Текст книги "[Magazine 1966-­08] - The Cat and Mouse Affair"

Автор книги: Robert Hart Davis

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ACT III: COUP, COUP, WHO'S GOT THE COUP?

ONE

The sea outside the harbor of San Pablo is an angry one. It breaks against the cliffs and deserted beaches that curve out toward the sea itself until the beaches reach the opening into the harbor.

Inside the fine harbor the water is calm and sheltered, and anyone who swims does so on the harbor side. On the sea side, below the cliffs and on the beaches there is nothing but the surf and the flotsam of the sea.

This night, on one of the empty beaches below the cliff road, among the driftwood and seaweed, something rose from the white water, staggered, and fell again. The figure struggled up, falling and rising, until it lay beyond the reach of the surf on the silent beach. The figure was Napoleon Solo, bruised and half drowned.

After a time, Solo raised his head and looked around. The beach was as deserted as it had seemed. Nothing at all moved in the night. From time to time a car passed high on the road above the beach and the cliffs. Solo stood up. He checked his arms and legs, but there were only bruises. Nothing was broken by the rocks.

It was time to go to work.

Aware that when a coup threatened you could not afford to trust anyone, Solo walked the miles from the beach to the mansion of O'Hara above the city. He his whenever a car passed. It was close to morning by the time he staggered into the mansion, and, behind the bookcase in the silent rooms of U.N.C.L.E. in Zambala, told the story to O'Hara.

"What do you want to do?" O'hara asked.

"Go after Illya. Do you know what the insignia of the second regiment looks like?"

O'Hara went to a filing cabinet and took out a folder. He showed Solo a picture. It was the insignia worn by the soldiers who had attacked on the cliff road. Solo nodded.

"Right, then I'm going to their camp. Are they in their regular camp?"

"At Tidworth Barracks, ten miles northeast on the Real Plain," O'Hara said. "You want help?"

"No, we can't tip U.N.C.L.E.'s hand yet, and your men might be known," Solo said. "I'll just need a car."

"Take the small Triumph. It's equipped. Smoke, extra guns, bombs in the usual places, super-charged for extra speed."

"Right," Solo said.

Ten minutes later the powerful little Triumph was on the road into the mountains again. Napoleon Solo drove swiftly with the sun up and bright over the tall blue mountains. The small car ate up the ten miles. A sign on the side of the road told Solo that Tidworth was one mile ahead. He drove more carefully.

His sharp eyes began to notice things. There were troops in the fields on both sides of the road—troops and vehicles in full battle dress. On the sides of the mountains there were flashes that showed high observation posts. Small planes flew over from time to time as if reconnoitering the area.

These were not the normal activities of a regiment in barracks.

Solo continued to drive. Ahead he saw a roadblock. He eased the Triumph up to the wire. Four soldiers watched him. A sergeant stepped up to check his papers. Solo handed him the specially-prepared papers that identified him as George Solo, uniform salesman from New York.

"And why are you here, sir?" the sergeant asked.

"To sell uniforms, naturally," Solo said with a smile.

"Really? The colonel made no mention of a uniform salesman visiting the barracks today."

"Ah, yes. Well the colonel doesn't know. I, ah, just decided to visit Zambala's best regiment to see if I could find a few, shall we say, flaws in the present uniforms."

"On your own, sir?"

"Ah, yes, all my own little idea," Solo said with a dazzling smile. "Of course, the premier knows I'm here."

"I see, sir. Very good. Then I'm sure the colonel will welcome you."

Solo eased the Triumph into reverse. "Well, as a matter of fact I can see that you're busy, so I think I'll just come back some other time."

The sergeant nodded to his men. They stood around the Triumph with their rifles pointed very accurately at Solo's chest.

The sergeant nodded again, this time to Solo.

"I know you want to see the colonel. Such a long trip, you don't want to leave empty-handed, I'm sure."

Solo looked at the rifles and got out of the car.

* * *

Illya lay on the floor of the room. He was not tied, and the room had a window. Looking out, he could see the grounds of the complex of buildings, and the soldiers walking across the grounds. But the window was barred, and three stories up with no holds to the ground.

Where he lay he considered what had happened. After his capture there had been the trip in the truck guarded by the soldiers. The arrival at what was obviously a barracks station of some regiment, and his delivery to an officer, who promptly locked him in this room. Papers had been handed to the officer. The officer had treated him well, but refused t listen to him.

