The Final Affair

by David McDaniel

  The deck shifted slightly as the sub rose, and then the top hatch was swung back to pass the three-man gun crew, scampering up a ladder to the dripping deck and a smell of salt and oil.

  Illya balanced Joan's Special in his good right hand while she had a long serious talk with their captive Thrush. . Napoleon took the opportunity to scout the basement area in preference to sitting in on the interview — he started by following the phone wires to the foot of a stygian stairwell, where he stopped and tugged experimentally on them. There was no give; probably a door closed on them somewhere. And it wasn't time to go upstairs yet.

  . At least not all the way... Silenced automatic ready, he traced the twisted line up the side of the stairs to a landing and around the corner into total darkness. No, not total. Above him a glass double door shone in ruddy rectangles against which shifting shadows ran back and forth. Rifles chattered nearby and Napoleon hugged the wall as he crept upwards towards the dim light.

  Sure enough, the wires were wedged tightly under the door, and the door was locked. He could kick it open, but that would attract undue attention, and he had enough to worry about without adding trigger-happy Thrush Guards.

  A slug snapped through the top pane of the left-hand door and dust powdered down on him from the stone ceiling. He severed the phone wire with his commando knife and retreated, dragging the end with him.

  He looped it around the railing at the foot of the stairs and went on exploring. He spent a few more minutes familiarising himself with the layout of the cellar, and then returned to base.

  Joan looked up as he tapped at the door and entered. "It's in Room 39," she said. "He started to soften shortly after you left. I simply pointed out that if he cooperated convincingly he wouldn't have to be hurt a lot before he died, and if he didn't it'd be interesting to see if he would last until the balloon went up."

  "A well-made point," said Napoleon. "How well did you know Ward Baldwin? Never mind. Room 39, huh?"

  "I'll take you there," Myron volunteered.

  "Don't bother," said Solo. "I found it on my walk. I also got a peek upstairs. It's full of Guards, and they're all shooting out windows. Even our private entrance has almost been secured."

  "Almost?"

  "They dropped steel shutters behind the door some time after we came in, but the chair I stuck there to hold it closed jammed, them halfway. I think we could squeeze through if we wanted to go out that way."

  A brief glare of orange flashed down the hall just as another blast slapped the back of the building. A piece of plaster detached itself from the ceiling and shattered on the floor.

  "Personally," he added, "I'd rather wait."

  "But not here," said Myron anxiously. "Farther in."

  "My friend doesn't have the choice. I'm going to Room 39 to see if something can be done about Little Brother. Maybe there's some wires I can cut or something."

  "They're going to set it off by radio. It's all sealed, once it's been armed."

  "Not likely, Napoleon," said Illya. "There's got to be some way of disarming it. I could probably work it out in a few minutes..."

  "Well, I wish I could bring it in here for you to work on."

  "Hey, look," said Myron. "We ought to get out of here."

  Without turning around, Napoleon said, "Joan— put him to sleep."

  "Check."

  "The box they'd dug these field phones out of was stuck here behind the door," Solo continued as Joan dealt efficiently with the Thrush, "and there are three more sets. If I go in there and tell you what I see, can you tell me what to do?"

  There was silence for a few seconds. Illya's pale face was almost lost in shadow and Napoleon read little on it before he said, "I suppose I can try. What tools do you have?"

  "I've got the commando knife, and a few thermite skeleton keys. And the Special."

  "Nothing smaller?" said Joan. "Here." From somewhere she produced a nail file and a hairpin. "You can't use a commando knife inside a circuit board. Take these."

  "I'll drag the other end of this wire over to Room 39," he said. "It ran all the way to the next stairwell and up. I cut it just inside the door when I took a look into the upstairs. It's a beautiful old place."

  "Remind me someday to tell you about the formal banquets there."

  "Tomorrow," said Napoleon. "On our way home."

  "Tonight," said Illya. "Just because they won't blow up the place until total defeat is inevitable doesn't mean we can afford to stand around. How much faith do you have in our side, anyway? I expect them to come in that back door any moment."

  "I'm gone," said Napoleon, and was.

  He returned a moment later. "One thing," he said. "I'm going to have to take the lantern with me for light to work by."

  "Napoleon —" said Joan, but he was gone again and darkness filled the room. A moment later another shell burst against the back of the house, throwing Joan against the table. She recovered her balance and sneezed.

  More plaster crunched under her feet as she groped for the chair, which had been tipped over. From somewhere she could hear the insistent dripping of water.

  "Illya — are you all right?"

  "The bed has good springs, but the concussions make my head ache. And >I find it hard to focus in the dark. Where are you?"

  "Over here, near where the chair was. I'm looking for the phone pack. Here it is."

  "Where's Myron?"

  "Tucked in a corner, fast asleep. He's as safe as we are."

