Текст книги "[Magazine 1968-012] - The Million Monsters Affair "

Автор книги: Robert Hart Davis

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 7 страниц)

She laughed softly and glanced across at Illya, sitting quietly by her side, looking straight through the windshield.

“From now on, Mr. Kuryakin,” she said, her voice savage, “I will give the orders!

THREE

THE DRIVER reacted perfectly to Theresa’s crisp orders. He drove on through Hollywood to an apartment hotel off Sunset Strip not far from the Mallon Studios.

Illya Kuryakin sat beside her. He was in full possession of his faculties. He understood everything that was going on, but for some odd reason could not react to it. The injection she had given each man made him completely subservient to her orders. Even realizing what was happening, they were powerless to break the chemical spell.

When they pulled up in front of the hotel, Theresa laughed softly and said to Kuryakin, “Now run back like a nice little boy and thank your cop friends for their service. Tell them you will not require their services. Say you received a call on that cute little walkie-talkie fountain pen of yours from U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. Waverly informed you that the menace you feared has been taken care of.”

Obediently Kuryakin climbed from the car. He walked back to the other police car.

“Thanks, boys,” he said. “Everything is fine now. Waverly just called from New York. Everything has been taken care of. He said to express his appreciation for your help.”

“Okay, Illya,” the driver said. “Give us a call any time we can help you.”

Kuryakin walked back to Theresa, who had stepped out of the car. Hosking was pulling away in obedience to her orders. Illya stood looking at her. His mind was in a turmoil. He was perfectly aware of what he had done. He knew that she was with THRUSH. He knew that he was being led into a trap that would mean his death. But he was powerless to take any action unless directed by Theresa LeBrun.

The girl had a bellhop take her bags into the hotel. She did not bother to register. A taxi pulled up beside them there on the sidewalk.

“Get in,” Theresa said to Illya Kuryakin.

He took his place in the back seat. She got in beside him. The driver shifted into gear and began a weaving route through several turns. It seemed to the anguished Kuryakin that he was trying to throw off any possible pursuit.

At no time did the girl give him any orders. The driver picked his own way and finally drove them to the back entrance of the Mallon studios.

The iron gate swung open as they approached. It clanged quickly shut behind them. They drove through the back lot with the towering false fronted medieval castle set looming to their right.

Kuryakin sat stonily beside the girl. Although his body was completely at ease, his mind was in a turmoil. Never in a lifetime of danger and strange adventure had he ever experienced anything like this. He had been drugged many times. Never before had he met with one that affected his body, turned it into a slave-zombie, but left his mind to function apparently unaffected.

It was as if the strange chemical she injected into his body from her ring had disconnected his mind from the body. The body then passed to her control.

As the car swung out of the castle set road and turned into what looked like a reconstruction of lower east side in New York, Theresa LeBrun looked over at Illya and laughed softly.

“Are you wondering what has happened to you?” she asked. “You do know what is going on. You can hear every word I say, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Illya said.

It was not his mind that answered. His tongue was obeying impulses from Theresa’s mind instead of his own.

“Let me tell you about it,” she said. “That is part of the fun. And it is fun, you know, to defeat a worthy adversary. Although, I must say that you turned out to be disappointingly easy.”

She sighed and went on, “After you slipped out of my death traps twice, I thought I had at last met a man worth fighting. But you were a disappointment, like all the others.”

She laughed softly. Her face, barely visible in the darkness, glowed. “Yes, Kuryakin,” she said, “I’ll tell you, for you have but a short time to live. I was in Paris running tests on this new slave drug which I helped develop for THRUSH. I received word that you were coming on a mission that would be dangerous to THRUSH. I was told to make contact with a paid assassin named LeBlanc and arrange for your immediate liquidation. Instead I decided to do it myself.

“And I would have done it too. After you escaped from the plane bombing, I had another bomb already planted in the office. I could have blown you and Inspector Moreau to hell, but I received a last minute message to deliver you here. They needed to interrogate you to see how close U.N.C.L.E. was on their trail. After the questioning, you will be killed. I have been promised the pleasure!”

The car stopped in front of a building marked Film Lab. Theresa identified herself to the guard and they went inside. It was pitch black inside. Kuryakin wondered if she had the eyes of a cat as well as the soul of a tiger.

They came out in an office. Illya’s heart turned over with a jolt when he saw Napoleon Solo across the room. The man from U.N.C.L.E. was bound to a straight chair. Solo looked deathly tired and sick. Ugly bruises stood out vividly against the paleness of his skin.

