Orkhim tied the cord back around his waist and picked up his rifle.
"Have you learned your lesson, girl?" he asked her.
"Yes, father," she said with weary obedience.
"Then may Allah help you mend your ways."
He pushed through the curtain and was gone. Konya rose to her feet, lowered her garment from her shoulders and looked over her shoulder at the reflection of her bare back in the small mirror hanging on the tent wall.
It was criss-crossed with livid welts.
"I will get to America if I have to walk to the ocean and swim there," she resolved under her breath solemnly.
MAXIM KARSH unlocked the laboratory door and switched on the overhead light. Ranjit Sighn followed him in and laid April's purse on the work table.
"I don't see what you expect to accomplish by this nonsense in the machine shop," he said to the engineer. "I could almost tell you what they've reported to their headquarters. They can't know much, because neither one has seen any of the shops until tonight, and according to you, Slate couldn't have gotten to the plans in the safe."
"He's been working on the launching pad tower. He must have drawn some conclusions from that. It's highly improbable that U.N.C.L.E. has any idea of what this project really is, but they certainly know it involves rockets and they're probably trying to make an educated guess. I want to know just what they're thinking and what their counter-plans are."
Karsh took the lighter from his pocket and examined it. He clicked it alight, put it out again and turned it over. After some study he spotted the small catch on the bottom and pushed it. When nothing happened, he turned it rightside up again and pressed the lever again.
Instead of the small flame he expected, a thin blue-white flame spurted out for a distance of six inches. The intense heat it generated startled him into dropping the lighter.
As soon as he released the lever, the flame went out.
Warily retrieving the device, he tried it again. This time he picked up a paper clip with a pair of forceps and directed the flame at its end.
The end of the clip touched by the flame instantly dissolved.
"A cutting torch," Karsh said admiringly. "This will be useful to our agents."
Then he had a sudden thought. Dropping the lighter on the work bench, he said, "Maybe we had better take a look at the room Slate was in." He headed for the door.
The sheik followed him up the hall to the now vacant room. Karsh switched on the light, crossed to the window and bent to examine the bars.
Taking hold of the center one, he pushed outward. The bottom of the bar swung outward and there was a sharp snapping sound as the top broke loose.
Karsh threw the severed bar onto the bunk. Breaking off the other two cut bars, he tossed them there also.
"Miss Dancer must have sneaked over here and slipped him the torch," he said.
He switched off the light and they returned to the lab.
SIXTEEN
“WE ARE READY TO TALK”
The sheik upended April Dancer's purse on the work bench. A variety of items fell out. He picked up the fountain pen, twisted the barrel and looked with interest at the small antenna which popped out. Just as he started to make a comment to Karsh, he caught himself when the squat man put a finger to his lips.
Retracting the antenna, the sheik laid the pen next to the cigarette lighter.
"I'm so unused to a secret gadget like this, Maxim, I completely forgot U.N.C.L.E. headquarters could hear me when it was open," he said apologetically.
Ranjit picked up the lipstick tube and examined it gingerly. After a few moments he discovered the catch which allowed a thin needle to pop from its end. Retracting it again, he laid the tube with the pen and lighter.
Meantime Maxim Karsh had picked up a steel comb. It looked like an ordinary rattail comb, but upon examination he discovered it was made of surgical steel and the tail was as sharp as a stiletto.
"The agent's innocent looking purse contains a whole arsenal," he snapped, tossing it with the other items already examined.
The sheik set aside a handkerchief and a wallet after checking both and deciding neither had any function aside from its original purpose. Then he picked up a flesh-colored earplug.
After studying it for a time, he gave up and handed it to Karsh. The electronics engineer puzzled over it; finally, an enlightened expression formed on his face and he popped it into his ear. Picking up the pen, he turned it on, then held up a solid hand for silence.
Karsh listened for several minutes with a vacuous bored expression on his face, indicating he was hearing nothing. Finally he shrugged, retracted the pen's antenna and removed the earplug.