  Another shell struck nearby and the room shuddered. A moment later the phone bell clattered.

  "U.N.C.L.E. Field Base J for-Joan. Go ahead."

  "What would you have done if this hadn't been me?"

  "I'd've thought of a good one quick. Where are you?"

  "At the door of Room 39. I'm about to blow my way in and thought I'd check the phone first. There's no particular—" The phone cut off.

  Joan listened. Silence pressed against her ear, and only the distant sound of intermittent gunfire outside filled the quiet. Something exploded far away towards the front of the house, more felt than heard. "Napoleon? I've lost your signal..."

  "What is it?" Illya asked, struggling to raise himself on his good elbow.

  "I don't know," said Joan. "He's there, but—

  "Hey, are you still there?"

  "Where would I go?"

  "Sorry for dropping you like that but a couple of Guards were on their way past and wondered what I was doing. And— Hah! There goes the door. Okay... stay with me now...

  "What's going on?" Illya insisted.

  "He had to shoot a couple of Guards — just blew the door to Room 39.

  He's going inside now."

  "What does it look like? Any exposed controls at all?"

  "What do you see?" Joan prompted.

  "Not much. There's a grey metal wall panel which makes this room about half as deep as Illya's."

  "Any instruments, controls, signs, etcetera?"

  "Nothing. "

  "Nothing," Joan relayed. "It fills half the room, though."

  "There's a couple of small panels with counter-sunk screws. I didn't see them until I looked closely."

  "Ask him if there are any access panels."

  "He just found a couple."

  "Tell him to open them. They probably aren't booby-trapped — you needn't mention the idea."

  "Ask Illya if I should open them.

  "He just said you should. Look you two are reading each other's minds anyway. Illya can hold the phone himself."

  "Okay. I'll be busy for a while but the round end of your nail file fits these screw heads pretty well. I'll ring you back after I get one off. Hey which one should I takeoff first? One is eye level on the far right and the other is halfway to the left about a foot above the floor. And they're both about a foot on a side."

  Joan relayed the data to Illya, who said, "Tell him... No, give me the phone. Hello, Napoleon — open the upper one first if it's got an insulated edge around it. The lower
one's probably something —"

  An explosion on the floor above dropped blocks of stone from their ceiling and stunned them for a moment. When Illya found the phone under his right shoulder, it was saying tinnily, "Hello? Illya? Hello? Are you still there?"

  "Right here, Napoleon. All okay. Call me before you do anything else after opening the panel."

  "There's no insulation showing on either of them."

  "Take the upper one anyway."

  "Check. Upper right panel. I'll call you back.

  Illya let the handset drop to his pillow wearily. "He's working on it," he said. "He'll call us back." His voice was strained, and his breathing irregular.

  There was only the endless distant sound of war overhead and the occasional shocks of explosions which had lost their power to terrify. Joan knelt on the plaster-sharded floor beside the metal frame bed and leaned her head against it, suddenly tired. It was quiet for several seconds, and then Illya said, "Joan?"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm getting a little fuzzy. You'd better talk to me, so I can stay awake. Napoleon should be calling back in a couple of minutes — and I have the feeling if I let go now I might not be very easy to wake up. So talk to me. What was going on outside when you came in?"

  "Our main—assault force was ashore and moving in. Something was burning, down beyond the Long Buildings."

  "What happened in the powerhouse after Sanders tripped the alarm? Do you have any idea?"

  "Oh, yes; Goldin made it out. Sanders managed to accomplish the target and took out a Guard and himself in the process. Medal of Honor material."

  "Worthy of him. I wonder how Napoleon's doing..."

  "Illya, I'd like to ask you some questions. If you don't mind —"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You've worked with Napoleon for six years. According to your personal files you are each other's closest friends — and this business tends to discourage such things. And now that I've found him again after all these years — and so close to losing him forever — I wish you could tell me what he's really like, now."

  There was silence for a moment before Illya said, "Actually, I don't think I really know him that well. There has always been much about him that I didn't understand." He paused, thinking. "For a long time he was fearless — almost suicidally so. But in the last couple of years he's seemed to sober up. In some respects, I'd say—

  The phone rang, and Illya found the handset. "Kuryakin."

  "There's a valve handle, in a box. Nothing else."

  "Rats. What does it say on the valve handle? Anything stamped or written on it? Is it metal?"

  Pause.

  "Yeah. Metal, with P.J.V.R. stamped on it. All caps, with periods."

  "Try turning it."

  "It turns in both directions. Shall I leave it centered where it was?"

  "No, turn it all the way to the left for good luck," said Illya. "And go to work on the other panel."

  "It'll be easier," said Napoleon cheerfully. "The lantern's on the floor. I hope it was full of fuel."

