"That sounds like a checkmate," said Illya.
"Indeed. But there is increasing evidence that our opponent has one major piece yet unexposed. A hard base of some magnitude, isolated and concealed somewhere in the world — where they probably have an equivalent master computer unit, if not direct communication with or control of the rest of the Hierarchy. Inasmuch as we have found no less than four references in appropriate contexts to Thrush Island on the comm tapes we have monitored so far, we recognise the fact that it may or may not be an island; Thrush is perfectly capable of assigning that designation to a post in the Gobi Desert or the Matto Grosso."
"But the UlComp doesn't know — or won't tell — where it is?"
"We aren't sure yet. It may be a slang term of some unguessable content. When we have Central's own banks to work through, we expect to find the answers to these and many other questions."
"Ah, excuse me," said Napoleon doubtfully, "but did I understand you to say that we would stage our sneaky raid on Central at three o'clock in the afternoon?"
"Yes. The situation in Darjeeling is much more sensitive than in San Diego, and the hour of four-thirty in the morning is ideal for the kind of operation Mr. Castora feels is appropriate. At the same time, the middle of a hot Saturday afternoon will find Balboa Park filled with innocent by-standers, among whom our operative should be comparatively inconspicuous. Some female workers from the Los Angeles office will be assigned to accompany you as assistants and general cover."
"It looks so simple," said Illya, tracing the plans with a forefinger. "I jumper these wires, while Napoleon plants the gas cannisters here, we wait two minutes, and walk in."
"It's a fine plan," said Mr. Waverly. "The Ultimate Computer worked it out for us at the request of Mr. Gold, who set it up as a test of the strategic planning program."
"I thought you couldn't get at their top security programs," said Napoleon. "I thought that was why we were doing all this."
"We can't get at them. But we can use them. Remember, the program is the master form or blueprint of everything that is to be done with the given data and from which the decision is reached. We can put data into one side of the black box and get results out the other, but we want to know what goes on inside the box. And it can't be examined through a terminal. Only Central staff is allowed to get inside. Therefore..."
"Therefore we have to take over Central, Did UlComp also set up the Darjeeling Operation?"
"Not in detail. While there is no objection to testing the security of a standby site, oddly enough, the Acting Central at any given moment is not an acceptable subject for defense analysis. A touch of paranoia, if not enough to protect them. Still, we know just how much effort will be needed; the order of priority is headed by transfer of control, followed by flight, defense or surrender. We want them to dump, then surrender."
"And this will destroy Thrush?"
"This will destroy its central nervous system. The 14,872 individual Satrapys will be abandoned to their fates and initiative of their leaders. We have adequate evidence of most of the criminal activities of Thrush, hopefully sufficient to Bring specific indictments against most of the Satraps and some of their staffs; it will be presented to whatever authorities have jurisdiction."
"There are some known Thrush operations which show no criminal taint, and it is not a crime to belong to Thrush — merely highly questionable. We can only watch their future activities with the controlling mind behind them gone."
"There will be no lack of work for us in the next few years, gentlemen — every surviving Satrap will see himself the Man of the Hour, inspired to weld the shattered segments into a new whole with himself at the head. This will inevitably lead to differences of opinion, and likely gang guerilla warfare in a few thousand locations, as well as independent operations on somewhat smaller scales than before."
"But without Central, all intercommunication and co-ordination among them will be gone," said Napoleon, awed.
"Not all," said Illya. "They can still use public telephone circuits and amateur radio. But it won't quite have that old — what's the word, Meyer?"
"Zip."
"Thank you. Zip."
"Of course, we will have the advantage of knowing where everyone is, what they have, can do and have done, which will be of inestimable advantage."
"We knew all that about Baldwin and it never helped," said Napoleon.
"By the way," asked Illya, "have you been able to place anything against Baldwin? Indictments? Evidence?"
"Ah... Hmm. I confidently expect to bring some kind of charges against him, though at present I'm afraid I can't tell what. After all, we have sifted barely three percent of the data that's been fed us so far."
"I put a flag on Baldwin's name," said Napoleon. "If anything comes through with him on it I get a copy. He's done a lot of research for them, all laboratory stuff with legally obtained materials (as far as we can tell) and unspecified results; they pay him a lot of royalties for unspecified uses of his patents; he socializes with many of their top brass. He walks like a Thrush, he has feathers like a Thrush, he chirps like a Thrush and he runs around a lot with Thrush —"
"Besides," said Illya, "he told us he was Thrush. And why should he lie?"
" — But we cannot connect him in any way with any illegal activity."
"Yet," said Mr. Waverly.
The August afternoon sun shone hot on irrigated trees and rococo concrete buildings, on bushes, baseball diamond and bandshell. The wheezing music of a carrousel wafted on the warm breeze; kids ran and shouted, or stretched on - tiptoe to reach a waterfountain. There was a scent of carmelcorn and of flowers, with an occasional whiff from the zoo just over the hill.
