After Agri disappeared, April Dancer said, "I think I'll freshen up a bit, Ranjit. Will you excuse me for a few minutes?"
"Of course," he said rising. Glancing toward the new guard who had replaced Orkhim, he said in a lower voice, "Instead of returning here, suppose I join you in your quarters in---say, a half hour?"
His intimate tone suggested that despite his earlier assurance that the only reason he wanted to visit her quarters was to talk, he had something more active in mind than that. It looked as though she might have occasion to use her judo training, April thought without enthusiasm.
The vagrant thought flitted through her mind that if the sheik hadn't revealed his ruthless and conscienceless inner soul to her in Cairo, she might have welcomed his suggestion, because he was still one of the handsomest men she had ever met. She virtuously suppressed the thought, but it lingered long enough to make her smile of agreement more promising then she meant it to be.
"All right," she found herself saying. "I'll expect you about nine."
As she pushed through the divided curtain into the rear corridor, Konya came in the back way. They met halfway along the corridor.
"May I see you a minute, Miss Dancer?" the girl said in a low voice. "In here."
She pushed aside a curtain and switched on a lamp inside. Following her, April found herself in a tiny but comfortably furnished room. There was no western furniture here. There was only a sleeping pad, a couple of sitting cushions and a small table with washing utensils on it and a small mirror hanging on the tent wall above it.
A round bundle of clothing which looked as though it had been packed for traveling lay on the floor near the foot of the sleeping pad.
Konya tossed her shawl onto the sleeping pad, produced a folded piece of paper and silently handed it to April. Then she stood waiting, her face expressionless.
Unfolding the paper, April immediately recognized Mark Slate's handwriting. The note read:
I am in the last room on the south side of the administration building. No one, including the girl who brought you this note, knows who I really am. I'm known locally as Abdul the merchant. The only reason I'm locked up at night is because Maxim Karsh wouldn't trust his own mother. Days I work as a laborer on the launching-pad tower. Twelve hours a day! They don't have unions here. How about springing me tonight? Konya is taking off with me, incidentally, she doesn't like it here either.
Mark
April Dancer refolded the note, dropped it into her purse and glanced at the girl. She caught the barest hint of accusation in Konya's gaze.
Why, she's jealous of me, she thought, and was surprised to find herself feeling a touch of jealousy for the Arab girl also.
Why? She asked herself. Mark was merely a co-worker and a good friend---well, an especially good friend.
His romances were none of her business.
"Is Abdul the lover you went to meet?" she asked.
"He is the one I went to see. He has made it clear he has no wish to be my lover." There was a mixture of wistfulness and bitterness in Konya's tone.
Of course Mark would make that clear, April thought, feeling mild guilt that she had assumed he would be heartless enough to lead the girl on for his own advantage.
She said, "You want to leave here with him anyway?"
Konya gave a determined nod.
“Don't build up your hopes that things will change," April said gently. "The man you know as Abdul will keep whatever promises he has made, but he isn't husband material. Are you sure you want to leave here?"
"I would want to leave here if I had never met Abdul," Konya said passionately. "This oasis is a prison. Abdul promised to take me to the United States. Does he really have friends who will care for me and see that I get training to support myself?"
"He does," April assured her.
"You may trust him completely."
"We will have to leave tonight. Tomorrow night will be too late."
"Oh? Why?"
The girl flushed. "My father caught me returning from my visit to Abdul. He forced me to tell where I had been. I had to tell. He twisted my arm and slapped me, and would have beat me if I refused."
"Oh, oh," April said. "What's he going to do?" -
"Tomorrow he goes to the sheik to arrange our marriage," Konya said miserably. "He is going to ask his highness to furnish a dowry. I will die of embarrassment if we do not get away from here tonight."
April patted her arm. "Don't worry. The two of you can leave tonight. Can you get back to see him again without being stopped by your father?"
"Yes. This time I will be very careful."
"Then deliver a message to him. I won't write it, because it will be safer for you to carry it by word of mouth. Now listen carefully."
For some minutes April explained exactly what she wanted Konya to tell Mark Slate. Then she asked her to repeat it back.
Konya had it nearly letter perfect.
When she finally reached her own quarters, April took Mark's note from her purse and also took out a match folder. Touching flame to the paper, she dropped it into a censer and watched it burn to ashes.
She seated herself at the dressing table and took out her fountain pen communicator and called Section Two. Young Randy Kovac answered.
"Is Mr. Waverly there, Randy?" she asked.
"He's in conference with Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin," Randy said. "Want me to break in?"
"Never mind," April said. "You can relay this on."
THIRTEEN
DEATH TRAP
Marl Slate was lying on his bunk in the dark, hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling, when another hiss came from outside his window.
Glancing toward the window, Slate saw the silhouette of Konya's shawled head. He swung from the bunk and padded over to the window in stocking feet.
"Hello again, Konya," he said.
"Did you give the note to Miss Dancer?"
"Yes, Abdul. She sent me to bring you instructions. We are going to leave tonight."
"Fine," Slate said with enthusiasm.
"She sent you this," Konya said, passing a cigarette lighter through the bars. "But I do not see how it will get you out of here."
