Pulp Fiction | The Invisibility Affair by Thomas Stratton

by Unknown

"That got it," Napoleon informed him. "It's pointing at you."

  "Fine," Brattner said. "We have two antenna setups for the standard rig—one in our communications center down the hall and one in my car. Which do you want?"

  "We'll take the communications center, if it has any comfortable furniture in it," Napoleon decided. "We don't really need a fast getaway; after all, the idea is to trail them at a distance. And I could use some sleep, after the past few days."

  "There's a couch," Brattner said, leading the two agents across the hall into a room that was a miniature version of the New York communications center. Illya could recognize among other things, a console that apparently was linked directly to the main data center in New York. He also recognized the couch and headed for it.

  "You dozed a few minutes while I was driving up from Chicago," he informed Napoleon, "so I have first rights to the couch."

  Napoleon slumped into a chair in front of one of the consoles. "Very well," he conceded, "but if we're dividing things all that evenly, I shall expect a bit more help than you usually give when it comes to making out our report." Peering about the console, he located the antenna jack and attached the detector.

  "I'm getting a little behind on sleep myself," Brattner announced. "Unless you need me...?

  "No, go ahead," Solo assured him. "Keep your communicator handy so we can contact you if anything happens. I assume you don't live too far away."

  "Not far. I can be here in five minutes if—" He broke off abruptly and Napoleon whirled to the detector. The sound of a beep was dying away and a bright green dot showed two thirds of the way up the screen. Illya came jerkily awake and sat up on the couch. Brattner peered over Napoleon's shoulder at the detector screen.

  "Thrush doesn't like to waste time, does it?" Napoleon commented. "Can you tell the location?"

  Brattner shook his head. "Doesn't look as if it's moved from her apartment. They can't have taken her far, certainly."

  "Strange," observed Illya as he joined them in front of the console. "It takes at least ten minutes for the coating to wear off the pill and expose the battery plates, and even with the worst case of acid indigestion, another five minutes for the charge to build up. They should be a mile away at least."

  "Call your men at the apartment," Napoleon ordered. "Something may have gone wrong."

  Brattner shook his head. "Can't," he said. "Since they went there for the purpose of getting knocked out, they left behind any equipment that might help Thrush—and that includes communicators. No sense in making Thrush a present of our stuff."

  "All right," Illya said. "Let's get this detector into the car before the transmitter builds up another charge."

  With Brattner in the lead, the agents retraced their steps through the record shop. They were in the car heading north, with Brattner at the wheel, when the detector beeped a second time. "Same place," Brattner said after a quick glance at the screen. "It's her apartment, all right; distance and direction both check."

  They parked a block from Kerry's apartment, and waited for another signal from the detector. When it came, the source was still shown as the apartment, and this time the short-range wrist detector indicated the same direction.

  "Let's go," Napoleon said. "Illya and I will check this out. Don, you keep your communicator channel open and be ready to back us up. I suspect," he continued, turning to Illya, "that it would be better to approach through the alley, rather than marching up to the front door."

  Minutes later the two agents stood in the dark alley, trying to see through the bushes that lined the back fence. "Let's wait a few minutes," whispered Illya, "and see if we get another signal from the transmitter. One is due about now."

  Napoleon nodded and looked up and down the alley. Garages lined both sides almost solidly, broken only by an occasional bush-lined fence like the one they stood behind. His nose assured him that at least one open garbage can stood nearby. "I hope no honest householder develops a sudden urge to carry out his garbage," Napoleon whispered. "Our presence here could be misinterpreted rather easily."

  "Yes, I'm sure it could," a new voice broke in softly. "Just keep your hands in sight and don't make any sudden moves."

  A large man stepped through the gate that opened on the far side of the nearest garage. His right hand held an object that gleamed in the faint moonlight and which was trained steadily on the two agents. As he approached, a light came on in the back yard of Kerry's building. Another man stepped through the gate to that yard a moment later. He was also armed.

