The Beauty and Beast Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  He saw Wanda wince.

  When Frun and the driver had been sufficiently revived by the night air, Solo said in a sharp tone:

  "Now, let's waste no more time." He faced the driver. "Get us to the palace at once."

  "Yes, sire." The driver bowed low.

  Solo looked at Frun and Piebr. "Guard this young woman. Keep her alive. I'll want to question her. Of course she's working with Napoleon Solo there."

  Wanda's mouth sagged open.

  Piebr spoke hesitantly. "Sire, our guns. They're gone."

  "Of course they are," Solo said, voice rasping. "I wanted to demonstrate to you what can happen to you if you let down your vigil for one moment." He got the guns from the glove compartment, returned them to the three men.

  Wanda's gasp was audible now, and when he looked at her, her astonished mouth gaped wide.

  "And you, close your mouth, young woman!" he ordered. "Flies are very bad in this country."

  ACT III

  INCIDENT OF THE CATALYTIC AGENT

  THE ROLLS ROYCE droned soothingly upon the slick highway, racing in the desert night. The closer they came to the capital City of Omar, the tighter Napoleon Solo found himself wound. On the front seat between him and the driver, Wanda was fighting increasing hysteria. He felt her leg pressed savagely against his, as if she hoped some of his courage might rub off on her.

  In the dune-scalloped distance ahead, they saw the saffron glow of Omar's lights.

  Suddenly, in an oasis as lush as a rainforest, the tall spires and minarets of the sheik's palace loomed against the star-laced heavens.

  The driver dimmed his lights twice, and the wrought-iron gates, fifteen feet tall in a thick block-stone wall, swung back. The driver raced through without slowing. As they sped along the curving drive to the brilliantly illuminated chateau, Solo saw lines of green-garbed soldiers on guard, bayonets fixed.

  Getting in was easy, he thought. The trick was in getting out.

  Before the driver braked the Rolls before the wide, curving, forty marble steps leading upward to the columned portico at the palace entrance, a battalion of bowing servants had raced out. They spread themselves, fanlike down the steps, awaiting any commands of the illustrious arrivals.

  Solo had to remind himself that all this display of humility was in his honor—as Kiell, head of Zabir's security, protector of Zud.

  A servant raced forward, opening Solo's door first and prostrating himself on the marble as Solo stepped from the car.

  Solo gave the servant no more than a glance; without even looking back, strode up the steps.

  He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew that asking questions now would be fatal.

  He saw a head-servant, standing illumined in jewel-like lights from the opened doors at the head of the steps. The man stood ramrod straight until Solo came off the top step. Then the servant sank to his knees and kissed the ground at his feet.

  From his prone position the servant intoned in portentous voice, "Sheik Zud requests that you meet with him and his ministers in the council room, Master."

  Solo nodded, hearing Wanda and the others coming up the marble steps behind, him.

  He turned and glanced at them. Frun and the driver supported the handcuffed Ordwell between them. Piebr followed, his hand on Wanda's elbow.

  Wanda looked ready to crumple. Solo waited until his subordinates and prisoners were grouped behind him. Then he said, "We will all go to the council room, where we will deliver these infidel traitors to our great Zud."

  He spoke to the servant: "Lead us to the council room."

  Solo strode through the jewel-decked doors in the wake of the head-servant. He walked alone through the high portals of silver into a spacious, incredible lobby, twice again as large as the gleaming concourse in the elegant new air terminal at Kurbot. He could almost hear the soft echoing of his own bated breathing in this high-domed hall.

  Solo managed to walk with his head straight, restraining his wish to stare in amazement at silk tapestries, deep damasks, and precious stone inlays. The floor glittered in its golden pattern of bright mosaics. Each inch of the place shone with polish, reflecting the myriad of lights, although no light fixtures were visible; everything was done indirectly or by reflection.

  The servant preceded Solo up a staircase whose balustrade glittered with opulent jewelry

  At the head of these stairs, five wide corridors led outward into the wings of the palace. The servant chose his course and Solo followed him.

  The long corridor was covered by a domed ceiling and its open places boasted silver-barred banisters.

