Pulp Fiction | The Synthetic Storm Affair (May 1967)

by Unknown

  This is THRUSH outpost three," Lupe said, going over to the mike, but keeping her gun on the men. "I had to liquidate the field chief here. Inform the rest of my status, please."

  "The lady known to you as Lupe de Rosa is a member of the Supreme THRUSH scientific board. Her orders take precedence over all other THRUSH agents below Division One level. Is this understood?"

  Each of the men, including the Polynesian, were required to give his identification number into the black box and their understanding.

  "Can you report now?" the voice asked Lupe.

  "You have my report to the time I contacted the Waterloo. I was unable to go aboard because of the high seas. However, the data I received from the ship permitted me to deduce the trouble. It came from a weak signal generated by one of the focalpoints we use to start the gravitational spin to create the revolving storm. I came here in the submarine after ordering the guidance crew on the Waterloo to move the storm's eye over the atoll here."

  "Excellent!" the THRUSH voice said. "What did you learn?"

  "The trouble is sabotage! Someone in this group deliberately grounded the central machine. It could not put out full power. The saboteur is surely still among us!"

  "There are electronic interrogation machines in the submarine," the THRUSH voice said. "Did it remain?"

  "Yes, it is submerged in the lagoon to keep it from being harmed when the eye passes," Lupe said.

  "Call the sub commander and have one of the machines brought up to the control room," the THRUSH voice said. "Ferret out the traitor as quickly as possible—and take care of him! I'd like a report as soon as possible on his identity."

  "I will do so," Lupe said crisply. "I also have either Solo or Kuryakin prisoner here. I never could get their faces straight in my mind. The other one is dead. He burned up in the plane crash."

  "Wonderful!" the THRUSH voice said. "Give him a complete interrogation on the machine. File a full report of all you learn from him. This will give us a full picture of how much U.N.C.L.E. knows of our present program. This is a wonderful break!"

  "Then may I—liquidate—him after the interrogation?" Lupe asked with a vicious sidelong glance at Illya.

  "You may have the pleasure, my dear!" the voice replied.

  What hit Illya Kuryakin hardest was not the death sentence imposed on him, but Lupe's claim that Napoleon had burned to death in the plane.

  He swallowed a huge lump in his throat and stared stonily at his captors.

  Silently he promised himself that he would find some way to avenge Napoleon Solo before they destroyed him.

  Lupe also turned to face the outpost crew.

  "None of you are to leave this room until we get the interrogator over here!" she snapped.

  She walked around to face Illya. He took a deep breath. The belts binding him to the chair cut into his arms.

  "I'm willing to make a deal," he said in a toneless voice.

  She smiled cruelly. "I've been with THRUSH for five years. I was recruited right out of college and sent to work with that fool Santos-Lopez. So you see I have had plenty of experience with U.N.C.L.E. and its people. You do not make deals."

  "Can I bring up one point to convince you that I might?" Illya asked quietly, giving her a steady stare.

  She gave him a sharp look back. "I'll listen to anything." she said.

  "It is this," Kuryakin said. "What makes you think this is the only place where we were able to plant saboteurs?"

  She started. She started breathing hard. Her face turned white.

  Stabbing in the dark, but basing his supposition on her alarm, he said, "I know that this storm brewer is your baby. It means everything to you because you developed it from Santos-Lopez's basic data on storm destruction. You saw a way to twist his principles around. You sold the idea to THRUSH. You'll go high with them if it works. You many not need any social security for your old age if it fails—for people who fail THRUSH don't have old ages. I might keep you from failing!"

  "You're trying to trick me!" she snapped. "I can get everything out of your mind with the interrogation machine and you know it!"

  "Can you?" Illya said and gave her a malicious grin. "What about this!"

  He partially opened his mouth and made a quick flip of his tongue too fast for her to follow clearly.

  "See it?" he said and sneered at her. "It's a mouth capsule—of poison, Lupe! I'm going to die anyway. I heard that voice from THRUSH pronounce sentence on me. I'm going to beat you to the punch! All I have to do is crush down on this thing with my teeth—and there'll be no mind left for you to probe!"

