Текст книги "The Assassination Affair"

Автор книги: J Hunter Holly

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"What did I tell you?" Saturn chortled. "He's perfect." He came to Illya and said, "The forecast for today is ninety-eight degrees, and humid. How long do you really think you can last in the full sun, with no water?"

Illya stared at him but said nothing. His throat was too dry, his stomach too sore, for the effort.

Saturn continued. "I think you'll probably survive the day and the night, but tomorrow is going to be even hotter. So they say. Don't despair. We won't leave you here forever. Once you're well dead, we'll take you down and ship you back to U.N.C.L.E. Fair enough?'

Illya did find his voice this time. "Such consideration is heartwarming."

"Good." Saturn patted his knee. "Now play your part well." He admired his coup once more and strode for the station wagon. "Come along, boys. The vulgar Mr. Dundee will arrive soon, and that other U.N.C.L.E. agent may pop up again. If you'd been at the barn when I needed you, we might have had both of them at once."

The six men trooped off after Saturn. Illya watched them go, then closed his eyes against the glare that beat on them from the sun. He tested his bonds and it was clear that he bad no chance of getting free. Saturn might be playing this like a stage performance, but he was certainly good at it. One thing was certain. He was going to be a strangely tanned corpse.

Chapter 12

"Chicken Feathers!"

SOLO LET a full hour pass lolling in the shade with Galaxy. Half of his mind enjoyed her languorous company, her soft hair, her pliant body; the other half kept track of his watch. One hour. Illya should have completed his prowling by now. He broke up the tender moment by shifting so Galaxy's head couldn't rest on his shoulder.

"You look like a man about to depart," Galaxy said softly.

"I can't spend the whole day dallying, love."

"Duty calls?"

"Not duty. Common sense calls."

"But it's been so nice."

Solo stood up, brushing the dust from his suit. "A piece of advice – get back to New York and start dancing. You're depriving a world full of lonely men."

She laughed, but it was short, interrupted by the tread of hurried steps. Mr. Saturn came around the corner of the barn, his thin face red. He stopped quickly, blanched, and recovered himself. "Galaxy! Are you still showing Mr. Solo the wonders of farm life? You might have known I'd need you."

Galaxy got up, the languor gone. "For what? I won't help clean up the barn. That's not what I was hired for."

"The luncheon supplies, my dear. It's already late. Come now, Galaxy. Right away." Saturn sent a message of haste with his caricature eyebrows.

Galaxy grimaced, squeezed Solo's hand, whispered a farewell, and left obediently.

Solo grinned. "Bravo, Mr. Saturn. You've found the way to out-argue a woman! You should write a book."

"I'm in a bit of a hurry, Mr. Solo, if you don't mind. And I'd prefer to have the theater locked when I leave."

"Right." Solo bowed slightly. "I'm on my way." Saturn was nervous, almost wary of him, but he didn't want to press the point now. He started off on a course that would take him around the barn.

"Come back through the way you came, please," Saturn told him. "I have the terrible sense of you trespassing out here while I'm innocently busy."

Solo obeyed, too, as Galaxy had. He followed the tall man inside, and at the foot of the loft ladder, halted. "I can see the open door from here. You go on with your shopping trip and I'll get out of your way."

Saturn watched Solo walk across the board stage and down the hill, then he climbed the ladder. At the last of Saturn's hurried shuffle, Solo spun around and sped back into the barn, running the length of it, keeping his feet to the straw patches for silence. He came to the underground door he wanted to investigate. From the loft he could hear voices, but gathered no words. There were four voices up there, not just Galaxy and Saturn.

Cautiously, he tested the door. Locked. He examined the lock and it was as he expected – new and tamper-proof. He'd have to burn it off. It would be a dead give away to the next Thrush who walked by that U.N.C.L.E. was present on this farm, but Mr. Waverly had ordered haste, so perhaps it was time to make their presence known.

He crept back to the ladder, where he could pick up words from the loft. Saturn was urging Galaxy to hurry, and talking to another man he called Barber. One of them was pacing up and down, clomping on the floor.

Saturn finished his instructions to Galaxy. "Take one of the cars and while away some time in the stores, or give the local boys a thrill. Then buy the supplies and get back here."

"Why can't Barber go?" she asked.

"Because you know what he likes, and I need Barber here. Now hurry, woman. Dress! I have important things to do."

"Don't order me about, Saturn. I did my part. I kept Solo occupied for a full hour. You're the one who failed. You didn't take him."

