Текст книги "[The Girl From UNCLE 03] - The Golden Boats of Taradata Affair "

Автор книги: Simon Latter

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 8 страниц)

A short, bow-legged man came forward, sweat pouring, dust-caked, but grinning widely, like a gaping pea-pod. "I am very good speaker. Much schoolman, with the books and the pens. You not American?"

"European – you savvy?"

"Ah yes. France, Germany, Holland, England – on the map I see."

"What is your name?"

"Hiho."

"Okay, Hiho – you speak. I listen. Tell me what is from here to the valley?"

Hiho was quick. He understood what was needed. Then Sama said: "You stay here. We send for you when it is safe."

"No, please!" Hiho jabbered at his companions. Several ran back into the cavern, returning with armfuls of shovels and the two whips.

Sama shrugged. "It's your war as well as ours. Let's go get 'em!"

The story wasn't difficult to piece together. April Dancer, Mark Slate and their European colleagues had experienced this THRUSH pattern of divide and rule many times before. Sometimes it was a society or organization founded by sincere do-gooders that THRUSH infiltrated – first by buying in, then by appointing their own men to key positions. At times they worked with speed, at others they moved slowly. The end was the same. THRUSH had a "front" behind which they could prepare their current project.

On this occasion, it happened to be an island in the sun. Small, unimportant historically or economically, with a population much inter-married, simple, and mainly unambitious. A happy people, though not without their family squabbles, not caring for political or other dogmas, and following their own patterns of tribal religions and traditional loyalties to one Chief, who acted as High Priest, Prime Minister, Judge and benign Father-figure.

Numbers of missionaries, visiting Westerners, social workers, had all left their mark in superficial ways, but nothing had really changed the pattern of the centuries. The islanders still lived in their long houses, still interbred and intermarried. Their harbour was rebuilt. A Palaga company set up a warehouse and several stores. The islanders learned about money, but it didn't affect them very much until the school was built and George Lodori became their first resident teacher. Education changed the children and the younger parents. An increase of tourism sharpened their commercial interest. The tiny radio station had been a nine-day wonder, but not until a few youngsters were trained to operate it did the islanders grasp even a part of its importance.

April Dancer could not assess the actual date when THRUSH first became active on Taradata, but there was no doubt that George Lodori was their first contact. Chief Kuala remembered how Lodori had come back from a holiday on the mainland a changed man – and had a lot of money too. Perhaps he'd always been a THRUSH supporter? Perhaps that was the time they bought him? It didn't really matter. THRUSH was now on the island via a key person in the community. Perhaps Lodori had sold them an idea, himself unaware of its potential when linked to THRUSH aims? That too had happened before to inventors, designers, creators of new processes, instruments and machines.

The build-up progressed by careful stages. Lodori was completely trusted by Chief Kuala. The project of exporting the traditional small boats of Taradata launched. THRUSH paid high prices for these early boats. The islanders had never seen so much money for what seemed to them such very easy work. And slowly their way of life was transformed. Machinery was brought in. Younger men were taught to use it. The chief's young cousin Tom-Tom was made overseer of this part of the work, given power and money. With true nepotism he gathered his own family around him, giving them the well-paid jobs. And THRUSH policy became implemented more and more.

Then came the Padracks to teach selected islanders, chosen by Tom-Tom, a new form of work with chemicals and instruments, such as microscopes, slides, testing retorts, and simple routine laboratory work. Visitors became more frequent, stayed longer in the new house built by Lodori and the Padracks next to the laboratory at the end of the work sheds.

High pay was offered and training given to operate machines tunnelling into the headland beneath the Taramao forest. Chief Kuala's authority grew less and less, although the traditional respect of his islanders remained. But the pattern of daily work now became established, with Tom-Tom the leader of all those employed.

THRUSH allowed Kuala to remain as chief, providing he didn't try to interfere with their plans. For a long time he wasn't able to, because his people never had it so good. But THRUSH slowly withdrew the high pay and easy working conditions until the islanders found themselves working almost as slave labour under the now powerful Tom-Tom, who was using his chosen henchmen as overseers.

The production pressure had increased over the previous six months as the islanders' freedom became even more restricted. The one occasion when, by tradition, everyone stopped work was when Island Traveller docked. Then, previously, everyone had put on their gayest sarongs, the girls fixed flowers in their hair, the pearl divers swam around the pleasure boats – though there wasn't much of a pearl-diving industry since the oyster beds had been depleted by disease a few years back – and a high holiday enjoyed by all. Now, the islanders were not allowed to leave their work. The harbour area was fenced off. Those who did not work under Tom-Tom were threatened by his guards if they dared to approach the dock.