A stocky man got up from a film editor beside a desk littered with film cans and a camera that looked exactly like the control transmitter found on Hollywood strip and again in Paris after the riot.

“I’m Griffis,” he said to Theresa. “Your identification?”

“Million monsters, seven-oh-three,” the girl said, giving her secret pass code that identified her as a member of the project.

“Who is this with you?” Griffis asked suspiciously, staring hard at Illya Kuryakin.

“This is Kuryakin,” Theresa said with a peculiar smile twisting her vampirish lips.

Griffis reared back like a frightened horse. He jerked open the desk drawer to grab his THRUSH gun.

Theresa LeBrun laughed, a definite contempt in her voice.

“Don’t panic,” she said. “Kuryakin is unable to make a single move unless I order it.”

“Only a fool toys with these men from U.N.C.L.E.,” Griffis retorted. “They have more tricks than the devil himself.”

“Don’t worry,” Theresa retorted. “He is under influence of THRUSH’S latest development, a slave drug. His mind is disconnected from his body. His muscles react only to a precise tone code.”

She turned to Illya.

“Sit down,” she said.

Like a well trained dog, he reacted to her command.

Griffis still looked doubtful.

“Stand behind him, Peters,” he said. “I don’t trust these U.N.C.L.E. rats under any condition.”

“Let me show you something,” Theresa said.

She took a tiny gun from her handbag. She held it out to Illya.

“Don’t do that!” Griffis screamed.

Theresa laughed and put the gun back in her purse.

“You see,” she said. “He could have grabbed that gun and killed us all if he had been in control of himself. That proves he is not shamming. He is completely in my control!”

“How long will he stay under the drug’s influence?” Griffis asked.

“Long enough for you to interrogate him,” Theresa said. “But you will have to relay your questions to me. I must repeat them with just precisely the right tone unless you can ape the tone yourself.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Griffis said. “You do it. I want to question him about the extent of U.N.C.L.E.‘s knowledge of this project.”

“Why was it necessary to bring him all the way back here from Paris for that?” Theresa wanted to know. “I could have gotten all that from him there. But for no good reason I received a THRUSH code message to bring him back.”

Griffis said, “It was my orders. We had just captured Napoleon Solo, his companion. I thought it best to interrogate the two together. That way I can compare their stories, fill in the gaps which the other does not know, and get the full story. He was returning anyway, so there was no additional risk. In fact, this seemed the safest way to me.”

Theresa shrugged. It was obvious both to Solo and Illya that she was not impressed by Griffis. The THRUSH project chief in turn seemed somewhat wary of the French girl.

Solo’s heart started to beat faster. Although the situation seemed desperate, he was the type that never gave up hope. Now the obvious animosity between these two key figures in the THRUSH scheme gave him an idea of trying to play one against the other. He had no idea how it could be done, but it was a thin thread of hope.

Also, there was Kuryakin himself. Theresa’s tale of a “slave drug” struck Solo as fantastic. He had never seen or heard of the girl before, but she was, he thought, obviously a THRUSH agent. He was certain that if THRUSH had developed such a revolutionary drug, U.N.C.L.E. spies in the organization would have reported it promptly to Waverly.

He stared at his companion, wondering if Kuryakin was feigning or actually under this strange woman’s control. Then he saw her turn her back to Illya.

“How much does U.N.C.L.E. know about this Million Monsters affair?”

A sickening jolt ran through Napoleon Solo’s body and exploded in his brain when he heard his companion tell the absolute truth, which was that they knew only what they had observed during the riots.

Kuryakin’s answers made it plain to Solo that Illya was truly in the grip of some terrible compulsive force. He was giving answers that not only revealed how little they knew about the subliminal effect, but also things that were damaging to the entire U.N.C.L.E. organization.

There was no question in his mind that Illya had sold out. He knew his companion too well to even suspect such a crime. That meant then that the girl’s fantastic claim of a “slave drug” was true!

Sweat popped out on the bound man’s face. His stomach heaved and for a moment he was so disturbed that he felt physically ill.

“Take it easy,” he told himself. “There is a way out. There has to be!”

He shivered as his agile mind sought a solution. Illya’s ready answers proved that no one could fight the terrible drug’s effect. He knew as soon as they drained Kuryakin’s mind dry he would be inoculated himself. Then what Illya’s hadn’t spilled of U.N.C.L.E.‘s secrets, he would.

