Текст книги "The Mind-­Twisters Affair "

Автор книги: Thomas Stratton

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"Has Dr. Armden been acting normally today? His wife said he was acting rather strangely last night."

"You've spoken to Mrs. Armden, then?"

"Only indirectly, but -"

"I'm afraid that's all the information I can give you." Kilian's voice became even more formal. "When I see Richard, I'll tell him you were here. Now let me speak with the guard again."

Napoleon frowned slightly and obediently handed the phone to the guard, who listened silently for several seconds and hung up with a crisp "Yes, sir."

"I have the feeling we're about to be ordered out," Napoleon remarked to Illya as he watched the guard turn toward them.

"Ah, the two spies again! How nice to see you." Sascha Curtis bustled around his desk and held out his hand. "What can I do for you today?"

"We have a new problem for you," Napoleon informed him. "If you can spare the time from your survey."

"Certainly. I don't have another class for an hour. What sort of problem did you have in mind?"

"Dr. Armden," Napoleon informed him. "Yesterday he decided to visit Dr. Morthley in New York. We got him as far as the Fort Wayne airport, where he disappeared. Somehow, he got back here to Midford 1ast night. His wife said he was acting strangely."

"Strangely? How?"

"He walked in the door last night and went to bed with hardly a word. Then this morning he was up earlier than usual and off to Falco almost an hour early. Apparently he simply ignored her questions."

Curtis looked thoughtful. "Very interesting. That, plus the apparent personality change, points to some type of schizophrenia."

"Would a split personality really explain all his actions?" Napoleon asked.

"It might. Secondary personalities are often not fully developed and seem very dull when compared with the primary personality. However, only the most spectacular schizophrenics develop true split personalities. Most simply have a fixed delusion on some subject."

"Such as thinking U.N.C.L.E. is an international Communist plot?" Illya inquired.

"That could well be one aspect," Curtis said. "There would almost certainly be others, though."

"He's decided that charities are either useless or criminal," Napoleon offered.

Curtis nodded. "Any radical change from his former personality could be a part of it. I don't know what his previous feelings were about charities, but judging from your description, his present feelings are a bit extreme."

Illya frowned. "But schizophrenia isn't contagious."

"I had always assumed it was not. But, then, until yesterday I always assumed that stories of entire towns suffering personality changes were nonsense. Now..." Curtis shrugged. "We'll see what the survey has to say about it. Incidentally, I've been talking to a few of the faculty since Saturday. It isn't Gaspar and his memo that are anti-U.N.C.L.E. Half a dozen of the instructors practically had apoplexy at the mention of U.N.C.L.E. I told them a year ago that swilling all that pop and coffee would rot their brains as well as their stomachs – that was when they put those infernal vending machines in the Student Union. But nobody listens to a psychologist. Anyway, there is also a small but vocal group of students who have been orating against U.N.C.L.E. and international plots in general. Oddly, these aren't the type of students who usually go in for this sort of thing. Not an intellectual – genuine or phony – in the lot. In fact, a good many of them were attending summer school this year to make up courses they flunked last spring."

"And the most outspoken U.N.C.L.E. critics off campus are two of the most capable and intelligent men in town: Armden and Bennett," Illya said.

"A very interesting problem," Curtis said happily. "I wonder if the source – if there is a source – is in the University or the town. Or is it common to both? A most stimulating problem."

Neither agent had the heart to mention their experiences in Fort Wayne. If Curtis had thought the problem was that widespread, he would go into such a transport of ecstasy that not even his rose hip extract could save him. Instead, they turned his attention back to Dr. Armden.

"I'd love to speak to him," said Curtis. "Do you think you could arrange it?"

"Nothing easier," Napoleon assured him. "Meet us at his house this evening. We'll check with his wife ahead of time, but I'm sure she'd like to have you see him. She seems quite concerned for his sanity."

"Fine, fine." Curtis rubbed his hands together briskly. He glanced at his wrist watch. "Now you'll have to excuse me; my first class should be back with the results of their first day's questioning any minute now." He bounced around his desk and drew a cylindrical container from one of the drawers. "Would you care for some Bulgarian yoghurt?" he asked as he removed the lid. "I believe it's chocolate-peach today." He sniffed the aroma from the open container. "Delicious!"

