Текст книги "The Assassination Affair"

Автор книги: J Hunter Holly

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Saturn trailed Dundee, his bouncing walk subdued to a reluctant shuffle. Solo smiled. Illya was outside free somewhere, and for himself, he was happy with the thought.

The two men went out of the barn and the place became quiet. Solo's personal guards were alert but the rest of the men lounged about drinking pop and saying little. Word came that the fire in the field had been put out and things were quiet again.

A sudden disturbance ruptured the deceptive peace. Voices shouted, a girl screamed back, and two men entered the barn dragging Gloryanna, clad in her red slacks, between them. She fought every step of the way, making them half carry her along, twisting her arm brutally. When she neared the place where the mimeograph machine stood she jerked free and ran two steps. The biggest man shoved her down and as she fell she slammed into the ink bottles, tumbling them about the floor. One labeled RED crashed and broke, splashing a yellow liquid over her left forearm.

Solo sat up. Yellow liquid. The label had said Red Ink. The men grabbed her immediately and dragged her to Solo, kicking and shouting half-formed curses. Solo intervened before she forced them to injure her. "Take it easy, Gloryanna. Walk, and it won't be so hard on you."

She looked up sharply at his voice and rushed for him, pulling the men with her. She stood in front of him, saw the ropes on his wrists, and her eyes watered up, her mouth twisting.

"Uh-uh," Solo said gently. "None of that. Just pick up that rag from the floor, wipe that stuff off your arm, and sit down."

"My arm?" She stared at the place where the yellow liquid was drying. "What is it?"

"I don't know, but wipe it off while you can." He felt a sense of urgency that she should get the liquid off her skin. He had no basis for it except the mislabeled bottle.

She grabbed the rag and dabbed at her arm, then rubbed, getting it off just before the biggest man pushed her again, sending her down on the hay beside Solo. No one bothered to restrain her. They simply made gestures with their rifles which she understood.

She wriggled close to Solo, whispering, "I was hoping you'd gotten away. They had a hard time catching me, but they did it."

"And Illya?" He didn't whisper. Whispers drew more attention than a full voice kept low.

"I think he made it. I haven't seen anything of him."

"Then sit still, do what they say, and have hope." Solo winked at her.

"For Illya to come?" She shook her head. "He could hardly walk by himself."

"Never give up where Illya's concerned. That's one thing I've learned over the years. He has the courage of a Russian wolf."

She patted his ropes with her hand. "So have you. I'm sorry I let myself be caught after you risked your life to save me. But – what is this all about? Why are they all gathered here?"

"They're shipping everything to Thrush Central tonight. I'm part of the shipment."

"What do they want with you at Thrush Central?" She said the words stiffly, not used to them yet.

"They want to ask me some questions."

"Questions you can answer?"

"No," he said pointedly.

"That's what I thought. Then, you can't -" She broke off suddenly and clasped her arm where the yellow liquid had been. She gasped and doubled over.

Solo lifted her straight as best he could with his hands tied, his eyes questioning.

"It hurts!" she cried. "I've never felt anything hurt so much. Napoleon! I hurt!" Her forehead was beaded with sweat and her eyes glazed over. She doubled up again.

Solo shouted at the big man who had brought her in. "What was in the bottle she spilled on her arm?"

The man didn't bother to answer. Solo tried again. "Barber! What was in that ink bottle?"

"What would you expect, Solo? The Breadbasket chemical."

"And what will it do to her? Does it affect people?"

"Of course it does. It's dangerous stuff when it's liquid. We have to wear special suits to handle it in liquid form." Barber shuffled close. "All over her arm, huh? Well, I'll tell you what to expect, Piper. Your arm will hurt like you've never been hurt before, and then it will wrinkle up and wither and turn brown and the flesh will fall off to the bone. In a month's time you'll be deader than -"

Solo cut him off with his own shock, "You've actually tested it on a human being?"

"By accident only," Barber growled.

"And the counter-chemical, Barber! Will that cure her?"

"Probably," Barber said. "If she could use it."

"There are no 'ifs', Barber. Get some of it and rub her arm with it," Solo ordered.

Barber laughed. "Look who's in command of Thrush!" Gloryanna was writhing on the bales of hay, gasps and moans escaping her. She acted wild enough to tear her arm off to be rid of the pain.

"Get her the antidote!" Solo commanded. "You haven't any orders to kill her!"

"Take it easy, Solo," Dundee cut in. "You're getting too excited."

Solo took the final chance. He stood up, ignoring the guns. "If you have the antidote, get it for this girl, Dundee!"