Among a variety of motley groups wandering down the long empty street between shuttered and padlocked exhibition buildings strolled three assorted couples, carrying, respectively, a large briefcase, a large camera bag, and a large leather purse. Most of the members of this unnoticed group wore dark glasses,, and two of the men wore caps with bills which shaded their faces perhaps- a little more than necessary.
The boarded windows and untracked portico of the chipped plaster facade they passed bespoke seasons without tenants. Behind those blank walls waited a staff of 47 and several millions of dollars worth of hardware, protected by one of the best portable security systems in the world, They waited, ready to be called to duty in a couple of weeks or on sixty seconds notice, but not quite ready to be subject to an attack themselves, feeling as secure as they had almost every right to feel.
Napoleon Solo could have known the name, rank and personal history of every one of the 47, had he cared to memorize that list he did know the entrance code, the block diagram of the air-conditioning system, the master alarm net and cross-check plan, and where the washrooms were.
Since Joan was still restricted in San Francisco, Napoleon was accompanied by Linda Brunelle, a healthy blonde from the Los Angeles office; Illya had been assigned a lean brunette named Terri Travener. Mr. Gold had brought Miss Klingstein with him, as well as a satchel stuffed with data sheets which held the keys to the Ultimate Computer itself, scrawled in illegible pencil. Between them they expected to be able to operate at least as much of the hardware as necessary.
Illya carried a photographer's gadget bag, containing his electronic sensors, assorted cables, and two candy bars. Brandy slung a leather tote bag which held three cannisters of Paralane-Alpha.
"It struck me," said Napoleon as they wandered with the citizenry through the park past their target, "that one of our problems in dealing with Thrush was that they always took the initiative, and they knew how to apply that minimum of force in just the right place before you knew it and be finished before you could quite react. And it occurred to me —"
"That we were doing the same thing to them only more so and first?" said Illiya. "I'm sorry Napoleon. If I'd thought you'd missed that I would have pointed it out to you days ago."
"You didn't know days ago," said Napole
on reasonably. "Smart-alec Russian. I'll bet you didn't think of it until just now."
"I'm insulted."
"Good. Anyway, I just thought I'd mention the point. Isn't this our corner?"
Gold and Miss Klingstein stopped to admire the view west towards the bay while Napoleon and Illya, with their aides, walked idly around the end of the building onto a gravel path. They found a wood-and-stucco utility locker on the back wall behind a clump of eucalyptus; Illya's key fit the padlock and a quick look verified a network of wires, all tagged with numbers. Then as he consulted a list and Terri commenced unpacking the kit, Napoleon worked his way along the wall, Brandy behind him, feet crunching quietly on the fragrant leaves.
There was his air intake, louvered and screened, eight feet above the ground. He could just barely reach it, he found, and it would be simple to hang the cannisters to the screen. He left Brandy there arming the gas cylinders, and padded back to Illya.
"How are we doing?" he asked.
"As well as can reasonably be expected," said his partner. "My jumpers are ready to cut in and we have about four minutes to go."
"About? Have you checked with Darjeeling?"
"I was just about to. Would you?"
Napoleon's communicator was assembled in his hand, and he asked, "Open Channel S, please."
A guarded voice answered interrogatively, and Napoleon said, "It's us. We seem to have about three and a half minutes to zero. How's by you?"
"Much the same. Is all well where you are?"
"So far. We'll launch the first phase exactly one minute before the hour."
"The hour? Oh, sorry. We're in a half-hour difference zone. It's just coming up on 0:27."
"Okay, that matches our 14:57, Coming up on the minute — four, three, two, one, mark!"
"Two seconds error; not enough to worry about. Five seconds would be close enough provided you went first. I will initiate my phase, then, fifteen seconds after you release your gas."
"Make it thirty seconds," said Illya. "It'll take the gas most of a minute to move through the system into their quarters. That gives your target a minute or so to notice you're coming and push the panic button, so the dump should come just about the time everyone here is dozing off."
"Check," said Castora. "Standing by,"
"Two minutes," said Illya as Napoleon returned to where Brandy had prepared and armed all three charges.
With thirty seconds to go he started all three timers and stretched to hang the cylinders, one at a time, on the grating over the mouth of the air intake. Then he looked up at them expectantly as the final seconds ticked away.
They burst with a rush, and Illya dropped the microswitches of his jumper unit.
Faintly through his communicator he heard the cry of "GO!" from ten thousand miles away. The warm California breeze rustled in undisturbed tranquility as three cannisters poured pale vapor into the drawing vent.
"Well," said Illya after a few seconds, "that should do it."
It did.
SECTION IV
"Oh, What A Fall Was There!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"We've Just Been Destroyed."
Breakfast was quieter than usual in the tall old house on Alamo Square that Sunday. Ward Baldwin finished his oatmeal, his eggs and his kippers without a word, addressed a knife load of marmalade to his toast and sipped his Earl Grey tea before speaking. His voice was harsh and level.