  She sucked in her breath sharply. Her eyes searched his face, looking for some clue to the truth of his claim.

  "I don't believe you!" she cried hoarsely.

  Illya Kuryakin shrugged. "That's a chance you have to take. Shall I point out the saboteur here—as a mark of my good faith? Then if I prove right when you put him on the interrogator, maybe we can make a deal on what other U.N.C.L.E. men are hidden in your organization, here and in the Atlantic."

  "I don't believe you!" she whispered again.

  "Okay!" Illya said.

  He looked over the silent, tense group of men across the room from them. He selected the one he least thought could possibly be the unknown saboteur.

  "That's the one!" he said, nodding his head toward the man.

  The man, small and with a rat-face, squeaked in alarm. "That's a lie! That's a lie! He's lying like a dog! Don't believe him. He—"

  He lost his sense of judgment in his alarm. He started toward Lupe, his arms outstretched in fearful supplication.

  "Stop!" Lupe snarled, and before the frightened man could obey she shot him.

  The rest stared in silent fascination at the dead man. Illya's anxious eyes were scanning their faces. He was seeking some clue to which was the real saboteur.

  When he first mentioned that he was going to reveal the man's name, the noticed the big brutish Polynesian unconsciously grip his fists. Then when he named the rat-faced man, the fists relaxed.

  He thought this very curious. His eyes went back to the giant. It seemed impossible for this nearly naked native to know enough about the operations to sabotage it in the first place. And even more puzzling, what could be his motive?

  Obviously the man lived on this island. He was here when the THRUSH men came. He certainly was not an U.N.C.L.E. agent. And so far as Illya Kuryakin knew, no other organization was aware of these stormy operations.

  He caught the giant's eye. The big Polynesian looked back at him dully, the very picture of brutish stupidity.

  "It can't be," Illya told himself.

  His eyes sought the faces of the others as they listened to the cold, murderous voice of Lupe de Rosa warn them that the same bullet would be waiting for any of them who tried to come toward her until she determined which was the traitor.

  Illya stared at her, then looked back at the big Polynesian. The giant stared straight ahead, his face still a mask of stupidity.

  "Maybe—" Illya told himself. "Maybe, but if he did—why?"

  TWO

  His thoughts were interrupted by a thin chime from among the masses of electronic equipment. After warning the huddled group of men not to move, Lupe went over to the machine. Watching her, Illya could see why she had risen so high in THRUSH circles. She was completely ruthless in furthering her ambitions.

  Lupe de Rosa pressed a circuit switch. Immediately the voice they had heard before came out of the speaker.

  "We have received reports from the Waterloo that the storm has maintained its strength. This indicates that the Pacific tests are now successful. What is your considered opinion in launching an immediate attack according to Plan A?"

  "I am ready," the girl said firmly.

  "Good!" the voice said. "We must know if U.N.C.L.E. is sufficiently aware of our activity to throw any kind of barrier in our way. As soon as the interrogator turns the mind of this U.N.C.L.E. man inside out, report at once."


  "Yes, sir," Lupe said.

  "Then if we are safe from U.N.C.L.E., the attack of storms against the East and West Coasts of the United States, Hawaii, Japan, India, France, England, the North Countries and the Mediterranean countries will be launched exactly twelve hours from now. Is there any technical reason why this should not be done?"

  "None!" Lupe said firmly.

  "Excellent. If this succeeds, you will be more than amply rewarded. You have earned our deepest gratitude."

  The girl's face flushed with pleasure as the connection was broken. Kuryakin shivered as he thought of the utter devastation the chain of hurricanes and storms would bring to the world. He knew that meteorologists claimed the damage from one typhoon was equal to a thousand atom bombs. This meant that THRUSH's stormy attack would bring more destruction to the world than if all the nuclear powers on earth fired all their stockpiled atomic bombs. The terror, devastation and death would be beyond belief.

