Текст книги "[Magazine 1966-­12] - The Goliath Affair"

Автор книги: John Jakes

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Illya's nerves tightened another notch. He crept along through the underbrush until he was opposite the postern gate, an ancient metal affair with new hinges and polished locking mechanism.

Carefully Illya palmed his long-muzzled pistol, giving one screw to the barrel to snap the silencing baffles in place. He set another control on the butt to feed the proper projectiles to the chamber. Then, with his left hand, he picked up a small stone and lobbed it high against the wall, to the left of where the THRUSH minion was examining his knuckles in a preoccupied way.

The pebble struck. The guard whipped around toward it. Illya lunged from the trees. He dropped to one knee and carefully pulled the trigger.

With a pop the pistol jerked in Illya's hand. The THRUSH guard opened his mouth to scream, slapped his neck. His eyes turned milky as the serum on the tranquilizing dart raced to his brain. Giving a feeble murmur, the guard folded to the ground, out for twelve hours.

Quickly Illya dragged the man into the trees. He yanked off the THRUSH uniform and hastily donned the oversized blouse and trousers. Next he stuffed some leaves in the crown of the too-large visored cap so that it wouldn't slip down over his ears.

He approached the metal postern gate, rapping it smartly with the butt of his pistol and stepping to the right when the bolt rattled. The door opened from inside.

"Ein! Zwei! Drei! Vier! Ein! Zwei! Drei! Vier—"

The massed female voices continued to shout out the cadence beyond the wall. IN the crack of the postern door, a misshapen face loomed. The THRUSH soldier looking out was another of those grotesque, slab-shouldered types. Illya jammed the pistol muzzle against the man's neck and triggered once.

Like a bull the man reared backward, reaching for a red-painted lever affixed to a klaxon. His eyes were already glazed but he was falling in such a way that if his hand missed the lever, his body would fall across it. Illya dived forward frantically and shoved the THRUSH man aside.

The guard went down with a groan, fingertips missing the klaxon lever by a matter of an inch.

The THRUSH man thudded onto the wooden floor of a little guard booth which was built against the high wall directly inside the massive postern door.

Illya slammed and bolted the door and then examined his surroundings more carefully.

The booth was constructed of steel. There was a window wicket in the door, which led from the booth to a floodlit parade ground outside.

On this parade ground, three dozen incredibly tall and attractive young women, all in black jumpers, trousers and boots, were lined up doing calisthenics as the white glare of the floodlights poured down upon them in the twilight.

Beyond the parade ground towered what appeared to be an ancient baronial hall with several sprawling wings. Many of its windows were alight.

With a final lusty "Vier!" the exercises came to a halt. The ranks of superbly-muscled young women drew up to stiff attention. In front of them another girl with an electric megaphone was cracking out instructions in German. Illya couldn't quite see all of the girl's face, but something about it was hauntingly familiar.

As soon as the girl in command finished her harangue, the amazons drew themselves up even more stiffly, shot their right arms into the air palm outward and cried:

"Heil THRUSH!"

Illya's belly turned over with nausea. He had certainly come to the right place.

In twos and threes the girls broke ranks and moved toward the great baronial house. None dawdled. They moved out with long, determined strides.

Now the instructress, likewise clad entirely in black, with a wide black leather belt around her waist, was moving in the direction of the wall. Evidently she intended to stow the electric megaphone in a kind of hut or equipment locker built against the wall to Illya's left. At last Illya recognized the blonde tresses, the pretty whipped-cream face—

The last time he had seen that face, the girl had been serving refreshments aboard an Air Deutschland jet.

Illya hefted his pistol and, keeping his head down, opened the inner door of the booth. He closed it smartly and began walking along a path of stones toward the equipment shed, on a course which would intersect the girl's.

All of the girls had now departed from the floodlit field. The sky above was black. The first stars were glittering. But he and the girl were bathed in the blue-white glare of the spots.