Ever since then he had been fed regularly. He was not bound or chained, no one had bothered him or questioned him. He was simply being held in what was clearly a guardroom just like any military prisoner.

Illya Kuryakin was puzzled.

The soldiers who had attacked Solo and himself had shot at them, literally kidnapped him. Yet when they arrived with him here at the barracks they had handed him over with papers as if he were a prisoner being transferred. They kidnapped him by force, yet treated him more like a prisoner of war.

They had not eve searched him or taken away his watch, belt, rings, shoes or clothes. They had fed him well; he had seen no one but the soldier who brought his food since he had arrived. No one kept him from looking out the window—and from the window he could clearly see the preparations.

Preparations for a regimental move of some kind. The signs were obvious.

He went again to the barred window. The signs were still there—kits being inspected, soldiers cleaning weapons on the quadrangle, vehicles being checked and gassed across the quadrangle in the motor pool, boxes of ammunition and large shells for the tanks opened and stacked ready to be issued.

Until now Illya had made no attempt to escape because he wanted to see why they had captured him. But nothing had happened, and the regiment was moving close to readiness. Soon he would have to make a move.

He was thinking this when he saw Napoleon Solo.

The blond agent came alert. He watched as the soldiers marched Solo across the quadrangle toward the same building Illya was in. There was no doubt that Solo was under guard. The same polite guard as Illya had had himself. Illya turned away from the window.

He crossed the room, checked the door. There was a soldier stationed directly outside! Frowning, Illya recrossed to the window. He could easily melt the bars, and lower himself on the hair-thin spool of wire hidden in the third button of his jacket. But there were soldiers all over the quadrangle; this part of the building was in clear view of hundreds of them.

Illya rubbed his hand through his shock of blond hair and began to study the walls of the room. The barracks were built of fieldstone, but the interior walls were normal lath and plaster. What was on the other side of the one wall that did not face the hall? He could break through, only to find himself in another cell!

No, this was a matter for trickery. The guard outside probably had orders to never enter a cell himself, but to call the corporal of the guard in any emergency. If he feigned sickness, even death, the guard would probably simply call for the corporal, unless he could panic the fellow, which would not be easy. This was a crack unit, its men would be trained and veterans.

Somehow, he had to panic the guard and silence him before he could summon the corporal.

He looked around the room again and he saw the wash basin. Illya began to smile. A standard wash basin with hot and cold faucets and a stopper. The sink was very close to the door. Illya smiled more. There was something a lot better than panic—curiosity and uncertainty!

The fear of looking foolish!

There was a weapon! Illya studied the room and the door. The door opened inward, with the wash basin on the side of the room hidden by the door. The guard would come in, slowly, not running, and look carefully around the door. Illya would have no more than a second or two, and he could not allow the guard to make a sound.

Illya took off his wristwatch, opened the back, and took out the small capsule—a tiny plastic capsule wrapped in some kind of netting.

Then he went to the sink, put the stopper in the bowl, and started both faucets running, but not too fast, just filling the bowl without making a great deal of noise. He stood at the sink until the water began to run over and flow down to the floor and across the floor toward the door.

Then he stood just behind the door, the capsule ready, and waited.

He watched the small stream of water flow inexorably to the door, under it. He waited. Another minute passed, two minutes...three. The water flowed thin under the door. Four minutes. The water flowed slowly, a thin and wide stream going out under the door.

Then Illya heard the guard move. He heard the low, muttered exclamation. Behind the door the small blond grinned. He could picture the soldier standing outside the door, staring at the stream of water. He could imagine the soldier looking around as if to ask what to do.

The soldier would look again at the water. Illya Kuryakin heard steps as the guard came to the door and listened. Now the guard stepped back. Curiosity and uncertainty was gripping him. What should he do about this? Call the corporal? For a water leak? Have the corporal come running with two more men—to find a puddle of water?

The guard moved to the door. "You in there! What's that water?"

Illya remained silent. He heard the guard shift his feet. Then there was the sound of the key in the lock. Illya grinned. As he had expected, the guard was not going to call for the corporal for a water leak. The door opened slowly.

Illya moved with it, silently.

