The Final Affair

by David McDaniel

  "I'm sure even Joe Namath strikes out occasionally. You understand that Mr Stevens' security is of paramount importance to us for very practical reasons, and as soon as you disconnect I shall personally investigate the situation with every facility at hand. Now if you will permit me...

  "Well... okay. Call me if you find anything out?"

  "Goodbye, Miss Sirrocco." Mr. Waverly's finger dropped on the cutoff button, lifted, and signalled the terminal test area.

  "Mr. Gold? Waverly here. Can you read from local records of Thrush? Good. I need to know as quickly as possible the present location and/or disposition of an employee of the San Francisco satrapy, one Henry Eugene Stevens — Stevens with a V. Thank you."

  Again the gnarled finger depressed the cutoff and released it, then switched to the paging channel. He called, "Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin — report to my office at once, please."

  Upstairs in a lounge Napoleon looked up from bleak contemplation of some report or another, and the light was suddenly back in his eyes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Oh, We Had To Carry Harry..."

  "Mr. Stevens was taken into the Medical section about two o'clock this afternoon for 'extensive psychological testing', according to their own confidential records," said Mr. Waverly. "This means he will be checked over this evening, kept under deep sedation overnight, and then tomorrow morning —

  "They begin to take his head apart," said Illya.

  "We cannot afford this. Dr. Grayson assures me that while her implants are proof against any standard technique short of a really perceptive Rorschach test, deep hypnoprobing could lay the entire substructure bare in a matter of hours. In short, gentlemen, you must recover Mr. Stevens."

  "Where is he?"

  "Inside Thrush's San Francisco office under Alamo Square."

  "Inside —"

  "Mr. Gold had acquired the full security layout of the Alamo Square complex, and a full-color printout is being prepared for you at the moment. You will doubtless have some locks to pick and some alarm systems to contend with, but I'm told that every wire, every sensor and every warning signal is indicated along with its parameters and limitations."

  "You're kidding!"

  "Mr. Solo, I am no such thing. If you are to have any hope of success on this impossible mission you must know every detail of the fortress you must breach."

  "But sir," said Illya, "at the very least, kidnapping Harry will tell them we have the gamma laser. And it could make them suspicious of such little coincidences as the loss of Baldwin's old terminal."

  "If he talks tomorrow, they will have knowledge instead of suspicion and this project will be aborted in a matter of minutes. We have just begun tapping this store of data on the world-wide operations of Thrush and scarcely a measurable fraction of a percent has been subjected to analysis; already three specific commercial operations as well as several public movements in California alone have been discovered to be directly operated by local Satraps. Beyond a doubt, if we are allowed to continue Thrush will be rooted out and totally destroyed as a functioning entity before the end of the year. We can afford to lose the gamma laser, we can afford to lose individuals* lives if necessary — we can afford to lose a great deal, but we cannot afford to lose the security of this tap into the Ultimate Computer.

  "Have you considered that their suspicions of him might extend to their holding him as bait for a rescue attempt?"

  "No. Without our terminal, we wouldn't have any idea what had happened to him. Thrush therefore would have left us a trail to follow. Also his Psychfile indicates they are more concerned with his mental condition than suspicious of it. The most recent entry, ten days ago, states that he is 'unusually disturbed and emotionally exhausted by the pressures of his job.

  It was on the basis of this report that he was placed under surveillance.

  Tomorrow he is scheduled for an intensive probing to find what is interfering with his efficiency."

  "And Dr. Grayson thinks they're likely to find it."

  "Yes."

  Napoleon looked at Illya and Illya looked at Napoleon. "In that case I suppose we'd better get in there tonight and get him out," said Solo resignedly. "Okay, where are those blueprints?"

  It didn't sound easy, and it wasn't going to be as easy as it sounded. Just knowing that the corridors around the medical detention area were filled with ultrasonics which made movement impossible didn't help to get through them, nor was the knowledge of a CCTV camera which monitored all twenty-four doors in Harry's ward in a straight view down the hall particularly encouraging. Nevertheless, any security device can be bypassed, given the technology and the incentive. U.N.C.L.E. had both.

  The difficult part was the ultrasonic. The alarm sensor was cheap and simple: it generated a modest number of decibels at forty or fifty kiloHertz and reacted to the echoes of everything within its area of coverage. Any change in the waveform, causable by the appearance, disappearance, or movement of anything which reflected or absorbed soundwaves at any place in range would upset the echo pattern and trigger the alarm.

  The detector unit was smaller than a table radio and cost about $50; its only countermeasure on the west coast strapped around the waist and fed a spiral cord to a light aluminum baton. Mr. Simpson introduced Napoleon to the lights and switches above the handgrip.

  "Don't turn it on until you're ready to use it — the batteries are good for six hours, but not under a steady drain. You'll hear the ultrasonics before they can detect you, of course — or this neon pip will. That part you can leave on all night: it has a penlight cell which should last most of a year."

