The Dolls of Death Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  He was afraid it was a losing proposition.

  FIVE

  Shortly before sunset on the same evening, an inspection party completed a tour of the incredible THRUSH installation located two miles above the village of Lobba-Lobba.

  The party consisted of Dohm, his svelte assistant Brocade, Sabrina Slayton, the cabbie Jackie Woznusky, and Napoleon Solo. Solo had been re-united with his friends only hours earlier, upon arriving at the island in the saucer.

  The party emerged from a steel doorway onto a railed concrete balcony. The balcony overlooked a huge paved quadrangle, very obviously the heart of the THRUSH complex.

  The building they had just toured, with Dohm showing off the communications and computer equipment, was the administration building. Across the way a much larger, windowless concrete structure housed the two dozen saucer craft, neatly hangared in rows. Other, smaller gray buildings surrounded the quadrangle. There was a barracks for the flight crews. One crew in pale blue coveralls was jog-trotting across the quad now. They hup-hupped as they went.

  The entire facility was built on a cement plateau which had been constructed first on the mountainside years ago. Above and below, the jungle closed in, dark, noisy, earth-smelling in the twilight. Far down to the right Solo saw a few thatched roofs. The village. The cobalt sea ran out to the horizon, shimmering with sunset highlights. High up to the left, the slaggy cone of the island’s great volcano emitted a thin curl of smoke.

  “Well, my dear friends,” said Dohm, “I believe that completes our little inspection. I wanted you to see it. Especially you two from U.N.C.L.E.”

  Dohm’s distended brown eyes were laughingly cruel. He had taken great delight in informing Solo and Sabrina about every technological marvel on the station. He’d pointed out how each would play its part when the two-dozen SLAVs over there in the great hangar rose up in the sky to flash from city to city and bring devastating hit-and-run destruction.

  Now Dohm spread his tiny hands and smiled his tormentor’s smile. “You have seen a station which cost literally billions to build, and more millions to operate. In the hangar over there rest my two dozen beauties, including the one which brought us here. Frankly, I do not believe that it will take more than 48 hours of concentrated attack upon the various world capitals before there is total capitulation by them. Then we will rule---“

  Dohm’s mouth soured. He reached over to pinch Sabrina’s elbow. “Come, come, Miss Slayton! Show a little more enthusiasm! Don’t you find it all frightfully interesting?”

  Sabrina’s wide violet eyes were horror-struck. “No, just---frightful.”

  Brocade laughed. She leaned back against the balcony rail and stretched. She wore a tight-fitting black uniform which accented her superb figure. She made a sharp contrast with Sabrina, who looked weary and bedraggled. How many centuries ago in Manhattan had Sabrina’s scarlet dress been fresh and festive?

  Brocade’s glance lingered on Napoleon Solo. In fact she’d been giving him fetching looks all during the tour. He kicked his fatigued mind awake, made a mental note that Brocade’s obvious interest might be useful.

  “What’s the point of showing us all this, Dohm?” Solo asked. He felt gritty. His black night-warfare suit had a hole in the left knee.

  Dohm’s eggish eyes caught the reflections of the sunset sky, shone with fanatic intensity. “To convince you Mr. Solo, that THRUSH now has the capability to crush U.N.C.L.E. and the world.”

  Solo feigned dejection, “So I’m convinced.”

  And he nearly was.

  Dohm had also conducted them through the thunderous, smoking factory-rooms carved out of the concrete beneath the quadrangle. Here hordes of workers were already assembling components and setting up the manufacturing lines for the next compliment of twenty-four saucer-craft. These would be back-up vehicles, in case the first flight failed to bring about total global surrender.

  Solo was grimly afraid two dozen would be plenty.

  Jackie Woznusky had stumbled along during the entire tour like a bemused, astounded child. His 250-plus frame heaved now as he breathed hard. He wiped steam from his black-rimmed glasses and whispered:

  “I’m convinced, too. Whatever you guys are up to scares me to death. Boy, would my relatives think I was nuts for chasin’ saucers if they could see me.”

  He put his glasses back on, his eyes going blink-blink-blink faster than they had before. Solo felt sorry for the hackie. The man didn’t really comprehend all that was happening.

  Jackie watched Napoleon Solo like a hopeful lap dog. Did Jackie think Solo could get them out? On that score Solo felt pretty hopeless.

  Sabrina couldn’t control a catch in her voice as she asked, “What---happens to us now?”

  “You’ve been talking about killing people,” Jackie said. “Is this when we get it?”

  Dohm licked his lips. His swollen bald pate glittered with the light of evening.

  “I haven’t quite worked that out. Perhaps it would be advisable to do it immediately, though.”

  Brocade touched his arm. “Dohm, dear. Give them until morning, at least. You know how much more receptive a person is to a slow, excruciating death when they’ve had all night to lie awake worrying and tossing and agonizing.”

  Solo was contemptuous. “You’re a bunch of monstrous vermin.”

