Текст книги "[Magazine 1967-­05] - The Synthetic Storm Affair "

Автор книги: I. G. Edmonds

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ACT XI: THE PASSING STORM

Napoleon Solo kept his eyes closed as the THRUSH man ordered the big Polynesian to leave him to burn in the flaming plane. The native moved the imprisoning log slightly in his first attempt to free the man from U.N.C.L.E. Solo was afraid to test it with the two still about.

The sounds from the back showed him that Kuryakin was captured. He knew that their only chance lay in himself staying free. He did not feel that he could capture the entire island alone. He hoped only to stay free long enough for the storm to pass. Then the atmospherics would clear up sufficiently for the pen-communicator to get a message out to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.

After that it didn't matter what happened to him.

Out on the wing the flaming gasoline was spreading rapidly toward the cockpit. He knew he had only minutes left. He raised his head slowly. The pilot's compartment door was open. He could see the THRUSH men taking their Air Force prisoners out through the waist door.

If they looked around they could see him. But it was a risk he had to take.

The flames were so close to the cockpit that the heat was scorching through the metal skin of the plane.

He pushed against the log. He was unable to bulge it. The terrific heat of the encroaching fire was causing the sweat to roll down his face. The slight movement made by the Polynesian giant helped some. He could move slightly, but not enough to squeeze out.

He relaxed, panting from his exertions. The heat was becoming unbearable. He pressed his body up as tightly as he could against the imprisoning log. He reached in behind, struggling to loosen the belt that held the seat padding in place. He grabbed one end and tried to pull it free.

It came part of the way and stuck. He took a fresh grip and jerked again. His hand was so sweaty from the increasing heat that his fingers slipped. He hastily dried them on his trouser leg and took a fresh grip. He sucked in his stomach and pressed his body up, grating against the rough trunk of the tree.

He slowly pulled the padding away.

This gave him extra space and he started working his body free. It came slowly, tearing his clothing and in places raking the flesh raw.

He finally pulled himself free and fell back on the flight deck. The metal was unbearably hot. The plexiglass side windows suddenly shattered under the terrific heat of the burning wing. Flames licked hungrily into the cockpit. Solo staggered back through the hatch into the waist of the plane.

He peered cautiously through the broken door. The THRUSH men had gone with their prisoners.

He hesitated, then jumped down to the ground. He bent almost double and scurried into the uprooted coconut grove to keep from presenting a target against the light of the blazing plane.

The typhoon devastation was terrific. The once densely palmed island had half its trees snapped or uprooted. Looking about, Napoleon could see the giant wall of the eye moving in. The storm was but half over. He realized he had only a short time before the island would again be lashed by the fury of the typhoon. Unless he found some sort of shelter, there was little chance that he would survive the storm.

He started to circle, seeking tracks in the wet sand to show him where the THRUSH men took their prisoners. He found the tracks leading up the beach. He was afraid to walk along the sand for fear he would be spotted. He took the difficult way, climbing over the broken, uprooted trees.

As he went he carefully checked his protective devices. The .38 special was still in his shoulder holster. In his pockets he carried several of the standard U.N.C.L.E. defensive equipment. The pen-communicator. A chewing gum that was actually a power explosive. A ring with a secret needle for dispensing knockout drops. Mints which developed a blinding smokescreen when dropped in water. A tie pin hiding a bulb of tear gas.

Each of them at one time or another had saved his life in a tight spot. Right then he had no idea what he could do or how he could use them, but he took comfort in their presence.

He continued to follow the trail until it branched. One line, with the most footprints led back toward the lagoon. The second, showing only the marks of three people.

Solo hesitated, knowing that he was throwing away any chance of success if he chose the wrong track. He got down on his hands and knees. The wet sand held the impression well, but he was unable to determine if either of the footprints belonged to Kuryakin. However, one definitely was a woman's print.

He got up, making a decision to follow it. He continued for several hundred yards and after climbing over a jumbled mass of uprooted trees, he came to a hill or large mound.

He stopped, suddenly suspicious. Such a formation was decidedly unusual on a normally flat coral island. Once it apparently had been covered with brush and vines. The storm had ripped these away. Under the torn areas he could see the marks of a concrete structure under the carefully arranged soil. He circled it, seeking some kind of an entrance. He found it at the north end. Once it had been carefully screened by vines, but the typhoon had ripped them away.

