He was able to catch a glimpse or two between the shrubs. He spotted a couple of concrete-block buildings, a crudely surfaced concrete parking area where a jeep and two small lorries stood. The rain forest rose thick and dank beyond these vehicles, confirming Edmonds’ statement that the THRUSH headquarters was fairly well isolated in the jungle of Purjipur.
Food was brought in three times a day. Usually the meal consisted of some grain cakes and weak tea. Illya and the girl ate it only because they had nothing else. When they weren’t outside, the two prisoners remained tied to the posts. Illya tested the leather thongs as he sat by the hour and watched the jungle through the small window.
The thongs were tough. And there was nothing within reach---no nail, no rock---nothing which he could use to wear the tough leather away.
Several times a day THRUSH personnel who looked a cut above the mentality of the guards would come into the hut to pick out half a dozen monkey cages and take them away. Shortly afterward there was usually a sound of a truck starting up. This kind of thing happened with such regularity that Illya assumed it was part of a pre-scheduled plan to loose the plague-ridden beasts on an ever-increasing number of cities and villages in Purjipur.
And always, as a never-ending background, there was the chattering of the monkeys left in the cages. They shook the little bars and leaped about, their eyes fever-bright.
Illya was always conscious of the necessity to escape. He devoted almost every waking moment to thinking about ways and means to accomplish it. Finally he settled on the only feasible way an attempt could be made.
It involved one certain guard, a husky, flat-nosed Eurasian who always brought them their evening meal. What gave Illya a bit of hope was the simple fact that the man was a heavy cigarette smoker. To light his cigarettes the man used a big brushed-chrome American lighter.
The lighter was the key to it. That and the pistol which all guards carried.
Illya slept only fitfully at night. The days had a tendency to blur into one another. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it was the fifth day of their imprisonment when Dantez Edmonds came to the hut around noon.
The man wore his white suit and shoes, and this ensemble was further adorned by a white silk handkerchief in his jacket breast pocket, a white linen shirt of open weave and a white-on-white tie. Illya thought there was something savagely ironic about whiteness being associated with a man of Edmonds’ temper and political persuasion.
“Ah,” Edmonds said, fluttering his hands at them as he stepped through the door, “still faring well, are we? Delighted to see it!” Over his shoulder he called “Chandra!”
Mr. Chandra ducked in through the door. Indra was sitting against the upright beam to which she was tied. At the sight of the man whom she’d trusted, she stiffened, and her haggard face hardened. There was no mistaking the hate in her eyes.
Mr. Chandra met her glance briefly, then turned aside, trying for an air of concern he couldn’t quite achieve. Illya thought to himself that Indra Bal was even more attractive when she was angry. She was a courageous young woman.
Dantez Edmonds caught the little byplay, chuckled. “I can sympathize with you, Miss Bal. If one of my trusted servants were shown to be a traitor, I am afraid I would be more than angry. I would be vengeful to the point of doing murder.” He touched his wispy goatee. “Perhaps this is why THRUSH will ultimately succeed. We have ways and means of guaranteeing absolute and unquestioned loyalty. Such niceties as loyalty and honor are trifles when compared with the prime motivator of all men---fear.”
There was a faintly maniacal gleam in Edmonds’ eyes as he leaned toward Chandra and said, “Am I not right?”
Mr. Chandra flushed from his cheeks down to his high collar. “Quite right, sir.”
“There’s a THRUSH agent who knows his place,” Edmonds chuckled. “As for you two, I am exceedingly sorry that I have been unable to devote more attention to you these past few days. We have been extremely busy, placing our little darlings---“ a gesture at the cages “---where they will do the most good. You will be delighted to know, for example, that plague is now widespread in the capital.
“Last night the death toll had risen to one hundred and seventy-five killed in fires, lootings and political altercations alone.
“The plague itself has already disposed of well over a thousand souls. The neighboring country is being blamed, thanks to that well-placed evidence which I believe I mentioned. Purjipur’s ministry of defense has issued a total mobilization order for the army and air-force. Actual hostilities should be underway within the week.”
