Текст книги "Magazine 1967-­07] - The Electronic Frankenstein Affair"

Автор книги: Robert Hart Davis

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Napoleon Solo opened his eyes.

Ebony black and immense was the first object that met his eyes. It towered in one corner of an enormous room in which many screens, set at oblique angles, glowed transparent in the light of a flickering fire. The ebony black object was a statue, and Solo gradually realized it was a somnolent Buddha, with features slightly smiling.

Upon the screens—there were eight of them in all—long red dragons writhed, with their tongues darting fire. There was a brazier directly opposite the Buddha and from its glowing coals a thin ribbon of smoke coiled.

There were rich oriental rugs on the floor and hanging lamps as well which shed a mellow amber radiance over their intricate designs.

"Napoleon Solo, look at me," the voice that was all music pleaded. "At me—not at this room, which pleases my father but gives me no pleasure."

She was kneeling at his side, and since he was on his side, staring straight across the room toward the opposite wall it was not strange that he had failed to be aware of her presence until her voice came to his ears.

Napoleon rolled over on his back and then sideway again until he was staring directly into her eyes. His head whirled for an instant, from weakness or dizziness perhaps, and he had to blink furiously to bring her features into sharp relief.

For an instant the tall gray buildings seemed to come sweeping back, but he knew now that they were solely an illusion and that he was not within walking distance of the United Nations. If he remained calm only the room and the woman at his side would remain.

"You have been out of your mind for hours, Napoleon Solo," she said. "You woke up once, but you did not recognize me. But you must have seen my face in your dreams, for you talked wildly about our meeting in New York.

"It was a tragic meeting and one that I now regret. I threatened you, warned you what would happen to U.N.C.L.E when your every move became known to us in advance."

"But why–"

"Wait," she said, laying two fingers on his lips, and bending so slow above him that her breath fanned his face. "Let me finish and then you can talk. I have much to tell you."

She paused an instant, her eyes almost feverishly bright. "My father you saw on New York," she went on quickly. "He is Lee Cheng. But he is not a THRUSH agent."

The name was unfamiliar to Solo but it brought an instant question to his lips. "Lee Chang—your father? You mean that frail little man who turned and fled back toward the car when I was forced to make sure that you were not carrying a concealed weapon? The other two were not old enough—"

"He is neither frail nor little in his mind. He invented what you have come to the Gobi to investigate and, if possible, destroy. It is a machine that can move about in the desert and pick up what is said and done by an isolated human target thousands of miles away. It can penetrate all wails, listen and record what has been said and send televisual images just as far."

Lhasa's voice took on a more vibrant intensity. "It is—yes, a kind of Frankenstein monster. Soulless, lifeless, except for the terrible kind of artificial life that my father has endowed it with. Nothing remotely like it has ever been developed before. It is a machine of a thousand eyes, a thousand ears. And my father would use it to dominate and enslave the world and restore the ancient glories of our race. There should be no need for me to remind you how great was the glory of China thousands of years before Western civilizations rose and fell."

"But if your father—"

"Wait," she insisted, her voice suddenly almost pleading. "I have more to tell you. There is little about you that I do not know, Napoleon Solo. I watched you often through the all-seeing eyes of that machine, both before we met in New York and afterwards. Sometimes I could not see you at all, because it goes blind at times, completely blind, and records nothing that my father and THRUSH would like it to see and hear. Deaf and blind. It happens often. But my father is working night and day to perfect it."

"Your father and THRUSH. But you just said that he was not a THRUSH agent."

"I asked you to be patient, to hear me out. If you will listen, you will understand. Your battle so far has been entirely with THRUSH. And your suspicions have not been wide of the mark. THRUSH is making use of my father's invention in an attempt to destroy U.N.C.L.E and increase its criminal power a hundredfold. But THRUSH does not know what my father's secret plans are. When the right time comes he will supplant THRUSH. He will be the all-powerful one. But now he must pretend that it is quite otherwise. He has always been a poor man and without the support which THRUSH gave him—"

"He has agreed to work with THRUSH to destroy U.N.C.L.E., is that it?" Solo asked.

"Yes, and I have helped him. It is I who have been a THRUSH agent. I am a unit commander, I have been entrusted with important secrets. But all of that is of no consequence when it is balanced against what is happening now."

