The Volacano Box Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  Then it would be torture.

  He thought about the ancient tortures, racks and things like that, but he knew they had far more sophisticated ones than those nowadays. He had seen pictures of men whose brains had been so scrambled they were mere puppets. He could be one of them. The mere thought sent a ripple down his spine.

  They were softening him up. Already the want of food and sleep was beginning to tell on him. He had begun to wonder what difference it made who had the formula or what was done with it. If the human race was hell-bent on destroying itself, it would be done whether they used his device or atomic bombs or fists and teeth.

  But no, that train of thought was contrary to everything he had come to hold dear. There were still decent people in the world, and he could never obliterate the distinction in his mind between those decent ones and the wicked ones. Before he did his mind itself would be obliterated.

  Dr. Edward Dacian gazed at the white ceiling, wondering just how much pain he could stand before they made him tell.

  THREE

  ALEXANDER WAVERLY studied the transcript of Illya Kuryakin's report, frowning. He removed his pipe from his mouth and, with the mouthpiece, tapped the description of Paul Rollins as if to sound a chest for a false bottom. His mind, like the memory bank of a great computer, was permitting a controlled cascade of associations and memories to fill his consciousness until he had recollected almost everything there was to know about Rollins.

  Nevertheless it was wise to double-check, and of course to investigate the other suspects whose descriptions Illya had just given him. And besides, Waverly wanted to know the up-to-date whereabouts of the gaunt, scar-browed man.

  He called Henderson in the Research Division of U.N.C.L.E. and immediately a review of the files was instigated on a Top Priority basis.

  Rollins' file was dealt with first, and Waverly and his advisor sat before the screen of the information retriever, which scanned the organization's vast library of tapes for the one on which Rollins' data was located.

  This data was printed out, while at the same time a photo of him was retrieved from the microfilm library and flashed on the Recordak screen, within moments after the instructions on Rollins had been programmed into the computer.

  Waverly and Henderson studied the reports and renewed their acquaintance with the unpleasant features of Rollins. "Looks like an undertaker, doesn't he?" said Henderson.

  Waverly nodded lugubriously. "That may be a more appropriate description than you think."

  "Sir?"

  "I believe he intends to bury us, you see. In molten lava." Waverly turned from the picture to the print-out of Rollins' dossier. "I know all this," he muttered impatiently, "but where is the data on his latest whereabouts?"

  "Next page, sir."

  Waverly flipped over the accordioned pages of the print-out and found, with considerable gratification, that as 1ittle as two weeks ago the U.N.C.L.E. agent in the Oklahoma sector had recognized Rollins and, with the help of state police, was having a routine surveillance placed on him.

  "Please contact Reid in Oklahoma at once," Waverly said to Henderson, "and have him report fully on Rollins' precise location and activities."

  Henderson, who recognized the imperative tone of Waverly's voice easily after years of working with him, rushed away from the retrieval computers as if fired out of a gun.

  Waverly returned to his office and followed up on some other hunches he was coming to call "Dacian's volcano boxes." But he kept his eye cocked on his watch and wondered what was holding things up on that report from Oklahoma. Though an hour had gone by and no more, he still expected his organization to bring about a miraculous, instantaneous report.

  As often as not, because he demanded miracles, he got them. But it took another two hours be fore Reid was on the communicator, spilling what he had learned about Rollins.

  "He seems to be involved in an oil scheme of some sort, sir," Reid's husky voice told Waverly. "His procedures appear to be on the up-and-up; he purchased some land near here legitimately, and ditto for some tower scaffolding. The crew erecting the scaffolding don't smell too clean, however. A number of them have records or are otherwise suspicious."

  "Very interesting," Waverly said, stuffing a wad of tobacco into a tan briar pipe and pushing papers around his desk in a hunt for his tobacco-tamping tool. "Have you or the police observed the presence of a box-like instrument with a large lens on it, like the zoom lens of a camera?"

  "No, sir, but I do have one very interesting piece of information."

  "Yes?"

