Solo, disguised as the lieutenant, faced front and gave no indication that he was interested in Forsyte. But he followed the colonel out of the elevator, to his office, and took up a previously prepared position at a desk in Forsyte's outer office where he could watch everyone who came or went.
By the rear entrance, unseen by anyone, Illya made his way up to the floor of Forsyte's office, and into a prepared closet from the hallway where a small peephole, disguised on the other side, made it possible for him to observe the man. A planted mike made the colonel's words part of the closet.
Nothing happened.
The colonel spoke to no one suspicious. No one unknown came to his office. Nothing was passed in silence or by word. No meaningful looks were exchanged in front of the eyes of Illya hidden in the closet. No letters were mailed. No signals were given either in the office or out the windows, by Forsyte or anyone else.
The colonel did not leave his office for lunch.
The afternoon was no more eventful, but it was short. Colonel Forsyte left his office for the day at three o'clock. Illya ran down from the closet to the parking area. Solo casually left the office just behind the colonel. He followed the colonel to the parking lot and saw Illya working over his motorcycle.
Solo saw something else.
Not far from Illya, to the left of the colonel's car, a tail man in a grey suit, his face turned away, was working to pile boxes into the front seat of his car—or pretending to. Because the man was actually watching the side mirror of the car. And the angle of the mirror seemed aimed at Forsyte's car!
To the right of the colonel's car a smaller man, wide and powerful, was seated on the hood of his car reading a newspaper. From time to time this man looked at his watch, and then away toward the entrance, as if he were waiting for his wife. But Solo did not think the man was waiting for anything, or anyone, except Colonel Walter Forsyte.
The colonel walked to his car. No one made a move.
The entire parking area seemed momentarily frozen into a silent paralysis.
Then Forsyte took a bundle of clothes from the rear seat of his car and turned to walk away. The colonel walked casually and easily, carrying the clothes and whistling softly to himself like a man without a care in the world and the prospect of a pleasant afternoon in front of him. He reached the halfway point to the exit before anyone moved.
Then the short, wide man jumped easily down from his car and sauntered off in the same direction as the colonel. There were many people in the parking area, but Solo had little doubt that the wide man was following the colonel. Solo glanced briefly in the general direction of Illya. The small, blond Russian touched his left ear and rubbed his hands together.
Plan One. Solo would continue with the original job, and Illya would assume the new job. In this situation that meant that Solo would follow Forsyte and Illya would follow the new men who seemed so interested in Forsyte. Solo walked out of the parking area without another glance at Illya.
Illya continued to work on his motorcycle. The tall man in the grey suit suddenly finished piling the boxes into his car, got into the car and drove out. Illya mounted the motorcycle and went off after the tall man.
Solo picked up the colonel and the muscular man a block from the colonel's office building. They were both walking west, Forsyte a half a block in front, carrying his clothes. Solo did not like how far behind he was, and he didn't want the wide man to know that he was following, so he speeded up and passed the wide man as if he had no interest in him.
The colonel turned into a dry cleaner's shop. Solo followed him in without a pause.
In the parking area Illya followed the tall man in the car out of the area and left toward Third Avenue. The man drove slowly, obviously working as a team with the wide man on foot. On Third Avenue the tall man's car turned north and double parked. The wide man was standing in front of a cleaner's shop. Illya drove on past and pulled into the curb a block ahead where he could keep his eye on the car of the tall man in front of him.
Inside the dry cleaner's, Solo got into a mild argument about his clothes—he claimed that he had forgotten his ticket and gave a phony name. While the counter man was swearing and looking through racks of clothes in the rear, Solo watched Forsyte and listened. As far as he could tell Forsyte passed no messages, and received none. The colonel was concerned only with the correct way to press his uniform
An instant before it was obvious that the colonel was about to leave, Solo told the counterman to forget his cleaning; he'd find his ticket and be back. He walked out just in front of the colonel, hesitating on the sidewalk a split second while he sensed which way the colonel would turn. He turned first and walked north.
The colonel came along behind him, and the wide man came after the colonel. The procession went on for a block. Then Solo went into a stationery store and bought a bar of candy. He came out and was now last in line. The parade continued until Solo suddenly knew where the colonel was going.
He had followed the colonel the day before, and at this exact hour he had been in the exact spot. The colonel was going to his health club. The club was one block away, to the right down a cross street, on the second floor of an old building that backed on an alley. Solo passed both the wide man and the colonel and was the first one up the stairs to the health club.
Illya, on his motorcycle, observed the parade up Third Avenue. He saw the car of the tall man take up its position following the three walking men. Illya frowned. On his motorcycle he was too conspicuous. Yet he had to keep watch on the two men, who were now definitely tailing Forsyte. He had no choice.
On the motorcycle he moved along behind the slow moving car of the tall man. His brain was working hard. Who were they, the two men following Forsyte? If they were spies who got the secret data from Forsyte, why were they following the colonel? It made no sense.
Then Illya had no more time for thinking. The car ahead turned into a cross street. Illya followed. Solo, Forsyte, and the wide man had vanished. He saw the sign of the health club. He remembered Solo's report of the colonel's activities, and guessed that the three men had gone into the health club.
