by Unknown
"I wanted Peter to sweat a little. I think we owed him some. Besides, I found this set of armor that was just my size, and wondered how I would look in it."
Hilda opened her eyes. Then she opened them even wider than usual. "Illya!" she said. "How on Earth..."
He held up his U.N.C.L.E. Special and pointed to the fat cylinder screwed to the end. "Knock-out darts, and a new design of silencer. If I hadn't felt the hammer fall, I wouldn't have known when I'd fired."
"But he was shooting at you!"
"I had a shield which was good enough to deflect a glancing shot. It wouldn't stop a direct hit, but I expected him to be too frightened to shoot straight. I was almost right," he said, exhibiting a streak of blood along one forearm. "A near miss. Do you happen to have a band-aid?"
Zoltan shook his head. "You go to great lengths for a joke, Illya. I think you put yourself in unnecessary danger."
Illya shrugged. "My sense of humor will be the death of me yet."
Footsteps rattled on the steps above them, and Napoleon asked quickly, "How did you get up here? Can we get out?"
"The lift-conveyor opens out for a ways. It can be climbed. Come on." As they ducked down the corridor and then to the left, Illya said, "I blew out a circuit breaker by shorting one of the light sockets. I had hoped to do something to their power generator system, but apparently it didn't work. In here." He pointed to an area darker than most of the wall. Napoleon put out an exploratory hand and found it to be an opening.
They boosted Hilda through and Zoltan followed her, then Napoleon and Illya.
"Climb fast," the Russian whispered as pounding feet hit the bottom of the stairs and started down the corridor. They pulled themselves up the steps of the steeply slanting belt and hung there, waiting. The footsteps hurried past, and Napoleon hissed, "Keep climbing!"
They did. They climbed in total darkness until their arms ached, but as they climbed Napoleon explained, "This conveyor was being used to hoist the boxes to wherever the helicopter took off from. If we can get there, we'll be right at the heart of the whole operation. Illya, do you feel up to repeating your performance so soon? It'll be a fresh audience."
"I doubt if the second show will get quite the same raves. Remember, I spent five minutes warming him up for my appearance."
"It may help anyway. Hilda, can you hang to one side and let us get past you for our big entrance?"
There was some rearranging in the dark, and Napoleon was thankful for the fact that the belt was only on about a 30° slant rather than vertical. Such maneuvering would have been practically impossible.
Then the belt leveled off and they paused. Illya inched ahead and looked out into the light, then crept back.
"This looks ridiculously easy," he said. "There's a helicopter out there—with huge blades, no doubt so it can fly silently—and only about a dozen men around it. We have carried the day."
"It looks to me," said Zoltan doubtfully, "as though we may have some work still to do."
Illya shook his head, and pulled his transceiver out of the recesses of his helmet. He extended the aerial and spoke softly. "Channel L, please....Hello, there. We are ready—make your drop in the courtyard of the castle. We'll be waiting." The little metal tube whispered an answer, and Illya folded the antenna.
"That's all there is to it," he said. "As soon as I found out Thrush was involved—this morning, while you were lying slugabed, Napoleon—I sent off to Bucharest for a small assault force. When you were captured I radioed and found them just at Pokol, awaiting only specific directions on where to attack. They should be here in fifteen minutes. Thrush does not have an exclusive copyright on the use of helicopters."
Chapter 16: "He's Lying, Of Course."
After a few minutes there were voices out in the courtyard, shouting back and forth to each other:
"No sign of them below—have you seen anything up here?"
"Nothing. How's the power coming?"
"Be restored in another minute. Make sure no lights are where they can be seen—we tried a lot of switches, and some of them might have been left on."
"All lights are covered—go ahead."
There was a few seconds' pause, and then suddenly the conveyor belt began to shake, and lights sprang on ahead of them. And then the belt was moving.