  "About ten days ago he cabled an innocuous message to Singapore. The cable address there was SINGOIL. Sounds like a contraction of Singapore Oil, which is probably the outfit behind Rollins' oil venture. That's all I know, sir."

  "What was the message in that cable?"

  "The message was 'All Well.'"

  "Yes." Having found his tamping tool, Waverly's fingers were tapping his papers to find the outline of his matchbox. "Yes, I see. But all is not well, Reid. I want you personally to investigate Rollins' property and the drilling tower he is erecting. You are to look for a box of the kind I've described to you on his property, the dimensions and exact description of which will be telexed to you as soon as our conversation is concluded. You're to contact me the moment you find such a device or find out where it is being stored."

  "Then it's not oil they're after?" said Reid.

  "No, Reid. The exact nature of the device will be telexed to you. For now, let's just say that its presence is a grave threat to world security."

  "Yes, sir. I'll get on this right away."

  They signed off, and the second Reid's voice was cleared from his communicator Waverly was alerting the division heads of a dozen different agency sub-sections, barking instructions at them like a drill sergeant. Every local U.N.C.L.E. operative in the United States was to be contacted right away with the instructions to follow up on any THRUSH agent or criminal element involved in the erection of oil drilling equipment.

  A description of the volcano box was to be sent to them, and they were to search for it and report upon detecting it. Similar instructions were issued throughout U.N.C.L.E.'s international network, for it was obvious that THRUSH'S objective was not necessarily America. The agent in Singapore was ordered to check into the individual or individuals using the cable ad dress SINGOIL.

  Finally, Waverly decided to get in touch with Napoleon to report on these developments and find out just what his other chief agent had ascertained.

  Waverly knew himself to be an impatient man, but with this much at stake, the errors that might arise out of impatience were far less serious than those that might derive from sloth.

  FOUR

  NAPOLEON SOLO had flown by conventional means to Hong Kong and thence to Singapore. In Singapore he conferred with Joe Kingsley, U.N.C.L.E.'s temporary director; then transportation was arranged to Borua.

  Since that island, and all of the islands in its federation, were hostile to peaceful interests, Napoleon would have to be smuggled in.

  After resting for six hours, he made his way to a small airport outside the city, where an American jet fighter carried him to a carrier in the Banda Sea. From there he was put on a launch which conveyed him to the waters off Borua. He was greeted by a longboat and rowed to a beach on the south side of the island at a speed he wouldn't have thought possible.

  The night was overcast and his arrival on this deserted spot was uneventful. A guide led him to an outpost on the side of a hillock, and as the curtain was drawn aside to admit him into the camouflaged hut, he was given a warm, comradely welcome by his fellow agent, April Dancer. The beautiful young girl wore a khaki shirt and Bermuda-length fatigue shorts and dirty sneakers, but nothing could alter the fact that U.N.C.L.E.'s contact in the Boruvian federation was as lovely as a calendar pinup. Her large, expressive eyes shimmered in the flicker of gas lamps. They appraised Napoleon with a mixture of trust and affection.

  "M
r. Solo, I presume."

  "April, I'm glad to work with you." He quickly described his trip, then said, "Do you have some liquid refreshment for a weary traveler? I've changed modes of transportation so often today I feel like a pinball."

  "I have some warm gin and tonic," April said. And she added "but perhaps a Coke would suit you better." This told Napoleon Solo they were free to speak.

  He accepted the Coke and, after excusing the guide, they sat down to talk. As background to their conversation, a short-wave apparatus hummed on a table behind April, and all around the hut there were hoots and cackles of tropical birds.

  "Nice place you have here," he said smiling.

  "The maid hasn't dusted this week, so you'll have to forgive the untidiness, the snakes and the scorpions."

  Napoleon shifted in his seat. "I've briefed myself to a great extent on the situation here, but I'd still like you to go over it again with me. I assume that Mr. Waverly has informed you of the urgency of our situation."