  Napoleon and Illya breathed simultaneous sighs of relief as they recognized the guns as U.N.C.L.E. Specials like their own. "You must be the agents guarding Miss Griffin," Napoleon said. "I'm Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin; we're from the New York office."

  The guns didn't lower. "Let's see your identification, then," one of the men said.

  Napoleon and Illya eased out their wallets and displayed the gold cards. One of the local agents took their wallets and inspected the cards closely, then handed them back and holstered his gun.

  "Okay," he said grudgingly. "You're who you say you are. But what are you doing skulking in the alley?"

  "We started picking up signals from the transmitter about half an hour ago," Napoleon replied. "Has anything been happening here?"

  "The bedroom light came on for a time about three quarters of an hour ago, but that's all. No sign of Thrush activity."

  Napoleon frowned. "We'd better check things out. You can turn the light out and go back to your posts. Illya and I will go in and find out what happened."

  The lock on the back door yielded to Solo in a matter of seconds and the two agents stepped silently inside. They stood motionless for a moment; gradually, the kitchen took shape in the darkness around them. The house was quiet except for an occasional snore coming from a room halfway down the hall.

  Napoleon inched up to the doorway and cautiously peered around the corner. There was just enough light filtering through the shades for him to make out a sleeping form. Napoleon drew back and motioned Illya into the kitchen.

  "We'd better wake her up and find out what happened," Napoleon whispered, "but how do we do it without frightening her half to death?"

  Illya shrugged. "Go back outside and ring the doorbell."

  Napoleon stared at him. "Your devious Russian mind is showing," he whispered. The two agents silently left the house.

  Two minutes later, they were standing at the front door, confronting a disheveled and confused Kerry Griffin. She smiled sheepishly when they had explained the situation.

  "After you left earlier," she explained, avoiding their eyes, "I went right to bed, but I woke up with a headache. It must have been force of habit, to take an aspirin from the bottle next to the bed. I'm not really very alert at times like that; I didn't think about the aspirin being your transmitters. I'm sorry I caused you all this trouble."

  "That's all right.' Illya reassured her. "It gave the instruments a good checkout. Now we know they work correctly. You get back to sleep and we'll see you tomorrow."

  "Incidentally," Napoleon said, "did the transmitter cure your headache?"

  Kerry looked startled. "Why...yes, it did! I feel fine, now."

  "Remarkable. Well, try not to take any more of them; we'll keep a check on this one and see how long it lasts."

  Kerry nodded agreement, said goodnight to the agents, and stepped back inside. Napoleon and Illya tracked down the local U.N.C.L.E. agents for a conference.

  "Just a suggestion," Napoleon warned them. "Don't be quite so efficient when and if the real Thrushes show up. Remember, the object is to get Kerry captured without getting yourselves killed, and coming out with guns in your hands is a bad way to do that. Let them get the drop on you; they won't shoot if they don't have to. Too noisy."

  The agents nodded. "It's just that we've been trained to never take a chance with Thrush, and it's hard to break the habit."

  "We sympathize," Illya said, "but remember tha
t this time capturing Thrush agents gets us nowhere, and shooting it out with them is equally useless and could get you killed."

  "Good enough," Napoleon said. "Now we had better get back downtown if we're going to get any sleep at all tonight. He glanced at his watch and groaned. "One-thirty already. Let's get back to the car."

  Brattner looked up quizzically as Napoleon and Illya climbed into the car. "She took it by mistake while she was half asleep." Napoleon explained. "Keep the detectors on; we'll run a check of transmitter life. It varies according to whose stomach it's in, you know."

  As the car pulled out into the street, the detector beeped again. "Oh, shut up!" Illya muttered irritably, then stopped abruptly as he looked at his wrist detector. "What does yours show?" he asked Brattner.

  "Not much," he replied, then slowed the car to take a more careful look. "Hey, it's moved—I think."

  Illya was checking his wrist detector. "Hard to tell, it hasn't moved far yet. Wait for another signal."