Edmonds rocked back and forth on his heels, a self-congratulatory smile on his emaciated face. Illya glowered, said nothing.
“Come, come, Kuryakin!” Edmonds exclaimed. “Compliment us on our outstanding job!”
“You’re a madman. Worse than the worse of THRUSH.”
“Thank you kindly!” And Edmonds tittered.
Indra Bal hid her face in her hands, turning away. Her shoulders shook violently.
Edmonds continued, “I really came here to fetch several of my little friends. You see, Kuryakin, I’m leaving here today by helicopter. I’m taking a THRUSH plane to the United States. Mr. Chandra, I believe those top six monkeys will do nicely. They look suitably fat and poisonous. The animals, Mr. Kuryakin, are the ones I will use to dispose of the last of the three who imprisoned me. Waverly, that---“
Enraged, Illya lunged out to the full length of his ankle-thong, reaching for Edmonds’ throat. Indra uttered a low shriek. Edmonds danced back out of the way with a mincing step that was surprisingly swift. Illya couldn’t quite reach him.
Edmonds’ right leg came up in the old, lethal French foot kick. The toe of the shoe caught Illya under the chin with hurting force. With a cry Illya went over backwards. Mr. Chandra darted forward as he fell and kicked him twice in the side.
Illya groaned, rolling from side to side as red agonies flared inside his head. Mr. Chandra was about to deliver a third brutal kick when Edmonds raised a right hand sharply.
“No, Mr. Chandra. No more emotional outbursts, please!”
Mr. Chandra bit his lip. He stepped away from Illya, who was struggling to push himself up on hands and knees. Edmonds whipped the white silk from his breast pocket with a theatrical flourish and mopped his forehead. A thin smile etched his fleshless lips.
“You see, Mr. Chandra, if we respond to this carrion’s outbursts we admit that he has succeeded in unsettling us. Nothing could be further from the truth. It is THRUSH with the winning hand now, THRUSH and I, Dantez Edmonds. In a week Asia will be aflame with war. In a month, half the governments in this part of the world will belong to THRUSH. And the sign and symbol of this coming victory, my friend, will be the last death which repays the old score. Waverly is finished.”
Spittle flew from Edmonds’ lips on the last word. For a long moment the emaciated man trembled there in front of Illya. Finally he straightened, snapped his fingers.
“The cages, Mr. Chandra! As for you two---the moment I return from America, I will have the time to deal with you in the fashion you deserve.”
Chandra lifted down the monkey cages, careful to hold them by the sides, away from the bar openings. Edmonds turned smartly and stalked out. Illya dragged himself upright again. Outside, Edmonds raised his voice to give shrill orders.
Two THRUSH guards rushed in to help Chandra with the cages. Shortly the chattering of a helicopter began, grew louder, held steady, then diminished to silence.
“He’s gone,” Illya whispered. “Indra? Can you hear me?”
She nodded with a shudder. “Gone to murder Mr. Waverly as he murdered my uncle.”
“It’s our job to stop the havoc in Purjipur. I have a thought on how we might go about it. I have been hesitating to try because it may be our one chance, and if we fail---“ An eloquent shrug finished the sentence. “Now I’m afraid it’s too late to wait for the ideal opportunity. Much too late.”
Illya hit
ched across the floor toward her. At the end of his thong, he could barely reach out and touch her shoulder. “Do you remember the guard who brings the evening meal? The one who is such a heavy smoker?”
Slowly Indra nodded. Illya Kuryakin lowered his voice and spoke for a long time.
THREE
Night heat drifted in through the hut’s barred window. Out in the jungle, animals growled and racketed. The spotlight had been turned on to flood the face of the hut with light. Illya and Indra leaned against the upright beams, pretending to doze. Illya’s heart slugged heavily in his chest. For nearly half an hour he’d been anticipating the arrival of the husky, flat-nosed guard. The man was very late tonight.
Illya’s palms were filmed with sweat. What was happening in the U.S.? Was Waverly safe? And what had become of Napoleon? Had he died on Bal’s estate? Must put those things out of my mind. They only---
Noise of footsteps. Illya’s head jerked up. The bamboo latch on the hut door rattled. The husky guard appeared. “Dinner time,” the guard rumbled. He repeated the same statement every night.