Napoleon had just time to draw his automatic before he was carried out into the icy night air and dumped unceremoniously on top of Illya, who was already sprawled on snow-dusted stones at the end of the belt. They managed to scramble out of the way before Hilda was catapulted, kicking, to the floor, closely followed by Zoltan, who managed to land on his feet.
Before he landed, however, there was a shout from a guard and a bullet screamed off into space from the stone near them. Napoleon and Illya each grabbed an arm and carried Hilda backwards between them to a place of cover behind the conveyor belt, which had just ground to a stop again. Zoltan leaped to join them a moment later, slugs yapping at his heels.
"They're only being foolish," said Napoleon. "After all, we have them at our mercy."
"Perhaps we should tell them so," said Illya. "Why don't you just stand up and order them to surrender?"
Napoleon declined to answer.
Soon the gunshots stopped from the courtyard except for an occasional slug which spattered off the wall above them. One showered them with particles of metal and stone, but none came close enough to cause any damage.
"They're trying to hold us down," said Illya. "They're probably working their way around us at this moment. I think we had better relocate before they move in, and the property values suddenly go down."
The nearest cover was a pile of crates a good twenty feet away. Napoleon looked at his partner "Feel like being a running target?"
"Not especially, but I prefer it to being a sitting one. Can you give me cover?"
"No trouble." Napoleon stuck his gun hand and sighting eye around the end of the conveyor and fired in the general direction of their sniper. An instant later Illya was off and running, his figure crouched low in the dimness. There was a shout from across the yard, and a spotlight swung towards them. Napoleon smiled and shook his head as he leaned out once again and let off three quick slugs at the light. There was a shattering of glass and the spot was gone. He ducked back and fished out his transceiver.
"Illya? You okay?"
"Just fine. Come on the over when you get a chance—there's a regular warren behind these crates. We can hide out here for hours."
"Sounds like a nice place to wait for our reinforcements. Give us about thirty seconds to get ready, and then put up some covering fire." He closed the transceiver, and crawled over to where Hilda lay up against Zoltan, his arms around her protectively.
"I hate to disturb you when you've just gotten comfortable," he said, "but there's a much nicer place just next door, and this place may be flooded out any moment now."
"What do you mean?" Hilda started to ask as she sat up, but she was interrupted by the scraping of a footstep on the other side of the conveyor. Napoleon sprang to his feet, forgetting the cover, and fired almost point-blank at an unprepared Thrush soldier no more than five feet away. He had three more slugs in three more men before their weapons were ready, his U.N.C.L.E. Special leaping in his fist as fast as he could swing it and pull the trigger.
He ducked down again as a hail of lead shattered the stonework behind where he had been standing. "Don't look now," he said, "but we're being invaded. Get out there and run as if a real vampire were after you. I'll be right behind you, and if you don't move fast you'll be stepped on. Now move!"
They moved. Bullets sang around them, but none struck home, and after a few seconds which seemed like five minutes they dropped into a crouch behind the first pile of packing crates.
Hilda looked around nervously. "How safe are we here?"
"Not very," said Napoleon casually. "The boxes are only thin wood and cardboard. All they do is give us more hiding places. If they really wanted to get
rid of us enough to use a machine gun, they could stitch the whole area full of holes in a matter of a few seconds, ruining a lot of perfectly good boxes in the process. If they start that, all we can do is lie very close to the ground and cross our fingers. But for the time being..."
A few shots sounded hesitantly from across the courtyard, and slapped through the boxes several feet from them.
Hilda started, but Napoleon shrugged. "Just shooting in the dark," he said. "Trying to keep us nervous. They don't dare come in here after us—we could pick them off from ambush." He dropped the empty clip from his automatic into a pocket and replaced it with a full one. He worked the slide once, and then let the hammer down gently with his thumb.
Out in the courtyard a starter motor whined briefly, and then the roar of an internal-combustion engine filled the night. It coughed, roared again, and then the sound softened to a whisper. Something went whuffa-whuffa-whuffa-whuffa, and Illya said, "They've started the helicopter. I was right—it is quiet." He snapped his fingers. "There's our vampire—a flying harness slung from the copter. There was always fog, and..."