The door opened all the way and the guard peered around and saw the sink. The guard blinked, turned his head to look for Illya. In that split second Illya thrust the capsule in the face of the guard and squeezed.

A jet of gas spat into the face of the guard. He took a half step backward and collapsed without a sound.

Illya caught the guard and his rifle, lowered them to the floor, jumped and closed the door, and ran to turn off the water. He stripped the guard and dressed in the guard's clothes. He took the guard's rifle and keys. He stepped to the door, opened it, stepped out, closed and locked the door behind him.

He was free in the corridor, in disguise, and the guard would be out for at least two hours—all done in a matter of a minute and twenty seconds. There was no one else in sight, and Illya began to walk carefully along the third floor corridor. He was in search of Colonel Julio Brown.

TWO

His face hidden, Illya Kuryakin moved along the corridors and down the stairs until he located the office of Colonel Julio Brown. The office had two guards stationed outside it. Illya turned away, and climbed back to the second floor and the room directly above the office of the colonel.

The room was empty now. Illya went to the window and looked out. He was in luck. The wall of the next building came close to the main building at this point. The space between was hidden from any observation. Directly below the window of the room there was another window, the colonel's office.

Illya took out his spool of hair-thin wire, made a loop at the bottom for his hands, a loop five and a half feet from the end for his feet, attached the wire to a pipe in the room, and lowered himself out the window head first until his eyes were at a level with the top of the window below.

Inside the office there were two men. Illya, hanging head down in the narrow space between the buildings, recognized one man by his description from O'Hara's briefing and by his colonel's uniform. The other man had his back turned. He was a short man, but heavy, almost as broad as he was tall. A man with the back and shoulders of a bull.

This second man, who was dressed in civilian clothes, seemed to be arguing with Colonel Brown. Then the colonel began to talk, emphasizing his points by tapping a short trenchknife on his desk. The short, bull-like man turned away from the colonel and faced the window. Illya saw the two long scars on his dark face. He recognized Jemi Zamyatta!

The leader of Zambala's opposition turned back to Colonel Brown, spread his arms, walked close to the colonel. Zamyatta seemed to smile as he talked. The colonel listened, began to nod in slow agreement. Zamyatta put his bear-like arm around the shoulders of the colonel. Both men began to laugh.

Illya watched, and saw both men look at the door. The colonel spoke and a soldier came in and saluted. The soldier, a sergeant, made some report. The colonel nodded. The soldier left. The colonel spoke again to Zamyatta, and the bull-like man nodded and walked to a second door. Zamyatta left the room.

The colonel spoke again. His other door opened and the sergeant came back -with Napoleon Solo!

Hanging in the narrow space, Illya watched the colonel offer Solo a cigarette. Then the colonel began to ask questions. Illya could not hear, but from the movement of the colonel's mouth the questions were sharp and not friendly. Illya hauled himself up to the second floor and climbed back into the room above the colonel's office.

He untied the wire, looped it around the pipe, took his hand-hold this time at the end of the now double strand of wire, took the rifle in his other hand, and lowered himself again out the window. He lowered feet first until he stood against the wall just above the window. Then he kicked off with his feet, swung out in the narrow space, and swung back through the window.

He crashed into the office in a shower of glass, straightened in the air form his crouch, and landed on his feet with his rifle covering the colonel. Solo jumped behind the outer door.

The door burst open and two guards came running in. Solo leaped on them from behind and dropped both with sharp blows to the neck. He bent and scooped up their weapons.

"The window!" Solo cried.

Illya Kuryakin squeezed his tiny capsule under the nose of the colonel. The colonel slumped to the floor.

Illya whirled and followed Solo to the window. The two agents climbed through and out into the narrow space between the buildings. They ran between the buildings in the direction away from the quadrangle. They reached where the buildings ended. Ahead was a wide parade ground and then a fence; beyond it the trees of the jungle rose up on the side of a mountain.

"We have to reach the fence," Illya said.

"They're busy enough," Solo said, and pointed to the left out on the open parade ground. Two platoons of soldiers had their kit spread out on the ground. The men were preparing to move.

"Too busy," Illya said, and told Solo about Zamyatta and all the preparations he had seen.

"Yes, I noticed," Solo said. "They've got the area sealed. They're all ready for something. Brown wanted very much to know how come the premier had given me permission to come up here. He didn't act like he believed me, but he was very interested."

