Текст книги "The Mind-­Twisters Affair "

Автор книги: Thomas Stratton

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He led them back to the living room and motioned to a pair of overstuffed chairs. As they waited for Whateley' daughter to appear, Napoleon had time to consider the sort of hobby which would make use of a thirty foot chain and be appropriate to the Whateley mansion while Illya speculated on what the chairs might have been stuffed with. Both agents shuddered inwardly but maintained calm exteriors.

Flavia might well have been a lovely girl, but it was hard to tell. She appeared in army fatigues and an old sweatshirt, with her long black hair tied up in a ragged scarf. She came over to the agents without waiting for an introduction.

"You must be the two U.N.C.L.E. agents that Rita is so excited about," she said, extending a hand. "And I can see why," she added.

"Flavia," her father interrupted. "Don't forget your chain."

"I'm sorry, Father," she said. "I was going to take it down to the basement but the phone rang and I forgot." She hoisted the chain and formed it into a coil as she spoke. Napoleon sprang forward with an offer to help.

"Oh, no," she declined. "It's all part of the job."

Napoleon and Illya looked blank.

"Didn't Father tell you? I do metal sculpture. Would you like to see some of it after supper?" She paused, the chain looped over her shoulder, and looked closely at the agents. "In fact, would you have time to pose for me? I just got in some new bronze castings. You in particular, Mr. Kuryakin, have the look of a refined savage that would go well in bronze."

Illya smiled graciously. "I'm sure the spirit of Mr. Solo could be caught more completely in brass, if you have any available," he said pleasantly.

Flavia looked a trifle uncertain as she shifted the chain and edged toward the stairs. "You must excuse me, though. I have some iron rods heating and I must get back and shape them while they're at the right temperature." She clanked down the stairs.

"Now, gentlemen," Whateley said, "I'll show you to your rooms."

Napoleon nodded, then snapped his fingers as if he bad suddenly remembered something. "We haven't informed New York that we've moved yet," he said. "If you'll excuse me a moment..." He pulled out his communicator.

Waverly answered promptly, accepted Napoleon's report with bland unconcern, and requested that Illya return to New York that evening. Illya turned to Whateley.

"It appears I must eat and run," he said. "I'm sorry to appear so ungracious."

Napoleon watched Whateley closely as their new host assured Illya that he understood perfectly, and that Illya was welcome to return at any time. Whateley's expression was, as always, somewhat unpleasant and a trifle frightening, but it was not at all informative.

Chapter 10

"You're Developing A Very Creditable Mean Streak"

DINNER WAS SUPEREB. Napoleon decided that the food alone would have been ample justification for moving into the Whateley mansion. After the rash of drive-ins, anything would have looked good; but a menu that included pieczen barania a la sarna, pierogi z kapusta, mizeria, and dasza jaglana, all topped off with babka zrumern, was enough to send Napoleon's palate into a spasm of ecstasy. Even Illya, normally as taciturn about food as about most other subjects, was delighted. The Kuryakins, he said, had been fond of Polish food ever since a distant ancestor had been a member of the Russian occupation forces in 1795. Napoleon only raised his eyebrows at the information, but Casimir poked his head through the swinging doors long enough to glare briefly at Illya; then withdrew to his kitchen.

After the meal, Napoleon strolled with apparent aimlessness around the house and Illya returned to the library. Entering the huge, book-lined room some time later, Napoleon found him engrossed in a large leather-bound tome, the name of which seemed to have been worn away through years of use.

"Time to get you to the airport," Napoleon announced, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening.

Illya looked up. "I hadn't realized it was so late," he said. "Alhazred is a particularly fascinating writer." Illya rose, returned the book to the crowded shelves, and followed Napoleon into the hall.

Jabez had apparently withdrawn to some other part of the huge house but Flavia met them at the door, wearing a black sheath dress that caught and held Napoleon's interest.

"No sculpting tonight?" he inquired.

"No. The drama group is meeting to plan the Halloween program."

"That would seem to be more in your father's line," Napoleon remarked.

Flavia laughed, a little uncertainly, Napoleon thought. "He does offer suggestions now and then, but they tend to make the rest of the group a little nervous. In fact, they occasionally make me that way, and I know he's only joking. Rita is the only person I know who enjoys his sense of humor entirely."