The car ahead passed the entrance to the club and turned into an alley that ran beside the building. Illya followed to the alley, dismounted, parked his motorcycle, and entered the alley warily.
At the rear door of the building two men stepped out to meet the tall man who had been driving the car. Illya Kuryakin crept closer to hear them.
FOUR
NAKED, NAPOLEON SOLO wrapped a towel around his hips in the locker room of the health club, and walked toward the showers. Forsyte was already in the shower. The wide man, a mass of muscles in his towel, was under a sunlamp from where he had a clear view of the showers.
Solo had watched Forsyte register and get his basket of athletic and swim clothes. The colonel had spoken to no one, except to say hello, and had passed nothing. In the locker room Forsyte nodded to various men, but said nothing, and hummed happily as if the health club was a part of his life he specially enjoyed. Now the colonel sang in the shower and Solo joined him.
Forsyte looked at him for the first time as if he recognized him. Solo smiled, and Forsyte smiled back. The colonel returned to his shower, singing. He clearly had decided that Solo was just some member he knew on sight, or some junior from his office on the staff of some other colonel. Forsyte was not a suspicious man.
Solo watched the colonel closely. But no one approached him; he did nothing that looked like he was transmitting any information in the shower, and he had nothing on him to pass. When Forsyte finished his shower, he toweled and went toward the steam and hot rooms. Solo followed, suddenly alert—the steam room was a mass of swirling vapor. An easy place to sit almost completely hidden and pass information.
But Forsyte did not go into the steam room. He entered the hot room instead. Solo followed, and so did the wide, muscular man. In the hot room the light was bright, the air was dry and oven hot, and naked men lay all aroun
d on deck chairs. From time to time an attendant brought glasses of water. The men on the chairs sweated in rivers.
Forsyte took the only empty chair in the hot room. Solo and the muscular man looked around. As if on a signal, three of the men stood up and walked out, leaving chairs for Solo and the wide man. Solo kept one eye on Forsyte, and one on the muscular man. So far, the unknown man who was also interested in Forsyte had shown no interest in Solo.
Solo lay in the deck chair and pretended to sleep. But he watched Forsyte like a hawk from behind his half-closed eyes. The muscular man was also apparently asleep. But Forsyte wasn't asleep. The colonel read a newspaper and drank water and the sweat poured off him. Forsyte seemed to be enjoying the sweating. Every now and then he rubbed himself vigorously with a towel and continued his reading.
No one talked to Forsyte.
Nothing seemed to happen. Solo was beginning to think that whatever method Forsyte used it was very good.
Then he heard the faint sound.
It was almost imperceptible. One sound among many that came from all parts of the health club. No one else seemed to notice. A faint hum, low and outside the hot room. Solo listened to it, tried to locate its location. After a time he decided that it was coming from above—from the ceiling of the hot room, or from the floor above the health club. Probably nothing…
He stopped in mid-thought. His half-hidden eyes stared at Forsyte.
The colonel was suddenly acting strangely.
Solo watched. Forsyte had not rubbed himself in some time. The towel lay neglected on the floor. The colonel's right arm hung down, almost limp. He still held the paper, but his eyes seemed to be having trouble reading the words. Forsyte blinked a few times, shook his head as if to clear it.
Solo stared from the slits of his eyes. Forsyte rubbed his eyes, and then rubbed his forehead. The newspaper fell from his left hand and lay forgotten on his lap. Forsyte shook his head again, like a man fighting sleep. Then the colonel suddenly reached up, slowly, with both hands and pressed his temples as if in pain.
The hands, the arms, of the colonel moved like a man whose muscles had just failed. Slowly, without strength. Forsyte pressed his temples, shook his head like a sleepwalker, and then his arms dropped and his eyes closed. He lay in the chair like a man asleep.
But it was like a drugged sleep, uneasy, almost painful and too deep. His arms hung down at his sides; his breathing became heavy, labored. Solo watched him, and then heard, again, the faint humming sound that seemed to come from the ceiling of the room.
He suddenly remembered the way Forsyte had been forced to take the deck chair—it had been the only chair vacant when the colonel entered. No one else in the hot room was reacting in the manner of the colonel.
Solo looked up at the ceiling. The humming sound continued.
Solo stood up and left the hot room.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and looked back once. Forsyte still lay there like a drugged man. The muscular man was staring at Forsyte, but the man had not moved.
Solo looked around and saw a door marked for a fire exit. He opened the door when he was unobserved. Stairs led upward.
FIVE
IN THE ALLEY Illya Kuryakin crouched in the shadowed afternoon behind a rank of garbage cans. At this hour of the afternoon no sun came into the alley, and the area was in dark shadow. The three men still talked near the rear door to the building.
Illya moved silently closer. The men did not notice.
"We've watched him all day, and I'm damned if he could have passed anything," the tall man said.
"Is Gregor still with him?" one of the other men said.
"Yes. In the health club. He contacted me."
"The Boss says it's certain that Forsyte passed the info on to Dachado. We've got to find out how."
"We'll find out," the tall man said.
"Why don't we just grab him and get it out of him?"