Solo waited for her to continue, feeling suddenly confident that no further questions would be needed. She was clearly going to tell him everything he had to know. The intensity of her gaze confirmed it and the almost pleading look in her eyes.

"Three things," she went on quickly, "have made it necessary for me to take drastic measures to oppose both THRUSH and my father's secret plans. First, THRUSH no longer trusts me. My failure in New York and my inability to keep you from reaching the Gobi has made them turn against me. The penalty for that kind of failure could be death."

"I see," Solo said, nodding. "And the other two reasons?"

"Do not misjudge me," she said. "I would race death gladly if it would help to save my father. But even if I succeeded in getting THRUSH to go on trusting me, my father's life would still hang in the balance. And the scales are tipping dangerously against him. He had become reckless, headstrong, blind to all caution. He is moving much too fast. If his mask of pretence drops, and it could at any moment, THRUSH will destroy him. Instantly—because to them he is nothing but a pawn. When once his invention is perfected—"

Her hand tightened on Solo's wrist. "His ambition to become the dominant one has made him lose contact with reality. I can no longer advise or control him. My pleadings fall on deaf ears. He is not only working to perfect the electronic monster that U.N.C.L.E. must find a way to destroy—but he has invented another, smaller but just as destructive Frankenstein-like giant. It is solely an instrument of death, for it can send a lethal ray half as far as the televisual pickups that make the larger mechanical giant a civilization-destroying threat. It would be less destructive on a global scale, but it is frightful enough, and he is planning to use it against THRUSH."

"Good God," Solo breathed. "How—how close is he to perfecting it?"

"I do not know," the woman at his side said. "He has kept that a secret, even from me. But I'm convinced that THRUSH may destroy him at any moment. I'm sure they suspect more than he knows, or will allow himself to believe. As I've said, he is deaf and blind to all caution. He has no way of finding out just how much THRUSH suspects when the machine's eavesdropping mechanism breaks down, and that has occurred often."

"Where is this new invention now?" Solo asked. "Is he working on it here?"

The woman at his side nodded. "Yes, right here in the ruins."

"The ruins?"

"We are in the ruins of an ancient Gobi temple," she said. "With money supplied by THRUSH my father has converted it into a series or connecting laboratories and workshops. It was once a holy place. But it is not so holy now, for THRUSH has seen to that. We have had five THRUSH visitors just in the past month. They fear that what happened in New York may be repeated here. You and your friend Illya Kuryakin outwitted them at every turn. They never thought you would get so far. Your arrival has greatly alarmed them."

The mention of Illya's name made Solo forget everything else for a moment. His concern for the safety of Kuryakin had been continuously on his mind from the first. But he had forced himself to remain silent about it, considering it wiser to wait until the woman at his side had told him enough to convince him that a display of concern would be of more benefit than harm to Illya. A premature question would have been an act of folly and what he had to guard against most of all was changing a talkative woman into a suspiciously silent one.

But now he felt that the question could be safely asked.

"Where is Kuryakin?" he said. "You haven't told me how we got here. If anything has happened to him—"

"I told you that I wished only to set your mind at rest," the woman at his side said, before he could go on. "My father found you both wandering in the desert and had you brought here. You were delirious, raving, barely able to drag yourselves along. It was my father who directed the attack which brought the helicopter which came to your rescue down in flames, from here by remote control. The electronic eavesdropping machine is equipped also with electronic weapons of deadly accuracy and range.

"You would have been killed if it had not stopped functioning shortly after it brought the plane down. That is one of the defects which my father is working night and day to overcome."

Lhasa paused, to stare at him steadily for a moment. "Your friend is safe," she said. "My father is not being too kind to him, because he does not wish to displease THRUSH at this point. There are certain questions he must ask the very stubborn Mr. Kuryakin. But I have protected you from all that, and I intend to go on doing so. My father, whatever he may believe, is not yet all-powerful here." She continued to stare at him steadily, her eyes seeming to veil more than they revealed.

"I said there were three things, Napoleon Solo, that made it necessary for me to take drastic measures to oppose both THRUSH and my father's secret plans. You know now what two of them are. But you have not questioned me about the third."