Both agents maintained expressions of cordiality until they closed Curtis's door behind them. They kept respectfully silent and tried to think kind thoughts as they walked toward their car. By use of stern self-control, Illya even managed to avoid being sick on the campus lawn.

The front door opened and Mrs. Armden appeared to greet them. They introduced Professor Curtis. Napoleon asked if Dr. Armden had improved any since morning.

Mrs. Armden looked a little grim. "He at least answers direct questions now. At the moment, he's just sitting there staring at the TV set. At a program he never watches."

The three men followed her to the living room. Armden sat on a couch, blankly watching the TV set. He didn't look up as they entered the room.

"Richard, we have visitors," Mrs. Armden said hesitantly.

Armden continued to stare at the TV screen for several seconds, then turned slowly to face them. Recognition was similarly delayed. "Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin," he said, speaking slowly and distinctly. "I should apologize for yesterday; even an U.N.C.L.E. agent deserves common courtesy. I simply realized I was wasting my time and decided to return."

"This is Professor Curtis, from the university," Mrs. Armden said.

Armden rose and extended his hand deliberately to Curtis. "I remember you. You were at the plant last summer for a day or two."

"I remember you quite well, too, Dr. Armden. We compared notes on our work for U.N.C.L.E." Curtis was watching Armden intently.

Armden frowned. "I had forgotten that. I suppose you are working with these two men now?"

"Not really," Curtis answered. "I'm working on a survey for the university, and -"

Curtis broke off as Armden turned from him to face the TV set. Nobody had turned the volume down, and a particularly loud commercial had just come on. "Don't wait another minute!" an announcer's voice was exhorting. "Go down to the nearest Gackenheimer's store and take advantage of this incredible, once-in-a– lifetime offer! You can't afford not to take advantage of it. There are Gackenheimer's stores in Bippus, Midford, East Manchester, and Hunterton, and they're all open tonight until 9:00!"

Armden turned away from the set and started into the hallway. His wife held out a hand to him. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"To the store," he said without pausing.

"Gackenheimer's? But that's a feed and grain store! We never bought anything there in our lives!"

Armden approached the front door, still in his shirt sleeves, and reached for the knob. Illya had been watching him closely and now spoke sharply.

"Dr. Armden, come back here!"

Armden hesitated.

"Come back in here!" Illya repeated, more loudly. This time Armden stopped, halfway through the door. Slowly he turned and came back toward the living room. Curtis darted over to the TV set and shut it off, then stood nodding his head slowly.

"Sit down on the couch!" Illya commanded. Armden obeyed wordlessly.

Illya glanced at Napoleon. "Thrush, anyone?" he asked. "Or do you know of any normally abnormal mental condition that would account for Armden's reactions?"

Curtis shook his head. "Hypnosis, or drugs," he said. "Certainly not schizophrenia; obeying orders is not a schizophrenic's strong point."

"Mrs. Armden." Illya turned to the woman, who had been standing with a stunned look ever since Armden had come back into the room. "I have no idea how, but your husband must be involved with Thrush. They've done something to him – drugs, hypnosis, something; we can't tell until he's been examined by qualified physicians. The best thing we could do now would be to get him to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in New York where he'll be safe and we can have our doctors give him a complete examination."

Mrs. Armden began to look overwhelmed. She turned to Curtis.

"That would probably be best," he said. "He could be examined here, of course, but U.N.C.L.E. maintains an excellent medical staff, and they are more accustomed to this sort of thing."

"Besides," Napoleon added, "the way things are shaping up in Midford, we can't be sure the doctors aren't controlled by Thrush in some way."

She nodded silently to the two agents.

"Shall we try another order?" Illya asked, and with out waiting for a reply, he turned to face Armden.

"Come with us to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters," he said, slowly and distinctly.

Armden stood up. "Very well," he said, and stood still, apparently awaiting further instructions.

"Mrs. Armden had better come, too," Napoleon said. "Thrush isn't averse to kidnapping close relatives to exert pressure on anyone they're interested in. Professor Curtis, would you do us a favor?"

"Of course," Curtis agreed immediately.

"We'll have to take Armden in our car." Napoleon saw Illya shudder at the thought of a thousand miles of driving with three people in the U.N.C.L.E. car. He continued. "We'll have to be with him to protect him. There are too many people saying things that could be dangerous if taken literally, which is apparently how Dr. Armden is going to take them. So, could you drive Mrs. Armden to the Fort Wayne airport? We'll arrange for a seat on the next flight to New York and for some of our people to meet her there. All you have to do is make sure she gets on the plane."

