Текст книги "[Magazine 1966-­05] - The World's End Affair"

Автор книги: Robert Hart Davis

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Solo and Illya peered out again. The yak was lumbering toward the truck, driving the Chinese soldiers before it. As the animal ran, it kicked and scattered the shale. Just this side of the truck the yak stopped. It swung its head from side to side as if assessing the odds. Then it uttered one more low-register complaint, and clattered off among the rocks.

The scar-faced officer looked unhappy. The mystery of the disturbed shale had been explained to his satisfaction – and regret. He jabbered irritably in Chinese, ordering the soldiers back into the truck. As soon as the tailgate was in position, the officer banged his fist four times on the cab roof. The truck rolled forward. The angry officer began to scan the landscape again with his field glasses.

The other two trucks followed. When the last vehicle had vanished, Solo stood up and dried his damp cheeks with his sleeve. He was, he discovered, shaking.

They waited ten minutes, inserted their hands in their sleeves, bowed their heads and began to trudge along the road once more.

Two

Fifteen minutes later they followed the road around a singularly large rock. The plateau beyond was relatively level. Just ahead, a second rutted road intersected the one no which they were walking. This other road ran at right angles to the first. On a slight slope near the crossroad stood a collection of small sod huts. Their roofs were thatched with long, dried yellow strands of coarse grass or weed.

Several long-haired goats wandered near one of the building, which had a large open doorway.

Near the buildings, a person in black pantaloons, fur-lined boots and coat and a conical basket-weaving hat was working a particularly unproductive-looking patch of ground with a primitive hoe.

Solo's right hand gripped his pistol, out of sight inside the left sleeve of his robe. He and Illya advanced cautiously. At the edge of the patch of ground they halted, faces impassive under the deep coatings of dye.

The person with the hoe stopped working and turned. Napoleon Solo did a mental double take. The person was a girl, with a wide, appealing mouth and charmingly Oriental dark eyes. In spite of the woolly fatness of the coat she wore, it was possible to see the distinct and charming outline of a well-shaped bosom beneath. Solo bowed ceremoniously.

"May the god shine his face upon you," he said, though not in the local tongue. Solo spoke Interlingua, the international scientific language.

"He has done so already," the girl replied, also in Interlingua. "And he has caused a double blessing to rain in white billows from the heavens –"

"– on to the place where the earth blooms despite a wintry blast," Solo completed the code.

"Father? Father!" The girl ran toward the hut nearest the crossroads. Abruptly she wheeled around. "Oh, I'm sorry. Please come in." She hurried inside, calling, "Father, they've come."

Solo and Illya entered the rude-walled home. A fire burned brightly on a crude hearth. An elderly Tibetan with a seamed yellow face rose from a table and bowed. Like the girl, he wore heavy dark pantaloons, a fur-lined coat and boots. Although his hair and small beard were pure white, his cheeks glowed with vigorous color and his eyes were alert.

"Welcome, welcome to both of you," he said. He extended his hand, American-style.

"I'm Napoleon Solo. This is Illya Kuryakin."

"I am Ah Lan," said the old farmer in fairly good English. "This my daughter Mei."

The beautiful Tibetan girl bowed.

Ah Lan indicated several crude benches.

"While we warm ourselves at my humble fire of yak dung chips," he said, "my daughter will provide us with some kumis, made of fermented mare's milk. You will find it most palatable."

Mei brought the men earthenware cups containing a hideous-looking liquid. Solo glanced at the stuff and his stomach turned over.

Solo took a sip and fought a wince. "Delicious, delicious." He drank no more.

But Illya tossed off the whole mugful in a series of gargantuan gulps, smacked his lips loudly and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Ah Lan looked delighted. Mei began to direct her admiring glances Illya's way.

Ah Lan immediately called for a refill for Illya, who was valiantly repressing a belch. Mei poured more of the drink from a goatskin with a spout. Solo smirked in delight as Illya forced himself to drink heartily again.

"You came from the sky in parachutes," Ah Lan said. "Thus I was informed by the short wave radio which I keep concealed, in my humble stable to the rear. Truly, the arm of the U.N.C.L.E. is long."

"So are the talons of THRUSH," Solo said

"How far is it to the valley?" asked Illya.

Ah Lan's face darkened. "The Valley of Ten Storms lies but seven or eight miles away. A day's trek under favorable circumstances. However, the way is very difficult."

"I suppose because THRUSH guards it well?" Solo said.