"Because you didn't signal me that he was still here and I didn't bring enough men. There he was, and there I was – alone. All I could do was see to it that he left. He won't have time to bother us now, and I have so much to prepare here yet. Hurry. Please."

So, they knew already. It made no difference then what Solo did to the door. He returned to it and began working, using a heat plastic around the lock and the knob, avoiding explosives. He frowned as he worked. Galaxy was in with Thrush, after all. Her lipstick was still red on his cheek, but she had been stalling him as he had been stalling her. She was a better actress than she knew, because he had believed her when she brushed off his baited question about Thrush. That was the only consolation with Thrush. Their women were usually very special to look at and very adept at casual love. Soft lips and cold hearts.

He pressed the plastic in place and stood aside while he activated the mechanism on his watch to trigger the heat process. It began with a glow and ended with a flaming hiss. It was done. The door was free. He hit the door and stumbled down some steps to the underground room. It was totally dark. There was no window to even suggest the hot July sun that raged outside.

For a short moment, Solo stood still, grabbed to his right and clutched a table. The darkness was total, and deep. He pushed back his shoulders, drew a breath, and let go of the table. He wouldn't give in to any of that!

He took out his pencil flash. Seeing the room in small, lighted sections was odd, but showed him what he needed. This room was a laboratory, all right. And it was completely empty. Whatever it had manufactured or bubbled in test tubes had been carted away.

He inched his way back to the steps and voices from the barn froze him by the door. The group was down out of the loft. He heard murmurings, but again no clear words. The soundproofing down here was too good. He edged the door open a tiny crack and listened.

The voice he recalled as belonging to Barber said, "Solo's car is still outside. So where is Solo?"

"It wasn't his car," Galaxy answered. "It belonged to the Piper girl. Maybe he decided to leave it for her."

"We have no time to hunt for him," Saturn said. "Leave someone to guard the barn. We must get going!"

The arrangements were quickly made and Solo heard three people bang over the stage boards on their way out. Somewhere in the barn was a man with a gun, waiting for him to show himself.

He might outwait him. He closed the door and sat in the dark, figuring. He didn't dare call Illya. Too many times the pocket transceivers beeped at the wrong moment and gave everything away. He'd leave Illya alone. Give them all ten minutes to clear the area and he could take the one-man guard easily. He hoped. He made himself comfortable, pulled out his gun, and attached the silencer.

Ten minutes weren't enough. His lone guard was joined by more men, just a drone of voices and occasional footsteps above him. Luckily they didn't come near the lab door, but they had him neatly boxed without being aware of it. The odds were too great this early in a mission, so he leaned back to wait some more. Surely some of them would get bored and leave.

It took another half hour of waiting in the dark before the extra feet clip-clopped away. He opened the door a crack and listened. No voices. The guard must be alone.

Creeping out of the dark, Solo slithered through the door on his stomach and let his eyes adjust to the light inside the barn. There was his adversary, squatting by the wall, halfway down.

Since shooting from ambush wasn't his style, he stood up, yelled, "Hey, buddy, still waiting?" and brought up his gun. The guard went into frantic motion, stiffening himself and raising his rifle at the same time. The rifle never had a chance to crack the silence. Solo's U.N.C.L.E. Special whispered under the silencer and the man toppled onto a bale of hay. Solo fled, pausing only long enough to be sure the way was clear. He ran down the hill for Gloryanna's car.

–

The Piper farm was quiet when Solo careened into the driveway, but Mr. Piper wasn't long in coming out. He was a big blond man with the same candid eyes Gloryanna had except that they squinted with worry. He knew nothing that helped Solo. Gloryanna hadn't come home from her breakfast date in town, he had seen no trace of a blond man named Kuryakin, and he wished someone would tell him what was going on. For a sendoff, after he repossessed his car, he made oblique threats against Solo.

"Now that I see you, young man," Piper said, "I would just as soon my daughter stopped making dates with you. You're not the kind I have planned for her. She's very special, you know"

Solo's assurances that he did know got him nowhere. Piper kicked him off the property and he went docilely. He'd been thrown out by fathers before.

Solo walked a wary quarter of a mile on the road, then stepped off into the sumac, hid himself, and tried to raise Illya on the transceiver. It came up blank. Concern lightened in him. Illya must be in trouble some where. And where was Gloryanna? There was nothing to do but return to the Thrush establishment and take his course from the balloon by the walnut grove. He'd find Illya one way or another.

