Napoleon murmured, "Caution: cigarette smoking may be hazardous to the next guy's health."
Waverly smiled. "This interest in technical advances in our weaponry is heartening, but don't be tempted into finding excuses to try them out. On an ideal mission, not even a temper is ruffled. The ends of secrecy are best served by stealth."
"Now about Capetown..." said Napoleon.
"Everything is here," said Waverly, placing a small manila folder on the table and giving it a turn towards his agent. "Address of the hotel where MacKendricks is staying, picture of him—it's ten years old, but I don't imagine he'll have changed much—passport, proper visa, and tickets."
Napoleon looked at the items, checking them over, and tucked them into various pockets.
"One last thing," added his superior. "I would appreciate a call at your earliest convenience regarding your decision on the matter. We could save Mr. Kuryakin a trip to Capetown."
Chapter 2: "An Awfully Big Haystack."
Under the circumstances, Napoleon did not check in with U.N.C.L.E. Capetown as soon as he arrived. He caught a cab directly from the airport to the center of town and the Voortrek Hotel. The desk clerk gave him a room number and a house phone, and a minute later a cautious voice said, "Yes?"
"Uncle Mac? This is your nephew, Napoleon Solo, from New York. I was told you might be able to use my help in a business deal, so I flew right in."
"Good. We've been expecting you. Come on up and..." MacKendricks paused suddenly as if listening for something, then added, "... and hurry!"
Mac dropped the phone in its cradle, picked up a lumpy old revolver and stepped to the door into the next room. He listened there closely, then turned to the window. He teased aside the edge of one drawn drape and looked out. No one there. Now, had he heard a footstep, or hadn't he? He checked the door into the corridor, feeling like a foolish old man looking for burglars.
Out in the corridor were four burglars. All stamped from the same mold: large, husky, and mean-looking. One of them tapped lightly on the next door—Suzie's. They didn't look as if they were selling encyclopedias, Mac decided, but if they were, you'd better buy.
He closed the door very softly and slipped on the chain, then hurried to the adjoining door. He opened it, saying, "Suzie girl, don't open..." But her hand was already on the knob and turning, as she looked back over her shoulder with mild surprise. And then it was too late.
A broad shoulder slammed against the door, tearing it from Suzie's grip and throwing it wide open. The first pair had bulky automatics in their fists and were already looking around for something to use them on.
As the door burst open, Mac yelled, "Get down, Suzie!" And then the room was filled with the thunder of his revolver and the sharp sweet smell of gunpowder. Suzie felt something pluck at her hair as she dived for the slight amount of cover afforded by the sofa, and the slamming bark of an automatic made her ears ring.
Napoleon Solo heard the gunfire as he stepped out of the elevator. His own U.N.C.L.E. Special was in his hand as he sprinted the length of the hall, and it took him only a moment to decide on which side his loyalties lay. One dark-suited man sat against a wall, an automatic near his limp hand and a spreading stain across his chest. Napoleon fired twice, and had the satisfaction of seeing another pistol fall to the floor as its erstwhile owner ceased to care about anything.
The two remaining men leaped behind things as Napoleon ducked back behind the doorframe. He should have used the two shots he'd had time for to wing two instead of killing one, he thought belatedly. But his momentary survey of the scene of action had also shown him an old man lying in an open doorway, and he had been a little upset. He also wondered what had become of the girl.
He found out a moment later, as a rough and heavily accented voice called, "Hey, Mister! We got the girl, and she's coming out with us. You hear?"
Napoleon hoped the girl was small—it's hard to hide behind someone much smaller than you, and he could get in one shot that would count if he had half a chance and just a piece of target.
"Keep your gun down, and stand away from the door, hear me?"
Solo gave back a reluctant monosyllabic acknowledgment, and let his pistol hang at the end of his arm as he stepped back a couple of paces.