"Yes, he does put up an effective front," Napoleon admitted, then glanced at his wrist watch. "But we really must be going if we're going to make the airport in time." The two agents bowed slightly and walked across to the U.N.C.L.E. car. After the few seconds it took to fit themselves in, it purred away from the Whateley mansion.

After driving ostentatiously through Midford on the highway to Fort Wayne, they waited until they were out of sight of the town and then swung onto a side road. Some minutes and several turns later, they emerged on another highway, about a hundred yards from a Bippus city limits sign. Just beyond the sign, they passed a large, ramshackle building with the words "Bippus Vending Service" barely visible in the chipped paint over the front door.

"Bull's-eye the first try," Illya murmured as Napoleon drove past the building about fifty yards to another side road. "Amazing."

Napoleon doused the lights and pulled the car well off the side of the road. They were hidden from the building by some trees and a rise in the ground. Despite the fact that they were officially within the city limits, there were no other buildings or houses in sight.

"It doesn't look like the sort of place that would be worth guarding," Napoleon said. "But I don't suppose everything can be as easy as the TV station was, particularly if they're on their guard now."

Illya nodded his agreement. "One of us had better check it out and dispose of any watchman. The other can stay with the car until the coast is clear."

"Eminently logical," Napoleon agreed. "I'll bring the car around behind the building as soon as you give me an all-clear signal."

Illya glanced at Napoleon, comfortably ensconced behind the wheel. "Okay, I owe you a favor from last Tuesday. You can sit here in safety while I dispose of Thrush's minion or minions. I skulk better than you do, anyway." He opened the weapons compartment and pulled out the Mercox.

'That seems rather drastic for quietly subduing a guard," Napoleon observed. "As I recall, it made a good anti-aircraft gun not long ago."

"It's a very versatile device," Illya assured him as he reached down for a handful of projectiles. "These, for instance, are hypodermic darts. They were originally developed for animal control, but a few modifications in the U.N.C.L.E. labs have made them suitable for Thrush control. And these," he reached for another handful, "are tear gas. And I'll take a couple of the explosive loads just in case there's a safe or something our normal burgling tools won't handle." Stuffing the projectiles into his pockets and carefully stowing the long– barreled pistol inside his jacket, he climbed out of the car and started up the wooded hill that separated them from the Bippus Vending Service.

It took only a few minutes for Illya to top the hill and dodge through the trees and bushes until he stood behind a small tree a few yards from the building itself. The place looked deserted. An old truck stood in the driveway behind it, and the weed-grown yard was littered with broken bottles and odd pieces of rusting machinery.

Illya remained behind the tree for several minutes, observing the building closely. Nothing stirred, and only one window showed light. Waiting until there were no cars on the highway, he slipped across the yard and examined the back door. Surprisingly, it yielded to a few turns of his picklock. Holding the Mercox in readiness, he eased the door open a crack and slithered in side.

Closing the door quietly, he stood where he was for a moment to accustom his eyes to the blackness inside the building. The night light he had seen from the out side was apparently in a front office at the other end of the building. He cautiously felt his way forward. He had reached a workbench which blocked his way and was starting to move along it when he heard the sound of footsteps. He froze, shading his eyes with one hand and bringing up the gun with the other.

A door across the room opened and a figure was momentarily outlined against the light in the background. The door shut and a flashlight beam swept across the floor.

Illya aimed as carefully as he could in the blackness for a point just above and to the right of the flashlight. He squeezed the trigger. The report was alarmingly loud in the confined quarters and was followed by a sharp exclamation from behind the flashlight. The light swung up to shine on Illya for an instant, then wavered and dropped. There was the sound of a falling body and the clatter of the flashlight as it hit the concrete floor and went out.

Ears straining for any sound, Illya waited in complete silence for a full minute before taking his own flashlight and making his way across the room. Using the watchman's own belt, Illya tied him securely to one leg of a sturdy looking workbench. Satisfied that even if the man did wake up before be was supposed to, he could do no damage, Illya searched him and removed a Thrush communicator and a revolver from his pockets. With his own communicator, Illya called Napoleon in.

By the time Napoleon had parked the U.N.C.L.E. car behind the building and entered the back door, Illya had made a cautious tour of the premises and was confident that only one watchman had been on duty.