"Probably a receiver used when they don't want anyone to overhear the reception," he said. "Nobody's broadcasting on the band at the moment, apparently. Our scientists should be able to analyze its principle and build similar gadgets for our own people."
Ranjit picked up April's compact, and put it to his nose as he opened it. He looked into the mirror and ran his finger along the line of his moustache for a second. Then lifting the powder puff, he sniffed at the powder, replaced the puff, and probed various places with his index finger. He failed to find the secret catch which would have converted the mirror to a transistorized TV screen.
"Just an ordinary compact, I guess," he said, setting it aside.
Maxim Karsh picked up a miniature perfume atomizer. Directing it away from both of them, he released a brief spray.
The only result was a pleasant odor of violets.
Karsh carefully examined the atomizer, but failed to find anything unusual about it.
It didn't occur to him to pull the plunger instead of to push it, which was just as well for him and the sheik.
If Karsh had, the room would have filled with tear gas.
"Just expensive perfume," he said, putting it with the other checked items. "I'm sure she didn't buy this herself."
Only two items remained: a package of chewing gum and one of candy mints. Karsh partially stripped one of the sticks of gum and sniffed at it, then rewrapped it and slid the stick back into its package.
"An American vice," he said disdainfully. "I understand all American women chew this stuff."
If he had chewed a piece, then had carelessly spat it out on the floor, he would have blown up the building.
The sheik was examining the mints. He decided they were nothing but candy and put them with the other items.
It was just as well he didn't try one. Dropped in a glass of water, one of the mints would convert the glass to a smoke pot. Saliva would have had the same effect as water, causing him to spurt smoke like a dragon. Aside from a singed tongue, it wouldn't have hurt him immediately, but it might have brought on a heart attack.
"Lin Yang will want to examine all this," Karsh said. "Let's put everything back in the purse."
When the items were all returned to their original source, Karsh added the fountain pen from his pocket and locked April's bag in the safe
In the machine shop Perez was stationed too close to the press for April and Slate to converse without being overheard. But the others had hardly left when he began to find the box he was seated on uncomfortable.
Rising, he came over to the press and peered in at April and Slate. Satisfied that they couldn't move, he went over to a pile of burlap bags several yards away and lifted a few from the stack.
April took advantage of the opportunity to say in a low voice, "The medallion?"
"Still next to my skin," Mark Slate whispered back. "They apparently didn't remember it. Karsh lifted your lighter, though."
"I have a cutting edge palmed in my hand," April said hopefully. "I'll pass it to you as soon as I get my wrists free."
Then they both lapsed into silence when Perez returned to the box, piled the heavy burlap bags on it for upholstering and reseated himself.
April went to work surreptitiously with the cutting edge of her bobby pin. She had to use it cauti
ously, because the guard's gaze was fixed on them steadily from a distance of six feet and she knew any obvious movement of her hands would cause him to investigate.
The floor of the press had lurched upward a second inch and a half, again making her feel more helpless than ever. With enormous concentration and effort she managed to slice entirely through her wrist bonds. She kept her wrists crossed, with the severed rope lying across them.
April couldn't pass the bobby pin to Mark Slate without being seen. When Perez's attention had not shifted by the time the floor raised a third time, April said, "Are we allowed to have water?"
"No," the Spaniard said.
There was nothing to do but lie there and hope something would distract his attention. Nothing did, and time dragged on interminably.
The opportunity finally came at one, when the blond Fritz came to relieve Perez. As the big man entered by the front door, Perez glanced that way, then stood up and stretched.
April's hand darted sidewise and slipped the bobby pin into Slate's eager hand. The attention of Perez was still on his approaching colleague when she rearranged the severed rope across her wrists.
Fritz looked with interest at the press. Its base by now had risen a foot and a half.
"They show any sign of breaking?" he asked.
The Spaniard shook his head.