"And what is the third?" Solo asked.

"I told you that I have watched you often through the all-seeing eyes of the machine, Napoleon Solo. Despite myself I have come to respect and admire you. I will strike a bargain with you. If I can find a way that will enable both you and Mr. Kuryakin to escape from the ruins before it is too late—will you promise me that you will not forget what I have just told you? THRUSH has become my father's enemy? At any moment the blow may fall. The instant they cease to need him he will be destroyed. Only you can save him. If U.N. C.L.E. can strike first my father's life may be spared. Surely if I help you to escape, U.N.C.L.E., out of gratitude alone, would rest content with so shattering a blow to THRUSH."

The proposal was so unexpected that Solo remained for an instant silent, turning it over in his mind. Such a promise, he knew, would have to be conditional. Lee Cheng could not possibly escape the exaction which justice would demand—life imprisonment, at the very least. The frail little man's Frankenstein monster had been used as an instrument of death, and while justice could be tempered with mercy it could not be toppled from its pedestal by bargaining on any level.

Neither was it anything that Solo would have cared to attempt. Lee Cheng's guilt would not be lessened by the repentance of his daughter—if her repentance was genuine—or by her offer of help.

He was very careful to make his answer noncommittal and reassuring. "I'll do my best," he said.

"Then I will do my best," the woman at his side said quickly, a gleam of relief coming into her eyes, "to arrange for your escape. It will be difficult and may take a little time."

Solo was far from sharing her relief. What she had said about Illya was causing him increasing concern. "My father is not being too kind to him" could have meant more than the words suggested. It could have veiled an ordeal by torture that Illya might not be able to withstand.

"There should be no conditions attached to the kind of bargain we have just made," Solo said. "Kuryakin has risked his life more than once to save mine. You can hardly expect me to be unconcerned as to his safety."

"I know," Lhasa said, meeting his gaze with more understanding than he had dared to hope he would see in her eyes. "But what would you have me do? Take you to him? It would be difficult and dangerous. He is under constant guard."

"But you could do it, I think," Solo said. "I would just exchange a few words with him. It's important to me. I must be absolutely sure that he is all right. You just said—"

"I know what I said. But that does not mean that all of the guards will obey me, or even that I can trust more than three of four of them not to betray me. Why can't you believe me when I tell you that Kuryakin is in no immediate danger?"

"That depends on what you mean by danger," Solo said. "He may be in more danger than you know. Not of losing his life perhaps, but—" He let what he could have said remain unspoken.

For an instant Lhasa returned his stare almost defiantly. Then she shrugged. "All right," she said. "I'll take you to him."

ELEVEN

GOBI SOS

IN AMERICA it would not have been thought of as a room, but as a warehouse interior of an arsenal supply depot.

The walls were of stone, but they had an almost metallic sheen and they towered up into shadows. Long benches stood against the walls and one stood a little out from the wall and extended from the doorway to a far corner where a huge pile of miscellaneous objects lay scattered—steel helmets, gun belts, canteens and what looked like a collapsed parachute.

On all of the benches there were metallically gleaming instruments of science. Their technological configuration was apparent at a glance, although some were much larger than others.

But it wasn't the instruments of science, nor the scattered objects of desert warfare equipment that were half-obscured by the shadows that caused Solo to come to an abrupt halt just inside the doorway and draw in his breath sharply. The woman at his side had shut the door firmly behind them and was watching his face intently, as if she feared that just the sight of the half-naked man strapped from his waist to his shoulders by leather thongs to one of the benches might cause Solo to turn upon her in rage.

Illya Kuryakin's back was crisscrossed with swelling welts, and he was moving his shoulders about, as far as the thongs would permit, as if to ease the pain of what could only have been recently applied lashes.

"You lied to me!" Solo breathed. "You said that no harm would come to him."

"I did not know," she said, "that my father would—"

Lhasa straightened abruptly, a look of alarm coming into her eyes. They had both heard it, a sudden, clattering sound just outside the door that had barely closed behind them.

"That guard!" she said. "I'm not sure I can trust him. I did not like the look he gave me when I ordered him to leave. He may be waiting just outside. I'd better make sure—"

She had opened the door again and was gone before Napoleon Solo could move across the enormous room toward Illya Kuryakin.