"If we had any doubts about Thrush's involvement before, this should dispel them," Illya held the Thrush communicator in the beam of his flashlight.

Napoleon glanced at it briefly. "Weapons?" he inquired.

"A .455 Webley revolver, of all things," Illya replied. "I didn't know Thrush went in for buying war surplus."

"Maybe somebody got a bargain. It's comforting to think of them having to justify expenditures, too. But right now we had best get busy looking for the drug."

Illya swung his light over the cluttered back room in which they stood. "Any tampering would be done here. There's a passageway and some offices in front. The upstairs seems to have been used entirely for storage."

The two agents separated and worked their way through the clutter. Several minutes later they met at a long bench near the center of the room. "This would seem to be it," Napoleon said. "The jugs of syrup over by the stairway have the seals intact, probably the way they were received from the manufacturer. And here we have several that have obviously been opened."

Illya swung his light along the bench, bare except for the half dozen jugs of syrup. "So they're opened here and then resealed, with the magic ingredient added." He squatted down and looked under the bench. What appeared to be a rusty toolbox rested on the floor. "Here's something he said, pulling it out from under the bench and setting it on top.

Napoleon stared at it for a moment, then laid his flashlight down and tried to lift the toolbox lid. When it became apparent it wasn't going to budge, Illya produced his picklock again and went to work. The toolbox was much more difficult to open than the back door had been, but something finally clicked and the lid came up easily. The inside was in perfect condition, in contrast to the rusted outer surface. Six small sealed canisters sat in a wooden rack.

Illya took one out and carefully unscrewed the cap, then shook a small portion of the contents onto the bench,

"Lavender?" Napoleon peered closely at the colorful powder. "I never suspected that esthetics entered into drug manufacturing."

Illya wet a forefinger and dabbed it into the powder, then brought the finger to his nose to sniff. "No odor," he reported as he eyed his lavender fingertip. "Considering its already proven effect on me, I don't think I'll test it for flavor. Besides, I wouldn't know what the drug tasted like anyway."

"I think we can assume this is the drug," Napoleon said. "What we had better do, though, is get some of it back to the lab for analysis." He pulled a small test tube from a jacket pocket, filled it from the canister and carefully stoppered it.

Illya, who had been looking about speculatively as Napoleon filled the test tube, looked back at the six canisters. "Why not take all of it?" be asked.

Napoleon shook his head. "No need for more than a sample to analyze. We'd better destroy the remainder, though. Any suggestions as to how? Pouring it down the sink doesn't seem too practical. You never know where a town's old, used water is going to show up next."

"Burning would be easiest, if it will burn. I saw something that looked like a trash burner out in the yard."

Napoleon looked around the littered room again. "Thrush has become rather messy lately. You think we can do it without setting the whole place on fire? Remember what Mr. Waverly says about wanton destruction of property, even when we are reasonably sure it belongs to Thrush."

"I know. He's been rather sensitive on the subject since you blew a hole in that poor woman's bedroom floor to get at Dr. Morthley. But the burner is away from the building, and I don't see any other quick way."

Napoleon gathered the six canisters and the small pile of powder from the workbench and headed for the back yard. Illya grabbed one of the jugs of opened syrup and followed. In the back yard, Illya found an open space that looked like it would soak up the syrup while Napoleon started a fire in the trash burner. A minute later, he dumped the contents of one of the canisters into the flame and was rewarded with a blinding green flash that approximated seasick daylight.

"If it has that many calories, it must be fattening, too," Napoleon remarked as he hurriedly dumped in the rest of the powder and waited for the glare to die down. By the time Illya had dumped all the jugs of syrup, Napoleon's vision had cleared and he could make out the car several yards away.

They were just starting toward the car when the yard was suddenly swept by headlights turning into the drive. "Word gets around fast," Illya remarked as they broke into a sprint for the car.

The oncoming vehicle skidded to a stop on the grave and began disgorging armed men who were firing as they emerged. Illya and Napoleon were just able to make it to the cover of their car as the bullets began striking around them and whining off the car. From behind the car, Napoleon returned the fire with his U.N.C.L.E. Special while Illya got out the Mercox an fitted it with one of the high explosive projectiles. He fired quickly; a second later there was an answering explosion and the car's lights went out. Illya hurriedly reloaded the Mercox with a tear gas projectile.

