The Final Affair

by David McDaniel

  "Sometime after this, the active Central transfers control to the third full unit, which went on stand-by when the second took over. At this point the first would become the stand-by unit while the second broke down and moved to another location. Do you follow me so far?"

  "This is more or less what Johnnie Rainbow outlined to us, sir," said Napoleon.

  "With the omission of the fact that the second unit already has all basic data and programs, copied into its storage banks when it went to stand-by," Illya added. "Takes much less time to update, since they only have to copy the active files."

  "Our best estimates are that Central can perform a complete tranferral without dropping a decimal in well under sixty seconds in an emergency situation. Since any of the three units is capable of carrying the full operating load of Thrush indefinitely, it can sustain activities until the one in transit is ready to resume stand-by operation.. Presumably, if a unit were actually discovered and destroyed, it would take some time to replace the staff and hardware, but they could easily field a new functional unit within two or three weeks."

  "Because all we can capture is the physical machinery which houses the information and the programs," said Illya. "The software can skip to anywhere in the world at the speed of light and leave us with blank iron oxide for all our trouble."

  Napoleon raised an eyebrow. "You sound positively metaphysical," he said. "This is the spirit of the machine, and it is not bounded by physical laws."

  "Oh, but it is," said Illya, "Like any spirit, it's not much without a body to work through. All we have- to do —is capture all of its bodies, which are comparatively valueless, or prevent it from departing the ones we do capture. Remember, you were the one who suggested the metaphor."

  "I'm sorry. But I believe Mr. Waverly hadn't quite gotten to the core of his story. Thrush Central is as shifty as Percy Blakeney. Do you mean you have it located?"

  "Not exactly. You see, something as large as Thrush Central requires several things in whatever site it may inhabit — besides open space and privacy, there must be electrical power, supplies of water, ready access to routes of escape by land, sea or air, and preferably enough innocent citizens coming and going in their immediate vicinity to cloak their-own movements... this sort of thing. We had quite a search for qualified locations, and found a few that looked very likely indeed.

  "Now I would be the last to demean Thrush security. We could not stake out a location and expect Thrush to move into'.it; any concealed transmitter would betray itself by its own emissions. Section Eight wasn't fazed by the challenge, as you might have guessed — they created a self-contained recording device which was undetectable in operation, totally shielded, signal-activated, with a capacity of nearly 1500 hours in two dozen multiplexed channels.

  Lovely device. There were planted in a number of locations identified as likely sites for Thrush Central, in such ways as to evade detection by sounding, stress analysis, fluoroscopy or magnetic anomaly.

  "The recording device was sensitive to speech sounds, of course; it also monitored a wide range of frequencies and was designed to pick up certain types of signal flow by induction. The actual detection and storage techniques used are, I am told, quite sophisticated.

  "The site was monitored circumspectly, by observation of water and electric power consumption; when both rose significantly to a six-week plateau and then dropped again, we waited a short period and then moved in to retrieve our bug."

  "You mean it has already worked?" asked Illya.

  "So far, yes. The original recording has been undergoing extensive analysis for over a month, and our own computer staff now feels capable of establishing communication with the Ultimate Computer, given two more things, which we hope you will be able to secure for us."

  "Following which," said Napoleon, "you expect to be able to tap directly into Thrush's brain?"

  "Literally."

  "I'm staggered," said Illya. "What is it we need?"

  "My decision to act was spurred by the information that the San Francisco Satrap is about to have his obsolescent terminal replaced by a newer model.

  With Mr. Stevens' help, we should be able to divert the old terminal to our own uses. Even so, we will also need one piece of information to go with it. Since all communication is routinely scrambled, an active terminal is maintained in synchonisation with the Ultimate Computer. Any attempt to engage through an unsynchronised terminal would set off a flock of alarms and the self-destruct mechanism in the terminal itself. Nevertheless, since humanity is fallible, occasionally interlock is lost. And a provision has been made for such an ..( eventuality: there is a maintenance access code which, properly entered, 'allows re-establishment of synchonisation and identifies its user as a qualified entity for access to operational systems as well as to all data files."

  "You promised," said Napoleon, "that we wouldn't have to have anything to do with Ward Baldwin."

  "I said you would not be expected to contact him. Now it is even more imperative that he remain unaware of your presence. In all your activities, wherever you might be observed, avoid attracting any attention."

  "Of course. All we have to do is hijack his old terminal and run our man on a string into the middle of his operation. I'm even afraid to ride a cable car— I have the feeling the grip-men report to him."

  "I have a false beard you could borrow if it would make you feel any better," Illya suggested.

  "You would have a false beard, said Napoleon.

  "All your operations will be carried out circumspectly," Mr. Waverly said. "You will meet with Dr. Grayson a little later this evening; she will brief you on Mr. Stevens' current condition and precisely what your job will entail. She'll be here at 7:30; we have time for dinner. I've taken the liberty of ordering it sent up, since I expect you will want to go over what we've already learned from our bug on Central." He handed each of them a fat manila folder, and they settled back to study.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Hold My Hand."

