THREE
The Hong Kong headquarters of U.N.C.L.E. are on Victoria Street in Kennedy Town, on the island of Hong Kong itself. They are hidden behind the simple façade of an Indian restaurant. There is an actual restaurant on the first floor, operated by a real Indian from Bombay, who is also the second-in-command of U.N.C.L.E. in the area.
The second floor, which is a storage area, is actually not the second floor at all. It is the third floor. The second floor does not exist.
Except that it does exist, and is the actual headquarters complex. It contains the communications rooms, the file rooms, the weapons rooms, and all the other materiel of an U.N.C.L.E. area headquarters, and it is entered through a closet in the kitchen of the restaurant.
The closet is a clever and highly secret elevator. No one who entered the elevator could ever leave it without complete identification. It opens into a small reception room where the receptionist, a beautiful Chinese girl, is armed with two pistols and a button that closes all doors and releases a sleep gas.
Just behind this reception area is a small and neat office. This is the special office reserved for the members of Section I, the ultimate leaders of U.N.C.L.E. At this moment the special room was doubly in use---two Section-I men were there: Alexander Waverly, from New York; and Kalil Rajit Singh, from Calcutta. Two of the five men who ran U.N.C.L.E., and with them was Napoleon Solo.
“I suppose it couldn’t be helped, Mr. Solo,” Waverly said, “but it was a little embarrassing with the Hong Kong authorities.”
Solo suppressed a grin. The Hong Kong officials had had a bad time with the agent-in-evening-dress caught at the border. There were probably a lot of confused junior officers after Solo was quietly and discretely spirited away and turned over to U.N.C.L.E.
“At least, Alexander, we know that Dr. Li has defected, and your agent Kuryakin is close to him,” Kalil Rajit Singh said.
Waverly frowned. “That will not be enough, I’m afraid, Kalil.”
The New York Chief of U.N.C.L.E. puffed on his pipe. The pipe was out, and Waverly began to search his pocket for a match. His iron grey hair, and frowning face, gave him the appearance of an ageing bloodhound. Which in a way he was: he had spent his life in the work of espionage, for his native country and later for U.N.C.L.E. But he was also the brilliant mind that had conceived much of the methodology of U.N.C.L.E.
“One man cannot operate in China efficiently,” Waverly went on. “No, we must activate plan two for Mr. Solo.”
Solo gave his gruff Chief a lighter. Waverly lighted his pipe, puffing speculatively.
“So far, Kalil, it is all happening as you suspected,” Waverly said.
The serious Indian Section-I man nodded. “I had, as I explained, definite word that Li Po Shue was going to return to the mainland and throw in his lot with the Reds after all these years. It seems he had decided that the future of China does lie with Mao’s Government.”
“He may be right,” Waverly said. “But that is beside the point now. You’re sure of your information Kalil?”
“Absolutely,” Kalil Singh said.
Solo broke in. “But, we know Li has gone back! We know he is inside China now. I saw---“
Kalil Singh shook his head. “No, Mr. Solo, Li Po Shue is not inside Red China. And he never will be.”
Solo blinked. “Not inside---“
Waverly puffed smoke into the quiet office. “We have reason to think that Dr. Li Po Shue is dead, Mr. Solo.”
“Dead?” Solo said, gaped. “But I followed him all last night!”
“No. You followed an impostor, Mr. Solo,” Kalil Singh said. “We thought that, but it was better that neither you nor Mr. Kuryakin know that we knew, in case you were caught. I have all but conclusive information that the real Dr. Li is dead, killed by those who supplied the carbon copy of him.”
“In short, killed by THRUSH,” Waverly said quietly. “Yes, their fine hand is behind it. I take it the impostor was very good?”
“Perfect,” Solo said. “I’d studied Dr. Li in films for weeks. He fooled me, and everyone at the party.”
“Including men who may have known Li Po Shue for many years,” Kalil Singh said. “THRUSH is an efficient organization, as we all know.”
“We believe the imposter is one of their top men, perhaps even a Council member,” Waverly said. “In fact, we know a great deal. What we don’t know, I’m afraid, is why? THRUSH does not go to so much trouble without a good reason. The question is, what are they up to?”