Quickly Illya transferred his weapon to his left hand, the one nearest the wall, in case any watch-stations up at the big house had them under surveillance. The girl had reached the hut. She opened its door to stow her megaphone inside. She glanced at him once and then glanced away, assuming him to be just another guard on some errand or other. Illya moved close enough to call out softly:

"Good evening, Fraulein Bauer."

Her head whipped up. Her blue eyes narrowed and fire shone out. Illya remained standing right where he was, pistol angled up alongside his left thigh so that it pointed at her bosom.

"Kuryakin!" Helene Bauer's fingers dropped toward a knife sheath at her belt.

"Leave the knife where it is, please," Illya said, keeping a smile pasted on his face in the unlikely event they were being surveyed through field-glasses.

Helene's fingers tensed just inches from the knife hilt. Indecision and fear shone on her face as she hesitated.

"If you are thinking about raising an alarm," Illya said, strolling forward at an easy pace, his teeth bared in that fake grin but his voice deadly quiet, "I would advise against it. Perhaps your comrades could reach us and capture or kill me. But before they did, I assure you I would disregard your sex and shoot you."

The girl hesitated only a moment longer. Her shoulders slumped. "All right."

"I thought I might find you a prisoner, Fraulein. Apparently, however, you are one of the clutchers. I don't know what pretty plots you're hatching at this school for savage-looking female storm troopers—"

"Let them get their hands on you, Kuryakin, and you'll discover you don't know the meaning of the word savage!"

He said, "Mustn't lose your temper just because I'm one up."

"For the moment. Only for the moment."

"No," Illya corrected, his face no longer friendly. "For as long as you wish to remain alive, Fraulein Bauer. I will not hesitate because you are a woman. U.N.C.L.E. does train us rather thoroughly in such matters, you know. Now—is Napoleon Solo here?"

Helene Bauer bit her lip. She glanced away, as though searching for help. The parade ground stretched empty and flood-lit. The girl seemed unable to make up her mind as to whether Illya's threats were serious.

To reinforce his psychological advantage, he thumbed a stud on the pistol-butt. An ominous ticking began. He said lightly:

"I have just set my pistol on automatic timed discharge, Fraulein. If you have not answered my question at the end of sixty seconds, the gun will begin firing straight at you. To repeat—is Napoleon Solo here?"

The ticking continued steadily. A nightbird cried in the forest.

Ticktickticktick—

Suddenly the girl wilted, shielding her eyes with her right hand. "Turn it off."

"Not until you answer me."

"He's here." She whipped her hand down, her face a changing pattern of fear, doubt, anxiety. "But what time is it? She glanced at a small stainless steel watch on her wrist. "Ten past seven already. He may no longer be alive."

Illya flicked off off the stud. The pistol ceased its relentless tick.

"What does the time have to do with Napoleon Solo being alive or dead?"

"My father Dr. Bauer is in charge of the scientific project at this station. By means of his enzymatic ray process he is increasing the strength and physical capabilities of a select group of THRUSH shock troops so that—"

"Yes, yes," Illya said impatiently. "We saw Klaanger. Get to the point. Where is Napoleon?"

"In my father's laboratory. There."

Helene indicated the sprawling building. Rapidly she explained the experiment which Dr. Bauer had been intending to perform.

"Solo went under the reversing ray early this morning when I first brought him from Munich. But just as the equipment was turned on, a transmitter overloaded and blew out. Technicians had to work in the lab all day to make the proper repairs. Your Mr. Solo gained a slight reprieve. He has been locked in a cell all day today. My father re-scheduled the experiment for seven this evening."

Illya's heart began to slug faster in his chest. "Then we have no time to lose."

"I can't help it if it's already too late, Kuryakin."

"For your sake, my dear," Illya replied, "I hope it is not. No quickly. Fall into place beside me. Here, on my left side. We are going to walk side-by-side across the parade ground and into your headquarters. You will take me directly to the laboratory. I will have my pistol pointed at your pretty ribs every second. I will fire at the first outcry. Are you ready?"