Dundee put his hands on his hips again, his favorite posture. "Just what is your bargaining point, Solo?"

"Myself!" Solo hissed, his black eyes sparking. "Be cause if you don't help her I'm going to throw myself at you and you'll have to kill me on the spot. You'll only have a corpse to deliver to Thrush Central."

Dundee rocked back on his heels, thinking fast.

Saturn peeped over his shoulder. "It's a grandstand play. An empty threat."

"No," Dundee said. "Solo will do it. I've heard about him."

"All we need to do is hit him on the head and he can't throw himself at anybody."

Dundee hesitated. "But why let the girl die. A pretty girl like that. We may need her later to help Solo co operate." He smiled down at Gloryanna, who was writhing in agony. "Get the stuff, Barber. Fix her up. I like blondes."

Solo watched as Barber took up a bottle labeled BLACR INK and brought it back. Barber poured it on Gloryanna's arm, washing it thoroughly. Solo knew now where the prizes were kept in this game of Operation Breadbasket. In ink bottles.

Dundee was in command again. "Move off, Solo. Stand clear of Barber if you want her treated."

Solo obeyed, resuming his role of prisoner.

Barber finished. "That will do it. Had it happen to me once. Thought I was going to die from the pain, but it will stop hurting right away and it won't wrinkle, even. I got it in time."

Gloryanna sat up, amazed, her eyes big and already surrounded with dark circles from the intense pain. She gasped out a thank you to Barber and another to Solo.

With the crisis passed, Dundee swung into action. "I've got new orders from Central. Fasten Solo down. He makes me nervous on his feet." He pivoted, eyeing the barn, floor to ceiling. Fling a rope over the rafter there and dangle our U.N.C.L.E. friend from it. First, strip off his shirt."

"What's up?" Barber asked, motioning his men to obey Dundee.

"We're all due for a bonus – if we can deliver. Central is overjoyed at having Solo. They're sending a helicopter for him. But they don't want us to take chances with him. Since we have to wait for the helicopter we're to get what we can from him here, and on the way in, just in case. They'll take over on delivery."

"They don't trust us very much," Barber complained.

Solo said, "No Thrush ever trusts another Thrush, don't you know that?" He stood between two big men while four guns were aimed at his stomach. His jacket was gone and his shirt was being pulled off his anus. It followed the jacket to the floor. Hands free or not, he had no chance to fight out of the situation. His arms were grabbed hard, rope knotted about each wrist and attached to the rope that hung from the ceiling. He was stretched upward, and on Dundee's orders raised three inches off the floor. But he still had his feet free and that comforted him,

"Get something heavy over here and fasten his ankles down," Dundee ordered, careful, always careful. "We'll all get our teeth kicked out otherwise."

"No!" came out of Solo involuntarily. He swallowed hard, humiliated, but sweat broke out on his forehead as he felt his legs being immobilized. He was going to hang here completely helpless. A half-man with no use of his limbs.

Dundee noticed the sweat. "Scared already, Solo? Good boy."

Solo battled the feeling of panic that came in a wave from his stomach and made him want to flail about. It was unreal panic. He had to remember that. It was left over from Adams.

"He's ready, Dundee," Barber said, "but what are we going to use on him? We don't have any drugs and probably Central won't want him too bloody."

"Use your head as though you had one," Dundee said. "You saw that little demonstration with the blonde, didn't you? That hurt, didn't it? We've got plenty of the demonstration chemical, so we can spare a bottle or two on Solo."

Gloryanna leaped to her feet and ran across the barn. She took a defiant stand in front of Solo as though to protect him. A big Thrush moved in and butted her to the floor with his gun. She sprawled, but scrambled back. "You're not going to touch him. I don't know what kind of men you are, but you're not going to touch him!"

A rifle was aimed at her head and Solo intervened again. "Go back to your place, Gloryanna, and stay there."

"No!" She fought him now, her eyes blazing hellishly. "I'm not going to sit by and watch this happen. I know how it feels!"

"You're going to sit by, all right," Solo told her. "But you're not going to watch. Turn your back and be quiet. This isn't the business of a girl who grows daffodils."

She was pushed out of position roughly and she submitted, making it clear she was surrendering to Solo and not the hoodlums.

Solo kept his eyes and his mind on her as she returned to the hay bales, needing something to divert himself from the panic that threatened him. The panic itself might break him and he couldn't allow that to happen.

He hung there and deliberately tested his bonds, forcing himself to feel to his marrow that he was helpless, to acknowledge it, fighting the panic waves down as they rose. It was a test of Solo against Solo, as Adams had promised it would be, and he'd either win or break into pieces.