"Of course," said Napoleon suddenly. "There was always that wind when he showed up—you mentioned it the time you saw him in Hilda's room. I should have recognized it in the forest. Nothing makes a wind like that except a helicopter."
"I think you can be forgiven," said Illya, "under the circumstances."
The sound of the blades speeded up and the soft note of the engine deepened. "They're taking off," said Illya suddenly.
Then they could hear, coming closer, the familiar sound of an unmuffled helicopter. Their transceivers twittered in unison, and Napoleon answered.
"Solo—Kuryakin," cracked the voice. "We are coming in. Are you all right?"
"We are all right," said Napoleon. "But watch out for another copter coming up to meet you. It's probably armed, and dangerous."
"Thank you. We are considered dangerous, too."
"I hope so," said Napoleon, but he had cut off his microphone before he said it. Then he turned to his friends. "Well," he said, "if the sky were clearer, we could see a most exciting aerial battle...."
"Here comes our copter," said Illya. "They're below the cloud cover."
As they watched, the Thrush helicopter climbed gracefully into their field of view and soared away into the sky. The U.N.C.L.E. craft, smaller and wider, sailed over the wall, and then started to climb after them. Lights flickered around the sides of the Thrush copter, and a few seconds later the crackle of machine-gun fire drifted down to the audience below.
The smaller copter shot up and engaged the other in fairly close-range combat. Darkness hid them half the time, but the flashes of gunfire were visible from both. The U.N.C.L.E. helicopter leaped about in the air like a hornet—hovering, darting in and out, diving, side-slipping, and always presenting the narrowest target to its larger, slower enemy.
But the Thrush craft seemed to have the advantage in firepower. There were at least two machine guns firing, the tracers making a flickering V from the belly and tail of the craft with the point dancing around the U.N.C.L.E. copter.
It was a touch and go battle high in the cold mountain night, with the snow clouds pressing low above the peaks, and the resolution of it was to remain a mystery. The Thrush copter suddenly began climbing again, and in half a minute it had been lost to sight in the clouds. The U.N.C.L.E. pilot followed it up, and then he was gone too.
Napoleon brought his gaze reluctantly back to ground level, and rubbed his neck. Then he looked around. "Do you smell something?" he said, to no one in particular.
Hilda lifted her nose and sniffed. "Smoke?" she suggested.
Illya looked sharply down the corridor between crates. "Smoke. They're trying to drive us out by setting fire to the boxes. I think they know they're done for now, and want to take us with them. We'll have to stick it out here as long as we can," he said grimly. "If we break into the open, we'll be shot down."
The fire spread only slowly, but they had to retreat from it. There were only two ways to go—to the wall of the castle or towards the open courtyard. To the wall there would be no escape—in the open there was always a chance.
Then they heard a roaring of motors overhead, and looked up. Three more helicopters swung into sight over the wall, and started to descend. Napoleon whipped out his transceiver and called to them. "Solo here—watch out for Thrush rifleman under cover. We're back here near the fire, so you can shoot everywhere else."
"What are you doing, Solo—lighting a beacon so we can find the place?" asked the voice from the landing party. "We've got radar, after all."
"It was a cold night," said Napoleon. "We're about out of sausages, but we have some marshmallows left if you care to join us for dessert."
The three helicopters settled into the courtyard with a great roaring of wind and thunder of engines. As they sputtered and died, an amplified voice ordered, "Throw out your guns and surrender. You are covered, surrounded, and outnumbered. Coöperate and you will not be killed."
There was a pause, and Napoleon looked over the top of the crates. One by one, rifles were being pushed out into the open, and joined by men in gray uniforms, with raised hands.