Chief Kuala immediately protested, declaring he would tell his people to stop working. But he and those who openly supported him were swiftly overpowered and taken to the new huts which Lodori had said were to be storehouses but which, obviously, had been prepared for just such a purpose. THRUSH domination of the island was complete. So was the disillusionment of the majority of its people.

U.N.C.L.E. agents had proof of this as the chief led the way through the first long house. The islanders flocked around him. He spoke to them quietly. The men sent the women and children to the far end of the house, collected their serengatas – a sharp-edged, sword-shaped piece of wood fashioned from roots of the tara tree, not unlike a panga – and followed their chief to the next house.

Division of the islanders into Tom-Tom's followers and Chief "Boy" Kuala's loyalists had become so fierce in the past weeks that the families no longer shared the same long house. Thus the success of THRUSH policy now assisted April, her colleagues and Kuala's men in speeding through the valley, collecting followers as they went. A few young men, caught as they visited girlfriends, were beaten up by the serengatas and roughly passed back to the women, who had formed themselves into a sort of corps of protective– custody guards, under the leadership of Kuala's wife.

Kuala admitted being puzzled by the rapid growth of Tom-Tom's power during the past week or so. In the next house they discovered that Mareet, Kuala's old enemy, had been kept prisoner up in Taramao since he had protested about conditions. He had died and been buried up there – leaving Tom-Tom in full power.

As they approached the long houses where Tom-Tom's followers now lived, April said to the Chief: "You have enough men now to do what has to be done. We will leave you to deal with your own people. Drive them back the way we have come and leave us to settle the real villains. We'll circle the long houses and go through the workshops."

Mark said: "How about us taking half a dozen hefty lads to wreck the workshops as we go? Save us time."

"Yes. That is good," Kuala agreed. "We want no more of this slaving. If the tools are smashed, my people can start again in our own ways. I will give you time to go past their houses. They do not suspect anything. You can hear them chanting. They are not allowed to leave the houses until dawn. The guards stay with them. Tom-Tom is so sure of his control that he has no one watching outside."

"Where will he be?" Mark asked.

Kuala smiled. "I know where he will be. I am going to Tom-Tom myself. I will bring him back on his knees. I leave you to deal with your people. You leave me to deal with mine."

As April, Mark, Lars and Kazan set off, Kazan whispered:

"I think there is going to be one sorry Tom-Tom!"

They reached the workshops – long, open-sided huts with centre benches, backed by racks containing the bark strips and moulding tools. Small hand presses were spaced along the benches. This made a crude but effective production line.

April said : "Mark and I will go this side – you two the other side. We want the tara plant processing shop, then the laboratory. With any luck, Sama and Randy should be through the tunnels by the time we reach there."

She had passed across the shadow between the buildings when figures leapt on them from the deeper shadows at the side.

They were snared in fishing nets and rolled in these until their arms and legs tangled in the folds. The fiat blades of serengatas slammed on their heads. Wisely, they gave up struggling. A fact which probably saved their lives.

CHAPTER TEN: FLAMES OF TARA

The THRUSH initial advantage of using and exploiting a simple, almost primitive people now turned into a major disadvantage for them. Chief Kuala's followers overpowered Tom-Tom's men, who anyway were swiftly discouraged by their womenfolk when family began beating up family. Squabbles were one thing, outright violence an alien way of settling them. Even grandmothers and aunts clouted a few heads of their younger relatives. Ancient traditions made short work of THRUSH'S disruptive policies. Finally there were as many women as men engaged in smashing the workshops to bits.

April and Mark heard the rending and smashing hubbub as their captors dumped them on the floor, then ran off – obviously to report. Mark spoke into his communicator. "Mark to Kazan – we are temporarily tied up. Two islanders heading for boss-men. Intercept if you can."

April eased her hands free of the net folds, drew out a blade from the pocket kit, slashed the mesh and climbed through. She removed her skull-protector and ran a comb through her hair before slashing Mark's net. He scrambled free as Kazan's voice sounded in their earpieces.

"We have dropped them with dart guns. Are you okay?"

"Okay now," said April. "Proceed to far end. Try to link up with Sama Paru. Leave the laboratory section to us."

