious to have them? Surely you have had better opportunities than now."

"They have acquired great strategic importance; how, does not concern you."

"I'm sorry. As my prisoners, they are my responsibility. And I could not hand control of their fate over to you. Although my dark career sometimes involves the crime of stealing,'" he quoted, "I do prefer to draw the line at cold murder."

The Thrush paused and looked at him. "Come now, Mr. Rainbow. I can think of no fewer than ... twenty-seven in which your organization has been involved."

Rainbow leaned forward, and his face was dark. "Falsehood, sir!" he said. "In five years, only six killings have been the direct result of my operations, and those were accidental and regrettable. My work is robbery, sir – not murder."

"Nevertheless, it must happen from time to time. You should know what lengths are necessary for survival, let alone success. You have the ability, the character, and the talents an organization like Thrush needs. You have a high level of competence, and would rise far in our Hierarchy. This little island of England is nothing, compared to the area you could control. With us behind you, your network could expand over all of Europe. And we would be able to apply your powers to what ever problems faced us."

The man in the gray suit looked around the room. "This little hole in the rock is like Robin Hood's cave. How far do you think you can go, with your center of operations out here in the wilderness? Join our efforts, and this little island of Donzerly will be only a crude starting place. All England and as much of the rest of the world as you could command, when we have achieved our goal."

This took several seconds to recover from. Rainbow cleared his throat and his moustache fluttered. "Perhaps we have missed an understanding," he said slowly. "Power, per se, has no especial attraction for me. I'm not in this business for power – I'm in it for money. And the challenge." He smiled suddenly. "It's the greatest game in the world. And you people are being too bloody serious about it." He stood up again and held out his hand. "I'm afraid you can't have the U.N.C.L.E. agents, my good man. I hope you have enjoyed your trip out here, because you will have no other satisfaction to take back with you. Good afternoon."