"The girl asked for water a couple of hours ago. When I told her no, she shut up. The man hasn't said anything at all."
"Karsh didn't expect results so early," Fritz said. "He doesn't think they'll break until it starts to get close. I kind of go along with the sheik. If they set that thing so it would only take about a half hour to close all the way, I bet they'd start talking in fifteen minutes."
"The boss usually knows what he's doing," Perez said. "He says they need lots of time to overcome the brainwashing U.N.C.L.E. gave them."
Fritz seated himself on the burlap-padded wooden box. Perez lifted his hand in a casual good night and left.
Fritz examined the pair in the press. The jaws closed another inch and a half at that moment.
"Either of you feel like talking yet?" Fritz asked.
N either answered for a few moments. Then Slate said in a husky voice, "We're not going to get out of this, April. I don't want to die in this horrible thing."
Instantly playing along, she made her voice tremble. "I don't want to either, Mark." .
"Want to throw in the towel?"
"Yes. Please do something to get us out of here. Anything."
Slate called to Fritz. "Go get your boss and tell him we're ready to talk."
"He'll be along eventually," the guard said.
"But we want to talk now."
"Relax. You'll feel even more like it when he gets here. I'm not taking my eye off you two until he does."
He didn't either. Long after she was sure Mark Slate had cut his wrist bonds, the two U.N.C.L.E. agents had to continue to lie still. With their ankles still bound, it was impossible for either to leap from the press and get to the guard before he had time to draw his gun. If Slate tried to sit up and cut his leg bonds, April knew he would be covered before he could even complete that maneuver.
An hour passed, and now the gap between the lower and upper dies had closed to four feet. April gave up hope of the guard ever relaxing his vigilance enough for Slate to cut their leg bonds. Their only salvation was to lure Fritz into grabbing distance, she decided.
In a low whisper she said, "Mark?"
"Uh-huh," Mark said.
"I think the rope is beginning to give a little."
She pitched her voice so low that it was barely audible, but she whispered instead of using her normal tone and merely dropping the volume. She knew a whisper would carry much farther than a low tone.
Slate played along by whispering back, "Shut up. He'll hear you."
Fritz rose from his box, came over to the press and stuck his head inside. April had been tensing her arm muscles as though straining against the bonds. Suddenly she relaxed them as though afraid the guard would notice her effort.
The floor of the press lurched upward another inch and a half at that moment, and the blond man nearly fell over backward getting his head out of it.
Looking a bit shamefaced, Fritz gave the control lever a dubious look and leaned in again to examine the rope across April's wrists.
Finally he decided to crawl into the press to give the rope a tug.
The hard edge of Mark Slate's palm arced sidewise and thunked solidly against the side of the blond man's neck. Fritz collapsed on his face.
When he sat erect, Slate's head nearly touched the top of the press. With a quick motion he sliced through the rope binding his ankles, then cut the rope around April's.
They had manipulated themselves with effort from the press and Slate was handing April the bobby pin when a hard voice cracked out, "Hold it right there!"
Both slowly turned their heads toward the main entrance to the machine shop. They hadn't heard Maxim Karsh and the sheik come in together. Ranjit was covering them with a forty-five automatic and Karsh held a revolver. Keen disappointment showed on April’s and Slate's tired faces.
Hustling forward on his short legs, Karsh said gutturally, "We seem to have timed our visit just right. We came to see if you were yet ready to talk, but you obviously aren't. I'll relieve you of that little item Mr. Slate just handed you, Miss Dancer."
April reluctantly dropped the bobby pin into his outstretched palm.
After examining it, Karsh smiled grimly and dropped it into his shirt pocket. "You don't keep all your tricky little devices in your purse, do you, Miss Dancer? A more thorough personal search of both of you seems in order. But that can wait until we see what you've done to poor Fritz. Ranjit, pull Fritz out of there and see if you can revive him."