"He probably thinks we're working for Premier Roy," Illya said. "They treated me very well, but wanted me out of the way."

Solo peered out. The soldiers were in no hurry to leave the field. Solo handed his rifle to Illya.

"Walk me out as if I were a visiting fireman with an escort," Solo said. "Maybe they won't notice."

"It's as good a way as any," Illya said. "If they raise the hue and cry, sprint for the fence."

Solo stepped out and began to walk nonchalantly across the open parade ground. Illya walked a pace behind him as if either escorting or guarding. Solo looked around with great interest as if he was inspecting. They reached the middle of the field without attracting any notice.

A few soldiers looked up, but, like all soldiers preparing for some move, they had little interest in a civilian being escorted on some inspection by one of their men.

In this fashion, Illya and Solo nearly reached the fence. Then two things happened. There was a shout and men running from the direction of the headquarters building. And a sergeant with the men preparing their gear turned at the shout and saw Solo. It was the sergeant who had picked him up at the road block.

"Run!" Illya cried.

Abandoning all pretense, the two agents sprinted for the fence that was close now. The sergeant shouted at his men. The men dropped what they were doing, picked up their weapons, and came after the two agents.

The other pursuers were farther behind.

"The ones packing won't have rounds in their guns!" Solo said.

"I hope you're right!" Illya panted.

Solo was right. The closest pursuers did not have ammunition. Illya and Solo hit the fence in strong leaps, vaulted up and scrambled over. On the other side they plunged into the jungle, just as the soldiers with ammunition came into range.

Shots whistled through the trees and brush, but none hit, and the two agents ran on through the jungle and up on the side of the mountain.

After a time there was no sound of pursuit from behind. Solo sighed.

"Well, they seem to have given up."

"I doubt it, Napoleon," Illya said drily. "Look."

The small blond Russian pointed up and ahead. High on the mountain the sunlight flashed from something—something that moved up there.

"Binoculars, and trained right on us," Illya said.

"An observation post," Solo agreed. "The mountains are full of them."

"The troops are very alert. It seems obvious why," Illya said. "There!"

To the left a cloud of dust had risen into a sky above the jungle. On the mountain the flashes from the observation post became regular.

"Vehicles on a dirt road through here," Solo said.

"And the post is signaling them. About us, no doubt," Illya said.

The two agents watched the dust moving closer in the sky. Then an observation plane flew low overhead, a face looking down. To the right there was a sudden rumbling in the distance.

Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo began to trot ahead, still going up the mountain toward the observation post.

THREE

The game of hide and seek went on all the rest of the day. A deadly game of hounds and hares, and Illya and Solo were the hares.

The two agents made their way through the thick jungle and up the side of the mountain. Once they crossed the dirt road just minutes before an armored car came slowly along, its turret aimed into the jungle, the officer in the turret scanning the vegetation on both sides.

Once they lay under thick growth as a squad of soldiers on foot passed within a few yards.

Once they crouched in a shadowed hollow in the mountain, their fingers on their triggers, as another squad that had almost surprised them passed within a few feet.

They eluded their pursuers all the rest of the day, but they were unable to escape. They were pushed steadily south and west, higher into the mountains and farther from San Pablo.

They climbed over the first mountains and down into the valley beyond and up the slopes of the next mountains.

"We're being herded like cattle, Napoleon," Illya said. "I don't like it very much."

"Yes," Solo said, gazing up and away to the south and east. "They know what they are doing. I'd say that we are being moved deeper into the wilderness."

"I hope that is all," Illya said.

"All?"

"I hope we are not being pushed into some real trap. They know this country and we don't."

"All this proves one thing anyway—the colonel surely doesn't want us to report to the tribunal!" Solo said. "He must have most of the regiment after us."

"You always look on the bright side," Illya said. "Which brings me to the conclusion that we had better find a way to get back."

"Yes, I'd say it was about time we stopped being pushed," Solo agreed.

Without another word, the two agents turned, checked their weapons, and began to move carefully back toward the ring of troops pursuing them so relentlessly.

It was almost night when they found the opening.

It was a deep and narrow canyon in the space between two mountain peaks high up. They had spotted a light tank on the outer slope of the left mountain, and a squad of foot soldiers on the outer slope of the right mountain. In between there was this narrow canyon, deep and shadowed.

"Shall we try it?" Illya said.