“If THRUSH can obtain all we know about U.N.C.L.E. between us, they can destroy Waverly and all of U.N.C.L.E.!” he thought, shivering as the horror of their situation grew on him. For the first time in his long battles with THRUSH, he was close to despair.

ACT VI – THE MONSTERS’ REVENGE

SOLO CLOSED his eyes, but his mind was alert. A hundred mad schemes tumbled through his mind as he sought some way to turn the tables on their enemies.

Suddenly through his despair the glimmer of an idea broke through. He tensed, straining body and mind as his ears caught every changing inflection of Theresa LeBrun’s voice as she questioned Illya Kuryakin.

There was definitely a rhythmic pattern to her tonal inflections. It was subtle, but different from the tone in which she address Griffis when she paused in her questioning of Kuryakin.

He recalled that she had told Griffis that victims of the slave drug responded to certain voice tones.

The almost computer-like precision of his mind dissected each tone she used in addressing her prisoner. Her questions came rapidly on the heels of each damaging answer Illya Kuryakin reluctantly gave her about the inner workings of U.N.C.L.E.

Solo kept sorting the tones, cataloging them in his mind, and mentally repeating them as he sought the proper inflection and tone color.

He knew that he could not do it all mentally. He needed practice aloud, but dared not risk it. Everything depended on surprise. He could only sag against the rope that bound him to the metal chair – and sweat and hope.

It was not warm in the room. California nights are not hot. But Solo could see a thin film of sweat on Illya’s forehead. It showed how much Kuryakin was trying to fight against giving his betraying answers about U.N.C.L.E. It also showed the tremendous power of the strange drug.

As the questioning went on, Napoleon Solo was sure that he now understood the tonal control the girl was using, but still he hesitated. He knew this would be his one and only chance. If it failed, then he and Illya would die, and U.N.C.L.E. would die with them. With Waverly’s secrets exposed, it would be relatively simple for THRUSH to hamstring the great organization.

Sweat dripped off Solo’s body. Never in his life had he been under greater strain. And he knew that Kuryakin was in even worse torment. Illya’s mind knew that he was giving away secrets about the organization that meant so much to him. But he was powerless under the terrible influence of the super-powerful drug.

The questioning was interrupted by arrival of a man Solo had never seen before.

“The transmitter is complete,” he told Griffis. “The Telstar communications satellite will be in position within an hour. THRUSH headquarters wants to know if you are ready to start transmitting.”

“Yes!” Griffis said. “Tell them I am ready. We will start riots in every major city in the western hemisphere. The instructional signals to the teenagers we have already mesmerized will contain strong subliminal suggestions to those we have not yet reached. Their minds will be impregnated and then they will react to the instructions. By tomorrow evening every person in this half of the world who is under twenty-five will be our slave!”

When the THRUSH technician left to make his report back to his headquarters, Theresa said to Griffis, “If things are so near the end, there is little point in continuing the interrogation. U.N.C.L.E. will be destroyed anyway in the debacle.”

“Forget Kuryakin,” he said “Things are moving faster than I suspected. However, if you have any more of that drug, I would like to ask Solo a very important question.”

“What is that?” Theresa asked. “What does it matter now? Destroy both of them. These men are cunning and dangerous. There is no use taking any further chances with them.”

“They will be disposed of,” Griffis said. “We have some extremely corrosive acid we use as a bleach for our color film. I am sure it will bleach all the danger from our prisoners! I promise you that after two hours in that vat we can flush both Kuryakin and Solo down a drain!”

“Good!” Theresa said with relish. “I particularly love the thought of dissolving Kuryakin. Twice I had him in a trap and he escaped me. Now he will pay for it!”

“What I want to question Solo about,” Griffis said, “is Marsha Mallon. We had her but she escaped when Solo jumped her. She is still at large somewhere here in the studio.”

“Tear the place down,” Theresa snapped. “Find her! She is extremely dangerous to have at large.”

“Don’t I know it!” Griffis said grimly. “She is the one who invented the subliminal suggestion process. She understands it fully. She is trying now to destroy it before we can conquer the world. As long as she is loose, there is a chance she can stop us some way. I want to know if Solo has any idea where she is hiding.”

“It seems to me you could flush her out,” Theresa said.

“This was her father’s studio. The back lot was her playground when she was a child. She knows every cranny,” Griffis said savagely.

“Is she cooperating with U.N.C.L.E. now?” Theresa asked.

“No,” the THRUSH man replied. “She is afraid she and her father will be blamed, since she invented the subliminal effect. She hopes to destroy us herself before anyone learns the secret.”