"Certainly," Curtis said.

"The sooner we get going, the better," Illya said. . "Mrs. Armden, would you pack something for your husband and yourself? We won't have room for anything in the car, so you'll have to take all the clothing with you."

She nodded and turned to go upstairs. Illya spoke to Armden again. "Just come with us, Dr. Armden. Everything will be -"

Armden, who had been standing silently since Illya had first ordered him to come with them, suddenly screamed and lunged forward, swinging his fists wildly. Illya ducked and grabbed one arm. Napoleon quickly grasped the other.

"Do you have anything to quiet him down?" Illya asked as Armden struggled violently in their grip.

"In the car. Professor, take an arm and hang on until I get back."

Curtis hesitantly reached for the arm Napoleon was gripping. Armden was still struggling violently, but apparently hadn't thought about kicking yet. As Curtis tried to take over for Napoleon, however, Armden suddenly gave a second scream and went limp. The two agents lowered him gently to the couch. Illya hurriedly checked his pulse while Napoleon tried to calm Mrs. Armden. Curtis stood by, fascinated.

After a minute, Illya satisfied himself that Armden was merely unconscious. He picked up the slight form and turned to Napoleon, who had finally persuaded Mrs. Armden that the best thing to do was to get packed and go into hysterics later.

"Get the doors open," Illya admonished. "We have some packing of our own to do." He nodded at Armden's limp form.

Section II: "Harass The Foe From The Rear"

Chapter 5

"How Does One Lose A Helicopter?"

DAWN, TO SOMEONE WHO has been awake for twenty-four hours and driving in an incredibly cramped car for eight, can be extremely bleak. Somewhere near the eastern end of the Ohio turnpike, Napoleon pulled to the side of the road and stopped next to a sign that read "Emergency Stop Only." He pushed up the gull-wing door and swung his feet out from under the steering wheel. Automatically taking the keys from the ignition, he stood up, stretched, stamped his feet a few times, and shook his head.

"You'd better take over again," he said to Illya, after a minute of the brisk autumn air had done nothing whatever in the way of shaking off the feeling of lethargy.

Illya obediently struggled out of the passenger's side, then stood there, leaning over, one hand propping up Dr. Armden. "Get over here and hang on to him," he said, a touch of irritation showing. "If I let go, he'll shift one way or the other and we'll be another half hour getting ourselves stuffed back in."

Napoleon hurried around the car and held Armden in place while Illya inserted himself beneath and behind the steering wheel. Once settled, he held Armden while Napoleon got in.

Illya glanced at the clear morning sky as he reached up to pull down the door. "This car even attracts attention from helicopters," he observed.

"Probably belongs to the highway department, or the local police," Napoleon answered, stifling a yawn. "Some places use them to check traffic flow." He closed his eyes.

"I think we're being followed," Illya said. "Either this one or one just like it was hovering over us the last time we stopped."

Napoleon pushed open his door and looked up. After a second, he spotted a noisy speck well up in the sky. It appeared to be hovering.

"And you didn't tell me? What kind of a friend are you?"

"A considerate one. We've no assurance that it is following us, and even if it is, what do you propose to do about it?"

Napoleon shrugged. "Nothing, I suppose. As long as it stays that high." He closed the door and his eyes almost simultaneously.

Illya drove silently. At the next stop for gas, there was a helicopter hovering overhead. They discussed the possibilities, and decided to stay on the turnpike. The side roads wouldn't hide them from aerial observation, and Napoleon thought they might be able to outrun a conventional helicopter on a straightaway. Also, there were several tunnels ahead.

The traffic had picked up, so neither Napoleon nor Illya immediately noticed the two large sedans that merged smoothly into traffic in front of them. Napoleon, who was driving, was only mildly irritated when the sedans pulled even with one another and blocked both lanes while moving slightly slower than he wanted to travel. After a few minutes of this, both cars began to slow down, still carefully abreast. At the same time, two similar cars appeared in his rear-view mirror, blocking both lanes behind him.

"It would seem," Napoleon said, nodding toward the cars ahead, "that they've called in the ground forces."