“Dr. Li would be welcomed with open arms,” Solo said. “He’d probably be given a high job.”
“Without question,” Waverly said. “But not a top job,” Kalil Singh said. “He would not be trusted at a policy level, never. No, he would be used. They will put him in some position where his skill can be used by the Mao regime, and where the eyes of the world would be on him. They would want to exploit his return to mainland China.”
“Yes, I’m sure they would,” Waverly said thoughtfully.
Solo rubbed his chin and looked at the two Section-I men. His arm still hurt from where the bullet had grazed, and his ankle was heavily taped, but he could walk on it, and he was anxious to get back to work. Illya Kuryakin was alone somewhere deep in the heart of China.
“But Dr. Li is a politician, a diplomat," Solo said. "Where could they use him except at the policy level?"
“That is what we must learn, Mr. Solo,” Kalil Singh said. “Or rather, what you must learn.”
Waverly studied his pipe, which had gone out. The chief knitted his bushy eyebrows. “You see, Mr. Solo, Dr. Li is a diplomat, a vice president of National China, but he is, or was, also a noted electronic scientist. As a matter of fact he is, or was, a specialist on ballistic missile guidance systems.”
“You think the Reds want to use him to develop ballistic missiles now that they have atomic capability?” Solo said.
“Almost certainly, Mr. Solo,” Waverly said drily. “That is what the Red Chinese would do with Dr. Li---but they do not have Dr. Li. So the question is what does THRUSH want to do with the false Dr. Li? It is highly doubtful that an impostor is as expert as Dr. Li was. I think our impostor would not be able to develop missile systems, but he probably knows enough about them to get by.”
“Which leaves us still in the dark as the THRUSH’s purpose,” Kalil Singh said. “They have gone to much trouble to get a man into China at a high level.”
“And THRUSH never goes to trouble without a lot to gain,” Napoleon Solo said. “I think I better get into China this time.”
“I think you had better, Mr. Solo. The last report from Mr. Kuryakin indicated that he was still in the unit assigned to Dr. Li, and is in Peking. He is doing what he can, but in his present disguise he is somewhat limited. We must have a man who can get close to Dr. Li,” Waverly said.
“You want Plan Two for China entry?” Solo said.
“I think Plan Two, yes. Your Albanian is now good enough?” Waverly said.
“I’ve been working with the knowledge accelerator for a month,” Solo said. “I wouldn’t fool an Albanian for long, but I think I can play the part of the missile expert.”
Kalil Singh frowned. “It will be risky, Alexander. Perhaps I have a Section-II man who is fluent in Albanian.”
“The Chinese have few who speak Albanian, Kalil,” Waverly said. “No, we need our best man, and Mr. Solo is probably that. He will know enough Albanian to convince the Chinese, and then he can use French, English, or Russian, which most of the leaders know. He speaks four or five Chinese dialects, which will be vital in learning what is going on.”
Kalil Singh nodded. “Very well, Alexander. I will have the section prepare the proper papers, and arrange the route.”
“Do that, Kalil,” Waverly said, and looked at Solo as he sucked on his cold pipe. “By tonight, Mr. Solo will be the Albanian missile expert en route to Peking by way of Kabul.”
Solo grinned. “Let’s hope I make it.”
“Yes, Mr. Solo,” Waverly said. “Let us hope you do better than you did in crossing the Sham Chun River.”
Solo’s grin weakened, but the boyish agent shrugged, and left the secret room to begin the arduous preparations that would make him an Albanian missile expert.
FOUR
Peking is an old city. It has seen many wars and has had many names. A city of walls, it has, under the rule of The People’s Republic, expanded far beyond the northern Inner City and the southern Outer City. Residential suburbs sprawl to the north and northwest here at the apex of the north China plain. The universities have risen beyond the ancient walls, and industrial centers smoke and hum a few feet from ancient statues of the times of long forgotten emperors.