He warred against himself, the helplessness, the hanging suspended – and he came out whole. He hoped he came out whole. He wouldn't be sure until the questions were asked and he refused them.

While he waited, Galaxy swayed up to him. He'd wondered where she was. She smiled up into his face and ran one finger along his chest, outlining the muscles. "Why did you have to get yourself caught?" she whispered. "Poor Napoleon. Strong, honest, and stupid. Now I suppose you'll let them kill you before you give up any secrets."

"Rules are rules," he told her.

"That's just the point, love. Thrush doesn't have such foolish rules. You're on the wrong side."

He ignored that remark, asking pointedly, "Are you Dundee's property? Is that why you're here?"

She nodded, her long black hair brushing her shoulders. "And we won't mention that you trespassed this afternoon, will we?"

"It's no business of mine. But you should know, Galaxy, that you're up for the Thrush form of urban renewal. Down you come and a younger blonde rises in your place."

He enjoyed the sharpness that came into her face and her swing to stare at Gloryanna, huddled with her back to them on the hay.

"Planning something between you?" Dundee asked. His hand came out automatically to stroke Galaxy's hair and she glared at Solo in triumph. "You'll crush our friend Saturn if you escape, Solo. I've promised him the chance to do the honors for you. I have no stomach for it, myself."

Saturn said, reassuming his role of actor, "I'm going to play the villain of villains! Nothing written. All improvised!" He brandished a bottle marked RED INK, eager to use it.

"Just drips and drops, mind you, Saturn," Dundee warned him.

"I know! I know! Now, what questions am I supposed to ask him?"

Dundee didn't hesitate. "Start with the secret entrance to U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters in New York – Waverly's entrance."

Solo smiled to himself. That was the best possible question since it was the one he couldn't answer. They could hammer at him for days and he couldn't tell them because he didn't know.

"Fine." Saturn took his place before Solo, still taller than the young agent even though Solo was suspended three inches from the floor. He opened the bottle, set it down, drew on some plastic gloves, and picked the liquid up again. "Mr. Solo," he said grandly, you will please tell me the location of the secret entrance to your head quarters in New York." Then he whispered, "And if you dare tell without giving me the chance to reinstate my self in front of Dundee, I'll personally strangle you where you hang."

"I wouldn't dream of ruining your opportunity," Solo said, keeping his eyes away from the bottle.

Saturn pushed a glass straw into the neck of the bottle to let liquid fill it, then clapped a finger over the end and drew the straw out, gleaming with yellow. His hand came up and he faltered, not sure where to begin. "The chest area, I think," he muttered.

He stretched his thin arm out, held the straw over Solo's shoulder and let the liquid flow. It was chilly running down from his shoulder onto his chest and Solo shivered. Saturn caught the excess by forming a cup with his gloved hand on Solo's stomach.

It was done and nothing happened. Saturn looked to Dundee impatiently.

"You have to give it time to take effect, idiot," Dundee said. "A few minutes."

"It's ruined, then," Saturn cried. "You can't do this properly without instantaneous results."

"You'll get results – and more," Dundee promised. "Once the pain starts for him, it doesn't ever quit, and you can just add to it at will – until he gives in."

Solo wasn't shivering anymore. He was waiting. Soon the same pain that had sent Gloryanna writhing on the floor would begin for him, but it was clear in his mind that he could stand up to it. The emotional battle he'd been fighting since Adams had been engaged and won. He let relief and pride dominate him now because he had earned it. Saturn and his little glass tube of fire could go hang.

Chapter 14

"If Solo Comes, Can Kuryakin Be Far Behind?"

ILLYA SNEAKED UP the barn hill, glad for the late afternoon clouds that had gathered blackly in the southwest to dim the sun. It would be an early, unreal dark. He traveled cautiously. The Thrush men must be about somewhere, though he had seen no evidence of them. Just the trailers and the cars parked by the barn.

He edged up to the door and peered inside. The scene was dim and crowded. There were twelve men scattered about and too many rifles for happy counting. He spotted Gloryanna sitting on a bale of hay, her back to the rest. As Mr. Saturn stepped aside, he saw Napoleon strung up like a side of beef. They were going to do something to him, that was certain, but there was no indication of what. Everyone seemed innocent enough.

Saturn held a bottle and a glass straw, but no one else carried tools associated with interrogation. Still, just Napoleon's stance was enough to tell the story.

Illya crouched back against the wall. He had to do something fast. In his present state of mind Napoleon might break, and Illya was sure that no matter how inconsequential the information given, Solo would never forgive himself.