Looking rather scared for a superwoman, Helene Bauer nodded.

Illya felt perspiration trickling down the back of his neck. The parade ground was huge, giving him a feeling of isolation, of being a clear target. Helene Bauer's sibilant breathing sounded loudly in his left ear.

It seemed to be taking forever to reach the house.

"Walk faster," he whispered.

Helene quickened her stride. They passed a number of dun-gray halftrack vehicles with machine guns mounted on swivels in their rear beds. They reached a concrete walk which led to a rear entrance to the house.

Under a feeble shielded light a THRUSH soldier snapped to attention.

Illya's mind raced. Was Solo alive? Or was the hour already too late?

Illya held the door. They stepped into a foyer walled in stainless steel. His heart hammered in his chest. The first peril was past.

But how many more lay ahead?

FOUR

Napoleon Solo had the eerie feeling that he had been here before. And indeed he had been, for he was again strapped down to Herr Doktor Klaus Bauer's thickly padded table.

More than twelve hours had passed since Bauer's assistants manhandled him onto the table. He was no closer now to a way of escape from this devil's den of goose-steppers and THRUSH agents than he had been then. If anything, he was further away.

"Patience, patience, Solo," Bauer said as he came within Solo's range of vision, bustling from one control console to another. "Don't writhe so. It's useless."

Bauer paused long enough to peer down at Solo. His eyes rolled behind his rimless glasses. His round pate shone like a new egg under the fluorescent glare of the ceiling lights. A thin film of spittle appeared on his up-curled lip as he contemplated his victim.

Solo was now clad in loose, over-starched gray prison trousers and shirt, black socks and clumsy ankle-high prisoner's boots.

As Bauer's face swam close, Solo realized again that the man, though brilliant, was certainly unbalanced. He recalled Bauer's almost womanish sobs this morning, when the transmitter had overloaded and blown out, thus granting Solo his brief reprieve.

"I trust the day-long wait has not aggravated your nerves, Solo?" Bauer clucked.

"Not much," Solo barked back. Cold perspiration trickled down his right cheek. In truth the day of anticipation had done just that, tightened his nerves almost unbearably.

After being removed from the table that morning in the smoke and confusion following the power failure, Solo had been stripped, searched—a formality neglected on his arrival, due to Bauer's extreme haste—and then given his prisoner's garb. He was thrown into a cheerless, windowless cement cell. There, without a weapon or, seemingly, a prayer of getting out, he had languished throughout the day until THRUSH soldiers fetched him at ten before seven this evening.

"We won't have to wait much longer now," Bauer grinned.

"There's no need to fake a lot of civilized behaviour, Herr Doktor. I know you too well."

Bauer's eyebrows shot up. "But this is nothing personal, Herr Solo!"

"Maybe with you it's not."

"This is all in the cause of science!"

"Or the cause of a little Bavarian madman who butchered women and children?"

Dr. Bauer's face lost its comic-opera look. He leaned down and very nearly spat in Napoleon Solo's face.

"For that filthy remark, I hope the process reduces you to a boneless, witless lump of—" He lapsed into a stream of vile German words.

One of his assistants tugged his sleeve, nervously indicating the clock high up on the wall. Bauer flushed and recovered himself. With a last hateful glance at Solo he rushed off.

Click-click.

Snap-snick.

The deep hummings began.

Overhead, the black lens in the center of the stainless steel ball glowed and pulsed, glowed and pulsed -

"Power drain, Hermann?" Bauer called somewhere.

"Normal, Herr Doktor."