  Brattner stopped the car completely and all three agents watched the screen of the larger detector. The next beep came on schedule and showed that the transmitter had definitely moved. "At a guess, they're headed for the south side on Lake Drive," Brattner said, and gunned the car forward.

  "Don't make too good time," Napoleon said. "We want to trail them, not head them off." He smiled in rueful admiration. "That was a slick operation. Thrush must have had someone watching the house, and they slipped in while we were having our little conference with the local agents. Very efficient."

  Illya nodded. "But a trap is a trap, no matter how efficiently one walks into it. Old Russian proverb."

  "I thought you were too sleepy for that sort of thing," Napoleon complained. "Incidentally, Don, where are the other two agents, the ones on the day shift?"

  "Home in bed, I hope," Brattner replied. "They're due back on duty at seven. Why?"

  "I was thinking that the agents back at the house should be notified that their quarry is gone, so they can get some sleep themselves. We'll need everybody on the job tomorrow—today, rather. And since they don't have their communicators, you can't reach them directly."

  "You're right. I'll call George and have him drive over. He's up with a sick kid half the time anyway. Or maybe you'd better call, since I'm driving. It's channel J."

  Napoleon made the call; instructing George to notify all agents to assemble at headquarters with full equipment at six A.M. Brattner muttered something about "undermanned" but continued driving. They came to a swooping downhill curve that went past a set of darkened tennis courts. He pulled off to one side of the street and turned off the lights. "That's the Drive down there at the flasher," he explained. "We'll wait here until we get another transmission. We might even be able to spot the car, if we're lucky. If it hasn't gone by already. If it's really on the Drive."

  The beep came a minute later. Brattner looked at the screen. "South, but not far. They must have passed just before we got here." He flipped on the lights and drove on down the hill and past the flasher onto the Drive.

  Ten minutes later, they were off the Drive and parked on a back street in an industrial section, waiting for another signal. On the left and ahead, something belched flame into the night, and on the right, a tremendous, brightly lighted clock tower was visible a half mile away. Napoleon noted with distaste that it was almost two o'clock.

  The next signal was still from the south and farther away. "They could be heading for the south expressway and Chicago," Brattner commented.

  "Let's hope not," said Napoleon. "We've had enough problems with Chicago recently."

  The next beep showed their quarry pulling to the east, paralleling the lake shore. Brattner looked puzzled as he pulled out and drove southeast on Kinnickinnic. "A suburb?" he asked of no one in particular. "No wonder we couldn't find their new headquarters. If Thrush can afford to move into the suburbs, why can't we?" he muttered resentfully.

  Two beeps later, they were sitting in the middle of the suburb of Cudahy. "Looks like this is the place," Illya noted. "They didn't move between the last two signals."

  Brattner nodded. "Back northeast," he said. "We should be able to get within range of the wrist detector by the next signal."

  It took them fifty minutes and four more beeps to narrow the search down to a twelve-unit apartment house two blocks from the suburb's main business section.

  "Now what?" Brattner inquired. "We don't have enough men to raid a place that size. For that matter, two months ago Thrush didn't have enough men to defend it. They must have been bringing in agents while we were sending ours to San Sebastian."

  "Maybe they've just taken part of the building," Napoleon suggested. "How many men are there in the local satrapy?"

  "It varies. The last time we had an accurate count, they had six. That was right before Forbes and McNulty arrived. I know one of those is in jail at the moment; he was trying to get away from George the other night and had the misfortune to run into a police car. But I don't know how many they may have added recently."

  "Okay," Napoleon said. "We'll have to do the best we can. Tell your men to get down here first thing in the morning. We'll stay here and keep an eye on the place. I'd like to observe the comings and goings for a while before we charge in blindly; perhaps we can get some idea of Thrush's strength by the time your men arrive."

  Napoleon turned to Illya. "We'll take turns watching," he said. "You dozed at the local headquarters. It's my turn now." Without waiting for Illya's protest, he slouched down in the seat and closed his eyes.

  Brattner sighed, took out his communicator and began making calls.