"Get ready to move when I fire this one," he said, pulling the trigger a split second later. There was a slight popping sound, and Thrush fire rapidly slackened to be replaced by violent coughing and choking sounds

"Now!" Illya shouted, wrenching open the door and, leaping inside. Napoleon jumped for the door on the passenger's side and made it just as a final shot from a determined Thrush sent a bullet whining off the hood

Illya got the car moving before switching on the head lights to reveal a number of red-eyed Thrushes diving for cover behind their car. The car itself was little better off, its hood crumpled and a large puddle of something under the radiator. Napoleon glanced back as they roared past. "Haven't I seen a couple of those faces before?"

"At the Fort Wayne airport, yelling 'U.N.C.L.E., go home!'" Illya confirmed as he swung the car onto the long driveway that led to the highway. He reached the end of the driveway and was pausing to let a fast moving car by when he realized that it was not going by but headed directly at them. The glint of an automatic was visible outside the right front window and a bullet thudded against the rear of the car.

"Reinforcements," Illya muttered as he floored the accelerator. In a matter of seconds, the U.N.C.L.E. car began to pull away. Several ineffective shots came from the pursuing car.

"Whither away?" Napoleon inquired as Illya negotiated a curve with an expert, if stomach twisting, controlled skid.

"Anyplace I can find a straight road," Illya replied, braking suddenly and swinging onto a blacktop road that intersected the highway. At the same moment, he gave one of the buttons on the dashboard a quick jab. A cloud of smoke billowed out behind them, obscuring the intersection. They should have fun making that turn," he remarked.

Napoleon looked at him admiringly. "You're developing a very creditable mean streak," he said.

Illya concentrated on negotiating another curve. As he slid into it, he could see the Thrush car emerging from the cloud. "Now that we're on a side road, how about the laser system?" he asked.

Napoleon peered backward for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm not well enough checked out on that thing to try hitting something on these curves. And on a straight road, we won't need it."

Illya nodded. All he really needed was a few miles of straight road; he felt sure he could run away from anything on the road.

Signs warned of an intersecting highway. Illya braked again and swung onto it. The pursuit took the corner on two wheels and almost ended up in the ditch, but the driver fought the car back under control and continue There were more curves and then Illya grinned as the car topped a low hill and the headlights revealed a long expanse of straightaway, with no other cars in sight. He floored the accelerator again and simultaneously cut in the car's high speed supercharged exhaust system. On either side, berm and fencerows became a gray blur. Behind, the Thrush car. dropped steadily further back but continued to pursue.

"If this just holds out a little longer," Illya murmured hopefully. "We'll have -"

The car swooped over the crest of a bill and he saw that the road was totally blocked just ahead.

Chapter 11

"Who Ever Heard Of A Flying Saucer With A Parachute"

A SIGN READING "Beaver Dam, Pop. 862" went by in blur as Illya and Napoleon bore down on a street fair that stretched along the highway for blocks. Reacting automatically, Illya simultaneously shut off the afterburner, punched the button to fire the braking parachute, and applied the conventional brakes. The savage jolt as the chute took hold almost threw the car off the road, but Illya managed to hold it under control as their speed dropped below 100.

At 50, he discarded the parachute and a second later, skidded around a corner on screaming tires, still a half block from the near edge of the street fair. A block off the highway, he came to another street running parallel to the highway. Now at normal speed, Illya turned onto it and found himself confronted by an extension of the fair. A large, darkened tent loomed invitingly at the next intersection, and without hesitating, Illya drove inside. The two agents paused only long enough to let out their breath, which they realized they had been holding since they came over the last hill, then got out and locked the car.

"I take it we stay here while the pursuit goes merrily by," Napoleon said as they walked out of the tent and carefully closed the flaps behind them.

A sudden crash, followed by an outburst of shouting came from the general direction of the highway. "The pursuit doesn't seem to be very merry at the moment," Napoleon commented.

"Let's hope that was the only car," Illya said as he started to trot forward a little faster. "I saw another pair of headlights back there once, I think. At the speed we were going, it had to be either Thrush or some local hot rodder who wanted to race."