"Splendid, splendid! Throw the lever. Increase to the third increment—"

A low metal spang indicated that the lever had been thrown over. Solo's extremities began to tingle oddly. The pulsing blue halation which surrounded the steel ball hurt his eyes. This was unforgivable! He shouldn't be trapped this way, giving up his life without even having had the chance to notify U.N.C.L.E.. If only Illya had somehow gotten through—

"Increase to the fifth increment!" Dr. Bauer called above the rising dynamo hum.

The bluish light began to make Solo's eyes dance with painful colored dots. His entire body gave a violent spasm, as though some strange transformation were taking place within his cellular structure. A second spasm followed. He would have fallen off the table and been injured had not the restraining straps been so tight.

Solo clenched his teeth. Another peculiar pain started, this one seeming to come from the deepest marrow of his bones. He bit down on his lower lip to choke back a cry of agony as the bluish light blazed, blazed—

Sensations smacked against his eyes and ears in confusing, overlapping sequence:

A heavy metal door hissed and rocked open with a clang.

At the same time a girl squeaked out a frightened yell which ended with a sudden gasp of breath, as though her warning cry had been aborted by a quick, ungentlemanly punch in the ribs.

Then, through a chorus of German cursing, Solo heard a voice he recognized:

"Napoleon? Napoleon—"

"Illya!" Solo was unable to twist his head and see his friend.

"I will kill anyone in this chamber who moves," Illya called.

The bluish light blinded Solo. Even the stainless steel ball directly above him was hidden. The ache in the marrow of his bones intensified to a point of near-unbearable agony. Somehow he managed to summon strength to yell in a croaking voice:

"Illya? Make them—turn the machine off."

"Turn it off," Illya ordered.

"Nein, nein!" Bauer exclaimed hoarsely. "Manfred, throw the alarm switch—"

Footsteps hammered. Illya shouted another warning. Evidently it was disobeyed. Illya's pistol cracked flatly once. A man screamed.

As Solo remembered, there were no THRUSH soldiers stationed in the laboratory chamber, only research men. Evidently Illya had them under the gun and they were not of a mind to disobey his orders. Silence fell.

But Bauer wasn't happy with the situation.

"Do not touch the power-down control, Wolfgang! If you value your life, do not—"

"Wolfgang—" Illya said harshly.

Wolfgang apparently had a different view of his life's worth. There came the solid ka-thunk of a large control being slammed home. At once the power hum of the dynamo receded. The bluish light began to fade.

The marrow-hurting pain in Solo's bones waned. In a moment, after a flurry of footfalls, Illya's face appeared just above his, white, anxious. A knife blade flickered. Illya slashed at the straps. Seconds later Solo sat up and stretched his creaking muscles.

He wasted no words of thanks. They were in a serious situation and he had to move fast. Solo's eyes swept the chamber.

Dr. Bauer and his technicians were grouped around the control-board consoles, tense with fear. On the low balcony other THRUSH lab men had frozen by their instruments.

Near wide open double doors leading to a stainless steel corridor, Helene Bauer was just picking herself up. She shook her head groggily.

"I am not quite certain as to what is happening here, Napoleon," Illya whispered.

Dr. Bauer stared hatefully at the pistol in Illya's fist. "You can't escape."

"That remains to be seen, sir." From the corner of his mouth, Illya hissed at his friend, "I had to hit the girl when she screamed. If we reach her before she recovers, we can use her as I used her to get in here—for cover."

Solo nodded. He pointed overhead at the stainless steel ball. "First we've got to wreck that thing. It's Bauer's ray for making supermen—"

Illya grasped the situation instantly. He raised the pistol over his head. "Watch them, Napoleon. Here's my knife. Take it." With his gun turned toward the stainless steel ball he squinted up the muzzle over the sight—

Klaus Bauer let out another hysterical scream of rage and flung himself forward. Solo darted in to block the man's charge with his body so that Illya could get off his shot.

The shot never came.