Dr. Lodori, the Padracks and their scientist guest had not equipped themselves with a modern electronic communications system. This was unusual in a THRUSH project, because they, like U.N.C.L.E., made full use of the latest systems. But such systems need people skilled in their operation to be effective, and the Taradata islanders were not trained to use them.

So Tom-Tom was whipped away before he could send a runner to warn his bosses. The two guards who had trapped April and Mark gave no thought to the fact that these strangers might be fully equipped for an assault task – perhaps to the extent of wearing skull-protectors. Both had dropped at the first blow, a quite normal agent practice to put the attacker off guard, assess the odds, and decide countermeasures. The simple guards had thought one honk on the head was enough to put them out.

THRUSH had wired the tunnels under Taramao Point for light and power from the generator, but had not troubled to put in a two-way loudspeaker system, or inter-com circuit. Evidently they had not considered possible any attack by outsiders, assuming their control of the islanders to be sufficient to ensure their own safety. It gave April and Mark much glee and a certain smug arrogance to observe these THRUSH shortcomings.

"I sense the woman's touch," said April. "Or a woman-ish man. But I'll plump for Lucy Padrack being the dominant organizer here. A man would have made sure of an adequate electronic alarm and communications system. He'd have trained a nucleus of islanders to work them."

"Thought they were safe behind the harbour. No strangers unless the boat was in," said Mark. "Then they place guards to bar the way."

"Unforgivable, and criminally slack," said April heavily. "I'd shoot the lot of 'em, if they worked for me."

Mark smothered laughter. "Darling – what are you getting upset about?"

She grinned. "I'm envious of the islanders. At least they are having a smashing time!"

"Ouch! Well, let's you and I investigate this processing section."

"Where the hell are they?" said April as they moved on. "Can't any of the bosses hear the row going on behind us?"

"Obviously not."

They entered the last section. This was long, narrow, more sophisticated than the workshops yet still by modern factory standards, very primitive. Three vats, waist-high along one side, with wheeled superstructures on rails carrying spring-loaded mesh trays. Some tara plant leaves lay on these trays, still damp. Large, yellow-brown, lace-veined, delicate-looking. Moonlight slanting on one tray made the leaves appear translucent.

April inspected the fluid, testing it with her finger, then sniffing. Mark joined her. He too made tests on the liquid and plant leaves.

"Alcohol is part of it. What's the slightly bitter taste – alum?"

April rubbed the liquid between finger and thumb. Tested again. "No, not alum. I'd guess at acetylsalicylic acid."

"Aspirin!" Mark grinned. "Perhaps the tara plant has headaches? There's a volume tester and other gadgets over there."

They moved across. April inspected some drums mounted on power-driven turntables.

"Separators," she announced, and checked the containers. "Powder? No – earth. No – earth is drawn out – here's the waste bin." They crossed to a row of shaping machines. The pan-shaped moulds were the size of a coracle. She tested the powdery residue. "Same stuff. They extract a yellowish powder from the soil, soak the leaves in that solution, bond several together with those heat presses in the centre, coat them with the powder, then shape them to fit inside the coracles. Why, Mark – why? If it's drugs, why not extract the substance they need and export that?"

Mark was busy placing plastic explosive charges. "Let the medics work it out. Our job is S.F.D. – remember?"

"Yes – okay."

They worked quietly, then ran from the section. Ahead of them, lights glowed in a glass-windowed building – the only stone-built structure they had seen. Through these windows they could see the Padracks and a bald, thin-faced man working at some papers. In another room – a white room filled with laboratory equipment – Cheval leaned over an assembly of phials and glass tubes.

Mark pointed. "Do you recognize the type of window?"

"They appear to be double-glazed – and the glass is slightly opaque. Why?"

"They're sona windows – a new sound-proofing process. No wonder they can't hear anything! The door's over that side." He drew his gun. "Shall we go straight in?"

Kazan's voice came urgently: "We can see you, but we're in a trap – armed guards on each side of us. They don't look too expert with their guns. We are keeping dart guns palmed. Will shoot our way out. Go on to your objective. Over and out."

Light from the windows prevented April and Mark seeing beyond the building to where Kazan and Lars were, below the black hump of Taramao Point.

"If we move to assist, they'll see us before we see them," said Mark.

"We go in," said April, drawing her gun. "We might need hostages."

They ran forward, aiming for the door and crossing diagonally past the front of the building.

Suddenly the earth blew up in their faces. Pressure waves slammed their ears, sickening pain filled their stomachs.