The sheik put his gun away, took the blond man by the feet and dragged him from the press. Rolling him onto his back, he slapped Fritz's face until the man sputtered and sat up. He gazed around stupidly.
"Get on your feet, you!" Karsh mapped.
The big man managed to make his feet coordinate, and stood swaying.
"What happened?" he asked thickly. "I was checking the woman's bonds when everything went blank."
"Your mind was blank before you crawled in there," Karsh told him. He turned back to April Dancer and Mark Slate. "Take off your clothes."
"What?" April said, outraged. "Take off your clothes! Right down to your buffs. This instant, or I'll put bullets in both of you!"
SEVENTEEN
THE PRACTICAL JOKE
Although Ranjit Sighn's attitude toward human life was strictly oriental, his attitude toward women had been somewhat reconditioned by four years at Oxford. A few hours earlier he had been sadistically eager to torture April to death, but now he wasn't prepared to let her suffer this type of indignity.
"Just a minute, Maxim," he said coldly.
Karsh looked at him.
“You don't have to be such an utter boor. I'll send for some women to search Miss Dancer in private."
"She's a spy." Karsh was impatient. "Why should we treat her with kid gloves?"
"It's not a matter for discussion," Ranjit said in a definite tone. He drew his gun and held it negligently pointed downward.
Karsh eyed the gun warily. Finally he said, "Well, send for your blasted women then."
The sheik looked at Fritz. "Are you able to walk?"
"I'm all right," the blond man said, rubbing his neck. "Just a little groggy is all."
"You know where Orkhim's tent is? The chief of my guard?"
"Uh-huh."
"Go there, wake him up and tell him I want his wife Adana to come here at once. Then go to my tent and get Agri, the cook. She sleeps in the room just off the kitchen."
"Yes, sir," Fritz said.
He swayed slightly en route to the door, but he made it all right.
As Fritz disappeared, Karsh said sarcastically, "In deference to his highness we won't make
you wait while we search Mr. Slate, Miss Dancer. You may turn your back and move in the direction of the press about three feet."
April obediently turned and moved away a couple of paces. Karsh glanced at the sheik to make sure he had both prisoners covered, then put his own gun away.
"All right, Mr. Slate," he said.
"Take your clothes off."
Cocking his eye at April's back, Slate reluctantly complied. Karsh carefully examined each item of clothing as it was handed over. Then he carefully observed the athletic physique of the American agent, even feeling his scalp. He lifted the chain with the Moslem emblem hanging from it from around Slate's neck.
"All right, Slate, You may redress."
As Slate pulled his clothing back on, Karsh studied the emblem. Noticing the small node on its back, he pressed it and unwittingly took the sheik's picture, but since apparently nothing happened, he decided the node was merely an imperfection in the metal.
"Where'd you get this?" he asked Slate gruffly.
"In a shop in Fada."
"They can be bought in any goldsmith's shop," Ranjit offered.
Karsh dropped the emblem into his shirt pocket.
By the time Slate had finished redressing, Fritz was back with the lantern-jawed cook and another wiry, middle-aged Arab woman. The sheik spoke to both extensively in Arabic, which April didn't understand.
When he finished, April looked at Slate questioningly.
"He's instructing them," Slate said. "He's going to give Agri his gun---she's the tall one with the big jaw---and the two of them are going to take you behind that stack of steel plates over there." He pointed to the pile of octagonal half-inch-thick steel plates.
"You're to strip and the other one, Adana, is to bring the sheik your clothing. He asked Agri if she could use the gun, and she said yes. He also told her to shoot you if you don't behave. So will you do me a favor and cooperate?"
"You save me the trouble of explaining it all again in English," the sheik said approvingly. "Maxim, please cover Mr. Slate so that I can hand Agri my gun."
Karsh drew his gun and the sheik gave his forty-five automatic to Agri. The cook gestured with it for April to precede her behind the pile of steel plates.
The Sheik of Araby Affair Page 10