"No guards are needed," Mei put in. "During this time of the year, the only land route into the valley lies up the mountain at the far side of this plateau. There is a pass which is nearly impossible to negotiate because of the violent blizzards prevalent at this season. My honorable father and I have only reached the top of the pass once. We nearly froze to death before we were able to make our way down again."

"Pleasant prospect," Illya muttered, holding his dark-stained palms to the fire.

"How do the THRUSH people get in and out?" Solo wanted to know.

"I believe there is an airstrip within the green valley," Ah Lan replied.

"But you will guide us through the pass?"

"Though the way is hazardous," Ah Lan said, "I will." His expression grew thoughtful and sad. His eyes were turned toward the small, bright flames. "When members of the THRUSH organization came to this plateau, a year ago, they came disguised as Red Chinese soldiers. There was no airstrip in the valley then. It was a frozen waste. The THRUSH organization moved all of its construction and scientific equipment across this plateau by truck, on the very road which passes outside. They hauled the equipment over the pass in the spring season when the weather is most mild.

"At that time –" Ah Lan's voice dropped "– at that time I was blessed with two daughters. One day, while I toiled in the fields with Mei at my side, a truck load of THRUSH construction engineers stopped at this humble cottage. My other daughter was alone. The THRUSH men were full of drink. They fell upon her and –"

Ah Lan shuddered. His eyes reflected the dancing fire with fire of their own.

He went on: "My daughter was dead when I returned with Mei. From that moment, I dedicated myself to the destruction of the evil forces which turned the Valley of Ten Storms from a wasteland of ice to a green and fertile hell. Yes, Mr. Solo, Mei and I will guide you through the blizzards into the valley. We are both familiar with the use of automatic weapons. Perhaps we can be of assistance."

"Well," Solo said, "I'm not exactly sure what our plan will be once we get into the valley. But our mission is to find and destroy some sort of laboratory THRUSH has set up for the purpose of controlling the weather."

Ah Lan nodded. "I assumed as much. Technology, not magic, has melted the ice within the valley and caused the rice fields to blossom with green shoots. Such a weapon should not be allowed to remain in the hands of devils such as these."

Illya stood up. "How soon can we get started?"

Ah Lan said, "In the morning –"

A rumble filled the room. Ah Lan paled. Mei ran to the door. She spun around, frightened.

"The trucks are coming back. They passed a while ago, traveling in the opposite direction and the soldiers searched here. The Chinese radar station in the mountains must have detected the plane from which you parachuted last night."

Once more she glanced outside. Solo and Illya were on their feet, guns drawn. The rumble increased.

Mei gripped the door frame tensely, watching.

After a long moment she relaxed.

"They are going on."

"It is only a temporary respite," said Ah Lan. "A terrible journey awaits us tomorrow."

Three

In single file, the four of them struggled upward through knee-deep snow.

They had departed from the crossroads at first light, encountering no more Chinese soldiers en route. The first few hours hadn't been difficult. The terrain was rocky, sloping upward, but footing was sure. Gradually, however, conditions grew worse as they climbed.

Light veils of cloud began to drift around them. The clouds obscured the pale sun. The last vegetation vanished when they reached the snow line. The snow began to deepen and the wind intensified. For the past hour the snow had been up to their knees. And there seemed to be little immediate prospect of relief. Up they went, up and higher.

On either hand rose immense and stark walls of rock, their tops lost in clouds of whirling, billowing snow. Solo realized that they must be in the pass proper. But how long it would take them to reach the crest, he didn't know. He stumbled ahead, kicking up great gouts of the white stuff.

The wind screamed.

The snow began to take on a grayish cast. Solo wondered if his eyes were going bad. He had a recurring vision. He saw a sumptuous, oversized bed in a tropical resort hotel. Angrily he shook his head to drive the vision out. If he fell prey to that sort of hallucination, he was in trouble. It would be all too easy to lie down in the snow and forget everything.

Blinking again, Solo halted this side of a deep drift. He peered around. No sane man would believe the time of day was noon.

The vista before him was one of unrelieved white-flecked gloom. The wind howled so loudly the effect on the ears was like sitting on top of an operating fire siren. Solo realized abruptly that he had lost sight of Mei's fur-clad figure ahead.

He could see nothing except snow and the sheer walls on either hand.

He lifted his fur-wrapped right arm and tore the rags from his mouth. The snow struck his bare face with little needles of pain. He shouted the name of his companions. Only the howling wind answered.