  "Oh yes." Her voice was throaty and mellow, and Napoleon knew how effective April was in applying her abundant female attributes on an antagonist to make him speak freely. On the other hand, as a trained agent she was perfectly adept in the arts of self-defense, and what her muscles could not effect, her pocket arsenal could.

  "Tell me all you've learned, and I'll decide what's useful and what's not."

  "Fine," April said. "Well, about five years ago a native named Emilio Sarabando caught the nationalistic fever and formed a federation of the islands in this area, called the Boruvian Federation after this its principal island. The Federation doesn't seem very important when you look at it casually, but actually it has strategic importance for two reasons: it's a source of certain rare-earth minerals, and it commands certain trade routes in the Indo-Chinese territory. Submarines or missiles based hereabouts could disrupt shipping in this neighborhood quite severely.

  "Anyway," April Dancer continued, tugging on a Coke herself, "about a year ago Sarabando grew discontent with his political status and began making noises like a dictator. Our top brass decided that Sarabando, who is not the tyrant type, though he is a strong politician, was stepping out of character. We smelled control over him by another power. It didn't take me long to trace the strings to THRUSH. Sarabando is their puppet and has been for a year."

  Napoleon Solo absorbed this information and sat thoughtfully for a moment. Then he asked, "What happened with Tapwana?"

  "Tapwana is the outermost island in the crescent. It's a key one because it controls the channel between the Federation and the Luciparas. Some people think the inhabitants of Tapwana are not of the same racial stock as those of the rest of the Boruvian group, but in any event they have resisted incorporation into the group from the beginning, and when THRUSH began putting pressure on them to come in, they rebelled quite belligerently.

  "So, about a week before the horrible volcano eruption, Sarabando warned the governor of Tapwana that grave consequences would ensue if the island didn't fall in line with the political structure of the Federation. The governor in effect spit in Sarabando's eye, and you know what happened then. Come."

  April Dancer rose and took Napoleon by the hand. She led him out of the hut and up a rough path towards the top of the hill. When they reached the summit they plopped down on an outcropping of rock, and gazed west in the direction of Tapwana. For several minutes, in the blackness of the night and the roiling of black clouds overhead, Napoleon could distinguish nothing on the horizon where her finger pointed.

  But after a while he realized that one spot seemed to glow, and as his eyes adjusted he could make out an eerie reddish-orange flickering. She pressed a pair of binoculars into his hands, and through them he could see a horrible yet fascinatingly beautiful turmoil of red molten metal churning far out to sea. His ears became aware of a rumbling, which he realized was not thunder but the sound of the earth throwing up its vitals in long, rhythmically timed spasms.

  Focusing more precisely, he could make out the outline of a small cone out of which the lava spewed. With the passage of time that cone would grow to mountainous proportions, continuing to emit the seething magma until the formation of a crust, and cooling rains, capped it and made it dormant.

  But that could take years, decades, even eons, and meanwhile life on that island, and on those islands nearby that directly received the pumice and cinders and soot ejaculated from Tapwana, could not exist.

  "They say that the stuff that comes out of volcanoes makes great soil after a few million years," he said humorlessly. "Meanwhile, though, humanity has to have some place to rest its feet without getting them burned off. I don't think I like the idea of volcanic eruptions on the main streets of my favorite cities." He put the binoculars to his eyes once again, gazed at Tapwana in awe, then gave them back to April.

  They looked out to sea, watching the ebb and flow of the reddish light on the horizon, and letting the cool night breeze play on their cheeks.

  "It's like taking your favorite gal to a drive-in movie," Napoleon murmured.

  April leaned against his shoulder. "It's good to have you here, Napoleon. How's Illya?"

  Solo brought Dancer up to date on his friend's coordinating mission. A gust of wind bent the trees inland and Napoleon put a protective arm around her shoulder. "It's getting a little too chilly," he said.

  "Yes, let's go back to the hut."

  Hand in hand they descended to the shack. "I don't suppose you were aware," April said as they sat down over a crude table, "that as you came down that hill you were never more than two feet away from the muzzle of a gun or the blade of machete."