"They must have taken Illya and the Air Force prisoners in there," he told himself.

He sat down on an uprooted palm. He was bone weary. His arms and legs ached from the struggle to keep the plane in the air. His skin burned.

Solo permitted himself only the briefest rest. Then he took a deep breath and tried to whip his flagging brain into action. A dozen wild plans turned over in his mind. He discarded every one as being impossible and wearily started over again.

He knew he could not expect to force the opening into the underground shelter. There was an excellent possibility he could blow an opening in the door with his explosive "chewing gum." Kneaded and fused with its almost microscopic cap, the U.N.C.L.E. developed super-explosive no bigger than a wad of gum packed the power of several sticks of dynamite.

However, he had no way of knowing what was immediately beyond the door. He would be sacrificing his element of surprise, his most precious asset, for little advantage.

He decided that his greatest chance of success lay in drawing the THRUSH men from the shelter where he could ambush as many as possible.

Once his decision was made, Napoleon Solo worked rapidly. He carefully prepared two wads of the gum explosive and stuck them to ends of sticks. These he carefully laid on the sand beside him. Then he took a third and attached it to a small splinter of wood.

He raised up slowly from his hiding place behind a tangled pile of storm riven trees. There seemed no guards about the outside of the THRUSH outpost.

He crept quickly to the side of the mound covering the structure. He pushed a hole in the wet sand, using a piece of stick. He adjusted the tiny automatic fuse, no bigger than a BB shot, for a five-minute time lag and hurried back to his protected spot.

He did not expect the explosion to break an opening. It wasn't designed for that. He was sure that this place had some connection with the THRUSH storm generating system. If so, that meant there would have to be considerable electronic equipment inside. He wanted to create a shock wave to throw the equipment off register. This, he hoped, would bring the operators rushing out to find the cause.

When they did, they would be met by a devastating bomb made by more gum explosive stuck to the wooden stick. He hoped under the confusion of this blast to get inside. Then if his suspicions were true about the function of the bunker-type building, the third gum bomb would effectively destroy the interior.

It seemed an effective plan. The only thing that worried him was the whereabouts of the prisoners. He was sure that they were also in the bunker. An explosion to rip up the storm generating equipment could injure or even kill them. He hoped there was some way to avoid that, but if not, then he knew Illya Kuryakin would understand.

The lives of millions were more important than the lives of a few. Every U.N.C.L.E. agent knew this. As military men, the Air Forces prisoners would understand as well.

Napoleon Solo looked at the luminous dial of his watch. It had been but a single minute since he placed the charge. This surprised him. It seemed an age. He shook the watch to make sure it was running.

Then, as he looked up, he saw something move in the darkness behind him. He whirled. There was a rustling of the broken palms for the utter stillness of the typhoon eye was starting to break with some wind as the wall of clouds moved closer to the atoll with the passing of the eye. A few drops of rain were starting to fall.

Napoleon looked anxiously at the sky, hoping the full fury of the returning storm would hold off until he completed his mission.

If he could destroy the outpost, he would consider himself paid for. After that, if he came out of it alive, he had plenty to live for. If not—well, it had been a good life while it lasted. He couldn't complain.

He turned back to watch for the explosion, sure that what he had seen was a wind-blown palm. Then out of the corner of his eye he caught another suspicious movement. This time it was too definite to be his imagination.

He whirled, jerking his hand toward his shoulder holster. He was just a fraction of a second late. His assailant swung at his head with a piece of wooden pole. Solo ducked, but his legs bumped against the mass of uprooted trees. It threw him off balance and he took the savage blow on the shoulder. It knocked him to his knees. He glimpsed the flash of brown skin as his unknown attacker tried to hit again.

This time the tree trunks interferred with his assailant. Napoleon ducked another blow and managed to get the gun out. He got his first good look at his attacker. He started with surprise. It was a girl—a native in a sarong she wore as beautifully as if she came from a technicolored Hollywood film.

TWO

She hesitated in the face of his gun.

"Don't move!" Solo said.

She stood staring at him. The rising wind whipped her hair. He couldn't see her face too clearly in the darkness. Suddenly she leaped back, jumping over two entwined broken trees. She dropped out of sight.

Napoleon Solo heard her move. She seemed to be circling, seeking a chance to attack him again. Suddenly he started. He wondered why his usually sharp mind had not noticed the most peculiar thing about her before.

This was how quietly she fought him. Had she been attached to THRUSH she would surely have called for help.