“A lone wolf, huh?” Theresa remarked. “She hasn’t a chance!”

“I’m not so sure,” Griffis replied glumly. “Remember, she is an electronics genius. She invented this process. If anyone can develop a way to counteract it, she is the one. We are not safe as long as that woman is loose.”

“But if she is afraid of U.N.C.L.E., how would Solo know where she is?”

“They escaped together. He might have seen where she went. I don’t know. It is a chance. At this stage we can’t afford to let any possible chance slip past us. I fear that woman more than I fear U.N.C.L.E.”

“Very well,” Theresa said. “I have another shot of the stuff in my ring. I’ll give it to him!”

She turned away from Kuryakin. Napoleon Solo braced himself. Bound as he was to the chair, there was nothing he could do himself to keep the woman from inoculating him with the slave drug.

His only chance then was to ape Theresa’s tones and shout for Illya to attack. He knew Theresa would instantly counterman his toned order to Kuryakin, but he hoped desperately that his companion could move fast enough to knock Theresa out before she could react.

He shot a quick glance at Griffis, measuring the distance between them. It was vital that the THRUSH field director be delayed long enough for Illya to knock out the woman and then meet Griffis on more even terms.

It seemed to Solo that if he threw himself forward against his bonds at the right moment, he and the chair he was tied to would fall directly in Griffis’ path as he rushed to aid Theresa.

It was a mad, desperate plan, Solo knew. It had scant chance of success, but it was all he could do and he was determined not to give up without a final fight.

But as Theresa stepped toward him, there was a loud banging on the door. She whirled. Griffis picked up the gun he had previously laid on the desk.

“This is Peters!” the voice of the man who was with them before called through the door. “We have her! We’ve caught Marsha Mallon!”

“Wonderful!” Griffis cried. His florid face glowed with almost drunken delight. He stepped across the room and opened the door. Peters and a man Solo did not recognize came in, dragging Marsha with them.

They pushed the girl back in a chair. She was breathing hard. Her clothes were torn and her face bruised. She had obviously put up a fight.

“The last possible roadblock has been cleared!” Griffis cried. “Since you only have one shot of the slave drug left, don’t waste it on Solo. I want to know if the girl does have a way to interfere with our directional transmissions to the subliminal slaves.”

Napoleon Solo braced himself, tensing his aching muscles for his desperate move. The odds had doubled against them, but he dare not delay any longer.

Across from him Griffis was telling Peters: “As soon as Theresa gets all she can out of Marsha, take all three of them to the acid tanks. I want their threat removed once and for all.”

“We’ll be going on the air in less than half an hour with the transmission to the kids’ brains,” Peters said.

“But we will still be vulnerable. If they should succeed in cutting off the transmitter, all the teenage monsters will lapse back into normality. Stop arguing! I want them dissolved in the acid!”

“I’m not arguing!” Peters said in an aggrieved tone. “I just -”

“Just shut up! I’ll do the thinking!” Griffis snapped. “Theresa! Get on with it!”

“Don’t use that tone of voice to me!” Theresa snarled. “I’m not one of your THRUSH slaves!”

Solo’s heart leaped. He leaned forward as much as he could. Then under cover of the hot quarrel between Theresa LeBrun and Griffis, he gave a low whistle that aped the tone range she used in ordering Kuryakin about. It was not a spoken command, but Solo noticed a slight jerk of his companion’s body at the low, quick sound.

Solo’s heart leaped. This slight jerk of Kuryakin’s body was not proof positive that Solo could control him as Theresa had, but it gave him hope at a desperate moment when he was tottering on the brink of total loss.

“Kuryakin!” he suddenly yelled. “Attack! Attack! Knock out the woman first! She is the dangerous one!”

He didn’t wait to see the effect of his toned order. He hurled his body forward. His head drove into Griffis’ side. He and the chair went down on top of the falling man.

“Grab his gun!” Napoleon Solo shouted to Marsha. “Get his gun or we’re lost!”

Griffis was twisting violently. He jerked the gun up, trying to get the barrel aimed at Solo. Handicapped as he was by the chair to which he was bound, Napoleon had nothing to fight with but his head. He drove that hard into Griffis’ chin.

The blow cracked as bone smashed into bone. The THRUSH man’s head snapped back. The gun in his hand exploded, but Griffis’ aim was spoiled by Solo’s desperate lunge into him.