"Oh, Gawd!" Mark thought in these speeding seconds. "We've been booby-trapped! Sorry, April, old dear!" Then the dark mist swam down over him – down into earth-warm silence.

April thought: "Oh, hell! A trap! Sorry, Mark, I let you down. I should've known it was too easy!" She didn't feel her face hit the earth.

There were six guards in the large cave near the end of the sloping exit. Hiho jabbered softly.

"Four are our brothers who have become our enemies. We will slay them."

"Quit – you bloodthirsty little man!" said Randy. "They've got guns. We don't want you to suffer any more." He looked at Sama Paru. "Fun ploy?"

Sama nodded. "You think you're quick enough?"

Randy grinned. "Now's my chance to find out."

"Go," said Sama. "I cover. Keep to the left wall."

Randy trod to the cave. The six men squatted around a low table, eating from bowls. Three guns rested against the table. Three whips against the wall.

"Good evening," said Randy. "Can you direct me to the Eiffel Tower, please?"

Six startled faces lifted. Twelve eyes glared with amazed fright. Three hands snatched the guns. Randy fired from the hip. Two guards slid to the table. The third fired as Sama fired. Then a press of little men bowled past Randy, led by Hiho. Shovels clanged and whips slashed. Sama cried: "Enough! Out – all of you, out!"

Randy marshalled them clear as Sama ripped the cover off the power-circuit box. He picked up a rifle, crashed the wooden butt into the switches. Brilliant sparks, followed by an orange glow, filled the cave.

They went on down, seeing moonlight flaring in the opening, and emerged on a plateau above a window-lighted building, to see Kazan and Lars standing between two groups of islanders. All seemed frozen to the ground. A small dust cloud was puttering up from the far side of the building. Beyond it, a long house erupted in a succession of explosions.

Then little Hiho and his mates came swarming out. The islanders on each side of Kazan and Lars saw them and pelted away into the darkness. Hiho and his men split into two groups and, yelling like banshees, waving shovels, raced after them.

"You see!" Lucy Padrack gloated. "My safety line against the natives was worth the money, after all. You're such a fool, Simon. A mean fool, at that. Too expensive, you said. Well, look what we've caught!"

April Dancer, huddled in dizzy-sick ache, heard the lovely vibrant voice and tried not to sneeze as dusty earth tickled her nostrils. She was lying on a hard, cool surface. Inside? Must be. She kept her eyes closed.

"And what have we caught?" said Simon Padrack. "Two young fools from the ship, snooping around. How did they get past the guards?"

Dr. Lodori raised from stooping over Mark Slate.

"You blithering fools! You imbeciles! This man is an U.N.C.L.E. agent. I thought you told me you'd got rid of that agent in the crew?"

"We did," said Padrack. "He escaped, and he certainly didn't come back to the ship. That is not the man."

Cheval came in. Surveyed the scene.

"I warned you, Lodori – and you too, Padrack," he said. "I will not be a party to violence while I am here."

"Oh no!" Lucy sneered. "But you agreed to trick that little slut into taking a ride into the hills."

"Only because you believed she was a too-curious writer, and you assured me that she would be held up only long enough for her to miss the boat. Today, you tell me that your men aboard the ship are under arrest for mutiny and the murder of your colleague, Maleski. I do not like the way things are happening. I do not like it at all. My work is more important than such absurdities."

"It is nothing, Andre," said Lodori soothingly. "Some misunderstandings, that is all. But you must not be too squeamish, my friend. Our secret work has to be protected, and that means your work too. Leave us to deal with this foolishness and go on with your tests."

"They are finished," said Cheval. He smiled at Lodori. "You are a very clever man, George."

"Positive?" Lodori cried excitedly. "You found every test positive? Ah, mon vieux, that is wonderful – wonderful! The climax of my years of work!"

"You deserve your success," said Cheval. "I have signed the test sheets and the analysis records. I will write my report tomorrow. You can be very proud."

"Success? Wonderful? Proud?" Lucy said furiously. "And what about us? Didn't we make it possible? Didn't we believe in his crack-brained idea and hock ourselves to the hilt before we got the backing? Didn't we organize all this? You couldn't have done it without us."

"Lucy is right," said her husband. "But I would remind you all that this success to which we all have contributed is empty and worthless without the organization that made all else possible."

"That is true," said Cheval. "I congratulated you on their behalf because your success is theirs, my dear George. No one man is bigger than that cause for which we all work."