  Chapter 5

  "You Never Know When a Dirigible Will Come in Handy"

  Kerry stood in the doorway for a second, watching Illya and Napoleon cross the porch and start down the front steps. Reluctantly, she closed the door and turned back toward her bedroom. The two agents had been very patient and understanding, but she still felt embarrassed about the incident. She wasn't used to making such silly mistakes, and she wouldn't blame Illya if he thought her an utter fool. And he was really rather sweet, the thought, as well as intelligent enough to understand a government proposal at first glance.

  Embarrassment and the effects of the sudden awakening made her feel anything but sleepy. She hesitated a moment at the bedroom door, then continued down the hallway toward the kitchen. Something to eat would settle her nerves, she thought as she pushed open the kitchen door. A glass of milk, perhaps, and a piece of cold chicken would make a good snack.

  As she reached for the light switch, something that felt like a steel band clamped itself around her waist and an enormous hand covered her mouth and most of her face. A voice came from the semi-darkness in front of her.

  "Now then, Miss Griffin, we don't want to be unmannerly about this, but on the other hand we can't allow you to scream for help or turn on any more lights. There are at least two U.N.C.L.E. agents with fairly sharp ears and eyes just outside. We have gun, of course—one pointed directly at you, by the way—but we don't want to cause any more disturbance than necessary. So if you will promise to behave quietly, we can avoid such unpleasantnesses as tying and gagging you. If you agree, nod your head."

  By the time the voice stopped, Kerry had had time to collect her wits and consider the situation. This was what Illya and Napoleon wanted, she thought. Besides, if she screamed, the agents would have to pretend to come to her aid, and with Thrush—and these must be Thrushes!—playing for keeps, someone could get killed. She nodded her head.

  "She nodded," a voice rumbled form a foot above and behind her head.

  "All right, Andy; let her go," the first voice said, and the vice-like grip was gone as quickly as it had come.

  "Now isn't that much better, Miss Griffin?" the voice continued. "We don't want to inconvenience you any more than necessary, so I think we can spare a few moments for you to pack some things. We're taking you to see your uncle and you may be there for some time, so
let's all go back to your bedroom where you can choose what you'll need."

  As the voice stopped speaking, the door to the hallway was pushed open before her, and a man who was built along the general lines of a Percheron was outlined against the hallway light as he moved through the door. Kerry obediently followed him through the hallway and into her bedroom. A second later, the owner of the first voice entered and flipped on the light switch. She was startled to notice that he was just the opposite of the one he had called Andy—small, conservatively dressed, with a rigid crew cut. Very inoffensive looking except for the gun he still held trained on her.

  Under the watchful eyes of the two men, she hastily stuffed some clothes and other necessities into a small suitcase. During this time she learned that the smaller man was Arpad McNulty and that they were indeed Thrushes. When she had finished, Andy was sent to check the back door.

  "The guy's back on duty," he reported. "All ready to keep us from comin' in, but"—he gave a rumbling chuckle—"he ain't expectin' nobody to bust out."

  "All right, Andy. You take him out, quietly. Miss Griffin and I will follow." With stealth incredible in such a large man, Andy eased open the door and slipped out into the night.

  A moment later, McNulty took Kerry's arm and urged her to follow. As they stepped off the porch onto the walk, she noticed the form of the back door guard sprawled under the shrubbery beside the garage. McNulty hurried her through the back gate and along the alley to the north. At the street, a car was waiting, Andy already at the wheel. He was rumbling to himself as the two piled into the back seat. "That old boy's really gonna have a head when he wakes up." He chuckled. "Y'know how I got him, Arpad? Y'see, he—"

  "It was a very good job, Andy," McNulty said, "and you can tell me about it tomorrow. Right now, get us out of here."

  Kerry felt a vast relief. The plan had worked, at the cost of nothing more serious than a bruised head. The shock she had received on seeing the body was replaced by a feeling of well-being and adventure. It was an effort to remind herself that she was still a captive, even though she had only the two agents' word about how easily she could be freed. So far, Thrush had been terribly efficient.