Napoleon paid heavily for his miraculously close escape from death. The crash of his skull against Griffis’ chin hurt him as badly as it did his THRUSH adversary. His senses reeled momentarily. For an awful moment he thought he was losing consciousness.

He caught a dim view of Griffis swinging around. He could see the gun in the man’s hand!

TWO

WHEN NAPOLEON SOLO made his first tentative whistle in Theresa’s commanding tone, Illya Kuryakin realized what his friend was trying to do. Illya’s mind had always been clear. It was only that the drug disconnected his mind from his body – as if a mental clutch had been thrown out.

The whistle from Solo caused a tingling sensation all over his body – proving that it had some effect. Like Napoleon, Illya did not know if this was proof that Solo had found the secret of command for victims of the slave drug.

He hoped desperately that Napoleon would follow up the trial whistle with a full command. His body was still relaxed. He had no control, but he tensed mentally. He was on edge and ready to leap into action if Napoleon could give the right tone command to activate his body.

Then Peters brought in his prisoner. Illya saw the sick despair on Solo’s face at the sight of Marsha Mallon in THRUSH’S hands. He felt the same way himself although his mentally imprisoned body did not reveal it.

Then when Theresa LeBrun turned to jab her slave drug needle into Marsha Mallon, Illya heard Napoleon’s frantic command.

The tone was perfect. He hurled himself straight at the LeBrun woman. He understood as well as Solo did that he had to take her out of the fight or everything was lost.

Theresa jerked around when Solo shouted his command to Illya. She recognized instantly that he was copying her commanding tone.

“Kuryakin -” she began.

The rest of her words were lost in the smash of Illya’s fist on her open mouth. His natural reluctance to strike a woman was forgotten in the desperation of the moment. The freedom of half the world and the lives of the other half depended on the outcome of this battle.

Theresa was knocked back. She struck against Marsha just as the Mallon girl grabbed for the gun Griffis was trying to line up on Solo’s head. Theresa tried to scream a command to Kuryakin, but her bruised lips could not form the precise tones she needed.

Illya meanwhile ducked a savage blow from Peters. He grabbed the THRUSH man in a quick Judo throw and hurled him into the other man rushing at him. He grabbed them by the hair and slammed their heads together with a savage crash.

He whirled to see Griffis jerk his gun up to kill Napoleon Solo. Frantic, Illya leaped to head off the shot.

Theresa LeBrun, crying and dripping blood from her injured mouth, threw herself in Illya’s path. The two collided and fell.

Solo tried to throw his bound body forward to hit Griffis’ legs. The THRUSH field chief leaped back out of the way. His face was fiendish as he leveled the gun at Solo’s face.

Solo had done all he could. Illya was trying to scramble up; but Solo knew he could not outrace Griffis’ bullet now.

Griffis fired! The sound of the explosion was thunderous in the small room. Solo flinched involuntarily as the gun went off. His body jerked with surprise as the bullet missed him by a wide margin and slammed into the wall.

Then he saw the reason. Marsha Mallon struck Griffis down. She had grabbed the camera-transmitter from the desk and hit Griffis in the head with it.

The THRUSH field director toppled forward on his face.

“Good girl!” Solo gasped. “Get me untied. I -”

She dropped the broken transmitter and fled into the darkroom.

“Illya!” Solo cried. “Get her! She’s the absolute key to everything now!”

Kuryakin only stood there. His slave drugged body had done all his previous orders called for. In his excitement Napoleon had yelled at him in his normal tone of voice.

He tried again and his thickened tongue betrayed him. Desperation mounting to a fever, he tried still another time.

“Illya! Illya! Untie me!”

Kuryakin’s body jerked. He leaped over the unconscious body of Theresa LeBrun and started struggling with the knot of the rope that bound Solo to the chair.

As soon as it was loosened, Solo gasped, “We’ve got to get Marsha. Knocking out Griffis won’t help us at all. The transmitter crew already has its programmed orders. Unless we can destroy it immediately, the monster orders will go out on schedule!”

He burst this out in his normal voice, knowing Illya’s brain would receive it, even though his friend’s mind could not transmit orders to his own body.

Then Solo changed to the difficult job of copying Theresa’s control tones.

“Stay here,” he said. “Keep Theresa unconscious no matter what you have to do. She can still control you until that infernal drug wears off. I’m going after Marsha. I’ve got to convince her to cooperate with us – or THRUSH is going to win!”

He cut through the first darkroom, following the girl’s tracks. Then when he went through the light-trap maze into the other room a bullet smashed into the door facing near his head.