"There's a bolt on that door!" Illya cried out sharply. "Lower it into place. Don't let her come back. Hurry! We'll never get another chance."

It seemed sheer madness to Solo, for what chance could two unarmed men possibly have in a room that was securely bolted? But he turned, grasped the bolt firmly and let it clatter into place, then crossed the enormous room in ten swift strides to Illya's side.

"Unbind me," Illya said, ignoring the appalled look on Solo's face as his eyes came to rest on the ten or twelve long red welts that crisscrossed the younger agent's back. They had cut deeply into the flesh, and it was easy to see from the tight set of Illya's lips that the pain was still agonizing.

"There's a powerful transmitting apparatus at the end of this bench," Kuryakin said. "Get me loose and we'll put through a message to Harris in Tokyo and Waverly in New York. It won't be picked up, because Lee Cheng's metal giant is lying immobilized in the desert close to where it brought the 'copter down. It developed another defect right after we caught a brief look at it."

Solo began swiftly to loosen the thongs which bound Illya to the bench, talking as he did so, his voice tight with strain.

"How did you find out all that? I had a very good chance to get some information just as vital, but I seem to have muffed it. Cheng's daughter—"

"She's a very talkative girl," Illya said. "But I guess you know that. She was here, along with her father. He finally lost patience and presented me with a souvenir of this place I'll be carrying with me for some time. Twelve lashes, straight across the back, with a very ugly cat. But trying to get vital information out of a man that way can backfire. He had to give me some information so that I could fil1 in the rest of it for him, which of course I refused to do."

For an instant Illya's lips twisted in a wry smile, despite his pain. "He thought it was safe enough to let a few things slip out, because he didn't think I'd ever leave this room alive."

"Are you sure you will?" Solo asked. "Even if we get a message through to Tokyo and New York, there's a long road of winding before any help could get here."

"That's what Lhasa said," Illya replied, the smile returning to his lips for the barest instant before the last thong fell away. "She's quite a girl. More loyal to her father than to THRUSH. But for awhile, apparently, THRUSH didn't begin to suspect that.

"She took command in New York, but her father's danger made her turn against THRUSH."

"Lhasa," Solo said. "I didn't even think to ask her her name. Did she say she respected and admired you too?"

"To some extent. But think nothing of it. It goes with that kind of talkativeness, when there's something of importance to be gained by it."

"That's what you think," Solo said. "All right, we'll send those messages. First to Harris and then to Waverly. Maybe they can tell us something we don't know—that will give us a straw to clutch at. We could sure use one. They'll be clattering at that door any minute now."

Illya nodded and swayed a little as he moved toward the end of the bench. Solo saw the transmitting apparatus then, for the first time. It was huge and looked powerful. He hoped that it was as powerful as it looked.

"You know how to operate it, of course."

"I don't think I'll have any trouble," Kuryakin said. "It's stripped down and looks efficient. I imagine it has a very powerful beam. Would you like to send the messages?"

"It's all yours," Solo said. "But for God's sake be quick about it."

It took Illya Kuryakin only a minute to groove it to the right wavelength. Once it was grooved in, the ground pulses began to operate continuously and Harris' voice in Tokyo came in precisely two minutes later.

Illya spoke briefly for another minute, filling Harris in as completely as that brief time interval permitted and what Harris said in reply Solo could not hear. He could only hope that it wasn't too tragically depressing.

Kuryakin turned briefly to nod at Solo. "Now Waverly," he said. "What I just heard will rock you back on your heels."

Solo could only hope that it wasn't an exaggeration.

For two or three more minutes Illya remained bent over the transmitting apparatus. His hand had moved again swiftly and had then remained stationary.

Suddenly he turned from the instrument and shook his head. "I can't contact Waverly," he said. "He's not in the office or anywhere in the building. But there was no real need for me to try and get him, in view of what Harris told me. Rescue is on the way, if we can hold out until it gets here." '

"But that makes no sense to me," Solo said. "How could such a thing be possible? The 'copter—"

"It was blasted down and you thought that U.N.C.L.E had no further resources at its command in the Gobi. But that's where you're mistaken. Do you think Harris would have sent us here with no replacements?"