  "First, Mr. Solo, I hope you understand that an individual under a posthypnotic suggestion does not necessarily wander about glassy-eyed like a somnambulist. Properly implanted, such a suggestion would not only be undetectable, the subject himself would probably be unaware of its presence." "Until it went into effect," said Napoleon.

  "No," said Dr. Grayson. "Not necessarily even then. The human subconscious is capable of fantastic feats of self-justification. If it lacks a valid reason for a course of action, it can supply a false one. so smoothly the conscious mind never notices. Competently handled by a stage hypnotist, a man may feel it is perfectly reasonable to get down on all fours and bray like a donkey."

  She was a handsome woman, perhaps forty, with a gentle throaty voice and short auburn hair. She sat with Napoleon and Illya in a quiet conference room down a side corridor in U.N.C.L.E.'s San Francisco office, detailing all they would need to know to react appropriately in any situation they might encounter with Harry Stevens. This included an outline of what he could be expected to do.

  "About thirty minutes past midnight you will go to a bar in North Beach called 'The Blue Angel.' Shortly before one, Harry will come in, wearing a dark brown corduroy jacket.. He will go to the last vacant booth on the left. Do not make any attempt to contact him. At 1:12 by the wall clock he will get up and leave. The gamma laser will be wrapped in two paper napkins, tucked down between the seat and the wall on the side facing the door. If Harry is not being watched, one of you will retrieve the laser rod, the other will follow Harry and cue him into a cooperative state by showing him your U.N.C.L.E. communicator and saying-the key word, Basingstoke. Understand, he must be allowed to complete his full program in the bar and leave before you interfere with him; it could be dangerous to break him in the middle of a cycle, even though it is necessary that he be intercepted tonight."

  "Basingstoke?" Illya asked.

  "A sufficiently uncommon name, especially coupled with the sight of your transceiver. It won't induce
a trance state, but he will become quite docile and suggestible. Bring him to the Pell Street entrance before 1:30. I'll be waiting there to take him over and implant the suggestion to seek out the specific Maintenance access code Mr. Waverly wants so urgently. I will also see he is returned home safely before dawn."

  "You understand, of course, this will be your action only if you are satisfied he is not under surveillance. If there is any indication he is being followed, you will make no move at all. Mr. Waverly wants him re-programmed as soon as possible, but not to the extent of jeopardising his cover. We do have an alternate plan, somewhat less graceful, to get to Harry."

  "But we still pick up the laser," said Illya.

  "As soon as you feel it is safe," she said. "If the drop is also under observation, forget it. I presume you are aware of the priority of this new assignment?"

  "Yes," said Napoleon noncommittally. "But I'd guess if he was being followed they'd be suspicious enough of him that his usefulness would be in question anyway."

  "Not necessarily," said Illya. "According to all reports, he's been doing a good job inside Thrush; they might just have a standard security team on him. They keep track of everyone as a matter of policy. But any attempt to contact him would not only blow his entire scene and his invaluable position, it would mean his life. Remember, Harry himself is not really aware of what he's doing — is he, Dr. Grayson?"

  "Not on all levels, no. He shouldn't notice a few oddities and blank spaces and inconsistencies — remember what I said about the human mind's capacity for self justification. He may only feel vaguely that something is wrong, somewhere..."

  Harry had the vague feeling that something was very wrong somewhere. He'd given in to some questionable impulses in the past, but nothing as foolish as this. He'd resisted the thought for days — yet every time he passed the Physics Lab storage room he remembered his one glimpse of that exquisite gleaming cylinder resting in red velvet, its perfect mirror-bright surface catching every light in the lab. Such a beautiful thing! It had caught his eye as he stood at the next table, and as he recognized it he had felt a surge of sudden desire such as a lesser man might feel for a woman. That slim glistening rod snagged his thoughts like a loop of flypaper.

  He only intended to sneak into the locked storeroom and find the flat black case so he could see the gamma laser again, to compare its divine reality with the image he carried in his mind, but it was late afternoon before the opportunity presented itself. Operations closed down at five, and the Research section was deserted by 5:15. As staff copyist he was presumably free to check out when his work was done.

  But when he opened the little case and actually saw it close up and felt its weight in his hand he started thinking. This was one of four spare units, besides one' with the KBG; it wasn't as if it had to be right here and ready on a moment's notice, so just borrowing it overnight wouldn't even be treasonable — he certainly wouldn't do anything against the interests of Thrush, insofar' as he understood them. It would be as easy to sneak it back in as to sneak it out — and then he could take it home, and sit down with all the blinds drawn and take all the time he would need to look at this impossibly perfect, beautiful thing.

  It slipped neatly into his pocket and didn't even bulge. His heart beat a little faster as he checked out, nodded to the guard and took the elevator to the surface, where he emerged into the golden horizontal light of the setting sun. His shadow marched beside Him as he walked south a block, then turned east.