Illya peered through on slitted eyelid. The man wasn’t smoking. He deposited the two tin plates on the ground, turned and went back outside into the glare of the small spotlight. He picked up the tin cups of tea and re-entered the hut.
Illya’s legs were stuck out in front of him. He tensed. The guard bent down, deposited the tin cups, stood up. He fumbled in his shabby uniform blouse for a pack of Japanese cigarettes and his big brushed-chrome lighter.
Just as the man was applying the lighter to the cigarette Illya struck. With his right foot he kicked hard at the guard’s left ankle. The man let out a startled curse, off balance. Illya lunged forward, seized the man’s ankle and yanked.
The guard toppled. His lighter dropped from his hand. Illya clamped his left hand over the man’s mouth and jabbed his right index finger into the husky neck. A yell of alarm died in the guard’s throat as he relaxed, unconscious.
Indra was up, crouching. Illya reached across the inert body, seized the cigarette lighter and thumbed the wheel. There was a spray of sparks, nothing more.
Illya was desperately conscious of the hut’s open door, of the unseen presence of the guard who was always stationed outside. Illya thumbed the wheel again. Nothing happened. Was the thing out of fluid? He bit down on his lower lip and tried once more.
This time a flame leaped up.
Illya applied the flame to the leather thong mid-way along its length. A sharp, burning smell crawled upward. The leather smoldered. A wisp of smoke drifted toward the door. Agitated, the monkeys in the cages were yammering louder than ever.
A shadow stirred outside, fell athwart the spotlight beam. The guard!
Illya dropped the lighter, seized the leather strap with both hands, tugged and tugged until his shoulder sockets started to scream with pain.
Boots clunked outside. The guard was almost at the door---
The thong popped, Illya dove forward over the fallen guard’s body just as the guard appeared in the doorway and let out a cry. Illya ripped the fallen guard’s pistol from its holster and fired in the time it took the second guard to get his holster flap unfastened. The shot boomed cannon-loud in the damp night air.
The guard clutched his left hip, staggered. Illya dragged him into the hut and neck-chopped him down. From somewhere a voice cried out, querying about the shot. Illya raced over to Indra with the lighter, knelt, started to burn the thong.
“It’s a close one from now on, my dear,” he said as he worked, managing to convey an air of calm he didn’t feel. “Pull at the strap, will you?”
In a second or so they had it broken. Indra rose, leaned against him. They went to the door. Illya led the way outside. Gun in one hand, holding Indra up with the other, he broke into a run to the left, down past the gate to the fenced exercise yard.
They rounded the corner of the fence, darted past heavy shrubbery. Ahead under the beam of a weak floodlight, were several vehicles in the motor pool.
“That jeep is the one we want,” he whispered. A siren began somewhere, whoop, whoop, whoop.
“But where will we go?” Indra cried softly.
“If they have trucks there must be a road. We---look out!”
He flung her to the ground as two THRUSH guards burst from shrubbery on the right, bringing up their rifles. Illya jumped across Indra’s body and fired once, twice.
His first bullet killed one of the guards. The second shot missed. The guard fired. The rifle bullet whispered by Illya’s sleeve as he fired again. This time the guard dropped.
All around them there was confusion: noises of men running in darkness; the chattering of the aroused monkeys in the hut behind; the overwhelming howl of the siren. Illya helped Indra up. They bolted for the jeep.
Probably because THRUSH wouldn’t number car thieves in its ranks in this isolated part of the world, the keys hung in place. Illya helped the girl in, saw as he jumped in himself that a road ran out of one side of the parking area and disappeared into the jungle.
Men were tumbling out of a concrete blockhouse nearby as Illya turned over the ignition, gunned the jeep to life and sent it roaring off the concrete pad. Another rifle boomed. The bullet spanged the jeep’s rear as it jolted off the pad onto a double rutted dirt road.
Illya fought the wheel. He felt as though they were on a roller coaster. He snapped on the headlights as the road carried them into the jungle.