Illya put his head out the window and peered up. "The air force is closing in, too."

"This would seem to settle any doubts about Thrush being involved. No one else I know can afford massed ranks of cars and a helicopter to run us down. I hate to say I told you so, but…"

"But you'll make an exception for a friend; I know." Illya interrupted him.

Napoleon was driving carefully, watching the four cars. They were still slowing, and the two in back were drawing closer. Then one of the cars in the rear began to draw ahead of the other. Napoleon promptly swung the U.N.C.L.E. car in front of it, and it dropped back and its companion pulled ahead. By now they could hear the roar of the approaching helicopter.

"We're thoroughly boxed in," Napoleon reported. "Looks like they may try to run us off the road."

Illya looked calmly at the sheer drop a few feet from the right lane of traffic. "If we're going to be run off the road, I'd suggest getting into the left lane. The median strip is steep, but it may not be a total disaster. I wonder if they've given up trying to get Armden back alive?"

Napoleon swung into the left lane, and the following cars reversed their positions. He eyed the dash panel speculatively. "There must be something to use in a situation like this."

"With a dozen ordinary motorists in the line of fire," Illya suggested, "our choices are limited. I can just see the U.N.C.L.E. image after we've wiped a flamethrower across a car full of innocent bystanders."

"And the laser system has the same drawback," Napoleon muttered. "At least the flamethrowers are a relatively short-range weapon. Still, we'd better have something; they're closing in fast."

He studied the road and the surrounding cars, and suddenly brightened. "This won't lose the helicopter," he announced, "but it won't damage the innocent bystanders, either."

A hundred yards ahead, a police crossover was built across the median strip. As they approached it, Napoleon's hand hovered over a button on the dash. Suddenly he stabbed the button, accelerated until he was directly behind the cars ahead, and then bit the brakes and swerved into the crossover. The cars behind disappeared into a thick cloud of smoke ejected from the rear of the U.N.C.L.E. car. Napoleon cut off the smoke screen as they bounced across the median strip and turned into the opposite lanes of the dual highway as angry motorists tooted irritably at them. Behind them, a section of the east bound lanes was blanketed by a dense smoke screen which was already beginning to dissipate. The four Thrush cars were moving slowly eastward, looking for a place to cross the median, while the cars behind honked at them for blocking traffic.

Napoleon had accelerated after crossing the median, but after seeing the success of his maneuver he slowed to keep the U.N.C.L.E. car in the normal traffic flow. A short while later an exit appeared, and Napoleon swung off the turnpike.

There was no sign of the Thrush cars as they pulled up to the toll booth, but the helicopter was an ominous speck in the sky. Rather than try to explain why they were in a westbound lane with an eastbound ticket, Napoleon confessed to losing his ticket, and paid for the entire distance.

"I can see you trying to explain that on your expense account," Illya commented.

"My expense account? It was your neck, too!"

"But you were driving," Illya pointed out. He looked up. "They're still with us."

"The copter must have spotted us and radioed ahead to set up the ambush," Napoleon said. "They can do the same thing again, though we'll have more boltholes on this sort of a road." He paused thoughtfully. "How does one lose a helicopter?"

"With great difficulty, I suspect," Illya said. He struggled to get turned around in the crowded quarters. "Open the weapons compartment, will you? I want to see what we have."

Napoleon pressed another button on the dash and a panel slid up, revealing a compartment behind it. Illya reached back into it, fished around for awhile, and brought out something that looked like the results of a violent collision between a target revolver and a small air gun.

Napoleon gave it a sidelong glance. "You've been playing with the new ordnance again," he accused. "That's one I haven't even seen."

"You should spend more time in the labs. This is a Mercox dart projectile gun."

"Dart?" Napoleon exclaimed. "I read about that fellow in the Congo who shot down a helicopter with a bow and arrow, but I didn't realize he'd made such an impression on our technical staff."

"Patience, Napoleon," Illya soothed. "This uses the gas from a blank cartridge to fire various projectiles: tear gas, dye marker, hypodermic darts, shaped charges – just about anything you want. The original gun is extremely versatile, and this one has been worked over somewhat by our lab boys." He rummaged through the weapons compartment again and triumphantly held up a handful of cartridges that looked like small rockets.

"Our HE-37 explosive, in a shaped charge that projects almost the entire force forward. It can do almost as much damage as a light field piece, if the opposition comes within range."