With much twisting and writhing, he managed to get his hand beneath the various layers of snow clothing which Ah Lan had provided. He located the butt of his pistol within the folds of his lama robe. He pulled the pistol out into the snowy air and fired it three times.

"That'll bring them." He stuffed the gun away and pulled on his mitten.

Soon, Napoleon Solo concluded that he had committed a grievous error in judgment. Instead of the shouts of his friends coming to his rescue, he heard a sinister rumbling overhead.

The rumbling grew louder. Solo looked up, shielded his eyes. His gut tightened. The echoes of the shots bouncing back and forth between the rock walls had dislodged a small avalanche. Even as Solo stared, practically hypnotized by the awful sight, several thousand tons of the stuff came hurtling downward toward him.

Solo threw himself backwards. An instant later a huge, wet mass slammed down onto him like a white sledgehammer. The world rocked and roared.

Solo clawed and sputtered. Snow surrounded him, buried him. He fought upward like a swimmer. The snow pressed against his face, weighed down on the back of his neck.

With a herculean lunge, he fought to its surface.

A few large chunks of snow crashed down like oversized projectiles. One whizzed past Solo by a margin of about two feet. The force of it dug a deep, deep hole in the drift holding him prisoner.

Suddenly a furry figure appeared, crashing and lurching toward him. Two others followed. More gigantic snowballs cascaded down. The rocky walls of the pass shook.

Illya, the old Tibetan and his daughter reached Solo, knelt, seized his arms. Illya shoved him to his feet. Ah Lan dragged Mei toward the far wall of the pass, crying:

"Seek shelter, quickly! The avalanche is coming!"

Like people demented, they ran, floundered, leaped, and crawled as best they could. They reached the pass wall and huddled against it as the air filled with thousands of great balls of snow. The balls suddenly solidified into a curtain of the stuff. Solo wrapped his arms around the trembling girl and pulled her head down against his chest.

Presently the white cascade stopped. The old, less alarming shriek of the blizzard returned. Ah Lan raised his seamed face and pointed. "The gods in their infinite

mercy chose to protect us."

The others looked up. A triangular ledge jutting from the rock above their heads was all that had saved them from being buried alive.

All of them were panting an floundering at an abysmally slow pace when Solo suddenly realized that the going had become easier.

He shouted, "I think the snow's sloping downward. Yes, look. The clouds have thinned up ahead. I see sunlight."

Ah Lan managed a smile. The worst is behind."

Their speed increased as the snow became less and less deep. Now it was possible to see the slate walls of the pass in sharper detail. The wind dropped off. Only a few snowflakes danced before their faces. And a breeze from a different quarter seemed to be shredding the misty gloom which had enveloped them for so many hours.

Solo and Mei tramped faster, Illya and the old Tibetan close behind. Shortly blazing sunlight struck their faces. The sky overhead spread frosty blue and cloudless. Illya tossed away the rags around his parka hood as Solo circled some tumbled boulders and

pulled up short, gasping.

"Now I believe it," he said as the others crowded wearily up behind him. "There really is a Shangri-La."

Four

The foothills of the peaks dropped gently away toward sparkling green rice fields. A bird sang somewhere. Trees bent in a gentle wind. Wind-ruffled water gleamed. Directly below them was some sort of orchard, the fruit-laden trees standing in neat rows. It was an altogether idyllic and beautiful scene, marred only by several structures far out in the center of the valley.

These were low, black-painted buildings of stone. Several had no windows. Others had a few, and resembled barracks. Behind this complex an airstrip bisected the lush landscape like a raw concrete wound.

"They don't take siestas in Tibet," Illya said. "Where is everyone?"

"I believe many of the laboratories and facilities are underground, Mr. Solo," Mei said. She had thrown back her parka. Her dark hair shone like a sleek bird's wing.

The look she gave Solo was warm and worshipful. Illya made a resigned face.

Grumpily Illya climbed out of his two sets of coats and trousers. He stowed them behind a rock and adjusted his priest's robe and headgear. In a moment the transformation of the whole group was complete. They were now two priests with darkly-hued faces and slanted eyes, plus an elderly farmer and his daughter.

They crouched behind rocks while Solo surveyed the valley with field glasses which he had taken from his robe. "That big building close to the far end of the airstrip looks like a hangar. But I still don't see a single human being anyplace."

"It will be too dangerous to attempt to approach during daylight," Ah Lan said.