Something flickered in the corner of Solo's eye. Bauer crashed into him, flailing and digging at Solo's face with savage fingernails. Illya heard noises, whirled around, precisely at the instant when an entire section of concrete block wall on the balcony shot upward to reveal Vanessa Robin and Felix Klaanger charging down a slanting corridor into the chamber with THRUSH troops pounding at their heels.

ACT FOUR – Pick a Rock, Any Rock—Or Die

ONE

Vanessa Robin's slanted green eyes were raging as she flung up a rapid-fire pistol and began to blaze away. Solo and Illya threw themselves to the concrete. Streaks of white fire ate towards them, chewing holes in the padding of the big table.

"Crawl toward the right," Solo said. "They'll fan out all around us in a couple of seconds. We'll be caught if we don't reach that door soon—"

Illya nodded, cheeks chalk-white as he took aim and fired. A THRUSH soldier climbing down over the balcony rail jerked his arms straight up in the air and toppled. Blood sprouted from a bullet hole in the side of his neck.

"Deploy, deploy!" Felix Klaanger bawled, gesturing with a rifle. "Encircle them, you idiots!"

Klaanger was crouching behind a concrete support post at the balcony's edge. Vanessa was right beside him. Her face was vengeful, but Klaanger's was even worse, a nightmare face with its gigantic wreck of a nose. Illya scrambled to his feet alongside Solo and tried a shot. Klaanger's bulbous, lemon-shaped head disappeared, unscathed.

The entire laboratory was now a pandemonium of shots, curses in German, shrieked orders and counter-orders. Solo and Illya raced full-tilt for the doors through which Helene Bauer had led Illya only moments ago. Helene too was crouching on the balcony, seeking cover from the deadly crossfire. The U.N.C.L.E. agents zigzagged through the maze of control consoles, ducking, bending, twisting—

Solo felt a slug pluck his left sleeve. Another chunked against Illya's flying left heel, dug out a section and spent itself on the concrete floor. They were five yards from the balcony and the doors.

Three yards.

Two -

Just ahead, Dr. Klaus Bauer loomed up. Somehow he had gotten around in front of them. Shrieking wildly, he launched himself from the balcony rail and landed on top of Napoleon, knocking him to the ground.

Over and over they tumbled. The scientist had gone berserk. His nails dug and clawed at Solo's neck. His knee slammed violently into Solo's groin, bringing intense pain. Solo lost all his scruples about hurting an older man and gave Bauer a wild bashing elbow in the mid-section.

Bauer's glasses slipped off and he groaned. But he managed to hang on to Solo's throat as Solo staggered to his feet, literally dragging Bauer along with him.

Illya had leaped up to the balcony rail, was hanging there by one hand. He sniped at the THRUSH soldiers who were creeping forward behind cover of the various consoles.

Violently Solo twisted, trying to shake Bauer off. For brief seconds, the white-coated back of Dr. Klaus Bauer was turned toward the center of the chamber. A rapid-fire pistol stuttered.

Dr. Bauer began to jiggle and sway like a marionette. Inches from Solo's face, his mouth sagged open. The light of life dimmed in his eyes. His hands slipped free of Solo's throat. Slowly, he corkscrewed to the floor. The back of the little man's lab coat was singed black, and stitched back and forth with a pattern of holes left by high-powered bullets.

On the far side of the chamber Vanessa Robin leaned on the top of the concrete support post. Smoke curled from the barrel of the rapid-fire pistol in her right hand.

Solo quickly became conscious of two things: the totally callous and inhuman way Vanessa Robin had murdered Bauer to get at him, and a sound behind and to his left—low feminine sobbing.

And then a hysterical scream tore out:

"Papa! Dear God—Papa!"

Helene Bauer plunged down off the railing and crawled along until she had her dead father's head in her lap. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She cried to Vanessa, "Why did you murder him? He was on your side!"

Voice colder than cold, Vanessa called back, "It's Solo and Kuryakin we want. Your father lost his senses. He got in the way. Besides we didn't need him any longer. He had done most of his work, after all."