Then there was a whistling in the air, far above them, and they looked up. Out of the clouds a helicopter was falling—out of control, windmilling weakly. It was coming down far too fast, spinning blades holding it back only slightly. The fuselage was turning, nose down. It grew larger and larger, and then flames began to show along its side. It would miss the courtyard, it would miss the castle—then it seemed to swing to one side, and a moment later it disappeared beyond the wall.
There was a second of absolute silence, and then a long tearing crash as it ripped through trees and plowed into the side of the mountain. Then there was a muffled explosion, and a flare of light against the sky as the fuel tanks burst and detonated.
Then every eye was turned skywards again, looking for the victor. After many seconds the other helicopter appeared, motor roaring, and sank swiftly towards the anxious audience. It was small and round—the U.N.C.L.E. helicopter.
As it landed in the midst of the watchers, it could be seen to be riddled with bullet holes through the fuselage. But the pilot leaned out and gave a "thumbs up" sign as he cut the motor.
Just at that moment there was another sound, which was more felt than heard. The ground shook, and the deepest rumble came from beneath their feet. Four seconds later clouds of dust erupted from the door and the mouth of the conveyor tunnel. Illya looked at it, and this time it was Zoltan who spoke first, his voice a whisper of shock.
"They have blown it up," he said, with the sound more of disbelief than of rage or surprise. "They have blown it all up, and collapsed the caves."
Then another figure stepped into the courtyard, hands raised, but with an expression of triumph on his face. It was the Thrush they knew as Peter.
All four then started across the courtyard towards him, but Zoltan reached him first. Before the Count could speak, Peter anticipated him.
"Yes," he said. "It is gone. It is buried under thousands of tons of rock, and you will never recover it. The charges were planted to destroy every trace of our work, but they were ready. And when it became obvious we had been defeated, I detonated them. It should have been ours—no one else will ever profit from it."
And then the U.N.C.L.E. agents were all around them, and handcuffs were being clamped on gray-clad wrists, and Peter was led away with the rest while Zoltan looked around at his castle.
"Is this to be mine again?" he asked. "Now that the pestilence is removed?"
"If you want it," said Napoleon. "You'll have to check with Colonel Hanevitch, but I don't think Thrush's claim will be recognized by the local courts."
"But have a check made of the foundations," said Illya practically. "That explosion couldn't have done them any good."
* * *
The following evening, their last in Pokol, they saw Peter for
the last time in the inn, which had been established as Operations Command Post pro tem. The Thrush was in handcuffs and under guard when they spoke to him, but he was unhumbled by his condition.
"Just a few questions remain," Napoleon said to him. "I don't intend to stay awake nights worrying if you don't tell me, but I'd like to know just how you controlled those wolves. We've got the radio receiver, but how was it handled?"
"You could figure it out for yourself easily enough," said Peter generously. "The transmitter was in the helicopter, and the entire situation on the ground was monitored by infra-red floodlights and scanners. Each wolf was sensitive to two frequencies—a general one, and a group frequency so we could direct some of them one way and some another."
"What about your own appearance as a vampire?"
"The fangs were simple tooth caps; the cloak was designed to unfold as a bat's wings. The rest was simply acting ability." The Thrush smiled smugly.
"But you were shot at...."
He gave Napoleon a patronizing look. "Surely you've heard of bulletproof vests? There was an element of chance involved—you might have missed my body and hit me in the head, for instance—but you are all good enough shots that I figured I would be safe."
"That first night we came here, Hilda and I were scared silly by something which must have been artificial. What was it?"
"When you picked up the glass, I thought you had discovered us already. There was a subsonic generator in the room, putting out a fourteen-cycle note at about sixty decibels. This frequency causes an instinctive fear reaction. We had not allowed for the vibrations of the table, which almost gave us away when they began to move the glass across the table. Fortunately, I was able to distract you." He looked patiently at Napoleon. "Is there anything else?"
"Why did you have that empty coffin set up down in the family crypt? You couldn't have expected us there."
Peter's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "What coffin? We made use of no coffins...."