  "That tells us when we're coming close?"

  "Yes. When the pip is glowing steadily, stop and set this, switch to Monitor. This blue light will go on, probably for ten or fifteen seconds. When it goes out, you might want to wait another second or so before you put your full weight down, so to speak; then you move the switch back past Test to Source and these two pink lights will go on. Then you're sonically invisible. When you have only half your time left on the batteries, one of them will go out. When you have ten minutes left, the other turns orange and starts to fade."

  "How does it work?"

  "I was just coming to that part. During the first phase, it is analysing the wave patterns in the room; when you switch it over it - duplicates them. As long as you walk slowly, not over ten feet per second or so, and carry the wand with this knob above you like an umbrella, you'll probably be pretty well protected."

  "Pretty well?"

  "Well, under some circumstances it might not be adequate. If this green light goes on it means the unit isn't quite matching. If that happens, stand absolutely still until it goes out. It'll usually be three or four seconds. The air conditioning system moves a lot of warm air through this corridor, so the ultrasonic alarms are not set to their greatest sensitivity.

  "Of course," said Illya. "Moving air could refract the waves and set off a false alarm. Now what, do we do about the television camera? I see there is a relay box here in corridor four, the second sound-guarded one, but that's five or six minutes away from Harry's room and if a camera went out they'd have someone up to see about it within five minutes."

  "Yes," said Mr. Simpson. "But not in a minute and a half."

  "Probably not," admitted Napoleon. "But how do we get from the box to the cell and back in under ten minutes? I did pretty well in track at college, but that was a few years ago, and I'm not sure my wind is up to the distance."

  "You don't have to — at least not both of you. I'm sorry, I thought that was clear. You will go in together as far as Corridor Four, where you, Mr. Kuryakin, will make yourself comfortable and prepare not to move for ten or fifteen minutes. You will wait with your hand inside the relay box after an appropriate delay for Mr. Solo to reach his position at the entrance to Mr. Stevens' ward, you can trip this induction jammer without moving anything but your hand, which will be concealed behind the panel. After ninety seconds you restore normal service. T
hey won't worry about it further until morning."

  "By which time it will be too late."

  "Hopefully."

  "And all I have to do is play Statues for fifteen minutes while Napoleon runs up and down the halls?"

  "Walks."

  "Walks, then. What do I do if a guard comes by?"

  "Not likely, since he couldn't move in the sonic field anymore than you could. At least you'll be safe from guards," said Napoleon. "You can meditate for a few minutes before and after you jigger the picture. I suppose I have to come back and pick him up afterwards?"

  "Certainly," said Mr. Simpson. "He probably knows more than Harry Stevens."

  "I'd like to think so," said Illya. "Is Harry going to be able to perambulate under his own power?"

  "We sincerely hope he can. The odds are beyond us at this point. We haven't been able to find out what he was shot with before he was put to bed, and there's no way of telling."

  "We may have to carry Harry," said Napoleon. "That'11 slow things down. How long was that picture to be cut?"

  "Ninety seconds. Will you need two minutes? That's quite a long time for dead air."

  "A point. How much does Harry weigh?"

  "Ah... one-twenty"

  Napoleon shrugged, "Ninety seconds. Do I have a key to his room?"

  "It's a three button combination. They don't need more — a bolt and latch would restrain those patients who need it, and all comings and goings are monitored and taped automatically."

  "Except when the camera malfunctions," said Illya.

  "I believe the malfunction should be recorded as well," said Mr. Simpson. All things considered, I think you should be glad it is as simple as this. Breaking into one of Thrushes more securely protected areas was impossible before — now it is merely difficult."

  "Difficult for you; for me is easy," said Napoleon.

  "Close de box," said Illya. "Does that about cover things?"

  "Pretty much, One more point: Mr. Waverly asked me to tell you before you left. If you are caught, don't be recognised."

  "We'll work on it. Incidentally, considering the situation, why us?"

  "Because you're that much, better than anyone else available.

  Remember that as a team your training, experience and record is simply superior to 98% of the U.N.C.L.E. field staff. Besides, no one else in the top ten percent is within call on such extremely short notice. Therefore you are not only the obvious but the solitary choice for the job. My congratulations."

  "Thanks."

  Their counterfeited magnecard opened an unmarked door in the blank side wall of an apartment house which faced on the next street uphill. Behind the door was a half-empty basement garage, deserted and silent. To their left, deeper into the hill, another closed door with an inconspicuous cardslot beside it was the only break in an otherwise featureless concrete wall. It opened into a similarly bare corridor which ran fifty feet farther into the hill and then turned right to a third door, which surrendered to the same key and let them into a small waiting room. A sign on the inside of this door said EXIT; the other door was open on their left.

  "This looks like it," said Napoleon. "Ready for Phase One?"

  "Do you want a countdown just like in the movies?"