Solo nodded. "But there's enough cover for us to go as far as that orchard. From there we can watch till nightfall."

Ah Lan peered toward the barracks-like structures. "Surely our entrance to the valley cannot have gone unobserved. Yet it appears that it did. As my daughter told you, much of the facility is believed to be built under the earth. Perhaps THRUSH feels itself so secure that guards are unnecessary.

"We'll find out after dark we try to get in the place," Solo said. He sat down against one the tree trunks. "Right now we might as well rest. The fun and games in the snow made me tired. Illya, how about breaking out some more of those crumbly crackers? You'd think U.N.C.L.E. could afford better fare for -"

A chill went all the way through Napoleon Solo as a sliding panel opened in the trunk of the tree directly across from him.

Other panels snapped open in the other tree trunks around them. Rifle muzzles appeared in the openings. Mei jumped into her father's arms with a cry of horror. Illya's jaw hung down in untypical amazement. Solo whipped his gun hand toward a fold of his robe.

"That would be inadvisable," said a voice from the largest tree in the lane.

The whole side of the trunk opened outward like a door. Through the door walked a tall man in the peaked cap and smart, tight-fitting black uniform of the officer elite of THRUSH.

The man had a large automatic in his right hand. A slender white scar traced an S-curve down the left side of his cruel face, hairline to jaw. It was the Red Chinese officer from the truck.

"You folks certainly switch sides fast around here," Solo said.

"Not at all, Mr. Solo," said the officer in English. "My loyalty has but one fixed point – THRUSH. Of course I know who you are. The cameras hidden in several imitation

pomegranates hanging on these trees have already supplied your photographs to our technologists just there."

The officer used his gun to indicate the black buildings in the center of the valley. "Our computers have analyzed the photos and sent back your names. Mr. Napoleon

Solo and Mr. Illya Kuryakin of U.N.C.L.E. These two traitors -"

The officer's cruel expression turned lascivious as he studied Mei. She huddled against Ah Lan. The old man's chin came up, defiant. The officer smiled.

"– we are familiar with them, too. They shall be dealt with."

"Since when does a Chinese nightingale turn into a THRUSH?" Illya asked.

The officer shrugged. "Actually, it's a most convenient arrangement. I have access to information from all the Chinese radar installations in the district. You see, we have been expecting visitors from U.N.C.L.E. ever since our experimental flight on Air Pan-Asia apparently met with failure due to your meddling.

"You were observed in Hong Kong taking Mr. Chee aboard the flight for the United States. So we have been preparing. As senior officer in charge of the district beyond the pass, I receive immediate reports of all unidentified aircraft in our airspace. Thus I was reasonably certain you had arrived by parachute two nights ago.

"Of course I was forced to carry out the charade of searching the terrain with the truck convoy. A pretty predicament! I knew you were hiding behind those rocks beside the road. I saw the marks in the earth. But one of my soldiers also saw them, so I was unable to overlook them. Fortunately the wild yak happened along to explain away the marks and give me a legitimate excuse to call a halt to the search."

The scarred officer stepped two paces forward, to allow room for the other THRUSH soldiers who were appearing from the door in the tree. There were six of them, a squad, all in black boots, trousers, blouses. They carried rapid-fire machine pistols with large, round infra-red snooper sights mounted on top.

They were a mixed lot, typical of THRUSH forces: two appeared to be European, one English or American, and three Oriental. All of them had the flat, featureless expression of the professional assassin.

"Are there any more questions before it is my turn to be inquisitive?" the officer said.

"Yes," Solo said. "You didn't take us prisoner yesterday because you wanted to save us for THRUSH. Isn't that a pretty risky business?"

The officer looked amused. "In certain quarters it might be. Here it is not. This region of Tibet is sparsely populated. It is even more sparsely garrisoned by the Chinese army. Since I am in command of the area, my orders are executed without question."

Illya gestured at the valley, the peaceful, sun-dappled rice fields. "How do you convince your Chinese friends to leave this place alone? After all, observation planes from the Chinese air force must have spotted it."

"Naturally," the officer said. His tone indicated the question was naive. "Again, by deft maneuvering, all Chinese military units within a certain radius have been convinced that this valley is actually a highly secret research installation – which is true – operated by the

Peking regime – which is not true. We manage to maintain the fiction."

Solo shook his head. "From Mao to THRUSH. That's quite a transformation."

The officer's lips curled. "We find the Chinese contemptible milksops."