Illya reared up to survey the inside of the barn once more, looking for possibilities. At the far end he saw a hatchet. That could help. There were rolls of barbed wire and they might do. What else? And how to get the men out? He couldn't attack twelve men at once with the single Thrush rifle Solo had given him.

He ran bent over away from the barn, going in among the cars, letting thoughts run rampant to bring up a workable plan. First order – disperse the men. Even at his best he couldn't beat all of them together, and he had no trouble remembering that he wasn't at his best. Every time he moved, his body registered aches and pains. He hid behind a station wagon, dusty and spotted from some recent rain, and his gaze came to rest on a trailer hitch.

He sprang up and went to the hitch, unfastening it as quickly as he could. He made the rounds of all the trailers, detaching them from the cars, glad they weren't parked in a line or neat rows, but were scattered about. With one eye on the open barn door he worked desperately until they were all unfastened. Then he took the next step, holding his breath as he hoped for Thrush overconfidence to play to his advantage as it had so often.

He peeked into a car, checking the ignition, and almost let out a yelp of delight. The key was there in the ignition and waiting to be turned.

'Tm coming, Napoleon," Illya muttered. He began his ace play.

All of the cars were perched on the incline that led to the barn hill, and headed in various directions. Illya slunk about among them, looking for what he needed. When he found it, it was a messy pile of old garden stakes, long enough and sturdy enough for his purpose. He carried them to the car, flicked the key to start the motor, then jammed one of the stakes down on the accelerator as he wedged the other end of it up under the dash panel. The motor whirred to life. He put the car in gear, released the handbrake, gave the wheel a turn, and let it go. It moved fast, driving itself forward in an uncontrolled motion that would eventually slam it against a trailer.

Illya scrambled to another car, turning on the head lights for added effect and tying the wheel with some rope he found so the car would run in a big circle. He broke the stake shorter this time to give a speed of about ten miles an hour instead of the mad dash of the first.

He saw that car off, and then another.

Running a panting race, he got them all going, aware of shouts from the barn but ignoring them until he had all the cars mobile. He tooted the last two horns to add to the confusion, sending up a violent blast of noise.

He waited for only a moment to survey the chaos he'd made, the cars roaring under their jammed accelerator power, some in forward, some in reverse. It wouldn't give him much time, but some. He sprinted for the end of the barn and the door and the hatchet he knew were there, dodging inside the wild automobile corral he had created. Thrush men poured out of the barn yelling and shouting but afraid to go among the cars to stop them.

He gained the ground floor door, scaled the ladder to the main floor, and took his bearings. Napoleon was facing him, eager-eyed at the bedlam. Illya's hand touched the hatchet and he raised it up. He'd have one shot only. Saturn and Dundee were sticking close to Napoleon but only one other guard remained. His shot had to go to the rope that suspended his friend, and cut that rope.

Mustering all the years of training he'd put himself through, he raised his arm and heaved the hatchet. It whizzed through the air in its arc and he hardly dared watch its flight. It hit – a direct hit! The rope snapped and Napoleon fell to the floor with a hard thump.

Solo was startled by the fall, but not completely. He'd expected some kind of manna from heaven as soon as the commotion began outside. His feet hit the floor and he went slamming onto his back. He couldn't roll be cause his feet were tied, but as he hit he struggled up and worked to unbind his ankles. The pain on his chest was infuriating, making his hands tremble, and Dundee pulled at him to hinder his escape.

Then Dundee wasn't pulling anymore. He had fallen over, a hole in his chest, a look of disgust on his face, dead. Solo saw the fleeting shape of Illya in the shadows, a Thrush rifle in his hands.

Solo was free. He went into a fighting crouch, jabbed his fist deep into Saturn's middle, and the man crumpled like a puppet; he hardly made a sound going down.

Leaving the bewildered guard to Illya, Solo raced to pick up some ink bottles. He got two Blacks and one Red and rushed to Gloryanna, burying them safely under the hay bales so they couldn't break. He went back, jerked up another Black and opened it, pouring the liquid on his shoulder and chest where the fire burned. It had seemed an unquenchable fire but it was quickly and astoundingly out.

The Thrush guard fell at a burst from Illya's gun. Illya was soon beside Solo. Solo panted, "Ink bottles. Black is the counter chemical, Red is the destroyer. Remember!"

He snatched up the dead guard's gun and together he and Illya crossed the stage and took up places beside the big doors. Galaxy had crumpled in a heap beside Gloryanna, seeking protection anyplace she could find it.