By now they were merging with the crowd that swarmed over the brightly lighted highway. The Thrush car, obviously going at a good speed and lacking a parachute brake, hadn't been able to stop in time. At the last minute, the driver bad managed to avoid the Ferris wheel but had steered into what proved to be a livestock tent. While the lone passenger indulged in a nose-to-nose confrontation with an annoyed cow, the driver was arguing with a local law officer, apparently the sheriff.

"But dammit, you're blocking a state highway!" the driver was shouting.

The sheriff looked as unimpressed as the livestock. "Son, we've been blocking this highway for our Muck Crop Festival for twenty years. We've got a court order saying we can block this highway. Now then, I know how much space you had to stop in and you didn't make it. You can have your choice – speeding or defective brakes. Which will it be?"

Meanwhile, another hubbub was breaking out on t fringes of the crowd. Someone had spotted the chute lying at the side of the street almost a block away. "I told you I saw a parachute!" someone was indignantly.

"And there was a little round ship that came down with it!" another chimed in. "It made a terrible screaming noise as it came down and I saw port holes a strange yellow man in it."

"Yeah, me too," said a third. "It just hovered there for a minute and shot out of sight over the trees."

"Don't be silly," someone else said. "Whoever heard of a flying saucer with a parachute?"

"What's wrong with a parachute?" the first man asked still sounding huffy. "That's how our space capsules down. Why shouldn't theirs?"

"What would a flying saucer want to observe a Crop Festival for?" a bewildered individual asked. "What does it all mean?"

At this point, another car came tearing over the hill and came to a lurching, tire-squealing stop halfway between the parachute and the Ferris wheel. The driver got out quickly and headed for the first car. The sheriff waved to him as he walked past where he was slowly and deliberately writing out a ticket for the driver of the first car.

"Good brakes there, son," the sheriff said cheerfully. The driver of the second car smiled weakly and we up to the first car, nudging the cow out of his way. After exchanging a few words with the passenger, he left and headed directly for the spot where the U.N. C.L.E. agents were standing.

Illya and Napoleon hastily faded into an alley and ducked around the corner of a garage as the Thrush also entered the alley and pulled out a communicator. He spoke quietly into it, instructing all units to converge on Beaver Dam. "Cover all roads between here and Midford," he concluded. "They'll have to take one of them."

"Maybe waiting it out wasn't such a good idea," Illya suggested as the Thrush disappeared back into the crowd.

"We're all right as long as they don't decide to look in the wrong tent," Napoleon replied. "Incidentally, which way is Midford from here?"

Illya shrugged. "I wasn't paying attention to direction, just distance. We'll have to look it up on a map, I suppose." He looked around as they reentered the milling crowd. "But there's no rush. Let's wait till Thrush has run itself out. As long as we're here, let's not pass up an opportunity to find out what a Muck Crop Festival is. It's part of our national heritage."

Napoleon declined to comment on a national heritage that would include something called a Muck Crop Festival. After a half hour, the only thing that had attracted his attention favorably was a grandstand full of girls in bathing suits. A leather-lunged announcer was shouting to all and sundry that the final judging for the Muck Queen was about to begin.

"If this weren't a wholesome Midwestern town, I'd be suspicious," Napoleon commented. "Just what is muck, anyway, that it gets to have a festival and a queen all to itself?"

"A kind of soil," Illya said. "Very rich, but highly unpleasant to work with. Like glue when it's wet, but it grows great crops. It's similar to having a Peat Bog Festival and electing a Miss Peat Bog, I suppose."

Napoleon still looked dubious. "Probably all part of a Thrush scheme," he remarked darkly. "Speaking of which, don't you think pursuit has passed us by? If it's going to, that is?"

"We should give them a little longer, but it won't hurt to check all the streets leading out of town while were waiting."

They spent an hour exploring the streets of Beaver Dam on foot before returning to their car, where Illya intently studied a local map for a minute. "They can't cover everything unless they have a larger force than we've seen so far," he decided. "Especially with two of their cars out of action. If we leave town on the side away from Midford and make a long detour, we may be safe enough."

Illya eased the car out of the tent and cruised quietly down the side street. They had gone only a few blocks when red lights began flashing at a railroad crossing ahead of them. Illya stopped next to an alley and they waited as a seemingly endless freight train rumbled by at a snail's pace. The train was still moving past when Napoleon nudged Illya and pointed across the street.