The officer jerked his gun muzzle down the hill. "I believe we have wasted enough time. Shall we go?"

"Preferably to hell," Solo said, diving his hand under his robe for his pistol.

The odds were hopeless. As Solo dropped into a fighting crouch and leveled his gun, the THRUSH squad swarmed forward. Machine pistol butts thudded against his skull, into his midriff, onto the back of his neck. Solo swung a punch and hit nothing but air. A THRUSH soldier kicked him in the belly.

Solo went down on his knees. A rabbit-chop drove him flat. Other soldiers rushed out of the tree door to seize Illya, Ah Lan and Mei.

A little line of blood ran out of the left side of Solo's mouth as he sprawled on his back in the warm, fragrant orchard. The officer loomed above him, S-scar shining white. The officer placed the hobnailed sole of his boot on Solo's Adam's apple and pressed down.

"That was a damned fool trick," said the officer. He smiled thinly. "I can see by the expression on your face, Mr. Solo, that you are surprised I speak your language."

"Yes," Solo grunted.

"It's quite simple. I was educated. in your country. At U.C.L.A."

Solo said, "I should have guessed."

For his sarcasm he got another forty pounds of pressure applied to his throat, hard.

Act III: So Sorry, Mark Twain

The four prisoners were taken to one of the black buildings. An elevator shaft carried them an unknown distance underground. They were led down a corridor to a huge chamber equipped with computers, control consoles, and a dozen television monitors with fifty-inch screens.

Generators hummed. Technicians in THRUSH smocks busied everywhere. As their captors prodded them forward, Solo noticed that several of the monitors which cast a pale, eerie light over the vaulted rooms showed scenes in the valley. But three of the screens contained views of buildings and a harbor which Solo could identify.

"They're interested in Hong Kong for some reason," he whispered to Illya.

"No talking!"

The officer with the S-scar hit Solo in the lower backbone with a swagger stick. Solo ground his teeth together. That particular nasty was going to be dealt with before this affair was finished.

His attention was diverted to their destination, a large, open area in the center of the humming chamber. The focal point of the area was a spacious work table. Two objects sat on it. One was a dully shining vinyl-covered belt, of the sort the renegade pilot had worn. The other was the belt's companion equipment, a black generator box.

A disconcerting difference hit Solo then. This black box was three times the size of the one discovered in Alfred C. Chee's luggage.

Hovering over the apparatus were two men. One was bony, horse-jawed, with thin gray hair over an elongated skull. He had Occidental skin coloring but slanted eyes. His hands fluttered restlessly at his waist. He peered through thick spectacles as the officer marched the prisoners up to the table.

"Ah, Major Otako! Well done, well done," said the man with spectacles.

"Thank you, Dr. Dargon. We had no difficulty. I trust, sir, that you and the general will turn them over to me as soon as you are finished with them. I would consider it an honor to be allowed to dispose of two lickspittle servants of U.N.C.L.E. and their treacherous guides. I assure you the liquidation will be conducted in proper style."

"Yes, yes; you're expert at such things," said Dr. Dargon. He giggled.

His companion walked, or rather appeared to ooze, forward. He was Chinese, with a bald, shining pate. He weighed close to four hundred pounds. The white planter's suit which he wore resembled a tent. His four yellow chins all but hid his necktie.

The jolly fat man's look was deceptive. Solo knew it the moment his gaze met the Oriental's blubber– socketed eyes boring into his.

"It will not be long before your services are required, Major," the huge man said. He spoke in an asthmatic wheeze, resting the palms of his hands on his immense paunch. "You are Solo and you are Kuryakin, eh? Well, I have heard of you both. Perhaps you have heard of me also. General Weng, at your service. Forgive me for appearing in mufti.

"I am about to depart from Hong Kong to conduct a major test of this apparatus you see before you. I will be taking off from the airstrip within the hour. But I did not want you to arrive without being properly greeted."

General Weng moved round the table. His right hand closed over Solo's forearm. Through the wool of the holy robe, the fingers cut viciously into Solo's flesh. He had to fight to keep his face from cracking with pain. General Weng increased the pressure.

"After all, Mr. Solo, it was you and your associate who disrupted our first full-scale test of the storm machine."

"Well, I'm sorry about that," Solo said. The pain from the pressure of the fat fingers brought dizziness. With a gasp Solo added, "It's just that I've always had this silly thing about thunder and lightning -"

Illya recognized Solo's plight. He raised a diversion: "How does it happen, General Weng, that an officer so highly placed in the Red Chinese regime becomes a tool of THRUSH?"