–

Illya hung limply on his scarecrow post, telling himself that his tongue was not swelling, be was just miserably thirsty. Sweat poured into his eyes, his hair was soggy with it, and every bone in his body ached. He was incredibly alone. One bird had peeped at him on its way by, but that was all. He estimated that he had hung here for two and a half hours. He had a lot more time to go.

The sound of cars approaching lifted his head. It brought pain to his neck and dizziness spots before his eyes. Two cars came, both station wagons. Saturn, Charles, Barber, and three other men got out, dragging Gloryanna with them. Her blond hair was mussed and tangled, her face tear-streaked, but they had to pull her along. She was too stubborn to submit without a fight.

Illya only moaned, "Oh, no!" at the sight of her. He hated to drag innocents into these things.

When Gloryanna spotted him she threw off her captors and ran forward. "Illya! I didn't recognize – Illya! What have they been doing to you?" She whirled around, confronting Saturn. "You can't do a thing like this! People can't do things like this!"

Illya murmured through his thick tongue, "People can and do, Gloryanna. Don't make him any more enraged than he is. Be careful. He's no fool. He just pretends to be."

She patted his leg comfortingly, unaware that she brought him pain. He had thought his legs were entirely numb, but she proved him wrong.

"I was waiting by the balloon for you," she said, "and they grabbed me. Why?"

Saturn smiled. "Now, Miss Piper, we'll do for you what we did for him. We'll let you play a part in this drama. How would you like that?

Gloryanna was frank. "I don't think I would."

"But you have already started by poking about the estate, by being with Solo when he came prowling. You've chosen your side. You must bear up."

Barber interrupted, still impatient. "Saturn, I came out here only because you said it wouldn't take much time. Dundee is due in two hours. Now hurry up or I'll put bullets in both of them."

"Patience, Barber. Things are well in hand. I have the perfect way to place Miss Piper here with the scare crow. Charles! Bring the equipment. Miss – start undressing.

Gloryanna recoiled and backed into Illya, swaying his post out of balance and bringing a groan from him.

"Well, hurry up!" Saturn said. "Have you ever seen a crow in red slacks?"

Gloryanna gasped. "A crow?"

Illya watched Charles unload two containers from the second station wagon. One was warm, liquid tar; the other was a great box of chicken feathers that spewed out as be walked, making a snowfall behind him.

"Oh, come on, Saturn," Illya protested. "You're not that crazy."

"You shut up! This is entirely my affair. You're a dead man." He moved in on Gloryanna. "Are you going to undress, or must I rip your clothes off?"

Gloryanna was trembling from head to foot, one hand clutching at her shirt, the other reaching for Illya. "Illya! Please – tell me what to do."

Illya closed his eyes. He couldn't help her. "Do as he says, Gloryanna. And be slow about it," he added in a whisper. He damned his profession where the best hope often meant stalling for time. Time for a girl to suffer, most probably.

Gloryanna faced Saturn bravely. "I'll do it, myself." Her fingers moved up to her shirt buttons. "But I'll keep on my underclothes. You'll have to kill me to get those off."

She cried and shivered and unbuttoned her shirt, and Illya forgot the heat and glare as he watched her. He only hoped that Napoleon would do well for Saturn when the tall, skinny man's turn came at dramatics like this.

Chapter 13

"Kiss the Maiden All Forlorn"

SOLO WAS PANTING in the heat, running from one stand of trees to another, trying to keep to cover. It was nearly impossible in these dead fields. The balloon had been no help. Red and black and gold, it was alone. Red, black, and gold. Ink bottles flashed in front of his mind. And gold paper for printing. Saturn was running more of a Chinese circus than a road show with his choice of colors.

He was nearly to the back of the estate. There would be one field left, and if he found no Illya there, where could he search next? He made the final dash to a thin row of trees and caught his breath.

The brown field before him was surrounded on three sides by woods, the deeper stand lying at the back. In the middle of it were two station wagons, six men, and Gloryanna Piper, standing by a scarecrow. Gloryanna was unbuttoning her blouse. The scarecrow's head moved, lolling and falling forward. Solo stifled his groan of recognition and immediately edged down the length of trees.

The odds were six against one, but he had to take them. He saw the feathers strewn on the ground, smelled the heavy odor of tar, and realized what was going on. "She's very special, you know," Piper had said about his daughter. That, she was. And she wasn't going to be covered with that slime!