  "I imagined you'd have guards posted. Silent devils, aren't they?"

  "Yes, but the enemy can be just as silent. I worry for you, so please let's transact our business quickly and get you out of here."

  "That's fine with me. I want you to tell me what events led up to the volcano in the last days of Tapwana. I learned from your report that Edward Dacian was here."

  "Yes, but our U.N.C,L.E. agent, Philip Bouvier, working here, wasn't sure, although he had of course been shown a photograph of Dr. Dacian while in training in Singapore. Philip Bouvier is half French and half native. Maybe you remember his assignment in the Tahitian Affair? Yes, he's terribly clever. Philip communicated with Harry Gray and informed him that a fleet of helicopters had landed on the far side of the island, and Sarabando had gone out there to meet with the men who got off. The descriptions given left much to be desired, but two seemed rather distinctive. One was of a white man with close-cropped red hair, who certainly was Dacian, as reports from headquarters later verified.

  "The other was a barrel-chested oriental who seemed quite tall for one of his race, and we can safely guess that it's Kae Soong. Soong is chief THRUSH operative in this area, and it's well known that he's directly responsible for the control exerted over the dictator."

  "Yes, go on."

  "Philip managed to get in closer, due to the unfortunate guard whose throat managed to get in the vicinity of his dagger. He trained binoculars on the party and got a glimpse of the red-haired Dacian, but Soong was inside in conference with Sarabando and things got too warm to hang around. Anyway, the next thing Philip knew was that they were taking off in the direction of Tapwana. He couldn't be sure that was their destination, but the events of the last few months pointed to it."

  "Did we have anyone on Tapwana?"

  "None of our regulars, no. We had a man there on the payroll, but we didn't know if he could be trusted, especially on something that, from what we could gather, was shaping up to be pretty big. So that night Philip set out by launch for Tapwana, which is about four hours away.

  "He stashed the launch in a cove and made his way towards the city. He guessed that if the helicopter party was anywhere at all it would be at Sarabando's villa-type office.

  "He was right. The lights burned brightly at two in the morning, and the place was swarming with armed guards and spectators. Ob
viously a pretty serious pow-wow was in progress.

  "Philip then made his way to the back of the building and saw, in the broad courtyard and field behind the villa, five helicopters. But he knew that six had taken off for the island. So one of them had broken away from the others.

  "He had no idea who or what it contained, or where it had gone. But around three, when the conference broke up, the five copters took off again in the direction of Borua. Not long afterwards, however, Philip Bouvier saw that six returned!"

  "Strange. Or at least it must have seemed strange then. But you of course know now what happened."

  "Certainly. While Kae Soong and his boys were trying to bring the Tapwanans peacefully to their knees, Dacian was elsewhere on the island, planting his little volcano box. Obviously negotiations failed, and Kae Soong signaled Dacian to throw the switch."

  "What did Philip Bouvier do when the helicopters left?"

  "He visited the governor, who knows about U.N.C.L.E. The governor had defied the group of 'thugs,' as he called them."

  "Did he say Kae Soong was their leader?"

  "Soong never presented himself by name; merely as The Gentleman from Singapore. They're very formal around here. But the governor was sure it was Soong. At any rate, the governor felt that the thugs wouldn't trouble him again, now that they had seen how determined his people were to retain their independence from the Boruvian Federation. Philip wasn't so sure about that. He headed back to Borua, and was told by his man there that after a few hours, the helicopters had taken off in a northerly direction."

  "Towards where, do you guess?"

  "Eventually to Singapore."

  "What happened then?"

  "Nothing eventful, but on the third morning following their visit to Tapwana the island was boiled off the face of the earth."

  As if to emphasize the horror of such a scene, a deep rumble sounded far off in the west.

  "I flew over it," April said, and suddenly her lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. "Nothing. Not a tree, not a dwelling, not a hint of life, not a soul. Oh Napoleon, we've got to stop them—we've got to!"