"I knew there was a catch to it," Napoleon commented. "What's the effective range?"

"About eighty yards, which is a bit more than the original version would do."

"Oh, fine. Don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes. What about the rockets in the car doors?"

Illya considered. "Since they're fixed to fire horizontally, I don't think I'd want to try them against a helicopter unless we stop and take the door off. I know they have a heat-seeking device, but I'm afraid if we launched one here, it would be more likely to destroy a herd of cows than the helicopter."

"All right, then; the problem is to lure the copter close enough for you to use your hybrid there." Napoleon began to watch the roadside for an opportunity. The helicopter had descended to perhaps five hundred feet, where it remained.

In the next half hour, no opportunity presented it self. Then, just as both agents were beginning to wonder when the next covey of Thrushes would appear, the helicopter suddenly abandoned its cautious stalking and began to descend.

"Here they come," Illya said. "And unless I'm mistaken, they mean business."

As if to confirm Illya's suspicions, there was a rattling sound and a line of tiny pits appeared in the highway ahead of them. Napoleon swerved into the other lane and floored the accelerator. The firing stopped as the car pulled away. The car had more acceleration than the helicopter and on a straight road it would have had more speed. But they weren't on a straight road; in a few minutes, the helicopter pulled even with them again.

"Hang on!" Napoleon said as he spotted a side road that looked as though it ran through some fairly thick trees. He applied the brakes vigorously and skidded into the road.

"We're in luck," he said, eyeing the trees that lined both sides of the road and met in a multi-colored arch over their heads. For at least a few hundred yards, they were invisible from the air. Napoleon pulled off to one side of the road and stopped directly under one of the larger trees. He shut off the motor and climbed out of the car.

"Let's go down a few trees and see what happens when they find out we're not coming out the other end of the woods," he said, pulling his U.N.C.L.E. Special from its shoulder holster.

Illya followed, carrying the Mercox in one hand and stuffing projectiles into a pocket with the other. Judging from the sound, the helicopter was hovering a few hundred yards further down the road.

"Wait a minute," Illya said. "I'll need some help with this; come back and give me a boost."

Napoleon halted and looked around. Illya was standing at the base of a large tree, looking up into the branches. Napoleon walked back to him.

"It must be the country air," he said as he approached. "When we were looking for Dr. Morthley in Wisconsin last summer, you were constantly climbing trees. I think your ancestry is showing." He bent over to allow Illya to climb on his shoulders.

"This time you can stay on the ground," Illya assured him. "Just don't shoot at the helicopter through the branches of this particular tree."

"Don't worry; I seldom shoot at things I can't see."

"Precisely why I'm climbing up here," Illya said, as he disappeared into the higher branches.

A minute later, the sound of the helicopter grew louder as it flew directly overhead. It apparently went back to the highway, then started slowly back along the road. The copter was almost over Illya's tree when he heard the loud whiplash crack of the Mercox. There was no following explosion; apparently Illya had missed. There was an answering fire from the helicopter, however. Trying to judge its location from the sound of the motor, he loosed several rounds through the branches of a tree about 20 yards from the one Illya was ensconced in. He ducked behind the trunk of the tree as several bullets rattled through the branches.

Almost simultaneously, there was a loud explosion from a nearby field. Napoleon whirled to stare, then relaxed as he realized that it was merely Illya's first round coming back down. He hoped there were no cows or farmers in the immediate vicinity.

The Mercox cracked a second time, and the sound of the shot was almost drowned out by the following explosion. The sound of the helicopter's engine changed immediately, shifting into a higher pitch as the gunner stopped firing. Then there was the sound of something crashing through the branches of the trees. A moment later, a large tubular piece of metal with a small rotor attached dropped with a clatter to the road. Illya came scrambling down from the tree.

"I shot the stabilizer off," he said, a mixture of smugness and surprise in his voice. "They may not crash right away, but they're going to be too dizzy to pay any attention to us."

Napoleon didn't reply. He hurried back to the car with Illya and looked admiringly at the Mercox as they repacked Armden.

Chapter 6

"What Is All This Stuff Under Here?"

WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN an easy six-hour trip on the turnpikes was on its way to becoming a twelve-hour endurance test on the regular and secondary highways of Pennsylvania. The fact that there were three of them stuffed into a car barely adequate for two made the situation that much worse. Until mid-afternoon, they had the advantage that Armden, jammed between the two agents, remained peacefully unconscious. Before they were through Pennsylvania, however, he woke up. His first words, after blinking and noting the crowded situation, were, predictably, "What happened? Where am I?"

Napoleon, who had been driving for the past fifty miles, slowed the car and prepared for whatever action Armden might be in the mood for. Illya reached in his pocket and closed his hand over the hypospray he had been keeping in readiness.

"You became ill when we were ready to leave for New York," Illya explained. "We decided to make the trip anyway, since it seemed you were in need of some specialized medical attention that we could provide." He watched Armden closely for any reaction.

"Ill?" Armden looked puzzled. "And we were about to leave for New York? But why..." His voice trailed off uncertainly and his brow wrinkled in frowning concentration. The two agents watched him carefully. After a minute his frown deepened. "I remember most of what happened," he said slowly, "but none of it makes any sense. I must have passed out."

"Yes, sir," Napoleon agreed. "What do you remember?"

"You two came last Friday, to find out why I had refused to..." Armden broke off incredulously. "But why should I have refused to help Willard Morthley? He's one of my oldest friends." He thought a moment, and went on. "When you came to the house, I was with Arnold Bennett, and -" He stopped, shaking his head. "Either I've just lost m mind, or I've been out of it for the past several weeks."

"I don't think so, sir," Illya assured him. "There have been other people acting the same way. Somehow, Thrush has been influencing you and a good portion of Midford. Professor Curtis suggested drugs or hypnosis but that's only a guess. I can't imagine how a drug could have been administered to that many people, unless Thrush sprayed the entire town with a crop-dust. And hypnosis seems even more difficult."

"You might have something there," Napoleon broke in. "Thrush does have a fairly extensive air force."

"We hope you'll be able to help us find out how Thrush managed it," Illya continued. "You have no objections to a complete examination?"

Armden shook his head. "Of course not. Anything that would explain the past month is more than welcome."

The agents relaxed; Illya removed his hand from the pocket containing the hypospray.

"How are you feeling?" Napoleon inquired. "You've been out cold for almost a full day. Think some food would do you any good?"

Armden nodded. A few minutes later Napoleon pulled into a drive-in. He spotted a section with picnic style tables and nosed the car up next to one. The three men got out of the car, Armden staggering a bit at first. After stretching their muscles, they all walked up to the self-service window.

A few minutes later, they moved back to the table, having avoided answering most of the inevitable questions about the car that were invariably asked by the other

customers. This sort of thing had happened at every stop, and the agents had by now developed a standard line of patter about cross country mileage tests and an experimental sports car. Illya usually pulled out a note book and asked for the names of anyone who wanted to receive free literature about the car. This usually discouraged most curiosity seekers, who were hesitant about having their names added to still another mailing list, but occasionally he would have to take down some names and addresses.

This looked like one of the times the notebook would be required. There hadn't been many customers, and all but one had quietly gone back to their own cars when the list was brought up. That one, however, was on his way to becoming a problem. A polite description, Illya decided, would be "garrulous old coot"

"Mileage test?" he was saying skeptically as he sat down uninvited across the table from Illya. "Nobody that gives a damn about mileage is gonna buy one of these. Lemme see that notebook; I'll bet you didn't even write my name down." He reached across the table toward Illya, practically dragging his jacket sleeve in Illya s coffee.

Illya irritably flipped the notebook open to show the man his name, Charley Lampton, and his address, meticulously recorded. Lampton turned abruptly to Armden and swung his arm around to point at him. "What about you? You're old enough to be their father. What are they up to, just between us old-timers, hey?"

Armden looked resentful, and avoided answering by taking a large bite from his Deluxe Iglooburger.

"He's a research physicist, and he's not my father," Napoleon said irritably.

Lampton turned his attention to Napoleon, who quickly snatched his coffee out of the path of the old coot's arm as it swung around like an erratic compass.

"Hey?" Lampton said.

"I said he's not my father," Napoleon repeated.

"Never said he was. Okay, if you're checking mileage, what is it? Hey?"

"24.7 at the last stop," Napoleon answered quickly. "We hope to do better than that on the way back, on the turnpikes and expressways," Illya added.