  He didn't break stride or hurry at all until he got home. The case seemed to get heavier every minute for the last block, and he began to imagine someone coming after him. At last he closed the door behind him and set the lock. His flat only had a microphone planted; he wasn't .important enough to rate a camera. Even at his level, the company bugs were common knowledge; he knew where his was and didn't particularly care.

  Without even looking into his pocket again, he hung his coat over the back of a chair in the living room and went to. mix himself a good stiff drink. He turned the radio to KSFO and started to sort through the day's mail.

  Like a child with a new toy, tantalising himself, he filed his gas bill and glanced through the latest ANALOG before starting his dinner. While it was heating he suddenly thought of Sirrocco. It'd be nice to have her over later this evening — though of course he couldn't tell her exactly why he felt so good. He picked up the telephone impulsively and dialled.

  Even as he, finished dialling he wondered if he should invite her over. After all, she might become curious or he might drop a hint accidentally. The phone clicked and the connection was made. If she answered, he'd have to explain why he was calling ... The first ringing signal vibrated in his ear for two seconds, and in sudden decision he dropped his forefinger on the button and replaced the receiver. No, she shouldn't be brought over here while he had the gamma laser in his possession. The gamma laser ...

  The shades were drawn and the lights down, the FM supplying background music for the company bug — he turned the Tensor lamp on his desk to focus in the middle and went to his jacket.

  The case was there, not quite small enough to fit between his hands. He didn't open it, but carried it like a baby to the desk and set it in the center. Then he turned on the lamp and squinted against the concentrated light before bending close and opening the catch.

  There it was, the most beautiful thing in the universe. In pink distortion his reflection stretched along its side, and the high-intensity lamp was a tiny dazzle at its left edge. His eyes feasted on its consummate symmetries for minutes until the timer rang in his kitchen, announcing his meal was ready.

  Unwillingly he broke the spell, closed the case and extinguished the light. He tucked the case out of sight under some loose papers and went to eat.

  Despite the music, his flat seemed oppressively quiet. He wondered if he really wanted to stay home for the evening, alone with his shining prize, or to go out on the town. There ought to be other people around for a celebration, even if they didn't know what he was celebrating. He could go to some bar where he wouldn't be known, and find a quiet back booth where he could take his trophy out again and look at it. He'd like to have Sirrocco along to share it with her, but he wouldn't dare let her know about it. It simply wouldn't be right to involve her in something like this — which was, after all, technically illegal, and could get him a whole lot of trouble if it was discovered.

  He thought about this while he opened a can of dessert and decided it seemed perfectly reasonable. He caught a bus at the foot of the hill about 9:30, after freshening up and changing clothes; the precious case now nestled lightly in his shirt pocket, under sweater and coat, next to his heart.

  He changed to another bus a few minutes later and rode east towards the bright lights. He wasn't familiar with much of the north side of town except for Fisherman's Wharf, and the area beyond Chinatown was terra incognita to him. He got off at an intersection with an appropriate number of flashing lights and went at random into a place called Dinky's.

  It was noisy and crowded, and the lights were dim. He took a booth and ordered two drinks, but there was no chance of privacy and he didn't quite dare bring the case out of his pocket. He caressed its slick smoothness with the fingertips of his left hand after shifting it surreptitiously to a side pocket, and pictured the precious rod within.

  Nobody had gotten off the bus with him, but he suddenly had the feeling he was being watched. He'd been there half an hour and hadn't noticed anybody eyeing him consistently — but then he hadn't been thinking about it. He looked around covertly.

  The place, was so dark he couldn't even be sure how many other people were there. He suddenly decided it was time to leave. - He finished his -second drink, picked up his jacket from the seat beside him, and found a cable car headed north. He boarded it alone, and clanged and clattered off into the night with twenty tourists around him.

  A distant boat whistle hooted mournfully across the moon-silvered bay as they paused for a
moment at the top of Hyde Street, then plummeted jerkily towards the waterfront below.

  He walked east from Ghirardelli Square until another nightclub caught his eye, promising a floor show and assorted distractions; inside he found a reasonably secluded booth and brought out his little treasure. Under a shaded lamp, his body concealing it from the outside, he released the catch and looked at the gamma laser for the first time in nearly two hours.

  As he studied it he started to wonder whether he had really done the right thing. Technically he had stolen this from Thrush, which wasn't good — he intended to return it, but what would happen if he were caught with it when he tried to take it back? His hand started to shake, and he gripped the edge of the table hard. He'd be in serious trouble. After all, this was not just Thrush property — this was part of one of their more secret weapons projects and as such was subject to certain security regulations. To have violated them, even to this extent, would be grounds for severe disciplinary action. There wouldn't be any way he could convince them he'd only wanted to borrow it for the evening to admire it, and that there had never been any danger of it falling into the hands of anyone qualified to recognize it, let alone care what it was.