Helene Bauer's face filled with hatred for a moment. Then her shoulders convulsed with sobs. She bent over her father's mutilated corpse, swaying back and forth.

All this took place in a matter of seconds. Napoleon Solo realized abruptly that the THRUSH soldiers were still creeping forward, rifles glinting as they scurried from machine to machine. He had the unpleasant feeling that Vanessa Robin had already issued orders that he and Illya were not to be killed.

He whirled, jumped, caught the top of the balcony rail, pulled himself up—

And found himself looking down the barrel of an automatic rifle held in the misshapen hands of a THRUSH soldier.

While Solo had struggled with Bauer, other THRUSH soldiers had rushed into the stainless steel corridor which had been their hoped-for escape route. These soldiers jammed the balcony now. Two had overpowered Illya from behind. One had a murderous elbow crooked around Illya's throat. The other held a rifle against his side.

Illya Kuryakin was disarmed, caught, his face a mask of disgust.

Solo stayed right where he was, breathing sibilantly. His first sudden movement would bring a THRUSH bullet crashing into his body.

The soldiers fanned out around him as Vanessa Robin broke from cover on the far balcony and raced across the floor of the laboratory. In a moment they were face to face:

"You very nearly made it, didn't you, Solo?" Her cheeks were mottled red as she towered over him, staring down furiously.

"Next time we will," Solo said, with considerable false bravado.

Vanessa shook her head. Her shoulder-length blonde hair glittered with cold highlights. "No next time for you or for Kuryakin. You have caused us quite enough trouble already. As station chief I am authorizing your execution."

Felix Klaanger, resplendent in a THRUSH officer's uniform with black and red epaulets, had lumbered up behind her. His grotesque face shone with sadistic joy as he said, "Allow me the pleasure, Fraulein Robin." He cracked the knuckles of his right hand, a loud, popping sound. "Allow me to dispatch them."

Vanessa pondered. "No, General, I think not."

Klaanger's face became, if possible, even more ugly. "I demand that you—"

Vanessa Robin slapped him smartly across the nose. Klaanger howled.

"That's the trouble with you, Klaanger. You always demand. Every time you want something, you demand. This is not the headquarters of the German High Command. This is a THRUSH station and I am in charge."

She made a mock-pout, but from the wicked gleam in her green eyes it was clear that she was playing with Klaanger, and disciplining him at the same time:

"If you spoke to me in polite language—but no. This time I can't grant your request, General. Perhaps you'll learn your lesson."

Klaanger flushed deep red. The THRUSH soldiers muttered among themselves, obviously pleased at this effective display of authority by their superior. Vanessa tickled Solo's chin with a long scarlet fingernail.

"Besides, General," she said. "I think they'll have a delightful time in the pit."

Illya glowered. "Did you say the pit, Miss Robin?"

"Oh," said Vanessa, "so you know me too?"

"One doesn't have to see a skunk to recognize it. The smell is—"

Vanessa smacked Illya with an oversized fist, nearly upsetting his guards as well. Instantly she struggled to compose herself. She took a deep breath, said:

"We can all benefit from a little relaxation. This has been a most taxing day." Blithe again, she snapped her fingers. Soldiers hustled to seize Solo.

"You can at least do us the courtesy of telling us what the pit is," he said.

"Oh, just a place that the baron who once lived here used for rebellious subjects."

"What kind of place?" Illya inquired.

Vanessa's white teeth sparkled as she smiled. "A lovely place with an observation window we've built in. A place where my associates and I can relax and have a highball and watch the two of you put on an amusing show while you die. Bring them along, both of them. And quickly!"

TWO

The pit, as Napoleon Solo and Illya sound found out to their dismay, had absolutely sheer sides. It was a perfect cylinder, illuminated by a single light high up in the solid stone ceiling.