"Where are you?" he called softly. "Don't be afraid. I am not one of them. I am their enemy who came by the vakalele."

The rustling noise ceased.

"Don't you understand?" he said. "If I was one of them, I would have shouted for help. I am their enemy and your friend."

This argument was telling. She realized the same as he that a THRUSH agent would have yelled. He would not have fought in silence as they both did, each afraid of alerting the enemy inside the bunker.

She stepped back into the small clearing.

Napoleon Solo looked at his watch. There was still two minutes before the explosion.

"You came in the boat that flies?" she said, her voice low and as sweet as he always imagined the brown-skinned beauties of the Far Pacific islands.

"Yes," he said. "What are these men doing here? How can we help each other?"

"They are evil men!" she said fiercely. "They came to our island. They threatened us with death. They forced our people to build and slave for them."

"What are they doing here?"

"I do not know," she said. "But my—the man I love, he knows. He is the son of the talking chief and very smart. He went to the native college in Laie and then came back here. He said they were very evil men and he would find out what they were doing and when the British commissioner makes his annual inspection, he would tell him."

"Where is your boy friend now?" Solo asked. "Perhaps he and I can work together."

"He is in there," she pointed at the closed door of the bunker. "He is very big and very strong. They use him for their work slave. He makes them think he is stupid so he can learn what they are doing."

"I see," Napoleon said, remembering the big Polynesian who tried to free him in the plane.

"Oh, I am so afraid for him!" the girl cried. "That is why I came here to watch. I am afraid they will find him spying and kill him!"

"We'll help him," Napoleon assured her. "How about your people? How many of them can we trust to help us?"

"They will do what Kahlihi tells them," she said.

"Can you arrange for me to talk to Kahlihi?"

"He is with the bad men," she replied. "Even I cannot get to talk to him. That is why I came here in the storm. I just want to see him."

"Then can I talk to your next chief?"

"Nobody will talk to you unless Kahlihi orders," she replied. "They fear all strangers."

"But can't—"

"There is nothing anyone can do. These bad men have placed a terrible taboo on this end of the island. Any of our people who come here, except those chosen for slaves, die by the death lights?"

"What are the death lights?"

"They placed them around this end of the island. They work night and day and anyone approaching this place dies. The storm tore them down and so I came, hoping just to see my beloved. Just a glimpse of him is all I ask. Then I could sneak away. After the storm they will replace the lights."

There was a resigned defiance on the girl's face that told him she spoke the truth. Mentally he drew a line through the idea that he might get native help. Whatever he did he must do alone.

"What about you?" he asked, "Will you help me?"

"If Kahlihi tell me to," she replied.

Napoleon Solo sighed, defeated.

"Well, I guess—"

He broke off startled by the sudden opening of the bunker door. The big Polynesian came bounding through it. Napoleon saw the shadow of someone running after him. He saw the outline of a gun raised in the shadow's hand.

The girl screamed. Napoleon tried to grab her hand, but she broke away, running to help her lover.

Solo jerked his gun out and half raised up from behind the protecting barrier of trees.

Before he could shoot to protect the hysterical girl, the charge he set went off. Wet sand and debris shot into the air. The ground rocked. The shot fired at her went wild. Shooting before the sound of the explosion died, Napoleon put a shot into the body of the THRUSH man. Then he jumped the storm piled debris and ran toward the bunker door, carrying his improvised gum bomb.

A shot whined past his ear. Someone was shooting at him from inside the door. He threw himself flat, scrambling for cover. Another bullet smacked into the coconut log.

"Give me some help! I think it's that other rat from U.N.C.L.E.!" the gunman yelled back inside the bunker. "He wasn't burned after all!"

"Get on the intercom radio!" Napoleon recognized Lupe de Rosa's voice. "Call the submarine! Tell them to send men up here at once!"

THREE

The wind was rising fast. The rain was getting harder. Napoleon Solo knew the full fury of the typhoon would be upon him within minutes. His chances of survival here in the open were slim. Even if he lived, he would come out of it so beaten and exhausted he could not possibly hope to elude the searchers Lupe was sending to hunt him.

He felt he had only one slim chance—and he took it. He jumped up, even though it presented a perfect target for the gunman and hurled the gum bomb at the open doorway.