  "Only if you start at two — we haven't much time. Give me the gadget and let's get it together." He strapped the battery belt around his waist and plugged the baton into it. The three-position slide switch came naturally under his thumb as the orange detector pip flickered to unsteady life. "Bang on. That's the way we have to go."

  He thrust the knobbed end of his wand out the door and the pip glowed like a fanned ember. He flipped the switch up and the blue jewel below the detector pip lit.

  It seemed like a very long time before it went out and the unit declared itself ready to match anything. He flicked the switch down and locked it, and two pink jewels shone side by side.

  "That should do it. Ready to go?"

  Illya nodded.

  "Okay. Bunch up now — this umbrella isn't any too big."

  The silence of the corridors was eerie. Their feet shuffled noiselessly on the light carpet as they passed neatly numbered doors and turned twice according to memorized directions. Then they found and stopped at a locked steel wall panel almost tall enough to step through. Two doors, one above the other,, painted the same restful color as the rest of the wall; the upper housed intercom junctions, the lower video.

  The locked latch of the lower compartment, a standard industrial type, surrendered easily to a stock key, Illya sat crosslegged on- the carpet beside it, studied the inside for a minute and said, "In about forty seconds it will be 3:42. You're still satisfied with a seven-minute lead time and a ninety-second cutout?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay. My zero is 0342. I'll cut the picture at 0349 and it will stay cut until 0350:30. I'll hope to see you back here by 0400."

  "Remember, I should have somebody with me. I may take a little longer coming back."

  "Just don't make any extended stopovers. The first shift comes in at 5:30 and I'd hate to have to explain to Ward Baldwin why I was sitting in his basement with my finger on his camera cable."

  "I'd better get started. We've talked up my forty-second margin." Don't be long."

  Illya sat with his left side against the wall and his head half inside the relay box. His right elbow rested on his knee and his wristwatch, moved for the occasion to his unaccustomed wrist, was visible with scarcely a shift of his eyes from the little box he held ready to be pressed against the fat grey video cable. He relaxed slightly and began to watch the minutes marching past.

  Napoleon kept a measured stride to the end of the corridor and around the corner, down that hall beyond the range of the ultrasonic field to another door and into a stairwell. The door closed behind him as he stripped off the heavy belt and coiled it around the staff, then set the improvised caduceus in the corner behind the door. He wouldn't need it until he came back this way.

  He was at the proper corner with twenty seconds to spare, and his eye tracked the second hand across the last thin lines to the minute. Then with the faith of long friendship he moved as if the corridor would be safe two seconds after the mark. Counting in his head, he sprinted lightly to the eighth door on the right and punched 6-1-9 on the lock. It opened at once into a darkened cubicle. The blue-white swath of light fell across a bunk against the far wall. Sprawled across it, shirt and shoes off and sound asleep, was Harry.

  "I'm afraid you'll have to leave your toothbrush," Napoleon murmured under his breath as he continued his mental count. 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 ...

  He hoisted Harry, still unconscious, more or less to his feet and braced him against the wall. 30 - 31 - 32 - whoops! - 34... Napoleon turned around and let Harry sag forward over his back, arms over his shoulders, Harry was breathing deeply and evenly. Poor mutt, Napoleon thought irrelevantly. TfiU

  This is probably the best sleep he's had in a while. That cost him count — he glimpsed his watch while he crossed Harry's

  ; wrists in front of him and shifted the weight onto his back. 48 - 49 — 50... Better get moving.

  His burden balanced like a side of beef, he staggered into the corridor again, hooking the door to with his toe and nearly losing his balance in the process. 64 - 65 - 66 ... He made the end of the corridor and cleared the corner with about five seconds to spare, secure in the knowledge that Illya would be likely to give him a few seconds margin.

  Once he was out of camera range he could slow down. The stairs were going to be a problem — "HEY, FELLA! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Hold it right there!!"

  Napoleon started to turn, drawing his gun with his free hand, and felt something slam into his back like a sledgehammer as the SPLAT of a silenced Thrush rifle followed the sudden voice behind him. His own automatic coughed fatally once and silence rose from the carpet as the walls absorbed the echoes. The Thrush guard kicked a few seconds and was still.

  Harry felt strangely limper than he had a mi
nute before — Napoleon ducked and lifted the linked arms to check his passenger. He didn't look...

  It suddenly became apparent to Napoleon that Harry's troubles were, ultimately, finished.

  So was their carefully prepared plan. Harry could no logger be induced to tell anyone anything, and there was an inconveniently dead Thrush unexpectedly involved as well. The situation called for some brilliant improvisation. He wished Illya were there.

  Two deaths do not cancel each other, he said to himself, but two bodies may be easier to explain than one if we use them to explain each other. A pair of double doors opened off the corridor into a large dark office, and a quick search found and lit a desk lamp.

  Now — how do we do it? Harry was shot while, escaping, obviously. And he killed the guard before he died. Uh-huh — with what? Well, he grabbed the guards pistol? You're kidding. Got a better idea? He shook his head and started plotting the set-up.