"You mean he didn't tell us?"

"There are some things Waverly apparently seems to feel it's wise to keep a secret, even from Napoleon Solo," Illya said. "He told Harris but not us. Another U.N. C.L.E. 'copter is on its way here, yes. And it's carrying a bomb load we can drop on Lee Cheng's eavesdropping giant. If—and it's a big 'if', of course—we can stay alive until it gets here."

"But how did they know where we were?" Solo asked. "If they've started out already—"

"Harris says it was easy. U.N.C.L.E.'s Tokyo unit picked up a telecast from the giant, precisely as U.N.C.L.E in the United States picked up that Newfoundland telecast. An erratic, very short, freak telecast. Right after it blew another electronic tube, perhaps for the hundredth time."

Kuryakin smiled grimly. "They even saw us dragging ourselves over the sand and collapsing. Then the giant collapsed and the telecast flickered out."

"If we can stay alive until the 'copter gets here," Solo said. "That's a big order."

"It may not be too big to fill," Illya said. "If we keep our wits about us. What do you suppose is keeping Lhasa from coming back? I'd give a lot to know."

The sudden rattling of the door made it almost seem as if Illya's words had been overheard by some mysterious imp of the perverse bent on startling them.

Solo swung about, strode to the door and unlatched it. He opened it only a few inches. But when he saw Lhasa's pale, agitated face framed in the aperture he opened it wide enough to admit her, then quickly closed and latched it again.

She remained for an instant close to the door, staring at Solo and Illya with a stricken look on her face. "My father knows," she said. "That guard betrayed me. He also knows you sent two scrambled messages to Tokyo and New York. There's a recording device attached to the transmitter. He has the messages, but that combined range-finder and recorder just reproduced what you said without unscrambling it. And what was said to you from Tokyo. How long should it take him to unscramble both messages?"

"Not more than ten minutes," Solo said. "They were not coded messages. Kuryakin spoke directly to our agent in Tokyo. But there was some scrambling, which was straightened out instantly at the other end. It may take your father a little longer, unless the recording device has some very specialized instruments."

"There's probably nothing he hasn't got," Illya muttered. He moved quickly to Lhasa's side and gripped her by the arm. "Your father will be here the instant he unscrambles those messages," he said. "Is that what you're trying to tell us?"

"Yes, and he will not spare you," Lhasa cried, the wild look that had been absent for a moment returning to her eyes. He will kill you both. He killed your Mr. Blakeley over there by that table." She gestured wildly. "I did my best to protect him, as I would have protected Napoleon Solo. But he was just as stubborn and reckless. He insulted my father to his face—"

Lhasa stared at Solo. "You must go before it is too late. There may still be time. My father still trusts me, although not as completely as before. I lied to him explained that I had reason to believe that if you were together here for a few minutes your conversation would be worth recording. He knows how skilled I am at eavesdropping and I think he believed me. But I can't be sure."

She swung about abruptly and pointed toward the shadowed corner where the desert warfare equipment had been piled up.

"There are several holstered pistols there," she said. "Strap two of them to your waist. As soon as you are in the inner courtyard start running—straight through the outer courtyard into the desert. You may be stopped, but it is a chance you must take. I would have planned your escape quite differently if I had had just a few hours—"

She paused an instant, then went on breathlessly. "The temple is in ruins. There are crumbling blocks of stone everywhere, a protection against bullets if you weave about and move in and out of the shadows."

Solo nodded and strode quickly to the equipment-cluttered corner of the enormous room. He picked up a gun-belt, strapped it to his waist and hurled another toward Illya Kuryakin, who had moved almost as quickly into the shadows.

Illya caught it and lost no time in buckling it around his slender hips.

Lhasa had unbolted the door and was standing a little to the left of it when they returned across the room to her side.

"You must hurry," she warned.

Solo had unbolted the door and was passing into the stone-walled passageway beyond when she clutched him firmly by the arm.

"Remember your promise," she pleaded. "My father is lost to all reason now. His death will be certain unless the destruction of both machines makes THRUSH abandon all thought of removing him the instant his usefulness ends. Only U.N.C.L.E has the means of accomplishing that. In utter defeat THRUSH will lose all interest in a pawn that has failed them."