  The laughter of children swept up to Solo. He glanced across the banister into a suite where innumerable children played, laughing.

  He decided even the head of the secret police would be permitted a look. He walked to the balustrade and stared down at King Zud's offspring. He had never seen happier children. They were completely unaware of the strife outside the palace walls.

  He turned, waving his hand. The head-servant moved out again. They walked for some moments, passed closed doors, before they came out again to an opening. A quick glance told him this was the court of the wives. He did not pause, because he reckoned instinctively that not even Zud's protector would be permitted to look down on Zud's wives taking their ease.

  The chatter of the women followed him. He recalled that Zouida had insisted that Zud's wives—all them his former slaves—were happy and contented and worshiped their shared husband.

  The servant led them through smother corridor, which ended finally at a thick cedar door with iron trim. The servant touched a bell and instantly servants inside the council room swung the door open for them.

  Napoleon Solo strode in. He was less bold than he appeared.

  He slowed involuntarily, seeing a conference room fifty feet across and eighty feet long. A gleaming table surrounded by high-backed leather chairs dominated the place. Except for the jewel-crusted throne at the head of the conference table, the chamber might have been the inner sanctum of some industrial complex.

  He sighed, seeing that the throne was empty. At least Zud was not yet here. Along each side of the table were twelve dark men, the sheik's ministers. Solo saw an empty chair at the right of the throne; instinctively he knew this was the seat of the recently slain Zouida Berikeen.

  Directly across from the empty chair was another waiting place and Solo went around to it without hesitation. The ministers bowed to him, and he saw he'd passed another test.

  He spoke to Piebr. "The driver will go with the servants. You, Piebr and Frun, will guard my prisoners. Put them on their knees against the wall there for our king's inspection. On their knees. And don't let them speak while Sheik Zud is in this room. They must not speak, no matter what happens."

  Piebr nodded, proud to be associated with the protector of Zud. "As you order, Master."

  Solo dropped into his chair, as if he owned at least an interest in the corporation. He did not even bother to glance to see how his orders were being executed.

  He did, after he was seated, glance once toward Wanda. She watched him, mouth parted, half in awe, half in terror for them both. Her look expressed precisely his own inner panic, he thought wryly.

  Suddenly ceiling-high golden doors beyond the throne were opened and Sheik Zud strode through.

  The twelve ministers leaped 'to their feet and then prostrated their heads on the table.

  Solo followed their example, but could not resist turning his head slightly.

  Sheik Zud came from a suite even more brilliantly illuminated than this council chamber. Ahead of him, on the waves of air conditioning, came smells of spices, perfumes, rich aroma of foods and fine new linens. And out of it Zud sprang, with the graceful stride of a beast.

  A beast!

  When the huge man—he was some inches over six feet tall, with shoulders that blotted out the throne behind him, a chest like a hogshead bursting with wine—had reached the throne and sat down, he pou
nded the side of his fist on the table and the ministers were permitted to sit up, bow each in turn, and then sit back.

  Solo was thankful for the skin-fitting mask he wore to hide his emotions at the first sight of the man.

  Zud's head was large, like a lion's head. Solo knew that in its terminal stages the ancient scourge of the East, leprosy, gave its victims the lion-face.

  But Zud's was a matter of birth, not disease. He had the look of a lion. His graying hair was like a wine-gold mane that grew down to his shoulders, turned up at the ends, making his head seem more magnificent than ever.

  His eyes, under sprouting brows, were relentless, black and fiery, catching all the lights in the room.

  He swung his arms in his silken robes, and the gale rustled papers at the far end of the room.

  Napoleon Solo felt awed despite himself.

  "Well, Kiell! Here you are finally!" The chandeliers shivered when Zud roared.

  Solo bowed Kiell's plastic-mask face, his forehead touching the table.

  "Don't pretend such humility!" Zud roared. "You're not humble. I'd fear your arrogance if I feared anything on this earth. Such arrogance! You slew the man closest to my heart in the air terminal at Kurbot! My own conscience, my own dear friend—Zouida Berikeen! How then can I trust you, Kiell! If you would cut out my heart, would you not put a bullet in my back if I turned it on you?"