"Let the Boss do the thinking."
"Hell, we'd get what we wanted in five minutes with some of the stuff we've got."
"Sure," the tall man said, "but what if Forsyte doesn't know anything? What if he just passes the info to someone he doesn't know, or just leaves it at a drop? As soon as we grabbed Forsyte they'd know about it, and maybe we never catch up with who he gives the stuff to."
"I never thought of that," the other man said.
"That's why you're not Boss and never will be," the tall man said.
"The Boss takes his orders."
"Sure he does, and up top they know more than we do. We do our job and get paid. Right? We get paid pretty well."
"It beats working," the other man agreed.
"Do we just wait here?" the one who had not spoken said suddenly.
"For a signal from Gregor. Maybe Forsyte ducks out the back. Who knows?" the tall man said.
"Or the front. I better check with Ord out front to be sure he's watching," the man said.
Starting to walk as he talked, the man came directly toward Illya. Despite the shadows it was still daylight. There was no way for Illya to not be seen. He drew his U.N.C.L.E. Special, fired a sleep pellet at the man, and ran for the mouth of the alley.
The man he had shot took another step, opened his mouth, and pitched forward, unconscious. The other two saw Illya. But they had to draw their guns and he had almost reached the mouth of the alley when two shots whistled past him.
Two men suddenly appeared in the alley mouth. They had guns.
Illya skidded to a halt.
The two men came toward him. Behind him he heard the other two men. The blond Russian looked around quickly. There was an open window just to his right in another building. He ran and jumped for it. He was sure they would not shoot until they knew who he was.
His fingers closed on the window sill and he hauled himself up to the sill. He raised his knee to climb inside.
Something stung his neck.
The last he knew his fingers were slipping and then there was only falling through space.
SIX
WRAPPED IN THE towel, Napoleon Solo moved along a dark hallway on the floor above the health club.
The rooms up here were all dark, and nothing seemed to move. The hall stretched silent and dim Solo felt very naked and exposed in his towel in the dark hall, but downstairs he would have been conspicuous in clothes. He moved on along the hall.
He heard voices and someone coming in the distance where the hallway ended. There was a closet near. He opened the door and slid inside, leaving the door ajar a crack.
The voices came closer, and turned into the narrow corridor outside the closet.
"I tell you there was a disturbance in the alley."
"And I don't like the look of that muscular fellow in the hot room. He's never been here before."
"We better finish with Forsyte fast."
The voices and footsteps almost reached the closet door, but turned sharply right before they came abreast. Solo saw the two men, both wearing the white uniforms of health club attendants. They went through a door in the opposite wall and failed to close it. Solo heard the humming sound, louder now and closer. He slipped out of the closet and glided up to the half open door.
He looked in and saw a macabre scene like the scenes he remembered from the horror movies of his childhood.
The room was totally bare except for two more men, four in all, and a grotesque-looking machine. The four men all wore health club white uniforms. The machine wore nothing but a sense of cold efficiency.
It was a large machine that looked like a computer on wheels. A square section, covered with dials and buttons and flashing lights, was mounted on legs. Tape reels turned on its face. Beneath it, where it stood in the center of the room, a long tubelike shape protruded down like a searchlight and entered a hole in the floor.
The humming noise came from the machine. The four men all worked around the machine, touching dials, observing gauges, making adjustments. They looked like the fanatic priests of some
evil god. They were so intent on their work that they did not notice Solo standing in the open door.
Solo had little doubt that this machine was aimed down into the hot room and at Colonel Forsyte.
"Finish it off," one of the men snapped.
"Quiet," another man said.
This last man spoke softly, almost gently, and yet there was a hard commanding sound to his voice. When he spoke the others all looked at him. Solo had no doubt that he was the leader. In the flashing lights of the machine Napoleon Solo saw his face. It was a pleasant face: tanned, healthy, with a sharp nose and bright, intelligent dark eyes. His hands were long and slender as they worked the dials of the macabre instrument. His hair was grey and thick, like the shock of hair of some professor. He was a small, slender man.
"To withdraw the instrument abruptly could kill Forsyte," this leader said quietly. "It must be shut down slowly. Would you care to leave a body here? Or a mad man? I have no wish to be traced through Forsyte and a hasty mistake. We are almost ready for the full development."
"Sure, Chief," one of the other men said.
The other two nodded. The slender man continued to work his dials like a man caressing a woman he loves. He seemed to talk to himself, almost crooning, as he worked. "The key to the sweeper is that it leaves no trace and no memory of its use, remember that. Isn't that so, little beauty? You touch the mind and the mind whispers to you and no one knows. That is your talent, isn't it, little one? No one can ever know you have been at work."
The slender, grey-haired man laughed softly. It was a laugh with an edge of insanity. The kind of insanity a brilliant mind can have when something has given it a small, sudden twist, and left all else normal.
"Professor—" one of the other men began to say.
The slender, leader snapped. "Very well! I understand the need for speed. I am nearly finished. Another few minutes. I have begun the withdrawal. If you are so worried, check with Drago below and hasten the departure of our patrons."
The Mind-Sweeper Affair Page 2