Slate examined it in the dimness and smiled. "You'll see in a few minutes. What else?"
"The guard changes at twelve. She thinks it is best to wait until then, as it will be four hours before the next guard change. That will give us a long start before the next guard change, she says. She is going to tranquilize the guard posted in front of the sheik's tent and also the one on duty at the corral, but I don't know what that means. Is she going to kill them?"
"I doubt it," Slate said. "She isn't very gory”
"Well, she says that at ten after twelve she will tranquilize the guard in front of the tent, and by twenty after twelve she should have the guard at the corral tranquilized also. Just to play safe, she does not want you to appear at the corral until twelve-thirty. I will meet you there."
"How about April---Miss Dancer? Will she be there also?"
Konya shook her head. "She said to tell you she can be of more value remaining here. She said if she also fled, it would be too obvious. I do not know what she means by that."
Mark Slate did. If April disappeared along with him, it would be a dead giveaway that they were both U.N.C.L.E. agents. And Mr. Waverly didn't want THRUSH put on guard until headquarters had a chance to analyze the microfilmed plans of the space platform and could decide what action to take.
The flight of only Abdul the merchant and Konya would be interpreted merely as an elopement by a couple of Arab lovers, he hoped.
Slate said, "Never mind. I understand it. She say anything else?"
"Only that I should ask if you still have the prayer medal."
"Tell her yes. That all?"
Konya nodded.
"Now I'm going to need your help," Slate said. "Where are the guards now?"
"I will check," she said.
She slipped to the f
ront end of the building. When she came back to the window, she said, "They are both coming this way. One is opposite the building just north, the other opposite the one just south. They will pass either end of this one about the same time.
"But why do you worry? They cannot see me in this deep shadow when I press myself against the wall."
"They would be able to see what I'm going to have you doing in a minute," Slate told her. "Tell me as soon as they've both passed."
She kept glancing both ways. After a few minutes she whispered, "Now," and pressed herself close to the building.
There was silence for several moments, then she straightened and said, "They are gone."
Slate estimated he would have about fifteen minutes before the sentries came back on their return route. Crossing to the bunk, he stripped off its lone blanket and carried it to the window. He stuffed one end through the bars.
"Pull it on through," he directed. With a puzzled expression on her face, the girl obeyed.
"Now hold it up in front of the window, but about a foot away," he instructed. "There's going to be a rather bright light in here for a few minutes, and. I don't want it seen from the oasis. Don't get the blanket too close to the window or it will catch fire."
Still looking puzzled, she spread her arms and held the top edge of the blanket as high as she could. "Like this?"
"Just fine. Now keep it there." He touched a nearly invisible catch on the bottom of the cigarette lighter Konya had given him. When he pressed the lever on top, instead of the usual small yellow flame appearing, a thin blue flame nearly six inches long hissed out-ward.
Slate brought the flame to bear on the base of the center window bar. The metal glowed so white hot, it lit up the room as the thin flame ate through it.
Within less than a minute the bar had been cut through entirely. He cut through the base of the bars on either side, then asked Konya if her arms were tired.
"No," she said. "I am fine." Pulling over a chair, Slate stood on it to attack the top ends of the bars.
"Hold the blanket a little higher," he cautioned.
Konya strained up on tiptoe, managing to raise the blanket another three inches completely blocking the small gap which had formerly been at the top of the window.
Slate carefully cut the top ends only three-fourths of the way through. Now, when he was ready to leave, a firm shove outward would snap them off the rest of the way. Meantime an unexpected check of his cell would disclose nothing unless the bars were closely examined.
Putting out the cutting torch, he dropped the lighter into his pocket and carefully stepped down from the chair.
"All right," he said. "You may pass the blanket back in."
Konya lowered her arms and stuffed one end of the blanket between two bars. He drew it back inside and replaced it on the bunk.
With the blanket in front of her face, Konya had been unable to see what Slate had been doing, her only hint being the glow of light and the feeling of heat. She looked at the bars.
"What did you do?" she asked.
"I see no change."
Returning to the window, he said, "Good. That's the idea. I've fixed the bars so that I can get out whenever I want to now. You'd better leave before the guards get back."
"All right," she said. "You will be at the corral at twelve thirty?"
"Uh-huh. See you there."
Konya faded away. Slate went over to the bunk and stretched out on his back again.
There was the sound of a key turning in the lock. Slate sat up, swung his feet to the floor and stared at the door.
It opened. The visitor flicked the wall switch next to the door and the overhead light went on. It was Maxim Karsh, and behind him were the blond Fritz and the wiry Spaniard Perez. Both had guns in their hands.
"All right, Mr. Mark Slate," the squat electronics engineer said harshly. "On your feet."
About the time Konya was leaving by the rear door of the sheik's tent for her second visit to Mark Slate, clutching the lighter April Dancer had given her in her hand, Maxim Karsh was sitting before a work table in the laboratory in the administration building. On the table was a boxlike instrument containing a glass screen and a speaker.
On the screen was the image of April Dancer, seated before her dressing table and speaking into her fountain pen communicator. From the speaker came both her voice and Randy Kovac's.