  “Tut-tut, Mr. Solo,” Dohm tittered. “Do I detect the aroma of sour grapes.”

  Elaborately Solo shrugged. He flashed a quick glance at Brocade. She was leaning back against the rail again, displaying her figure. She could only be doing it for his benefit.

  The judgment wasn’t egotism but rather a cold, professional assessment. Perhaps Brocade was in the mood for a little frolic. Perhaps she had suggested delay for that reason. Solo couldn’t read her eyes or expression. Brocade simply continued to smile lazily and preen herself.

  Dohm clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Very well, Brocade. I think you have the right idea. Besides, I believe I am slated to spend the evening going over the attack plan with our flight leaders in the briefing room.”

  Sabrina asked. “When will this attack be launched?”

  “Soon, my dear girl. Oh yes, very soon. Guards!”

  Dohm clapped his hands for soldiers. They came double-timing up the concrete stairs from the quad. The big, round sighting lenses of their sniper rifles caught the sunlight, made them shine like weird eyes.

  “Return our guests to the prison building,” Dohm instructed the squad’s commander. “See that they receive food. A complete meal, but nothing too heavy. We don’t want them drifting off to sleep tonight. Then ring the bells every half hour to assure that they remain awake.”

  Dohm turned to Solo as the soldiers prodded Sabrina and Jackie down the stairs.

  “In case you did not have time to examine the guardhouse during our tour, Mr. Solo, I must tell you that it is quite secure. The concrete walls are three feet thick. We have needed prison facilities because this is a remote location. Occasionally a lonely worker runs amok. But never before have guests so distinguished graced the cells.

  “Sleep well. We shall meet again in the morning. I think I’ll order a full review of the troops, plus an assembly of the workers right here in the quadrangle. We’ll make a little spectacle of your execution, eh?”

  And, giggling again, Dohm watched as Napoleon Solo was herded down the stairs after his friends.

  Solo stumbled, fell. He scraped his knees on the cement. A soldier kicked him in the ribs. Sabrina rushed back to help him up.

  The soldiers closed in.

  Sabrina turned on them. “You filthy animals! Is that all you know? Torture? Brutality? Killing?”

  Solo stumbled to his feet, caught her shoulders, shook her. His face was grim.

  “Easy, Sabrina.” He shook her until she got control of herself.

  Sabrina leaned her head on his shoulder, crying. Jackie Woznusky wrung his hands. The THRUSH soldiers laughed and shoved then forward. Sabrina let Solo support
her as they walked.

  At one point Sabrina raised her head. Her violet eyes were dark with fear. She framed words with her lips:

  “We’ll never get out.”

  “There’s a way.” Solo murmured it, smoothing her hair. “There must be.”

  He didn’t know of any though.

  Soon they were back in the squat concrete guardhouse at one edge of the quadrangle. The jungle began on the building’s far side. A parrot chattered, its cry cut off as the steel door clanged behind them.

  Fluorescent lights cast a lifeless aura over the cement-walled hallway. There were four windowless doors along each side. Jackie Woznusky was manhandled through one of these. Sabrina was placed in another cell. Solo was kicked into a third. The door closed with a ring of metal.

  Solo found himself in a cheerless six-by-six cubicle. A ventilator high up circulated a whisper of disinfectant-tanged air. The room’s furnishings consisted of a stone wall and covered with a cheap blanket. Solo sat down to think.

  Instantly a maddeningly loud alarm bell rang. It continued ringing for at least five minutes, until Solo’s head was nearly bursting with pain. Finally it stopped. He heard the ringing in his ears for quite a while.

  Solo massaged the bridge of his nose. That bell would certainly demoralize them all if it kept up all night. Nerves beginning to grow raw with desperation, Solo paced round and round the cell.

  The walls were seamless. He could not reach the ventilator grille even by jumping. He dug his nails into his palms in frustration.

  The guard brought dinner, which he didn’t touch.

  Time passed. Solo guessed several hours or more.

  He was sitting on the stone bed staring at the crepe soles of his night warfare shoes and thinking furiously about the right time to use his last small, precious advantage.

  The door-bolt rattled. He glanced up warily.

  Inching the door open with her shoulder, Brocade smiled at him in a lazy way.

  “Hello, dear.”

  Wild hope flickered. Napoleon Solo jumped up. “Brocade! An unexpected pleasure.”

  “Oh, come off it, sweet,” she laughed as she insinuated herself into the cell. “And stop peering over my shoulder like an owl. There’s no guard behind me. Of course they’re nearby. One peep out of me will bring them on the double.”

  Brocade remained leaning against the door frame, ticking her brightly-painted nails against the thigh of her tight-fitting black costume. Its long sleeves and high neck made it even more provocative.

  Solo managed to slip a nonchalant smile onto his face as he sauntered forward.

  “You haven’t told me the reason for your visit. A little more psychological warfare?”