"A man walking along there saw us and ducked behind that tree. I suspect that pursuit may not have entirely passed us by after all."

Illya promptly swung the car into the alley. A shot sounded behind them but there was no other evidence of pursuit. He turned into the next street and drove rapidly. Several blocks down, a man carrying what could have been either a length of water pipe or a bazooka looked up intently. Illya took no chances and made a sharp U-turn. As he straightened out again, Napoleon pointed ahead.

"That's the number two car that was after us earlier," he announced.

Illya made another turn into an intersecting street and the car picked up speed. Behind them the sounds of the chase mounted. Ahead, moonlight glinted on water. "Always have an extra bolt hole," be said and drove straight ahead.

They came to the end of the street, bounced over a low curb, crashed through a wooden fence, crossed a small park and stretch of beach and plunged into the waters of Beaver Lake. As they hit the water, Illya dropped their twin propellers into place and the car chugged out into the water at a moderate speed. Behind them, there was first a stunned silence, then much shouting and the sound of squealing tires as the cars turned around. As a precaution, Napoleon raised the bullet proof shield to protect their rear from shorebound sharpshooters.

"If they don't have a navy," said Illya confidently, "we should be all right. The lake is rather narrow here, but it's a drive of several miles around by road. We can be well on our way before they get around."

The remainder of the drive was routine. Lem Thompson, however, did not consider anything that roused him from a sound sleep at midnight to be either routine or bearable. He looked grumpily at Illya but agreed to hide him out. Agreeing was easier than arguing at this time of night.

"One more thing," Napoleon added. "We have to get this sample to the Fort Wayne airport, and I'm sure they'll be watching for this car. Could you see that Illya gets there?"

"And what if Illya's watched, too? Gimme the samples, and I'll take 'em myself. Gonna rain tomorrow anyway, so I won't be able to get any real work done." Lem clumped off, muttering that in his day people did their own work without always having to be helped out.

Napoleon smiled at Illya. "You just have to know how to handle people," he said as he got back into the car and headed for Whateley's.

Ten minutes later, Napoleon swung the U.N.C.L.E. car into the Whateley driveway and parked at the side of the house. As he started around to the front, a bright, flickering light from one of the basement windows caught his eye. Thoughts of devil worship and eldritch rites briefly crossed his mind, but be quickly decided that the light was much too bright for that kind of thing. By the time he reached the front door, he realized it must be Flavia pursuing her hobby. His thoughts pleasantly balanced between idle conversation with a pretty girl and pumping a possible source of information, Napoleon entered the house and went down the stairs to Flavia's studio.

Attired in jeans, sweatshirt, a heavy canvas apron, and oversized goggles, she was using an acetylene torch to attach a gaudy red metal bird to an assembly already supporting a dozen identical creatures. When she had the bird firmly attached, she looked around and, seeing Napoleon, smiled and shut off the torch.

"Don't let me disturb you," he said.

"Oh, this is nothing important," she said. "Just an eyebrow raiser for a local art show." When Napoleon, looked puzzled, she went on. "Not the work itself, but the title. In a moment of weakness, I decided to call it Collage of Cardinals."

Napoleon grimaced dutifully. "If you enjoy raising eyebrows, there must be ways that are less work." He looked around the basement studio. "Just living in this house would be enough for most. All it needs are a few cobwebs at strategic locations to turn it into a horror movie set."

Flavia laughed. "It's already been a horror movie set, if you count amateur productions. The university drama club wrote and directed a movie last year and shot the scenes here; and believe me, it was a horror. This was right after Father put up the TV station and was trying to be a pillar of the community. I'm afraid he'd just not cut out for the part, though."

"You can take the boy out of demonology, but you can never take demonology out of the boy," Napoleon volunteered. "Is he really serious about all this devil worship and calling up old gods?"

She smiled faintly. "He's just joking, of course," she said, a trifle emphatically. "Although I admit his sense of humor is a little odd; sometimes his jokes even frighten me a little. Rita is the only one who really enjoys them; sometimes I think she wouldn't be frightened if he was serious. Of course, since the TV station, the rest of the town tries to be polite and not offend him."