As he threw, he heard the report of the THRUSH gun. But the gunman fired too quickly, startled as he was by the unexpected appearance of Solo. The bullet went wild and Napoleon fell flat, scrambling for protection behind the fallen trees.

As he fell, the gum bomb went off. It was a larger charge than the one he set in the ground to pull attention out the bunker. It ripped the concrete facing around the door, and ripped the heavy wooden barrier from its hinges.

Smoke, debris and dust from the shattered concrete choked the opening. Solo, gun clutched in his hand, leaped the fallen trees and darted toward the opening. The wind was increasing in fury by the second. Napoleon could only hope that he could get inside before the wind flushed the dust and smoke away.

He charged into the blinding cloud, bumped against the shattered door and pressed against the inside wall. He held his gun ready to shoot at the first sign of a target.

"Put up your hands, Mr. Solo!"

It was Lupe de Rosa's voice, cold and deadly.

"I have you squarely in the sights of an infra-red scope!" she went on. "You know I can see you perfectly in the dark!"

Her voice echoed so that Napoleon could not place her position. He let the gun and the last remaining gum bomb drop from his hands to the floor.

"Get a light!" Lupe snapped. "And shore up that broken door. The storm is moving again. I don't want the rain ruining our equipment."

Light flooded the room. Napoleon Solo saw the girl standing across the room with a THRUSH gun aimed at him.

There were two THRUSH men across from her. Illya Kuryakin lay on the floor by Lupe's feet. His hands were bound to a chair back. Remnants of the rest of the chair were scattered, showing Illya had put up some kind of battle. His legs were free. Kuryakin didn't move.

Napoleon flicked a quick glance at the two THRUSH men. Neither seemed to be armed, but he could not be sure.

"Bind him!" Lupe snapped, motioning toward Solo. "I want his mind dredged by the interrogation machine before he's shot. This is a break. The other one may be dead, but we can still find out what U.N.C.L.E. knows about our work. Where is that machine? Get on the intercom and call the sub after you tie him up."

The two men came toward Solo, but Lupe was too smart for him. When he tensed, she warned the men: "Get back, you fools! Don't come between my gun and that U.N.C.L.E. rat!"

The two men jumped aside, split and circled around the bank of electronic equipment to come at Napoleon Solo from different sides.

Solo shot them a quick glance. Neither appeared to be armed—probably because Lupe did not trust them. He cut his eyes back for the briefest contact with Kuryakin. Illya gave him a nod.

Suddenly Illya kicked the side of a computer with his unbound foot. Lupe jumped at the unexpected noise. She jerked her head around. The two men stopped to look back.

In that brief instant of their inattention, Napoleon Solo ducked behind a line of computers. He grabbed the corner of an electronic cabinet and overturned it as the two men leaped for him.

Lupe gave a strangled cry of rage and whirled to bring her gun to bear on Solo as he raised up to overturn another cabinet to slow down the two men pursuing him.

Illya Kuryakin lurched to his feet. His hands were still bound to the chair back, but he bent low and rammed his head into the small of the girl's back. She fell and her head smashed against the side of a computer.

Kuryakin turned and kicked at the gun that fell from her nerveless fingers.

He sent it skidding down the path between the banks, directly toward Solo.

Napoleon stooped to grab it, but before he could straighten up, one of the THRUSH men leaped on his back. They both fell. Solo twisted to avoid a knee in his stomach.

The second man's foot slammed down on his wrist as he sought to jerk the gun up. The first man caught Solo with a savage kick in the ribs. Napoleon managed to catch his foot with his one free hand. The THRUSH man fell heavily on top of Solo.

Kuryakin came charging toward them. He was still unable to free his hand, but he caught the second THRUSH man with a hard drive of his hunched shoulder, knocking the man back against another of the long line of electronic cabinets.

Freed momentarily of the double menace, Napoleon Solo caught his opponent with a hard blow to the chin. The man's head snapped back and his eyes glazed. Napoleon grabbed the THRUSH gun with his left hand. As he opponent tried to jump him again, Solo pulled the trigger. He whirled as the second assailant tried to duck around Kuryakin. Solo pulled the trigger a second time.

Kuryakin stepped back quickly to avoid the falling body. He grinned at his battered partner.

"I've been glad to see a lot of things in my life," he said. "But never have I been so glad to see anyone as I was you!"

Solo tried to grin back, but his mouth was too battered by a blow he never even knew he took. "And I guess Waverly was right," he said through his puffy lips. "You are the difference!"