"They can't cover everywhere," Solo said. "It's too steep on both sides. If we run into anyone it couldn't be many."

"Let's go then," Illya said. "It's our best bet."

They plunged cautiously into the narrow canyon.

They were halfway through and still hadn't seen any of the soldiers. They emerged on the other side, climbed up the sides of the canyon to observe. Illya pointed to the soldiers and vehicles in the fading sunlight—the line of troops was now behind them!

"We're through," Illya said.

"Then let's get moving," Solo said. "They'll figure it out sooner or later, then they'll have to make their move."

The two agents slid down to the downward slope of the mountain, moved swiftly off down toward the jungle again. At the base of the mountain they reached, and passed through, a continuation of the narrow canyon. The mouth of the canyon opened into the flat land of the jungle that stretched unbroken toward the sea and San Pablo.

It also opened into the trap!

As Illya and Solo came out of the canyon they saw the troops facing them. There were troops up on each side of the small canyon. Troops moved down from the mountain behind them.

For a long minute they stood there. Ahead, behind his troops, they saw the colonel himself. They had been neatly lured into a trap. The two agents glanced at each other and prepared to make one last attempt to escape.

At that instant the firing exploded all around them!

Firing from the jungle, from the mountain, behind the troops!

Illya and Solo dove for cover. They began to open fire with their own puny weapons. But it was enough. Caught between two fires, the troops broke and ran for cover. Four men dressed in ragged black uniforms appeared from nowhere and leaped down the canyon side to Illya and Solo.

"Quick! They will be back!"

Solo and Illya did not stop to argue. They scrambled up the side of the canyon with their rescuers. They all went over the crest and ran down into the jungle. They ran perhaps a quarter of a mile. Behind them there was firing again as the regiment had regrouped and was coming on again. The ragged rescuers did not even look back, but ran through the jungle with Illya and Solo.

They reached a small clearing. From all sides ragged men in black uniforms were pouring from the jungle into the clearing. Illya faced the leader of the four who had rescued them.

"We can make it alone now. We have to reach San Pablo."

The ragged man in the black uniform raised his weapon, snapped an order. The ragged men stood all around Illya and Solo with their weapons leveled.

"You go nowhere. You are our prisoners!"

Illya and Solo looked slowly around at all the rescuers who now pointed their weapons.

Hours passed, and it was dark night, when the march ended in a box canyon among the mountains. Illya and Solo, their weapons once again taken from them, marched into the box canyon and saw the two men seated on boulders and waiting for them.

One of the men was Mr. Smith! The other was the small, wiry man with the thin wisp of beard on his chin. This bearded man waved the two agents to seats on other stones. His large, deep eyes stared at them. Illya nodded at the two men with a weary recognition. Solo stared at the small, wiry man with the wisp of beard.

"Steng!" Solo said softly. "Max Steng!"

"You know me, sir," Steng said. "Yes, I am Max Steng. Now I must know who you are."

The bearded Stengali leader looked at Illya Kuryakin. "We captured your friend once before, but he escaped us most ingeniously. You two are not local agents. You belong to some larger group. The OAS, perhaps? United States CIA?"

Mr. Smith leaned and whispered to Steng. Steng nodded, his fanatic's eyes on Illya Kuryakin.

"Mr. Smith suggests there is much more than meets the eye about you two. You, the taller one, are obviously an American. The small, blond one is not American. Mr. Smith says that he mumbled in Russian when we had him earlier. What organization employs American and Russians together? Perhaps Interpol?"

"No," Mr. Smith said. "That is a police organization. These men are not policemen."

Steng nodded. "True. Who are you and who sent you to Zambala?"

The two agents sat on their boulders and watched the Stengali leaders. All around the Stengali stood and sat in the box canyon in the jungle night. Illya studied the bearded guerilla leader from under his brows.

"Perhaps you will tell us why you killed Mura Khan and tried to kill Premier Roy?" Illya said.

Mr. Smith answered. "We did not kill Mura Khan, or try to kill Roy. We gave no such orders."

"Then what were your men doing there?" Solo said.

Max Steng looked at Solo. "That we would also like to know. We want to know how Tavvi got into that room."

"You don't know?" Illya said quickly.