  Solo sat for an instant, stunned by Zud's stupendous rage. He felt as Zud did about the dead ambassador. If there was a man in Zabir he'd have staked his life could have been trusted, it was little Zouida. And here he was, wearing the face of the man who had slain him in cold blood.

  He saw now why Ordwell, posing as Kiell, had had to accuse Zouida of treason and kill him on the spot. Ordwell's impersonation could not have succeeded under Zouida's close scrutiny.

  He drew a deep breath, feeling the sweat trying to squeeze between his skin and the tight-fitting mask. How could he justify a murder he felt in his own heart was tragic and inexcusable? He had to if he wanted to stay alive.

  "Speak up!" Zud roared. "Or would you have me lop off your head?"

  Solo recalled everything Zouida had said of the real Kiell—a brave, arrogant man, well-hated, but deeply respected—a man who would unhesitatingly lay down his life for his ruler.

  "Oh, Zud, if you wish to take my life, you have merely to order my head upon the block!" Solo said, sweating. "If ever I betrayed you, even in my most uncontrolled dreams, I then would order my own life forfeit—"

  "Yes! Yes! We know all this!" Zud shouted him down. "Why else do you think you have lived this long? I'm giving you more than you gave Zouida! A chance to be heard."

  "Then hear me, O mighty Sultan! Zouida was a weak man, and not working in our best interests."

  "You're saying Zouida was a traitor?" Zud leaped to his full height, and Solo half expected to see lightning bolts flare from his fists. "You'll have to do better than this, Kiell!"

  "To my best knowledge, Zouida opposed what my king Zud feels is the best course for our nation."

  "You mean that? You mean that Zouida opposed our joining forces with the international THRUSH organization?"

  "I mean just that. He would have fought us. Perhaps I was rash. But I thought only of the safety of my ruler."

  "Incredible. Incredible," Zud whispered.

  "I had proof," Solo, persisted.

  Slowly, the giant sank to his throne. He put his head back and glared at the jeweled ceiling, glared through it toward Allah, himself. His lion's eyes filled with tears. For a long time he remained like that. Nobody spoke.

  Finally, Zud drew his arm across his lion's face and sat up. He moved his gaze across his ministers. He raged at them: "We will follow my plans. Do you understand? If there is another who opposes me, even in his heart—if he would save his own life, let him speak now, and I will swear to him safe conduct to our borders and a life of exile."

  He waited, but nobody moved. Some even appeared to have suspended their breathing.

  Zud waved his arm again. He stared at Ordwell and Wanda on their knees against the wall, under the guard of the two secret police officers. "Who are these people, Kiell? Did you bring me the man we must have to satisfy THRUSH's demands on us?"

  "Napoleon Solo?" Solo said. "That is Solo." He jerked his head toward Ordwell.

  "Have you nothing to say, Solo?" Zud raged.

  Solo, as Kiell, spoke mildly. "He cannot at this moment say any thing, O King of Lions. I gave him a nerve-paralyzing injection. It will wear off, but it makes him easier to handle."

  Zud nodded. "How about the pretty little girl? Can she speak?"

  "She can speak, if she has the courage to do it," Solo said.

  Zud shouted. "Come here, girl!"

  Solo saw Wanda's trembling half across the room. Piebr prodded her and she stood up, came reluctantly forward and stood beside the throne.

  "On your knees, female!" Zud shouted.

  "Bow to his mighty person!" Solo raged at Wanda.

  She went down on her knees, her black eyes round and stricken with terror.

  Zud stared down at her. "Beautiful. Like a rare, exotic orchid from the Orient. What a brilliant addition to my present array of loveliness." He shouted suddenly. "You'd hate that, wouldn't you, girl? Because I'm so ugly. Go on. Say it. My own mother thought me ugly. She taunted me because of my ugliness. From the day when I walked from the cradle, I heard her taunts and her jeering.

  "She had three handsome sons—and me, the beast! That's what she called her own son. The beast. She was all the loveliness of paradise on this earth. I wanted just one moment of her love, and she called me her ugly little beast. Well, perhaps I was her ugliest, but I became the greatest. Not even she can deny this!"