  His grim thoughts were broken by a sudden bellow from the big Polynesian.

  "Missy!" he cried, his deep voice sounded like the bass blast of a conch horn. "The prisoner! He moved! I think his arms loose!"

  "What?" Lupe cried, whirling about. "Check him!"

  "Yes, Missy!" the giant said and lumbered toward Illya. Kuryakin was sure now that he was the saboteur.

  He waited breathlessly to see what trick the native would pull.

  As the big man rounded the bank of computer cases, he suddenly grabbed one and overturned it. It smashed back into Lupe. She fell with a strangled cry. Her gun exploded into the bunker ceiling as she fell.

  The giant whirled. His face no longer looked stupid. He caught the back of Illya's chair. He sent it and its bound occupant crashing into the men who charged him.

  Illya and the chair crashed into the three men. They all sprawled into a heap. The wooden chair legs collapsed, leaving Kuryakin's arms still bound to the intact back.

  Before any of them could scramble up, the native hit the light switch. In the wild melee in the dark Illya crawled to one side and got to his feet. He started to twist and strain in a frantic attempt to free himself.

  Across the computer room the door opened. He glimpsed the native leaping out into the night. He tried to follow and crashed into one of the THRUSH men. They both fell. Before Kuryakin could get up, the lights came on. He saw one of the men aiming a savage blow at his head. He tried to dodge, but didn't make it.

  The blow was not sufficient to knock him out, but it kicked him off balance. He fell and his head struck the edge of the upset computer. He sprawled flat. His senses reeled. He fought to hold his consciousness.

  As if from a great distance he heard Lupe's outraged screams for the men to help her reset the fallen computer.

  "The storm is out of control without it!" she cried.

  As if in answer to her cry, the eye began to move from its stationary position over the atoll. The wild winds whipped toward the island.

  ACT XI: THE PASSING STORM

  Napoleon Solo kept his eyes closed as the THRUSH man ordered the big Polynesian to leave him to burn in the flaming plane. The native moved the imprisoning log slightly in his first attempt to free the man from U.N.C.L.E. Solo was afraid to test it with the two still about.

  The sounds from the back showed him that Kuryakin was captured. He knew that their only chance lay in himself staying free. He did not feel that he could capture the entire island alone. He hoped only to stay free long enough for the storm to pass. Then the atmospherics would clear up sufficiently for the pen-communicator to get a message out to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.

  After that it didn't matter what happened to him.

  Out on the wing the flaming gasoline was spreading rapidly toward the cockpit. He knew he had only minutes left. He raised his head slowly. The pilot's compartment door was open. He could see the THRUSH men taking their Air Force prisoners out through the waist door.

  If they looked around they could see him. But it was a risk he had to take.

  The flames were so close to the cockpit that the heat was scorching through the metal skin of the plane.

  He pushed against the log. He was unable to bulge it. The terrific heat of the encroaching fire was causing the sweat to roll down his face. The slight movement made by the Polynesian giant helped some. He could move slightly, but not enough to squeeze out.

  He relaxed, panting from his exertions. The heat was becoming unbearable. He pressed his body up as tightly as he could against the imprisoning log. He reached in behind, struggling to loosen the belt that held the seat padding in place. He grabbed one end and tried to pull it free.

  It came part of the way and stuck. He took a fresh grip and jerked again. His hand was so sweaty from the increasing heat that his fingers slipped. He hastily dried them on his trouser leg and took a fresh grip. He sucked in his stomach and pressed his body up, grating against the rough trunk of the tree.

  He slowly pulled the padding away.

  This gave him extra space and he started working his body free. It came slowly, tearing his clothing and in places raking the flesh raw.

  He finally pulled himself free and fell back on the flight deck. The metal was unbearably hot. The plexiglass side windows suddenly shattered under the terrific heat of the burning wing. Flames licked hungrily into the cockpit. Solo staggered back through the hatch into the waist of the plane.