A moment later an angry little figure, unmistakably feminine, was rudely propelled into the corridor at the end of an anonymous arm which gripped her wrist firmly. She looked both ways, and saw Napoleon. Before either of them could say hello, she was joined by her chaperone, dark-visaged, moustached, and armed. He pulled her tightly to him as a shield, and directed the snout of a still-smoking automatic over her right shoulder. Napoleon suppressed a slight smile as he saw she only came up to the man's chin, and his wrist muscles tensed slightly as he estimated the placement of the single shot he would have time for.
The next moment a second man, almost a twin of the first but thinner, stepped out of the door. He too held an automatic, its muzzle directed steadily towards Napoleon's center of gravity. Solo cursed his hesitation—he should have dropped the first one before the second came out. But then the girl might have been shot from cover. Valuable to U.N.C.L.E. she might be, but at the moment she was a definite liability to one particular agent. Helpless females were fun in their place, but encountering one on the job was certainly not....
Suddenly the helpless female under consideration became a brief blur of action. She brought her heel down violently on her captor's instep and jabbed her free elbow halfway to the wrist in his stomach. As his face contorted and he doubled over, his automatic exploded beside her ear and the slug tore a gouge in the wall inches from Napoleon's gun hand—or where his hand would have been if his reactions had been a little slower.
He snapped into action the moment he saw the girl begin to move, and had evaluated the situation in the fraction of a second it took him to bring his pistol level and squeeze the trigger. The big one was doubling over, his mouth open like a beached fish. The second one had turned his head and started to swing his gun towards his companion. It was perfectly simple, and Solo took advantage of it.
The second assassin probably never knew what hit him. Under the circumstances Napoleon knew better than to try circus stunts like shooting him in the hand. He drilled him once through the chest, and without a twinge watched his body leap back under the impact and flop against the wall before sliding to the floor. Before he hit, the U.N.C.L.E. Special was centered on the last of the invaders, who was doubled over against the other wall, his face an interesting shade of purple behind the moustache.
The girl was getting slowly up from the floor, shaking her head weakly and rubbing at her right ear. Napoleon knelt beside her and slipped a supporting hand under her arm.
"You all right?" he asked.
"I think so," she said hesitantly, "except it'll be a while before I'll be able to hear clearly again. Golly, that thing makes a racket!"
"Before we get any more involved in mayhem, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Napoleon Solo, from New York. Do you happen to know...Excuse me a moment."
The lone survivor of the attack group was moving feebly across the floor towards an automatic. Napoleon slipped the magazine out of his own pistol, fumbled in an inner pocket, and popped something into the open chamber. He pointed the weapon at the man as the girl screwed her face up and turned her head away.
There was a chuff, and the man stopped moving. A moment later the girl looked around hesitantly.
"Oh, he's not dead," said Solo. "But he'll sleep peacefully until we decide what to do with him. It may be a problem—his type does not usually respond well to rehabilitation and retraining. But as I was saying," he continued as he replaced the magazine in his U.N.C.L.E. Special and worked the slide to bring a cartridge into the chamber, "do you know a gentleman named MacKendricks? I came here to meet him."
Her face changed suddenly. "Oh dear heavens! Mac!" she gasped, and jumped for the door of the room.
Napoleon looked up and down the
hall, and shook his head slowly. He would never cease to be amazed at the things one could get away with in public places without attracting attention. Well, it was all right with him if people didn't want to get involved. He wedged his automatic back into its cozy holster and set to work clearing the corridor of corpses.
The sleeping one he dragged by the legs into the room, and looked around for the girl. Then he dropped him and stepped quickly to where she knelt by a gray-haired man who lay on the floor, a great dark stain oozing slowly through the rug around him.
Napoleon knelt beside her as the old man opened his eyes. "Mr. MacKendricks—my name is Solo. From U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters."
The eyes turned to focus on him. "Have y' seen th' pictures?"
"No—I started as soon as your cable arrived. The film hadn't come in yet."
"Somebody's got a rocket base in the Indian Ocean—a big one. I thought you'd better know. Somebody else thought you'd better not, I guess." He chuckled a little, and coughed. Flecks of red appeared around his lips.