Solo and Illya set up a deadly fire, shooting into the men who were jockeying the cars to a halt. They called out numbers to each other. "One down – two – three – four down!"

"What did you create out there?" Solo yelled to Illya.

'Pandemonium," came the answer.

Solo gloried in the sight. Three cars were still on the go, headlights bouncing, but they wouldn't be rolling much longer because their paths would soon be crossed by a parked trailer. Too many Thrush figures were on their feet, and potshooting from the barn wasn't going to clear them out.

"Care for a closer range?" Solo yelled again.

"Lead the way!"

Solo squeezed off some rounds to force the Thrush men to duck and hurled himself away from the door, down the barn hill slope, dashing for a stalled car. He came up hard beside it and sprayed his bullets about like a madman as Thrush heads popped up to take aim. Illya scrambled into the shelter of a trailer and pumped off measured shots.

This was still getting him nowhere, Solo realized. He picked up another fallen Thrush gun, checked for ammunition and found plenty. He sprinted out of hiding, running to intersect the last mobile car. He caught it on the driver's side and leaped onto it, clinging like an Indian on the side of a horse, bouncing with it, clutching the steering wheel with the two fingers of his right hand that also held the rifle. He managed to keep from colliding with a trailer, gave the wheel a sharp turn, then dropped to the ground and yanked the door open, struggling into the driver's seat.

He kicked Illya's jammed stake away so he'd have control of the car and drove it into the Thrush gunfire. The windshield shattered even as he ducked. He was up again, the rifle pointing through the broken glass. Letting go of the wheel, he gunned the motor and sped forward, blasting at Thrush figures all the way. Another man fell. Illya was working steadily on a big one.

It was all madness. Solo's car careened about barely guided, spitting fire and dust and bullets like a maddened dragon. Illya carefully picked off any Thrush who couldn't stand the suspense and tried to run.

In short minutes the Thrush men gave up in horror, taking to their heels in a flight for the road. Solo rammed the car after them, setting its course to collide with a tree far down the field. He opened the door, stamped once more on the accelerator, and rolled from the car. He hit the ground and came to his feet, rifle ready.

There was no more need to fire. The few remaining Thrush men were possessed of demons, the car roaring behind them. They would run until they reached town.

Solo returned to Illya. They laughed together as they went to the barn. Gloryanna met them standing up but Galaxy stayed where she was on the hay bales, and her eyes when they touched Solo's were dark, deep, and helplessly inviting. Her face was suddenly that of a misguided girl instead of the confident woman she was.

"Keep an eye on that one," Solo told Illya. "She does the fastest swivel in town."

Galaxy stopped the bit she had started, giving up the hope of luring them into believing she was a dupe.

Gloryanna tried to hug both Solo and Illya at once. Then she concentrated on Illya. "How did you ever manage it? A few hours ago you were barely walking and now you've saved us all."

"Your father," Illya explained. "I got to your house and he gave me a warm bath, some liniment – cow brand, I think, from the sting of it – and a couple of drinks. He made me almost as good as new."

"Gloryanna's father?" Solo was surprised. "He actually let you in the house?" He remembered only too well how the man had thrown him off the farm.

Illya smiled slyly. "He said he liked my face. And he had a lot of well chosen words for you."

"Thanks," Solo said with a grin. "Next time I meet him I'll impersonate a ragamuffin and maybe he'll let Gloryanna see us off with our ink bottles."

Solo reached under the hay and retrieved his three prizes. "Our monthly salary, Illya. Again we manage to return with our shields and not on them."

Illya glanced about. "We'll need help to clean up this barn. And you might dress, Napoleon. Such a display of manly charm is misleading to a sweet girl like Gloryanna."

Gloryanna met Illya's eyes steadily, proving that there wasn't a blush in her. "Why did you have to spoil my whole day? I was enjoying the view. But – let's do go home, all right? Because pretty soon the reaction will set in and I'll cry like a baby. I refuse to shed a tear in front of this moon woman."

She took Galaxy roughly in tow and Solo waited to see what Galaxy would do. Galaxy surrendered. Gloryanna's strength was obvious and the dancer wouldn't endanger one soft contour by trying to fight free.

Solo and Illya pivoted together and went to collect Mr. Saturn. "Alley-oop," Solo told the half-conscious man. "You have a command performance coming up, Saturn. United Network Command."

Illya scowled humorlessly at the joke and helped heave the skinny prisoner to his feet where he held him while Solo used Dundee's own Thrush radio to call Chicago for an intercept on the helicopter scheduled to rendezvous at the barn.