In the city there are six artificial lakes fed from a moat outside the walls of the Inner City. Grouped around the Chung Hai (Middle Lake) and Nan Hai (South Lake) are the buildings of the Chinese People’s Government. It was here, on a dark night a few days after Napoleon Solo had been frustrated at the border, that three black cars drove silently up to one of the government buildings.
The cars stopped and three men stepped out of the second car. One of these men was the small Dr. Li Po Shue. The other two were men in the uniforms of People’s Republic generals. The three entered the building through a small side door.
From the other two cars a group of people emerged. Most were soldiers, armed and alert as they watched in all directions along the dark street. From time to time there were loud noises, the shouts of many voices, from the direction of the old Legation Quarter where there were now many hotels, stores, theaters and movie houses.
“The Red Guards are active again,” one of the soldiers said to his companion.
The companion, a small, dark man, answered in the same northern dialect. “They have nothing to do, comrade.”
But this small man was not really listening to his fellow soldier. He was watching the door through which Dr. Li had gone with the generals, and he was watching a group of three men and a woman who stepped out of the first car.
Illya Kuryakin stared at the woman and three men. There was something familiar about them. But Illya could not for the moment place them, and he again turned his attention to the small door. Somehow he had to get inside.
But there was no way without risking his disguise. Still, he was about to take that chance, when the door opened again, and the small figure of Dr. Li came out with the two generals. Behind them, inside the doorway, Illya had a glimpse of another man---a heavy-set man with a round moon face who was only too familiar!
Illya stared at the half hidden figure of Chairman Mao himself!
Only for a moment; then the Chinese ruler was gone. But in that glimpse Illya had realized that Dr. Li Po Sue was not operating at a low level. The Chairman had waved once, as if to wish Dr. Li luck in whatever he was to do.
Illya had time to see no more. The leaders and soldiers climbed back into their cars and the three car motorcade drove off again in the dark night. Soon they were driving through more crowded streets where the mobs of young and eager Red Guards chanted and shouted their devotion to the new way. The cars drove out of the walled cities, through the brighter streets of shops and theaters, and into the newer suburbs where the factories operated even now at night. They passed the main railroad terminus, and continued on into complete industrial areas, and then into the more open land far to the north.
At last the three cars pulled up before a large, dark building that stood isolated beside a double railroad spur. The generals and Dr. Li got out and walked into the building. The soldiers were dispersed to guard. The group of three men and a woman, all non-Chinese, followed Dr. Li and the generals into the building.
Illya Kuryakin walked his post at the western corner of the giant building. His keen eyes watched, and his mind analyzed the situation. His post was distant from the entrance to the vast building. The guards were not walking post, not reporting. They were simply on watch. The officer was lounging against one of the cars.
Illya studied the façade of the building. It appeared to be a warehouse, and a row of windows ran some six feet up all along the walls. Illya looked again toward the officer. The man was lighting a cigarette, talking to the sergeant. Illya decided to risk leaving his post.
He moved quickly to the wall of the building, and took two small, round objects from under his uniform. He wet them, and struck them firmly against the wall. They stuck fast, and each one had a four inch metal bar that folded out into a projection. Illya climbed onto them and his shoulders reached above the bottom of the windows.
The small Russian U.N.C.L.E. agent quickly cut a hole in a window pane with a tiny diamond-tipped cutter, reached in, opened the window, climbed through and dropped to the floor. He crouched in the dark interior and listened. There was no sound.
His eyes grew accustomed to the dark. He saw that he was in a smallish store room of some type. There were crates piled to the ceiling. Illya examined the crates and found that they contained sub-machine gun ammunition, and were destined, according to the Russian lettering, for Viet Nam!
That the Soviet was supplying Viet Nam by way of China was not news, and Illya crossed the room to the door. He listened. He heard voices---but not far away, indistinct, and strangely echoing. Cautiously he tried the door. It was not locked. He opened it a crack and looked out. What he saw made him mutter in sudden surprise.
The area he looked into was as high and large as an aircraft hangar. It was most of the building, and the railroad tracks ran into it from the outside. It was dim, but with just enough light for Illya to see the generals and Dr. Li deep in conference on the far side.