  He peered cautiously through the broken door. The THRUSH men had gone with their prisoners.

  He hesitated, then jumped down to the ground. He bent almost double and scurried into the uprooted coconut grove to keep from presenting a target against the light of the blazing plane.

  The typhoon devastation was terrific. The once densely palmed island had half its trees snapped or uprooted. Looking about, Napoleon could see the giant wall of the eye moving in. The storm was but half over. He realized he had only a short time before the island would again be lashed by the fury of the typhoon. Unless he found some sort of shelter, there was little chance that he would survive the storm.

  He started to circle, seeking tracks in the wet sand to show him where the THRUSH men took their prisoners. He found the tracks leading up the beach. He was afraid to walk along the sand for fear he would be spotted. He took the difficult way, climbing over the broken, uprooted trees.

  As he went he carefully checked his protective devices. The .38 special was still in his shoulder holster. In his pockets he carried several of the standard U.N.C.L.E. defensive equipment. The pen-communicator. A chewing gum that was actually a power explosive. A ring with a secret needle for dispensing knockout drops. Mints which developed a blinding smokescreen when dropped in water. A tie pin hiding a bulb of tear gas.

  Each of them at one time or another had saved his life in a tight spot. Right then he had no idea what he could do or how he could use them, but he took comfort in their presence.

  He continued to follow the trail until it branched. One line, with the most footprints led back toward the lagoon. The second, showing only the marks of three people.

  Solo hesitated, knowing that he was throwing away any chance of success if he chose the wrong track. He got down on his hands and knees. The wet sand held the impression well, but he was unable to determine if either of the footprints belonged to Kuryakin. However, one definitely was a woman's print.

  He got up, making a decision to follow it. He continued for several hundred yards and after climbing over a jumbled mass of uprooted trees, he came to a hill or large mound.

  He stopped, suddenly suspicious. Such a formation was decidedly unusual on a normally flat coral island. Once it apparently had been covered with brush and vines. The storm had ripped these away. Under the torn areas he could see the marks of a concrete structure under the carefully arranged soil. He circled it, seeking some kind of an entrance. He found it at the north end. Once it had been carefully screened by vines, but the typhoon had ripped them away.

  "They must have taken Illya and the Air Force
prisoners in there," he told himself.

  He sat down on an uprooted palm. He was bone weary. His arms and legs ached from the struggle to keep the plane in the air. His skin burned.

  Solo permitted himself only the briefest rest. Then he took a deep breath and tried to whip his flagging brain into action. A dozen wild plans turned over in his mind. He discarded every one as being impossible and wearily started over again.

  He knew he could not expect to force the opening into the underground shelter. There was an excellent possibility he could blow an opening in the door with his explosive "chewing gum." Kneaded and fused with its almost microscopic cap, the U.N.C.L.E. developed super-explosive no bigger than a wad of gum packed the power of several sticks of dynamite.

  However, he had no way of knowing what was immediately beyond the door. He would be sacrificing his element of surprise, his most precious asset, for little advantage.

  He decided that his greatest chance of success lay in drawing the THRUSH men from the shelter where he could ambush as many as possible.

  Once his decision was made, Napoleon Solo worked rapidly. He carefully prepared two wads of the gum explosive and stuck them to ends of sticks. These he carefully laid on the sand beside him. Then he took a third and attached it to a small splinter of wood.

  He raised up slowly from his hiding place behind a tangled pile of storm riven trees. There seemed no guards about the outside of the THRUSH outpost.

  He crept quickly to the side of the mound covering the structure. He pushed a hole in the wet sand, using a piece of stick. He adjusted the tiny automatic fuse, no bigger than a BB shot, for a five-minute time lag and hurried back to his protected spot.

  He did not expect the explosion to break an opening. It wasn't designed for that. He was sure that this place had some connection with the THRUSH storm generating system. If so, that meant there would have to be considerable electronic equipment inside. He wanted to create a shock wave to throw the equipment off register. This, he hoped, would bring the operators rushing out to find the cause.