  "No one of this earth can deny your greatness, O Ruler!" cried the twelve ministers in unison and Solo joined them, belatedly.

  He frowned, because he found himself admiring Zud. The goodness inside the Gargantuan man showed through his eyes. He shook his head. He had a job to do. If

  Zud was his enemy, he would have to fight him, no matter his secret feelings.

  Zud said to Wanda, "I ought to make you my slave. I would teach you to accept me in humility. And when I had taught you that, I could force you to marry me—as I have all my wives. But no, I can see the terror in your face, and I am too tired to care anymore. Too much to do!" He clapped his hands. "We have the other prisoner THRUSH required. Kuryakin is in custody still. Put these two with him!"

  Solo bowed, and then stood up. He hesitated because he did not know where to go from here. He sweated. The chief of security would know where a political enemy was imprisoned. He couldn't even ask.

  Suddenly at his side, Piebr spoke. "This way, Master. Frun and I will go ahead of you."

  "Bless you," Solo said under his breath, and then they retreated from the chamber, bowing.

  But even when he was in the splendid corridor, following Piebr along it, he still shivered slightly because he had seen in the last moments, a strange doubting light, dazzlingly bright, in Zud's black eyes.

  TWO

  ILLYA KURYAKIN sprawled in the sumptuous softness of pillows stuffed with flamingo down. He wore linen robes and fed himself from bowls heaped with grapes, chunks of lamb, onion, peppers, roasted tomatoes, hunks of chicken breast.

  He sat up in the high-ceilinged, lavishly appointed room, when suddenly the door opened and Solo entered, followed by Ordwell and Wanda under the guard of Piebr and Frun.

  They closed the door and the two secret police stood beside it, guns drawn.

  Illya waved his arm. "If you've come to take me out of all this opulence, forget it! I'm just learning how to live."

  Wanda cried out, "Oh, Illya!"

  She ran to him and hurled her self into his arms. She cried, "Illya! Are you all right?"

  "I am now!" he said. "It hasn't always been like this. I might have known they were just dolling me up because we were having guests. On the other hand, I don't
care why, just so long as it goes on like this."

  Wanda said, her voice pitched warningly, "That's poor Napoleon Solo there—" She gestured toward Ordwell, paralyzed, but conscious of all that was going on.

  Solo strode forward in his Kiell mask, raging. "Shut up, girl! How many times have I ordered that you say nothing! Nothing! No matter what happens?"

  Wanda gasped, realizing she had spoken again when silence was indicated. She pressed herself close to Illya.

  Illya smiled, pleased. "Things are getting better all the time. Maybe I'll start my own harem here."

  Wanda subsided, still clinging to him. She watched him and Solo in the Kiell mask, frightened.

  Solo walked close He held out the key club card with the code X on it. He said, "I believe this is yours. Your clumsy attempt to reveal a secret to your fellow agents."

  Wanda's eyes widened as she saw how quickly Illya understood everything. She saw in his face that it was as if he and the masked Solo had spent three hours in urgent exchange of information.

  He said, shrugging, "You won't get anything out of me, Kiell. Or my friend Solo there."

  Wanda exhaled. It was as if she was breathing for the first time since she had entered this room.

  "Where have they moved the woman evangelist?" Solo asked.

  "I don't know anything about her, Kiell," Illya said. "I've been telling you that."

  "You worked with her when she first arrived in Zabir!" Solo shouted at him.

  "You're wrong! How many times do I to tell you fellows I'm here only because your king invited me? I don't know anything about Ann Nelson Wheat. But I'll tell you what I think, Kiell."

  "Do that, infidel," Solo said.

  "I don't think Ann Nelson Wheat was spying on you people any more than I was. I think you arrested her along with me so you could make it look good to the world—and you want to know what else I think?"

  "Yes, if you dare speak!"

  "What have I got to lose?" Illya said, shrugging. "I think this whole bit, arresting the evangelist and me, was just to cover up a game of footsie you people are playing with THRUSH."