Solo thought frantically for a way to help. He had to protect himself, because if he fell they would be lost. All he had was his pistol. They were all in range and he was a dead shot, but against six men? Five of them with rifles?

There were more men about somewhere. He had counted at least another eight in his dash to this field. Noise would bring them down on him, too. He shrugged. Gloryanna had most of the buttons undone and he had to hurry.

He scrambled on until he was even with the scene but still inside the narrow band of woods. He changed clips in his gun, substituting tranquilizing darts for lead, wanting their silence. He was as ready as he'd ever be.

Gloryanna had her shirt off entirely and appeared terribly vulnerable standing in the sun in her white cotton bra and red slacks. Solo slapped at his pocket, felt the shape of what he wanted, and pulled out three capsule-size explosives. He had to scatter the men so they couldn't turn on him in a body. He reared up and heaved one bomb with all his might for the front of the field. Before it hit the ground, he heaved another to the rear. The two bombs burst one right after the other, shooting up flame that ate the withered grass and created a frightening sight of fire and sparks.

Two men broke from the group to dash for the first fire area and one man ran to the rear. Grass fire was something they couldn't let pass. With the entire farm withered, it would flame its way to the barn and summon the fire department. So they ran to put it out while Saturn bobbed about like a crazy man on stilts.

Solo went to one knee, took careful aim, and dropped the rear man in his tracks. He swung the pistol around and felled one of the forward men in mid-stride. They plopped without a scream because of the darts and the sight panicked the skinny actor more than whizzing bullets would have. He was a frenzy of motion, tugging at the men beside him and running madly for the first station wagon. The men trailed him, craning about for something to shoot, confused by the farflung configuration of the attack.

Solo fired into the group and toppled another man, sending the others on faster. "Leave the wagon!" Solo screamed under his breath, squeezing the gun hard in hope. But they took both wagons and bounced among the stones and boulders to get away. The lone man left on his feet gave up his fire-fighting. He leaped over the burning circle and raced headlong for the next field.

With the wagons stirring dust in his face, Solo broke cover and sprinted to Illya. He grabbed up Gloryanna's shirt on the way by and thrust it at her. Illya smiled with the weakest smile Solo bad ever seen even from the sober, Slavic face.

Solo maneuvered Illya gently, freeing him and liftinf him bodily from the post. He took off the soaked jacket, then knelt and started rubbing circulation back into Illya's numb legs. Gloryanna helped and all the while Illya mumbled information.

"Dundee is coming, Napoleon. They're shipping something out tonight. We don't have time to waste."

"We have time for this. Besides, your gleanings and mine put together tell us a lot. I checked the mansion and the other barns as I passed by and no one has been near them to even disturb the cobwebs. All of the activity has been at that one old barn. And I found the jackpot there – the lab. Now you say they're making a shipment. It all means they produced the chemical right here, so our search for the lab is ended. Half done, Illya. We only need to get our sample and we can go home."

Illya moved his legs weakly and licked his cracked lips. He struggled, rising up on shaky legs that would barely hold him. "The smoke, Napoleon. It will draw them like flies."

"There are plenty to be drawn, too. Look, Illya, can you make it under your own power? Any chance?"

Illya staggered three steps, made his back a painful ramrod and stumbled three more. "Just barely," he admitted, game to try.

"Then you go that way." Solo pointed to the side of the field. "That's toward Gloryanna's farm. Keep inside the trees. I'll lead them off to the rear. I'll have a good chance once I make the woods."

"And me?" Gloryanna asked. "I'll help Illya?"

"You'll come with me," Solo said. "We have to give Illya time to get free and clear. I'll take you home, Miss Piper." He winked at her to still her fear and she smiled. Then she threw herself against him, tall and strong, and kissed him a big smack on the lips.

"That's for saving me from becoming an old crow."

"Thank you. But I'll be horsewhipped if your father finds out." Solo put a hand on Illya's shoulder. "Move, Illya. I'll cover you as far as I can."

Illya limped away, forcing each step out of his exhausted body. Solo suddenly dashed sideways to the burning area of grass and caught up a Thrush rifle. He pounded ahead and gave it to Illya. "Wrong make, but it fires," he told the blond agent. "Chin up, Illya. You're halfway there."