It flashed across Solo's mind that in defeat THRUSH might take a vital interest in a man who might still be capable of rebuilding a destroyed Frankenstein monster. But he saw no reason for calling that to her attention.

TWELVE

THE DEATH-RAY MONSTER

A STIFF WIND had arisen, stirring the palms on both sides of the inner courtyard, hazing the sky with a curtain of' blowing sand. Solo and Illya broke into a run, the long-barreled guns jogging at their hips.

They saw no one until they were two-thirds of the way across the courtyard. Then a shaven-headed giant with a gleaming sword in his hand, his head a mottled blur in the half-light, barred their passage. He had leapt out of the shadows and stood directly in their path, his silken trousers blooming out on both sides of his knees. The trousers and shaven head gave him more the aspect of some huge-statured, evil jinni from the Arabian Nights than a Chinese armed guard with a red dragon at his back.

The dragon was made of porcelain, but the huge guard was not. He swung the sword back and forth as if he wished to demonstrate how easy it would be for him to cut off Solo's head and when neither Solo nor Illya stopped running advanced upon them, still swinging the mammoth sword.

Solo waited until he was very close before he tugged his pistol from its holster, steadied it carefully and drew just as careful a bead on the advancing guard's midsection.

He fired. The pistol leapt in his hand as it roared, and the guard bent double, then went staggering back against the red porcelain dragon and toppled sideways to the sand.

The shot brought two other guards rushing into the courtyard to avenge their fallen comrade. Luckily they were much smaller men, and Illya Kuryakin had no difficulty in disarming the nearest one by ripping his sword from his clasp and burying it to the hilt in the sand. While the sword vibrated like a tuning fork he gripped the still enraged guard by the back of the neck, and brought his forehead down forcibly on the heavy jeweled handle of the sword three times.

The guard crumpled with the groan to the sand and Illya was spared the need of stopping the remaining guard in the same way, for Solo did it with dispatch by bringing the barrel of his pistol into forceful contact with the man's shaven head.

Almost instantly a fourth guard appeared, his naked torso matted with coarse black hair. He was almost as huge as the Jinni-like guard but his features were not of oriental cast. But his nationality did not interest Illya at all. He was only concerned with the length and rapidity of his stride as he advanced and his wise refusal to slash at the air with his sword. The weapon was pointed directly at Illya's chest, and Illya was quite sure that he could not save himself simply by leaping aside.

His hand darted to his hip. But before he could draw and fire another shot rang out a few feet to the left of him. The sword fell from the huge Caucasian's hand and a red gleaming hole appeared on his chest just above his heart. The rage went out of his eyes. He fell to his knees and then forward on his face, a thin ribbon of blood trickling from beneath his right shoulder over the sand.

Illya turned and saw Solo, the still smoking gun in his hand. They encountered no more guards as they passed through the outer courtyard to the desert without slowing down.

They were a hundred feet from the ruin, still running, when a machine-pistol started blasting away at them. Looking back, they could see the small, birdlike figure of Lee Cheng perched on a crumbling ledge of stone high above the outer courtyard, the heavy weapon buckling as he fired.

And something else was standing there, immense and shining and misshapen that resembled a hunch backed giant. It towered at the frail little man's side, and was swaying back and forth, and suddenly as Solo and Kuryakin stared Lee Cheng stopped firing the machine-pistol and moved quickly up behind it.

They saw his hands moving up and down, frantically as if in despair of getting it to stop swaying and then back he leapt to the machine-pistol and started firing again.

"It's his second invention" Solo breathed, gripping Illya by the arm. "Lhasa told me about it—a death-ray machine! He must have mounted it on that ledge, hoping he could get it to work. But he wouldn't be using that machine-pistol if he was really sure of succeeding."

"I know," Illya said, shocked horror in his voice. "She told me about it too. If it does work—"

Tiny geysers of sand arose on the desert almost at their feet, and they could hear the whine of the bullets above the whispering of the wind that was stirring the sand in a less violent way.

Illya Kuryakin had leapt back, his face drained of all color, but Solo did not think it was the bullets that had caused him to break off so abruptly.

For the barest instant the firing stopped again and they saw that Lee Cheng had leapt back behind the giant.