"Oh, Mac, don't talk!" said the girl desperately. "We've got to get you to a doctor!"
"Hush now, Suzie girl. I haven't got more than a bit of time, and I've got to think. I knew the location of the island—I can't think. You, Mr. —"
"Solo."
"Of course. You, find Kurt. He was navigator. He was with us. He and I—we knew the coördinates. We were a long way short of Madagascar—twenty-something-something south.... Can't think."
Suzie stifled a sob, and Mac lifted a hand to touch her shoulder. "Now stop that, girl. It doesn't hurt at all, now. And I've done just about everything else in this world. But I've got to tell you—stay with Mr. Solo. He's one of the best men in the world, and he's got a gold card to prove it. Ask him what U.N.C.L.E. means. You'll be safer with him than anywhere else. As for you, Mr. Solo—find Kurt Schneider. He was going to hide someplace, but you can find him before those others. And just one last thing—a favor I ask of you."
Napoleon nodded.
"Have me buried at sea. I've spent my whole life cheatin' the ocean, and it wouldn't be fair to let the land take me away from her forever."
"I promise."
"And take care of Suzie—she's as dear to me as a daughter. She can tell you everything but the location of that damned island." His face drew up into a vague frown. "One of us knew besides me—who was it?"
"Kurt," said Suzie gently. "Kurt Schneider."
"That's right. Kurt. A brave man, staying on the ship like that until the Captain took over. I remember that. The ship blew up just after his boat got off. We thought he was killed. A brave man he was. Find him, Suzie, and find that island." His eyes closed, and his breath rasped in his throat as his hand gripped weakly at her shoulder. Her lips paled, but she held her emotion in.
Napoleon saw her eyes shine with tears a moment, just before the hand slipped from her shoulder and fell across the old man's chest. Her whole body was quivering as Napoleon slipped a comforting arm around her.
Then she turned suddenly to him, tears streaming down her cheeks, and released her anguish. Her hands on his shoulders, her face pressed against his chest, she sobbed convulsively for some time.
Solo guessed that some of her reaction was to the violence she had been a part of only a few minutes before, and decided it would be a good thing for her to clear it out of her system. But on the other hand, there were a few more things to be done.
He helped her to her feet, and got her over to the couch. She slumped there, tear-drops staining the dark cloth until it seemed the same color as the rug around the body of the old man, who still lay where he had fallen in her defense.
Meanwhile, Napoleon was busy dragging the rest of the bodies into the room. Neatness is a virtue, he thought to himself as he arranged them along the wall in order of size. Besides, if we left them out in the hall, some bellboy would stumble over them eventually, and he might not understand at all. He stopped to consider this thought. I wonder, he said to himself, if I might not be getting a little callous towards death.
His next action was to check in with home base. Channel D put him in direct communication with Waverly, by way of an automatic local relay station and the nearest communications satellite, where it was beamed to New York, multiplexed on an apparently innocent carrier. It was a matter of seconds before the familiar gruff voice inquired impatiently as to what the problem seemed to be.
Solo gave him a complete report on the attempted— and half successful—assassination. By the time he had finished, the whole situation was clearer in his own mind for having been verbalized. His receiver was silent for several seconds.
"Your promise to MacKendricks makes it awkward," came the voice at last. "It would be simpler to take the girl and leave all the bodies behind. Can you get his body out undetected?"
"It'd be easier if I have some help, sir. And it appears now there's nothing in this that directly affects the local office, so I'd like your permission to call them in. I'll need some fairly complex investigating facilities too, to trace Schneider. And then there's the Sleeping Beauty, too. I doubt if the local law would know what to do with him."
"Permission granted," said the voice over seven thousand miles of ocean. "Those photographs haven't been seen here yet—find out if this girl knows anything about them."
Suzie was staring at the little silver tube, tear-streaks drying unnoticed on her cheeks. Now she sat up and held out a hand. "Here," she said unsteadily. "Let me talk to him."