“Hang on,” he bawled as the jeep raced along through the leafy tunnel. “I’m going to run her flat out for as long as she holds together.”
This was the better part of two minutes. The road, if it could be called that, took a sharp hairpin to the left. The trees closed in above them. Suddenly the jeep began to cough and sputter. Illya strained forward.
“What’s the matter?” Indra asked.
Illya’s index finger stabbed a dial whose pointer was well below the E marker. “Petrol. We picked one that’s low. I’m afraid---“
He didn’t get a chance to continue. The jeep slowed down, its engine sputtering. Illya braked to a stop, swinging his head left and right.
Thick tropical jungle on both hands. And a faint radiance coming up the road behind them. Fortunately the road here was hard packed earth. It would show no tire marks if the pursuers went over it rapidly, not scrutinizing it.
“We’ll have to go into the forest,” he said. “First let’s try to gain a little extra time.”
Using what little fuel remained, Illya went into reverse. He swung the jeep’s hood at the shrubbery along the left shoulder, then accelerated at full speed. “Head down, Indra!”
They plowed into the brush. Illya killed the engine completely. He jumped out. Indra helped him with the camouflage job, spreading branches over the jeep’s rear end.
Already the THRUSH lorries were rumbling up around the bend. “If they go fast enough, we may gain a bit of time. Come on.”
He seized her hand and pulled her into the cloyingly damp jungle. Indra breathed out raggedly:
“It---isn’t safe like this at night. There are wild beasts---“
“I don’t know what choice we have.” Illya swatted insects bedeviling his cheeks.
They plunged on through the damp, heat-sodden rain forest, growing more weary with every step. After a while they rested for a short time in the low fork of a tree, then pressed on. Several times Illya heard a large animal growling quite close by.
Gradually the night waned. Illya was still slogging ahead, half-carrying Indra. The sky grew light. He judged they might have made four or five miles. Without landmarks, it was hard to tell.
In another few minutes they came to a clearing where the ground was disturbed. Illya discovered a small animal carcass, half eaten, behind the old log on which he set Indra to rest.
Just as he was about to point out the bloody relic, the brush rustled. Out marched a huge, magnificent Bengal tiger. The tiger regarded them with all too evident hunger, lic
ked its chops and growled.
FOUR
The limousine crept around a corner in the fog. Its yellow headlights barely penetrated the murk drifting in from the sea. On the corner just turned, a light pole thrust up like a skeletal finger raised in warning. The car’s motor was barely a whisper. Napoleon Solo was sure his own heart was making much more racket.
Mr. Waverly sat on the right in the front seat. He seemed more composed than Solo, saying as he surveyed the dismal, looming fronts of lofts slipping by, “Depressing neighborhood, rather. We haven’t seen a single person for blocks.”
“It’s always deserted down here after midnight,” Solo commented. His eyes swept the left side of the street. He saw an alley and, just past it, half a dozen ancient brownstones. They were relics of the time when this area near the Hudson River had been a pleasant neighborhood.
The brownstones looked inhabited. But all of them were dark except one. Frowsy lace curtains of ancient blinds decorated the windows. Solo imagined that behind those curtains lived old, old people who were waiting for the inevitable death of their buildings as yet another shipping warehouse was put up on the valuable land.
The thoughts of death both annoyed and troubled Napoleon Solo. This was no time for mental maundering. He suspected the one lighted brownstone was their target. Illya might be there.
“Perhaps you should make a check of your forces, Mr. Solo,” Waverly suggested.
“Good idea.”
Solo pulled in to the curb, lifted a mike from its dashboard prongs. He depressed a stud. “This is task force leader to first station. Please report.”
Solo had split his half dozen operatives---the best men available for local duty---into two-man teams.
The first of these operatives reported now:
“First station to task force leader. We’ve been in position for an hour and a half right behind Number 47. There’s a small fenced yard out there. That’s where we are. Right behind the fence is an eight foot drop to the river. No sign of a dock or a pier. If anybody’s inside, they’ve been there since before the phone call, over.”
The Man from Yesterday Affair Page 8