Illya continued his painful progress and Solo took Gloryanna by the hand and pulled her panting and galloping to the back of the field. He turned his head every few steps to judge Illya's escape. Illya had to be out of sight before he let himself take cover. But Solo still reached his goal before Illya did. Solo stopped, ordered Gloryanna into the trees and waited, gun ready. At last Illya limped out of sight, the trees closing over him. Solo took his own plunge for shelter and came up to the girl. There were voices calling behind him. He had cut it just right.

"Now what?" Gloryanna clasped his arm."

"We run like hell, honey."

The woods were cool, at least, but not as deep as Solo had hoped. He was forced to run a course in the middle. The Thrush men would have to come inside to flush him out, giving him a chance to pick them off. As he ran, dodging trucks, he switched his gun clip back to bullets.

There were crashes in the forest with them now. Crashes in front that meant men coming, and crashes behind. Solo stopped, gasping in unison with Gloryanna. Shouts came to his ears. The shouts of hunters looking for human game. He made out seven or eight separate voices, sounding off in a search pattern. He took quick shelter behind a tree trunk and drew Gloryanna close.

"Listen, from now on you're on your own. Okay? I want you to run to the back of the woods, go outside it, and tear for home as fast as you can. Don't stop until you get to your father."

"But what about -?"

"I gave you an order, Gloryanna. Now, do it! I don't want one single argument."

"But I hear those men! There are so many."

"Oh, and take off those red slacks. Roll them into a bundle and carry them. You can be seen for two miles in those things."

She took off her slacks without question but showed no inclination to obey anything else. She rolled the slacks into a tight ball and tucked them under her arm.

"Move, Gloryanna!"

Her blue eyes met his with a dreadful hesitation. She was unable to leave him to fight this alone. He had to force her. "I can handle them better without you. Look, Gloryanna, if you stay you'll undoubtedly get me killed. I have a better chance alone. So – go!" He slapped her on the rear, startling her as she realized she was half naked, and she took off with surprising speed, her tanned legs disappearing into the woods.

Solo fled against the direction he had told her to follow, drawing the men away. He had two little pheasants running through the woods on his orders now and he had to try the broken-wing bit to lead the hunters off.

He sprinted, skittering from tree to tree, hearing the Thrush men close in. But he had a good chance and knew it. He crashed deliberately through a clump of dead underbrush, making as much noise as possible to call the hunters, and came up short with a biting pain in his ankle.

It was a fire that toppled him onto his face. He rolled over, sat up, and examined his foot. Caught in a nasty trap. An actual steel animal trap that surrounded his foot and bit into his ankle. He fought it frantically as the steps crackled closer. He should have expected something like this but he hadn't.

He couldn't open the teeth. There was a special knack to it and he didn't know that knack. All he managed to do was bite the jaws deeper into his flesh.

Then it was too late anyway. The first Thrush hunter came out of the trees, rifle pointed. He was quickly joined by more, finally making ten altogether.

"Your gun, Solo," one of them said.

Solo tossed it over. There was no chance to fight this time. Better to stall it out and see if a chance developed later. He raised his hands uselessly.

"What's the matter, Solo? Didn't they give you a course on removing animal traps at U.N.C.L.E.?"

"I suppose they don't consider us animals," Solo answered.

With a flick of his hand the Thrush in command ordered the steel jaws removed from Solo's ankle. When it was done, the man said, "On your feet, Mr. Solo. You're coming back to the barn. You have some explaining to do."

–

The interior of the barn was dim and cool. Solo entered with what he called his "entourage" and was plunked down on a bale of hay. It was comfortable, so he relaxed. There was nothing else to do with fifteen Thrush musclemen at hand, their rifles pointing his direction.

A quick scan of the barn revealed no stacks of any thing to be shipped out. If they were making a shipment, then it must be already packed in the trailers.

Barber came to him and bound his wrists with rope, leaving his hands in front of him and his feet free as an act of disdain.

Look down your nose all you like, Solo thought and leaned his back against another bale. He was tired and the hay, though old, smelled incredibly good.

A half hour passed and word came that Dundee was outside. Mr. Saturn began buzzing about like a long-legged insect, setting up a folding chair and card-table, pouring out cold drinks, opening sacks of sandwiches, all for Dundee. They acted as though the man's entrance would require a call of trumpets.