"No!" Lodori shouted. "No, no, no! I will not have it. This is mine, mine! I shall take the papers and..." He began to run to the doorway leading to the laboratory.

"Yes," said Cheval quietly.

Simon Padrack shot Lodori twice in the back.

"A pity," said Cheval. "Poor George spent too long alone on his little island. He forgot there is a world to conquer out there."

Another gun spat once. Simon Padrack's gun dropped as blood spurted from his wrist.

"Just stay very still," said April Dancer.

"Hullo, darling!" said Mark Slate from the opposite corner. "Had a good sleep? Aha, naughty!" He slashed Cheval across the back of the neck.

Cheval staggered back into the room.

Mark looked at him. "You said 'yes' to a man's murder as if you were ordering another drink. And your eyes enjoyed it."

"So you saw it?" said April.

"Full view," said Mark. "As Chas would say: we've got a nice bunch here."

Lucy Padrack cried: "My husband will bleed to death! I must get a dressing." She moved fast and had the parasol in her hand before April could turn without coming between Mark and the two men. Mark couldn't fire for fear of hitting April.

The stiletto clicked out, slashing viciously. It sliced across April's upper arms, severing cloth, missing her eyes by inches. She could have shot to kill, but could not bring herself to do it. Even on an S.F.D., and following the selective-kill code, she hadn't the nature for actual cold killing. She snapped one shot, aiming to wound, but Lucy's arms were waving too fast as April herself ducked the blade.

Then she flung the gun smack into Lucy's face, leapt down and sideways, coming up under the parasol. In seconds she had paralysed that arm and pulled the parasol away. Lucy Padrack's eyes went wild. She screamed horribly, then, cursing and screaming, ran out into the moonlight. April snatched up her gun and raced after her. She saw the howling mob of islanders before Lucy realized they were there.

Lucy ran headlong into them. They closed around her in a milling press, shovels and whips waving and flaying. Soon, a tattered doll that once was Lucy Padrack was thrown high above their heads – to fall, lifeless, and disappear.

April faced the approaching islanders, gun poised.

"Back – get back!" She fired at the ground in front of them.

The leaders halted, wide-eyed. The others slowed behind them.

"That's it," said April. "Quiet, now – stay there." A voice called: "Okay, Miss Dancer, they won't hurt you. They're on our side!"

"You could have fooled me. Hey! Is that you, Randy Kovac?"

The four of them came out of the darkness. The islanders slowly moved aside, very quiet now, almost ashamed. They left a trampled clearing on which sprawled the remains of Lucy Padrack.

Count Kazan said: "I would not care to be the judge who has to decide who holds the greater guilt. We are told she personally killed three islanders with a parasol. I do not understand how, but…"

"I know how," said April. "Why?"

Kazan shrugged. "They were happily married."

"Ah!" said April. "And she..."

"So the little Hiho has just told me."

April said: "Sama and Randy – go help Mark." They ran into the building as a group of men pounded from the rear of it, all armed, a white-coated figure leading them, a gun in each hand.

"Oh no!" April exclaimed. "Who asked you to get in on the act?"

"At your service, miss," said Chas. "We heard gunfire so we came running."

Kazan said: "You were nearly dead."

"Yes," said April. "You took a chance, Chas."

He moved across to the islanders. A number of them dropped to their knees. Chas spoke to them quietly. Then they gathered up Lucy Padrack and marched slowly away down the valley.

Chas said: "You have no authority on this island. It is under the magisterial jurisdiction of my father. I am a sworn officer of his court. You will please surrender your guns."

"Now, look, Chas – don't come the old blarney with me..."

Chas turned to his men. "If I am attacked – Shoot to kill." He came to April, held out his hand. "There'll be no more killing or shooting on Taradata, Miss Dancer." Then speaking more quietly in his cockney voice, continued:

"Don't be a flippin' mug, girlie – I can make what you've done all nice and legal. If I don't, them Palagas – and me old Daddy, bless him – will stick you and your mates in the clink and keep you there 'til your teeth fall out."

April sighed, handed over her gun. She smiled at Kazan.

"Mr. Fix-it – island style. Do as the gent says."

Kazan shrugged again. "You're the boss."

Chas took the guns. "Is she now? Well, well! Seems you're a more important girlie than I thought. I never fancied working for a woman."

April said sweetly: "No, not one – at least four or five."

"Nasty," said Chas. "Not nice. Let's not get personal. Now – what's going on in there?"