"In view of the continued silence from Central, which has now lasted nearly twenty four hours, I fear we have no choice but to assume that the Hierarchy has become at least temporarily, leaderless at the very highest level."
"What can have happened?" Irene pondered.
"I'm sure Alexander Waverly would know," Robin volunteered. "In fact, I'll bet if I called U.N.C.L.E. and asked him, he'd even tell me. D'you think I should?"
"I dare say he'd relish the opportunity to tell me it was his doing. It may be a matter of a month — perhaps as much as three months — before Central can be replaced and restaffed, and. changes made in security systems. That electronic box in my study sits there with one sheet hanging out of its printer: 'Due to circumstances beyond our control, all communication with Central and UlComp has been interrupted. Please stand by. This unit will be reactivated as soon, as possible.' Not very encouraging." He cleared his throat and sipped his tea.
"It may mean that the floating electronic crap-game will take a few days to assemble itself somewhere and resume operations on the old frequency, but in such a case The Island should be able to keep all their balls in the air during the interim. From here it is impossible to tell to what extent the top levels of the Hierarchy may have been damaged. I may call Victor after midnight by transatlantic telephone— I'm sure he still has his scrambler from that dreadful Guardian business in '61 and the old Krivan key should be as good as it ever was."
"What do you suppose The Island is doing?" Robin asked. "You could check through Vince and Fang."
"The Men From Central took their leave quite late last night," Irene said. "When I went into the library to announce breakfast, I found the sofa neatly made up and everything put away as though they'd never been here."
"I was still up when they left, my dear. They were in rather a hurry, apparently having received an urgent summons from The Island, but they paused to invite me to join them in the incipient action. They gave me the impression it was being fortified to be held as a last redoubt in hope of evading U.N.C.L.E.'s all-probing eyes — the picture they sketched reminded me strongly of Remington's study of The Fall Of The Alamo. Lacking the dedication of Colonel Bowie and the stamina of Congressman Crockett, I quoted my Selective Service classification of 7-J: to be mobilised only in case of an actual enemy invasion, and assembled in Union Square to pile sandbags around Huntley and Brinkley."
"You'll have to change that one, dear," said Irene. "Huntley has retired."
"What? At his age? This younger generation is soft. I've said it again and again."
"You don't suppose poor Mr. Stevens might have had something to do with all this," Robin asked.
"I can't see, how.. One day I may ask Waverly about it. He must know — no natural disaster could have been so devastating."
"Well, we aren't in any trouble with U.N.C.L.E., are we?"
"Of course not, dear," said Irene. "Not legally. Though I suppose they can't help but be suspicious of us. Besides, if they knocked over Central, any evidence they had seized in the course of an illegal entry would be inadmissible in court."
"Then all we have to do is sit still and wait for them to get a new Central running. After all, it's not as if Ward's whole livelihood depended on Thrush."
"Essentially my own conclusion," said Baldwin. "We may have to suspend portions of our operation and curtail some of the more expensive projects, and I shall be crippled without a computer — let us consider leasing a local service. Life itself should go on much as usual. Probably quieter." He sighed and finished his cup of tea. "Ah well, back to pure research."
That afternoon, a few miles away in downtown San Francisco, Joan was officially Told All. Her clearance was granted in conjunction with Mr. Waverly's briefing of Napoleon and Illya on the earliest results of their successful capture of Thrush Central and the Ultimate Computer. She listened open-mouthed as the magnitude of the coup was gradually revealed to her.
"According to Mr. Gold, the emergency dump transmission from Darjeeling went perfectly. The Master Catalog Index has already been copied out and everything seemed to check as they began analysis. There are, by the way, a number of valuable programs we expect to adapt to our own system."
"And you did all this through Baldwin's old terminal?" Joan asked incredulously.
"Well, that was the keyhole we opened, and once we had a janitor inside to tap the wine-kegs, we were able to put a whole army through the keyhole and take over."
Illya choked and Joan laughed warmly. "You haven't changed all that much."
"Well, okay. It was a
lot more abstract and theoretical than that. But Illya explained it all to me as we went along."
The intercom flashed and buzzed, and was answered.
"Simpson here. I thought you'd like to know — we've just been destroyed. An outside source seems to have activated the terminal's remote destruct circuit."
"I'm gratified we came through it so well," said Mr. Waverly. "When did this disaster occur?"
"About a minute ago. Before the terminal was brought in here, all the autodestruct devices had been neutralised. I thought we should know if anybody tried to set them off, so I traced that particular circuit and connected it to an alarm."
"An alarm?"
"Just a buzzer and a large red light saying BOOM. I wanted to be sure and notice if it went off."
"Baldwin?"
"No, the remote destruct command can only be generated by the Ultimate Computer. You can imagine the chaos that could result if any terminal could blow up any other terminal."
"I see what you mean," said Napoleon.
"You also mean Thrush Island has a fully programmed stand-by unit running things," Illya realised.
The Final Affair Page 12