"We do not. Tavvi was in San Pablo on a routine observation. He vanished. The other man, the one arrested at the scene of Mura Khan's death, was supposed to be with Tavvi. Both men vanished. How or why they were where they were we do not know."

Illya and Solo looked at each other. The two Stengali leaders watched them. At last Napoleon Solo turned to Max Steng.

"It appears that someone was out to start trouble, to make it look like the Stengali were ready to begin a civil war," Solo said.

"Why?" Mr. Smith said.

"Obviously to cover a real coup," Illya said.

Max Steng pulled on his wisp of beard. "You were being pursued by the second regiment. They were in full battle gear."

"They were," Solo said.

"Then it is Colonel Brown," Steng said. "But not alone. The colonel is a soldier, a loyal one. He would not attempt a revolt."

"How about with Jemi Zamyatta?" Illya said softly.

Max Steng shook his head.

"It is probable, yet hard to believe. For years I have tried to convince Zamyatta that Roy was hurting the country, that his deals with the West are not for our benefit. Deals that make a few Zambalans rich and the majority poor. He always refused to join me. He always said he was tired of violence."

"We saw him with the colonel," Solo said.

Steng smiled sadly. "What do we do, then? We would not want to stop the ending of Premier Roy. But we would not want to see Zamyatta come to power on a military coup."

Mr. Smith laughed harshly. "We will oppose them all as we have always done! Until Zambala is truly free!"

Smith's voice echoed down the box canyon and a sudden silence fell over the Stengali.

It saved their lives.

In that sudden silence the falling boulder was heard. The boulder fell down from the rim of the canyon, bouncing from rock to rock loud in the silent night.

FOUR

The sound of the falling boulder was like the end of the world. The Stengali all froze. The rock bounced down and down and down. Then there was no more noise.

"Move!" Max Steng shouted.

The Stengali moved. They seemed to vanish like wraiths in the night. Silent, barely making a sound, the whole band of swift guerillas vanished. Solo and Illya followed the two leaders.

In an instant, they were all in among the giant boulders of the box canyon in a move that was obviously so well-trained into the Stengali that it was a reflex action.

From above, on the rim of the canyon, a voice now called down.

"You cannot escape, pigs!"

The Stengali were silent among their rocks.

"We cover both sides, the open end! You are boxed in the canyon. Surrender, dogs!"

On the floor of the canyon no one moved or spoke.

Up on the rim a figure appeared. It shone a light on itself. It was a tall man wearing the uniform of a major. The major stood there with the flashlight in his hand trained on himself.

Nothing happened. Illya and Solo watched upwards. The Stengali could have been a hundred miles away, they were so silent and so unseen from above. The major turned to speak behind him.

"They must have escaped," the major said.

"I think not," a voice said from the dark behind him.

"Such pigs always have an escape route. They would not stay to fight with us," the major said.

"They are down there," the voice said. "I say we use the grenades."

"Coward! Grenades for such pigs? Next you will say send for the artillery!"

"If there was artillery, I would say send for the artillery," the hidden voice said.

"I say they have run like the dogs they are, Lieutenant," the major said.

The major still stood there with the flashlight on himself. He looked down at the silent and motionless floor of the box canyon. The major took a step closer to the slope down the to canyon floor.

"Shoot, pigs! Look, I stand here! I have a light! Shoot! Even you must see me! Shoot me, you pigs!"

Nothing moved in the night.

"They are gone," the major said. "No dog of a guerilla could resist shooting at me."

The major began to walk down the slope, the flashlight still held on his arrogant face. In his other hand he held his pistol. He walked slowly down, his eyes alert and jumping from shadow to shadow below on the canyon floor, but his face set in a sneer of courage.

"Look! I defy you! Shoot, pigs!"

The major stepped farther down the slope. Behind the major, faint against the night sky, other heads appeared to watch. Down in the canyon, Illya touched Solo on the shoulder. The small blond nodded up toward the slowly descending major.

"Napoleon! I know him. He's the tall man in black who was watching the prison the night the Stengali was killed trying to escape! The one who tried to ambush me."

On the slope of the canyon, the tall major continued down. He began to move faster now. His arrogant face broke into a small smile. He had started in bravado, and now it looked like he had been right. The Stengali were gone, and he would make good his display of courage. It would impress his men very much.

"Pig dogs! Where are you? Do you fear one man? Come on, you dogs; shoot if you dare!"