And enough light for him to see the two giant rocket-missiles that rested on railroad flat cars in the center of the vast building. Illya knew instantly what they were. Soviet-made, IRBM missiles (Intermediate Range Ballistic Missiles). Powerful, accurate, with a range of some 1500 miles, perhaps more, and full atomic capability!
But why?
Illya stared out at the rockets. The relations between the Soviet Union and China was not such that the Russians would send missiles to China!
Then why were they here in Peking?
Illya let his deep-set eyes carefully survey the giant warehouse room, and then crept out and moved quickly toward the rockets. He reached them unseen, and moved along beneath the towering flat cars. He found what he wanted near the tall tail assembly. In Russian there was a simple legend: Depot 14. Hanoi.
The same was repeated in Vietnamese and Chinese.
The IRBM’s were destined for the Hanoi Government of Ho Chi Minh. Which was a dangerous escalation of the Viet Nam War! With such missiles, Hanoi could threaten the whole free-world in Asia!
And yet---Hanoi had no atomic warheads!
Still, as a token of Soviet faith in Hanoi, the IRBM’s with conventional warheads would be dangerous weapons that could be used on Saigon as a morale-shattering attack.
They could be used on the American Fleet off the Vietnamese shore!
Illya felt rather than saw the man behind him. He tensed, waited, his ears alert. There was a soft step close behind, a pause, and then sensed the lunge. Illya dived aside, turned in midair, his pistol in his hand.
The man wore civilian clothes and carried a knife. He was still in the act of plunging the knife into Illya’s back---but Illya was no longer there. The man had time to open his mouth and no more.
Illya’s silent shot struck the man full in the throat. The man dropped without a sound. Illya crawled to the fallen man, already dead from the deadly poisoned dart Illya had loaded in his pistol for this mission.
Illya searched the body quickly. He found the identity card. A Chinese secret policeman! Illya bent and picked up the man. He carried him silently through the giant warehouse to the small storage room. He hid the body inside a packing case.
The man would not be found for days. Illya turned to climb back through the window.
He stopped.
&n
bsp; There was a sudden loud noise back inside the warehouse. Illya returned to the door. The two giant IRBMs were being moved out by a small switch engine. Dr. Li and the two generals were watching.
Illya went back across the small storeroom and climbed up and out the window. He dropped to the ground, took his two suction discs from the wall, and returned to his post.
All was quiet. Illya smiled, and bent over his ring radio.
FIVE
Napoleon Solo rode down Chatham Road in Kowloon to the Peninsula Hotel. He left the taxi a block from the hotel and walked the rest of the way. He did not go in the main entrance, but went down an alley at the side and into the side door.
He went up the service stairs until he reached the third floor. There he stepped carefully out into a corridor, surveyed the deserted hall, and walked quickly to a room where he let himself in with a key.
Inside the room he locked the door behind him, smiled, and sat down at a table. The room had been rented in the name of Mehemet Shenhu, a supposed member of an Albanian Mission to Hong Kong who had remained in the Crown Colony when his mission left for Tokyo.
Mehemet Shenhu was, of course, an U.N.C.L.E. agent in Tirana, and Solo was to return to the Albanian capital in his place. Once there he would fly out as the Albanian expert on missiles, and be in Peking in a day and a half.
He glued on the drooping mustache, darkened his hair, carefully thickened his nose, and sat back to study the effect. He grinned. His own mother would not know him. With a red fez, since he was a Muslim, and a baggy Albanian suit, he would pass.
He checked his watch. In twenty minutes he would leave the hotel to catch his jet. He checked his weapons and the secret devices every U.N.C.L.E. agent carried for any emergency that might arise.
The audible alarm on his pencil radio began to sound.
Solo answered. “Sonny here. Come in Control Central.”
Waverly’s voice was calm, yet urgent for the slow-speaking chief. “Mr. Solo, we have just received a relayed report from Mr. Kuryakin. He reports that Dr. Li appears involved in some action concerning Soviet IRBM missiles. These missiles are in Peking, and seem to be destined for Hanoi.”
The Genghis Khan Affair Page 2