"What do we do now?" Illya asked as Napoleon unbound his arms.

"What do you know about this stuff?" he waved his hands at the electronic gear still operating.

"From what I overheard," Illya said. "There are three of these outposts. It takes a radiation feed from all three to keep the storm going. The Waterloo focuses the transmitted beams and directs the storm. That big black box in the center is the transmitter."

"Then let's see what happens," Solo said. He raised the THRUSH gun and put three quick shots through the plexiglass window in front. Bulbs shattered and there was a flash of blue light as the circuit shorted.

For a moment it seemed to have no effect, the increasing fury of the storm battered at the broken door of the bunker.

"I guess it didn't—" Illya began.

The rest of his words were lost in a tremendous explosive sound like the crash of a hundred bombs. The concrete bunker shook with the violent force of a severe earthquake. The lights went out. Two great cracks ripped across the concrete ceiling.

Water poured in. The rain suddenly became a solid mass of water as the clouds dumped their entire contents at once.

"We had better get out of here!" Illya Kuryakin shouted above the din. "This ceiling looks like it is going to come all the way down any second!"

"We'll drown outside!" Solo shouted back.

"Okay! So you get to pick the way you want to die!"

"Then let's drown! It's better than being crushed!" Solo said.

They started for the door, but by the time they arrived, the clouds were gone, wrung dry by that one great deluge.

Water ran a foot deep in the bunker and across the island. But the sky over head showed stars to all horizons.

"Great!" Illya said. "We should be able to get a call in to Mr. Waverly. We have definite proof now. He can get Air Force planes out to sink the Waterloo."

"Then there is the matter of the Air Force prisoners," Solo said.

"They were taken to the submarine for safe keeping. It is in the lagoon."

"We'll have to do something about that," Napoleon said.

"What can we do?" Illya asked.

"We can figure out something, I guess," Solo said. "Do you mind if I pass that detail to you?"

But as it happened, this was not necessary. The girl, Aloma, came running to meet them. Breathlessly she told Solo that her lover, the big Polynesian, had rallied his people after he escaped from the bunker. Those in the sub had not heard of his deflection and opening the hatch when he called. He held it open until his war party broke in. They took the vessel.

Illya Kuryakin looked at the girl with open admiration.

"Say, Solo," he said, "Ask her if she's got a sister?"

"Sister?" the girl said, "Oh, yes, I get!"

"Wait!" Napoleon said. "He was just joking. He—"

"Speak for yourself!" Illya retorted.

A few minutes later, after they made sure that the THRUSH sub crew was completely subdued, Napoleon Solo contacted Mr. Waverly on the pen-communicator.

He gave a brief report. Waverly promised to get planes and ships out to locate the Waterloo and the other two outposts. At the same time, they would send search planes into the Pacific and Indian oceans to find the storm generating positions there.

"We have Lupe de Rosa under guard," Napoleon said. "She's still pretty dizzy from a blow on the head. As soon as she is able we'll interrogate her under the truth serum. I think then we will have the complete story and locations. That will wind up the whole affair."

"Excellent, Mr. Solo," Mr. Waverly said. "And how is Mr. Kuryakin?

"Great!" Napoleon said. "You know that pretty native girl I told you helped us?"

"You mean that she and Kuryakin—?"

"No, sir. She has a native boy friend. Illya asked her if she had a sister. She did."

"Oh, so Mr. Kuryakin and the sister are looking at the tropic moon?"

"Yes, sir, and is she lovely. The biggest brown eyes you ever saw. Wavy hair down to her shoulders. A laughing mouth. And she is wearing a genuine grass skirt."

"Hmmm!" the U.N.C.L.E. chief said. "Maybe I'd better hurry that plane out for you before Mr. Kuryakin goes native."

"Oh, I don't know," Solo said. "You see Aloma either didn't understand what Illya meant when he asked if she had a sister or she is a great kidder. Just a minute I'll tune you in on the romance—"

In New York the U.N.C.L.E. chief was startled to hear his agent's voice say: "No! No. it's 'Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man—"

Then a tiny voice said, "Pat-eee—cake, Pat—ee-cake—"

"What?" Waverly said.

"That's right," Solo replied. "The sister is almost, but not quite three years old!"

Waverly chucked. "Tell Mr. Kuryakin I said, 'Better luck next time!'"

THE END

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posted 10.25.2009, transcribed by Selyndae