  "You may have a little longer, by the way — whoever was knocking at the back door seems to have given up. The dust is settling back here. But don't take all night — there are lots of places I'd rather be."

  "You may be there before you know it. I'll ring back when I get the second panel off. What should I hope to see?"

  "Some switches, some wires. Probably a light or two. Call me." He dropped the phone and slumped back, breathing harshly.

  "I just remembered," he said after a few seconds. "The rest of the field surgical kit — is in the drawer of that little table — next to the closet. I saw the Guard put it there. Can you find it?"

  "Probably," said Joan, and groped away through the darkness.

  "There's some morphine in there. Just get it ready. I can't have any until we're through this, but I'll want it ready. Besides, they gave me adrenalin before Myron started talking to me and it hasn't worn off yet.

  "But you wanted to know about Napoleon. . He likes boats — oh, of course he told, you about his 27-footer, the Pursang..."

  "What's his favorite color?"

  "Color? I haven't the least idea. His favorite wine..."

  Several wooden buildings on both sides of the island were roaring skyward in flames, and the waning moon was obscured by the smoke of their burning. The rear of the Big House was a cratered ruin, thin topsoil scattered and coral blasted to dust. No more lightning was flung at the sea, and no more shells were being fired; the surface moved dark and peaceful.

  The invading force from U.N.C.L.E. was stalled, running into concerted defense through the Long Buildings to the south and from the fortified Guard Quarters to the north of the Big House. Once again light machine guns perched behind concrete cornices of the old mansion, sleeting leaden death on anything that moved in their free-fire zone. Their infrared sniperscopes were aided by the flickering heat of the rising flames before which the U.N.C.L.E. troops advanced and towards which they were forced to retire again. Something fat and shiny in an upper story window spat whirling spheres of yellow-white fire across the open yard to the north, and uniformed figures scampered away from its line of fire, as bullets spattered the stonework about the window.

  Downstairs Joan could only tell that the gunfire overhead was less frequent, and the shelling seemed to have stopped. It was comparatively restful now in the darkness of the cell, and breathing was easier as the dust settled.

  "...He played lacrosse in college — and I remember he threw the javelin..." Illya's voice murmured softly, prompted occasionally by Joan, as they waited for the telephone to ring again. It might have been five minutes, it might have been fifteen.

  When it rang, Joan grabbed the handset. "U.N.C.L.E. base," she said. "How is it?"

  "Pretty, good, I. guess, but I'd better talk directly to Illya. "

  Joan helped the Russian prop the phone on the pillow next to his ear, his right hand operating the talk switch.

  "Right here, Napoleon," he said. "What do you see?"

  "A mess of wires. There are a few switches — not mounted, just hanging in there between wires. And there's a red pilot light on — and an orange one a blue one and a green one that aren't on. Is that good?"

  "I wouldn't count on it. What color are the wires leading to the light that is on?"

  "Uhhhhh lemme see... One of them is red and one's a red-green stripe...

  "Trace them back and see which one goes to a switch. It should be the striped one."

  .. and one is 'a blue-and-white stripe. What did you say?"

  "Never mind. Trace both striped ones, and the red one too. Tell me which goes where."

  "Okay. Hey — the blue light just went on. The red one is still on. What does that mean?"

  "I don't know yet. Trace the red wire first," said Illya. "And see if there's any way you can get through the panel into the triggering mechanism —unless there's a wiring diagram stuck inside the door."

  "Nope. I looked. The solid red wire goes with a bundle out a little hole in the left hand side. The red-green goes with a bundle out the back.

  The blue-white wire runs to a switch, and another blue-white runs... ah... to the green light? That, doesn't seem right. Just a minute."

  Something like a grenade went off somewhere overhead. "Don't take that minute," said Illya urgently. "Can you get past the wiring? Can you get- into the space beyond that wall?"

  "I'll see."

  "What's happening?" Joan asked as a machine gun stammered intently above them.

  "Trying to get at the mechanism," said Illya. "Sounds as if the attack has picked up again. If Thrush is going to wait until this building is taken before they set off that device, they may not have too much longer to wait. Incidentally, did you get a look at some of the underground areas on your way —"

  "Illya, you there?"

  "Right here."

  "I've got two panels pried loose — and finally broke the blade of my knife. There's something about as big a
s my desk up on a trestle, and a box with cables. Some of them lead up to that box in the wall with the lights and switches in it. I'm behind the wall now and looking around... That pipe with the valve on it leads into the big thing on the trestle — and there's another pipe out the bottom. What is it?"

  "There's a water jacket around the device; a steady flow of water past it is monitored for radioactivity to detect leaks. The water's off, so I had you close the valve. It might come back on with a pressure surge, and this way the inner casing will be protected. Tell me about that box with the cables."