Dundee stamped across the stage boards and stood hands on hips, surveying the barn. Solo recalled him clearly from the picture he had carried about New York. He was a short man, bulky and given to flabby muscles. He had red hair, blue eyes, and thousands of freckles. Only the eyes were a relief, because when they encountered Solo they glinted with intelligence. At last a Thrush who wasn't a lackey, who wasn't tottering on the edge of insanity. Solo watched him intently.

"Ah, Mr. Solo." Dundee paced over. "They told me you were here and I could hardly believe our good fortune. Especially with this group of operatives."

"They do leave a lot to be desired," Solo answered.

"From your experience you know they aren't representative of Thrush."

"Oh, really?" Solo opened his eyes in mock surprise. "I was convinced you had sunk to this level since you let them be in charge of Operation Breadbasket."

"In charge?" Dundee laughed. "You know better. These men actually offend me."

"You all offend me."

Dundee stiffened, then relaxed himself. But he couldn't hide the redness that swelled over his face. "I learned long ago not to let a prisoner raise my temper. After all, a prisoner has no dignity. He isn't worthy of contempt."

Solo didn't speak. He simply leaned back, settling himself more comfortably on the hay.

Dundee eyed him up and down. "I hear you even stooped to personally dispense with Abel Adams. A harmless little idiot like that – wasn't it a waste of your time?"

"It was time badly spent, anyway," Solo said with a shiver.

"Saturn!" Dundee shouted suddenly, and the thin man came buzzing up. "You let Solo sit here with this much freedom? You'll lose him."

"Not at all. Mr. Solo isn't going anywhere in the face of our guards. I had grand things planned for him but you destroyed all of that. You and Central."

Dundee scoffed. "You couldn't have any business with Solo. You probably don't even realize what he is or why we want him."

Dundee's habit of ridiculing his underlings had set Adams off, and Solo now hoped it didn't trigger a like effect in Saturn.

"I caught him," Saturn protested.

"And you'll be rewarded. But he is for Thrush Central. They've been waiting for him with itching palms for years."

Solo sighed to himself, relieved. The interrogation would come much later, then, and at the hands of professionals. Probably unpleasant to the ultimate degree, but still in the future.

"What do you think of Operation Breadbasket, Solo?" Dundee asked him.

"It's completely vicious and thoroughly Thrush. Hit the world where it hurts the most."

"Yes. The corn, the wheat, rice – every grain crop, every vegetable crop, and thus every bit of livestock because they can't live without the grasses. Ingenious!" Dundee showed him the grin Solo had seen so often on Thrush faces. "Too bad you're out of it and won't be around to see it reach its climax."

"Too bad, is right," Solo countered. "I've always enjoyed watching starving children clutch their bellies."

"The bleeding hearts of U.N.C.L.E.," Dundee snorted. "You people can never see the glory of the result, only the tiny bad points of the process."

"You take the low road and I'll take the high," Solo said. "What I'd like to know is why you were so open with this project. No isolated lab, no mountain hide-out. How did you think you could get away with destroying farmland in Michigan?"

"Boldness, Mr. Solo! Thrush has taken on a new boldness. And it has worked. Besides which, time is short. We had no time to set up an artificial farm. Now is the time to strike! Right in the middle of the growing season."

"Is this all your brainchild, Dundee?"

"No – I wish I could claim it. Unfortunately, the man who conceived it is dead. Central has taken it over completely."

Saturn was still hovering, eager to collect his share of the glory. "When you radio Thrush Central, Dundee, I demand to be at your side. You must give me credit for a change. I arranged for Solo's capture, and for the other one."

Dundee spun right around to face Saturn. "What other one?"

"The little blond one."

"And where is he?"

"Well – he escaped. Solo did it. I had him properly finished, but Solo let him loose."

Dundee was red-faced and fuming. He reached into his pocket and produced two photographs, holding up the second for Saturn to view. "Blond? Small? Is this the man?"

Saturn looked and nodded.

"You blasted idiot! That is Illya Kuryakin! As much use to us as Solo, himself. You let him go?"

"I was only told to watch for Solo," Saturn explained. "I was only shown Solo's picture and told to watch for him. I presumed I was supposed to kill him."

"Then you should have done a little more inquiring." Dundee sighed. "Very well. It's done. But put two more guards on Solo because with Kuryakin at large we can't be sure we're out of danger."

The two extra guards moved in immediately. Dundee shook his head in exasperation, picked up a cold drink, gulped it down, and slammed the glass on the table. "I'm going to radio Central right now," he said. "Come along, Saturn. You can explain to them how you let Kuryakin slip through your fingers."