That ceiling was at least twenty feet above the tightly-packed dirt floor on which they found themselves unceremoniously dumped by their THRUSH captors. Immediately the steel portal through which they had been pushed clanged shut. They heard the pong of electric bolts ramming home. Opposite they saw a similar steel port, also closed. It was barely three feet tall, and twice as wide as a regular door.

While Solo speculated upon what noxious poison fumes would probably come curling in upon them, Illya walked round and round the base of the cylinder. The pit was constructed entirely of ancient and faintly damp blocks of stone.

"Very exciting so far," Solo said.

"Don't make jokes, please."

"What else can I do? Yell for a Boy Scout to lend assistance?"

"It's a thought." Dourly Illya contemplated their surroundings. "If it hadn't been for Dr. Bauer catching you the way he did, we might have made it."

"Well, we didn't make it. So now we have to figure a way out of here."

A somber silence fell. The two U.N.C.L.E. agents had worked together long enough to know that false high spirits weren't going to help now.

Solo paced. So did Illya. Behind the smaller steel door they heard a peculiar snuffling or coughing.

Abruptly, amplified tinnily through a speaker, they heard Vanessa Robin say:

"Please don't stop the brittle conversation, gentlemen. We were enjoying it no end."

Illya and Solo snapped around, craned upward. An entire section of the stone block wall had slid aside to reveal a thick safety-glass window about six feet wide. The curved window was recessed into the wall of the pit about three feet above their heads.

Beyond the window, Vanessa Robin and Felix Klaanger lifted their right hands in a mock toast. Each held a dark brown highball. Lesser THRUSH lights crowded up behind them to watch the spectacle. The U.N.C.L.E. agents stood their ground and glared.

"Well," came Vanessa's voice again, "I suppose we might as well start the show if you've both run out of epigrams." She reached out to touch a control hidden by the window's edge.

The short steel panel behind them shot aside. They saw a dark stone tunnel from which issued that unusual coughing, plus a decidedly gamy animal smell.

"I must tell you," Vanessa said, "that we keep the poor creature on a starvation diet for occasions such as this. It will be interesting to see which one of you he selects for his first course—"

Crouching against the curved wall opposite the tunnel mouth, Napoleon Solo saw a pair of shining eyes regarding him with what appeared to be hunger. "Good Lord," he breathed as the thing's claws ticked on the stone and it lumbered forward into the pit—an immense, barrel-shaped, club-headed Bavarian brown bear with a wet black snout and dripping white fangs.

Illya Kuryakin looked at the monster and flattened his back against the wall.

"Try not to attract his attention," he whispered.

Both agents remained motionless. The bear lumbered one step forward, then another. It wagged its immense head from side to side, its large, brown, dumb eyes fixed on a point just between the two agents. It became obvious that the bear had located its prey.

The long, lolling red tongue shot out. The bear licked its chops. With a deep growl it started forward again.

When it had reached the midway point in the dirt floor, it paused. Then, ponderously, it swung its head to the right until its snout was pointing directly at Solo.

"If it lunges at me," Solo whispered, "you go out through the tunnel."

"Impossible," Vanessa's voice blared over the speaker. "There are thick bars, and a guard, at the other end."

Solo swallowed hard. The bear advanced again, baring its fangs. Illya was leaning down slowly, very slowly. Very carefully he dug the fingers of his right hand into the dirt.

Solo started to circle to the left around the wall, also slowly. The bear changed course, its huge foot pads making marks in the dirt. Abruptly, with a slavering roar, it lunged forward.

Napoleon Solo dodged wildly to the left. Not fast enough! The furry monster crashed against him, flattening him in the dirt.

Horrible weight crushed down on top of him as he tried to roll out from under. The bear snarled and bit at his head. Solo wrenched his head savagely to one side to avoid the bite.

The bear growled ferociously. Drool dripped off its tongue on to Solo's forehead. The bear dipped its head again to bite, and just at that second Illya darted in and flung a handful of stinging dirt into the creature's eyes.