The general released Solo, who rocked back on the balls of his feet, pale. The general held his paunch once more.

"Long ago, Kuryakin, I realized that the so-called plans of the Chinese leaders for world conquest were ill conceived. Mao is an addlepated poet surrounded by weaklings and sycophants. They will destroy themselves. They are not to be taken seriously. THRUSH, on the other hand, will achieve its goal of total domination."

"If you don't think the Chinese are serious," Solo said, "I'd hate to hear what you're cooking up."

Dr. Dargon sucked noisily on one of his pointed front teeth. "By all means tell him, General."

The general laid his hand on top of the generator box. He stroked it with an almost sensual pleasure. "I am sure the significance of our current plan will be lost on these two peasants who have been duped into aiding you, Mr. Solo. But perhaps you and Kuryakin can appreciate it. Two important nations in the Asian bloc have recently found their relations menaced by rising tensions. A number of border incidents have resulted. Skirmish fire between their troops. A few deaths on each side. The tensions have increased to the point where war threatens. Such a war could plunge Asia, and the entire globe, by escalation, into a holocaust."

Illya's expression was unpleasant. "Horror makes you THRUSH people so cheerful."

General Weng chuckled and held his paunch. "Naturally. THRUSH is holding the high

cards."

Solo noticed that Mei had regained her composure. With her father's arm around her waist, she digested Weng's remarks. Solo was in the dark about everything except the need to escape. He got busy checking the layout of the large chamber.

A railed concrete ramp led upward from the floor along the one wall. Two THRUSH guards with full battle dress manned this exit, over which a red bulb flashed intermittently. The prisoners had been brought down a similar ramp on the room's opposite side. As far as Solo could tell, the command center had no other exits.

Weng peeled back his white suit cuff. He consulted a highly capitalistic platinum wristwatch. "Time is short. You will understand," he said, "that I cannot participate in the amenities this occasion demands, much as I would wish." Weng's small eyes shone with amusement. "Major Otako is competent to handle them, however."

"And I will assist," Dr. Dargon added with a somewhat maniacal cackle. "My work is complete. Oh, yes, finished. My precious -" A pat of the black generator box "– is now in the hands of my co-officer in THRUSH. We have a delightfully effective test planned for this unit. The unit, incidentally, is of triple capacity, considering the one aboard the jet plane as our basis for rating. How fortunate, don't you agree, that we have an opportunity to conduct a large-scale experiment and reap practical rewards at the same time?"

"What are you talking about?" Solo asked.

General Weng feigned bewilderment. "Why, Mr. Solo, don't you know? As students of – not to say meddlers in – world affairs, are you not aware that the two nations I alluded to a moment ago are even now convening secretly in Hong Kong to try to settle their differences around the conference table before Asia is plunged into war? The conferees arrived yesterday in the Crown Colony via ordinary commercial aircraft. They will be meeting in the Hotel Hong Kong International, ostensibly as delegates to the Seminar on Asian Cultural Resources. That is merely a blind, to allow them to hold the conference on neutral territory. We have ways of knowing these things."

General Weng turned to study one of the huge television monitors on the wall. Its camera sent back a sharp picture of the black building above ground, which the U.N.C.L.E. agents had guessed to be a hangar. The hangar door was shut tight. But the screen showed a uniformed figure operating some sort of switch box alongside the great door.

A technician from the monitor board strode up and saluted. "General, your aircraft will be on the ready line in five minutes."

Weng nodded. He snapped his fingers. Two THRUSH men rushed to the table. One was wheeling a steamer trunk equipped with casters. The other carried a bulging suitcase.

The technicians loaded the generator into the trunk. Then they packed the switch belt in among the several folded suits of tent-like size. These disappeared as the technician shut and latched the grip. Weng beamed at his luggage, which was colorfully decorated with travel decals.

"Just a happy-go-lucky tourist on a holiday." Weng wheezed with delight and massaged his paunch. "I shall set up our perfected storm generator and produce the most violent weather Hong Kong has ever experienced. Total devastation. The hotel and those at the conference will be destroyed. Then I shall remove certain secret, key parts from the equipment and let the shells be found. They will bear unmistakable markings. When found, the equipment will be immediately identified as the property of the secret service of one of the nations attending the conference. Immediately –" Weng gestured flamboyantly "– total war."