“Don’t come any closer!” Marsha’s voice screamed at him. “I’ll kill you!”

Solo leaped back. He realized then what had happened. In his haste and anxiety he had forgotten that he had overturned the acid tanks in the bleaching room. Marsha was trapped.

“Marsha!” he called. “Miss Mallon! This is Napoleon Solo. I’m from U.N.C.L.E. We are both fighting the same battle. We must have your help. If you don’t work with us, we’re going to fail. Can you understand me?”

“Get back!” the frightened girl cried. “If you don’t get back, I’ll kill you!”

“But don’t you understand? We’re from U.N.C.L.E. We’re trying to stop this awful thing the same as you are!”

“You’re trying to trap me!” she cried. “I don’t believe you’re from U.N.C.L.E.”

Napoleon cursed in a burst of futile despair. What could he do to convince her?

“Miss Mallon!” he said, trying again. “You saw us prisoners of the THRUSH group. We -”

“THRUSH has many enemies!” she cried. “How do I know you aren’t trying to steal the secret from them for your own evil uses?”

“What must I do to convince you?” Napoleon cried, exasperated.

“Just go away and leave me alone! I know what they are doing better than anyone. I can beat them myself if you’ll just let me alone!”

“Listen! Is there a phone anywhere we can get to? You can call U.N.C.L.E. headquarters yourself. I can give you information that will positively permit them to identify me over the phone. Will you do that?”

“Even if you are from U.N.C.L.E., what good would it do?” she replied bitterly. “My father tried to contact U.N.C.L.E. and what did it get him? THRUSH killed him and almost got me. I don’t want any help from U.N.C.L.E. or anybody. I’ll go it alone.”

“You haven’t a chance,” Solo argued. “The transmitter is all set to go. The crew is ready to flash its destroying message just as soon as the Telstar communications satellite starts to circle this part of the globe. We have less than thirty minutes.”

“I don’t care!” she cried in a choked voice. “I can’t trust you! I am certain you are trying to trick me!”

Napoleon Solo groaned in frustrated rage. Never before had he so missed his marvelous collection of U.N.C.L.E. protective devices. He would have given his soul just for the chewing gum that made up into a high explosive.

This alone would have provided the “equalizer” that would have made him and Illya Kuryakin a match for the entire THRUSH group.

There were THRUSH men all over the studio. He could not hope to find a phone without being captured first. He had already seen how strongly the perimeter of the studio was patrolled by THRUSH guards. It was equally impossible to try and sneak out of the place.

Yet, something had to be done fast or THRUSH would launch its worldwide monsterizing transmissions. All they were waiting for was for the communications satellite to come into position – and that was only minutes away.

A dozen mad schemes for stopping THRUSH flashed through Solo’s mind. He considered everything from setting the studio on fire to trying to get the Air Force to bomb it out of existence. But each scheme required communications with the outside to put it into operation. And that seemed impossible in itself.

There was only one possible way he could see to smash the THRUSH control team and wipe out the threat in the thin margin of time left to them. And that directly involved Marsha Mallon’s cooperation. Without her there was no hope. The world was doomed to THRUSH slavery – that half of it that would survive the debacle.

He tried to explain to her what he had in mind. She wouldn’t listen. She kept threatening to shoot if he did not back away so she could get out of her trap.

“Okay,” Solo said in a beaten tone. “Do what you will.”

“Move around to the side,” Marsha ordered. “I’m going past you. If you try to stop me, I’ll kill you!”

“Go on,” he said in a dull, dispirited voice. He moved cautiously along the wall on the opposite side of the still processing machines.

Marsha started to inch forward on the other side. Solo stood where she could watch him. His head and shoulders were visible above the machines. She could not see the rest of him.

Solo took a deep, unsteady breath.

“It’s now or never!” he told himself. “If this doesn’t work -”

He broke off the thought, unable to consider the awful consequences.

THREE

AS MARSHA MOVED toward the light trap to make her way back into the room where Kuryakin waited, Solo brought his knee up quickly. She could not see his swift action, for his body was blocked from her sight by the processing machine.

He jerked off his shoe. As she came around the other end of the machine, inching toward the light trap, he hurled the shoe at her.

She saw it coming too late. She tried to duck. The shoe hit her shoulder. She was knocked back against the wall.

The instant he threw the shoe, Solo vaulted up on the processing machine. He got his feet on the edge of the big vat-like box and scrambled over the plexiglass top that enclosed the multitude of reels over which the film moved up and down through the developing solutions. From here he leaped straight for the girl.