Soon after Chas entered the building, all the lights went out. Cheval tried to escape. Padrack did get clear, then suddenly fainted – possibly from loss of blood. Moonlight was now brilliant so the lighting was not really necessary. It came on after a while.

Mark thought he'd call Chas's bluff, even though April had accepted the position. Chas then produced a police card, showing him truly to be an officer of the court of jurisdiction. A strange man, full of strange twists, but a local power. All the islanders respected him. So did Chief Kuala, who marched in with his headmen. April, Mark and their companions fumed as Chas and the chief exchanged flowery greetings. Under cover of this long-winded powwow, Mark whispered an idea to April. They passed it on to the others. Chas's seamen had taken charge of the wounded Padrack, but had left only one man to guard Cheval.

April chatted up this seaman, asking him questions about the wonderful Chas and gushing over him, drawing the man farther away from Cheval. When he glanced around, Cheval had gone. So had Kazan and Lars Carlson.

"It's all right," said April, patting the man's shoulder. "Chas told us to take him to the ship. You'll be having a whoop-up tonight, huh? Lots of dancing, drinking – I come? You like me to come?" She beckoned Sama Paru, whispered: "Get going. Contact the launch. Rendezvous with it. Surface and take off Cheval. Then go full speed for Mr. Waverly. Hand Cheval over. The charge is complicity in murder, inciting a riot – anything you like – but break Cheval."

Sama and Randy departed.

Mark had wandered into the building. April followed him.

"They're all congratulating each other," said Mark. "Kuala's men are going to fire the workshops. April, me old darling – there's something we've missed out on. Why did we lose control? Even allowing for the Lucy fiasco, we could have handled it."

"Chas," said April. "That Chas! He had tabs on how things were going. Must have done. Then he shows up smack at the moment when he could say we weren't in control." She stormed through the laboratory, crunching broken glass, slamming aside chairs. She stood staring at the rifled filing cabinet, the clipboard with shreds of torn paper jammed under the metal. Then glared back at Mark.

"You?"

"No. I aimed to get in here, but couldn't leave Cheval and Padrack."

April looked through the window as flames streaked up in wild-searing tongues of fire. Kuala and his headmen and other islanders were gone. Chas was directing his seamen to carry Padrack to the ship. He told others to collect Lodori's body. All was quiet as he came to them, smiling. They smiled back at him.

"Kuala and his people will never forget what you have done," said Chas.

"I'm sure they won't." April still smiled.

Mark wandered about casually. "No more little boats – no more lush pickings, eh, Chas?"

Chas shrugged. "Money ain't everything, y'know. These are simple, happy people. They got a right to live their own lives."

"Oh, sure, sure!" Mark suddenly leapt from behind, pinioning Chas's arms and fixing a garotte hold on his throat. "Methinks you are a very crafty little man."

April sprang forward, searched with swift, expert actions, and pulled folded papers from inside Chas's shirt.

"How did you know they'd be there, Chas?" She flicked his nose with the papers.

Chas laughed in her face. A slightly strangled laugh. Mark eased his hold, then released Chas and stood back. Chas massaged his throat.

"You're the clever ones," he said. "You tell me. But don't forget I got a right to take anything I want as evidence."

April laughed softly. "Anything? With a whole row of files to choose from?" She glanced at the papers as she spoke. "You choose the latest and probably most important ones. The final analysis and the final tests."

Mark rattled a metal tray containing empty phials. "On these? Oh, Granny, what quick eyes you've got! They only arrived this morning."

"You ain't the only ones with a little brain," said Chas. "Very cocky, you youngsters these days."

April exclaimed: "Lodori – of course!" She operated the communicator. "Channel D, please. April Dancer calling Mr. W. Priority." When he answered, she said: "Full report later, sir. Am now requesting full information on Dr. George Lodori of Taradata – minor character. Background – war record." She waited, listening carefully. "Thank you, sir. Have you received our message re the package we despatched via Kazan? You have? Good! Thank you." She closed the communicator.

"I'll have to get myself one of those," said Chas. "Cute, ain't they?"

"So are you," said April. "Dr. George Lodori was a prisoner-of-war at the same time as you, in the same camp. How else could you know that final tests were taking place as soon as Cheval arrived? How else, except from Lodori, could you know anything about this angle? Not from your islander chums. Most of them don't know a test tube from a light bulb – or how to work a phone. That's why there are no modern communications – except the radio. Who works the radio, Chas? One of your wives?"