She fumbled with it for a moment, locating the microphone. "Hello?" she said tentatively.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Suzanne Danz, of Chicago. I was on the Paxton Merchant when she was attacked and sunk by an unknown power. Mister MacKendricks saved my life then, and he saved it again today."
"I helped," said Napoleon under his breath, but she didn't hear.
"What are these photographs?" Waverly asked.
"I took almost a whole roll of pictures with a telephoto lens just before the ship was blown up. They were of a big rocket being launched from an island. Mac and Kurt were the only ones who knew the position we were at when we saw the rocket. Kurt stayed on the ship until the Captain ordered him off just before the bomb hit. We thought he'd been killed too but Mac saw him floating in the oil slick and pulled him in and we were just able to get him breathing again—we thought he had been killed by the concussion but Mac saved his life too and now he's dead and they shot him..."
Her voice was rising in pitch and she was breathing harder. Napoleon reached forward and gripped her arm hard. She stopped short and squeezed her eyes tight shut.
"Look," he said intently. "You've had a rough time, and it may be a while before it's all over. But you're as safe as you can be now. Mac is dead, but he died the best way a man can. And the best thing you can do now is stay calm and help us all you can. Okay?"
She nodded mutely, but didn't open her eyes. Napoleon gently removed the transmitter from her clenched fist.
"Mr. Waverly? Sorry for the interruption. A touch of reaction. Send Illya down as soon as those pictures come in. I'll get in contact with U.N.C.L.E. Capetown and give them a song-and-dance about but why I'm here without their knowledge. Anything else?"
"Nothing, as long as you continue to justify my faith in you. You can take care of yourself. Do so."
"Thank you, sir." Why was it Waverly always made an explicit statement of his confidence when conditions were worst? Oh well, it usually worked, and that was justification enough.
He thumbed the call button again, and requested Channel L.
Forty-five very busy minutes later he and Suzie were sitting in a neatly furnished office. The single survivor of the unsuccessful attack was being received downstairs by U.N.C.L.E.'s medical technicians, and prepared for a thorough interrogation which he would not even remember the next day. Also downstairs was the body which had once belonged to John Calvin MacKendricks, awaiting disposal in accord with his last wishes.
&nb
sp; Upstairs Suzie Danz leaned back in a metal chair and addressed a microphone. "Well, we found Kurt Schneider floating in the oil, and after we pulled him in we looked around for a while, but there wasn't anybody else. And I guess that was about all."
"All right," said Napoleon. "What happened after that?"
"Nothing much. Well, the boat was stocked for eight, but we didn't have a radio. So we put up the sail and went south until Mac and Kurt thought we were in the main shipping lane, and then drifted around for seven days until we were spotted and found. Kurt took command, with Mac as his first mate, and set up food and water rationing. We had enough for another four days when the Ballyshannon took us aboard."
She smiled suddenly. "I lost everything except for my camera and my lenses and film. And I've got about six rolls of life in a lifeboat. I used a wide-angle, mostly, and I photographed just about everything. Maybe I can sell it to Life or National Geographic. I sent the film off after we got here, except for the roll I shot of the missile taking off. Mac took that. He said it was very important that it got directly to the right people, and he'd be sure it did." She looked at Napoleon. "I guess you're the right people."
Napoleon nodded. "We're going to need your help to find the other men who were in that lifeboat with you. Are you willing to work with us for a while?"
"I'm willing to go anywhere and do anything, for as long as it takes to get whoever is behind this. They murdered that ship and everybody on her, and they murdered Mac and tried to get me too. I'll say I'm willing to work with you!"
"Good." He leaned forward, stopped the tape recorder, and picked up the handset of a telephone with a flashing light in place of its dial. As he did so the light stopped flashing.
"Solo.... Good. Who's missing?" He scowled. "Figures. What about the other three?" He covered the mouthpiece momentarily and addressed Suzie. "Three of your shipmates have been traced already. Schneider is the only one we don't have a line on yet." He turned back to the telephone. "Good. Go ahead."
08-The Monster Wheel Affair Page 2