April was saying, "Mark Slate is still alive. They haven't discovered he's an U.N.C.L.E. agent. They still think he's merely an Arab thief. He's locked up at night, and by day is made to work on the launching-pad tower. I'm helping him to escape tonight, but I won't leave with him. I'll stick around to see what else I can learn."
"Got it," Randy's voice came from the speaker.
"Also tell Mr. Waverly that Lin Yang is expected here, but no one seems to know exactly when."
"I already told him that," Randy said. "I caught it when you were talking to those two men while Mr. Slate's communicator was open. How'd that happen?"
"It was an accident. Maxim Karsh has Mark's communicator, but he doesn't know what it is. I'll try to get it back before I leave here. "
Maxim Karsh took the pen from his pocket and looked at it. He pushed it in several places, finally twisted the barrel. When a small chromium antenna shot out of its end, he smiled grimly, twisted the barrel again and put the pen away.
"Are you in any danger?" Randy was saying.
April said, "Not physical danger, but I have another problem. The sheik is due to visit my quarters in a few minutes."
"You get out of there right now!"
Randy shouted jealously.
April said, "Don't worry. If I have to, I'll use my lipstick."
In a relieved tone Randy said, "Oh, the hypo. Sure, give him a shot of chloral hydrate. Okay, I'll relay your report on to Mr. Waverly."
On the screen the U.N.C.L.E. agent twisted the barrel of her pen to retract the antenna and dropped it back into her bag, Maxim Karsh flicked a switch and her image faded.
His face grim, he rose and left the lab. Across the hall he glanced into the men's barracks room, found it empty and stalked up the hall to the mess. All six of his assistants were seated at the long table playing poker.
"You'll have to break it up," he snapped. "We have business to do. Sven, go get the sheik. Tell him it's urgent that I see him immediately."
"Yes, sir," Sven said.
Folding his hand, he scooped up the money in front of him and put it in his pocket.
He left by the outside door from the mess hall.
"Fritz, Perez, come with me. Do you have your guns with you?"
The big blond man said, "Yes, sir."
The Spaniard merely pulled back his coat to show the holster under his arm.
Both men picked up and pocketed the money before them. Karsh strode back out into the corridor with the two men trailing him. They followed him to the locked door of the room across from his own.
As he slipped a key into the lock, Fritz and Perez drew their guns.
The sheik was just preparing to go to April's quarters when Sven entered the tent. He looked irked when the man delivered the summons from Karsh.
"Can't it wait until morning?" he asked. "What's he want anyway?"
"He didn't say, sir," Sven said stolidly. "He just said it was urgent for you to come right away."
Ranjit looked at his wrist watch, gave an impatient shrug and said, "All right. I'll give him five minutes."
He strode from the tent and Sven followed after him.
FOURTEEN
TRAITORS MUST DIE
When some time had passed without Ranjit Sighn appearing, April Dancer dug her traveling alarm clock from her suitcase and looked at it. She was mildly surprised to see it was ten after nine. Even though she was hardly eager for the sheik's visit, it wasn't very flattering to her vanity to be kept waiting.
Despite what she had told Randy Kovac over her communicator, she had no intention of using her lipstick hy
podermic syringe on the sheik. That had been merely to make him stop worrying. The use of such a device would instantly identify her as an U.N.C.L.E. agent, and she expected to retain her guise as a bored American heiress for the rest of her visit.
She felt sure she could fend off any amorous onslaughts by less drastic means.
She therefore had her lipstick tube in her hand for the sole purpose of relining her lips when the sheik parted the door curtains and stepped into the room behind her about five minutes later. She smiled at his reflections in the mirror.
"I thought you had forgotten me and had gone to bed," April told his reflection.
Ranjit smiled back. "Do you take me for an old man? I have looked forward to this moment for weeks."
Moving behind her, he stooped to kiss the back of her neck. His hand shot over her shoulder and plucked the lipstick tube from her grip. His other hand snapped up her bag and he backed away.
"Just in case you have any more devices in your purse," he said angrily.
April swung around to look at him. His gentlemanly veneer was entirely gone. His face had turned a dull red and his eyes blazed with the fury of wounded vanity.
"You have had your fun, Miss U.N.C.L.E. agent," he said.
"Now it is my turn. Did you laugh to yourself when I offered to share a throne with you? Did your sides split with glee?"
April said soberly, "I never laugh at marriage proposals, Ranjit. I might have accepted if you hadn't sold your soul to THRUSH."
He laughed. "You could have had the world, April, in the palm of your hand. But you chose to align yourself with my mortal enemies."
"I was aligned before we ever met," she said soberly.
"No woman makes a fool of Ranjit Sighn and lives," he said grimly. "You are going to die, Miss U.N.C.L.E. agent. As slow and painful a death as I can devise. Are you still laughing?"
The sheik's face had darkened even more. He was rapidly working himself into a maniacal rage. She knew he was on the verge of physically assaulting her when a deep voice from the other side of the curtain said, "Your highness?"
The sheik squared his shoulders.
With an effort he got control of himself. His color faded to its normal olive hue.
"Come in, Orkhim," the sheik said in a steady voice.
The Sheik of Araby Affair Page 8