  “Of course not,” she pouted. “You’re not that addled, are you? I was trying to flash you little signals all during the tour. It’s very simple. I’m Dohm’s property as well as his assistant. It’s very tiresome. I’ve heard so much about the famous Napoleon Solo---his dash, his style. And lately, I’ve practically been a prisoner myself on this miserable, steamy little island. So much work---“

  Brocade’s dark glance flickered. “Of course I’m loyal to THRUSH. Don’t mistake that.” Her lips relaxed again, moist and curling into a cat’s smile. “But a girl does get bored, Mr. Solo.”

  The softly glowing pearl she wore in her pierced left ear flashed back the light as she inclined her head.

  “If you promise to be on your good behavior, we can go for a little stroll outside. You’d be very foolish to try to get away. There’s nowhere you could go without being tracked down.”

  Brocade studied her nails, then cast one more smoldering look in his direction.

  “Well, Mr. Solo? It will be dawn very soon. Do you want to stay here and fritter your last hours away? Or would you rather take a walk with me?”

  Solo grinned. “If I go along, can you fix it so they don’t kill me?”

  “Let’s talk about it, shall we?” She crooked a finger.

  The girl fairly exuded an air of femininity, Solo thought as he walked forward and took her arm. And if her romantic desires were getting the better of her, stranded out here in the tropics as she was, who was he to fail to take advantage of it?

  Brocade linked her arm with his. They moved down the corridor. A granite-faced guard on duty at the hall’s end pressed a button on a control panel.

  A green light flashed. The steel door sprang open. Warm night air bathed over Solo as they stepped outside.

  They were at the rear of the prison building. “This way,” Brocade said. “That trail leads to a pleasantly secluded clearing where we can talk.”

  As they moved onto the trail, Solo noticed a lurid pink light in the sky. He identified its source. The crater of the volcano on the mountain top was alight and smoking. He thought he felt the earth rumble faintly beneath his feet.

  To Brocade he said, “If I’m not exactly the soul of wit, not to mention a latter-day Casanova, I trust you’ll forgive me. Your boss doesn’t do much to make a guest feel at home.”

  Brocade laughed. “Dohm is a genius. And there is so much of him wrapped up in SLAV and this island. Whole decades of his life! He has staked his entire career on this one project. But he does tend to be a vile little beast at times.”

  “Frankly, Brocade, I can’t understand what a nice girl like you is doing in a place like this at all.”

  The trail widened suddenly, bringing them into a dim, moon-whitened clearing. A silvery-winged bird went cawing up through the trees. Solo stopped. He took Brocade’s shoulders, looked into her eyes. What he saw there sent his hopes soaring crazily.

  Her eyes were actually swimming with tears of joy! The girl was actually starved for something resembling human affection! Well, it just pointed up the crushing inhumanity of THRUSH.

  Solo kept his voice low-pitched as he said, “No, I just can’t understand it, Brocade. A beautiful girl like you---you could have anything in the world, you know.”

  “Mr. Solo,” she breathed, her eyelids fluttering shut. “I’d settle for one kiss.”

  In the murmurous stillness of the rain-forest Napoleon Solo bent toward her, gathering her into his arms.

  “Miss Brocade, this is my pleasure,” he cooed.

  And he punched her in the jaw.

  The girl uttered a little sigh and folded to the earth. In other circumstances Solo would have felt like the world’s prize heel. But the stakes were too high for scruples.

  He bent down to check her breathing. Normal. She might remain unconscious for ten minutes. Not a great deal time, but enough.

  Checking the sinking moon to make sure of his directions, Solo re-traced his way to the path. He moved along it back toward the prison building as rapidly as he dared. His crepe soles barely made a sound. And he remembered that he might have a couple of aces left in those soles.

  In moments he reached the jungle’s edge. He peered out at the back side of the blockhouse.

  A thin line of light leaked out around the steel door. It hadn’t been shut after he and Brocade left. Solo was about to start forward when he noticed a darker lump of shadow to one side of the door.

  Gradually he made out the shape of a guard leaning against the exterior wall, sniper rifle in the crook of his arm.

  Thankful he’d spotted the guard in time, Solo went into a crouch. He launched himself forward at full speed.

  The guard uttered a strangled cry of surprise. He raised the sniper rifle to fire. The blade-edge of Solo’s right hand caught him on the neck. The man let out a soft cry and dropped.

  Solo snatched up the rifle. He checked to make sure the safety was off. Then he kicked the steel door aside and jumped into the corridor, swiveling around to jam the rifle’s muzzle against the stomach of the startled Thrushman inside.

  “All right, you,” Solo growled. He jerked his head at the control panel. “Release the two prisoners. If you punch the wrong button and an alarm goes off, you won’t remember anything else.”

 
The guard saw Solo meant it. He pressed two buttons. A pair of doors, the right ones, clanged back. Solo gut-punched the guard. As the man doubled, he chopped him on the back of the neck with the rifle butt.

  Solo whirled and raced up the corridor. Sabrina was stumbling in the light from one of the open doors. Out of the other came Jackie Woznusky, his eyes wide behind his thick spectacles.

  From the center of the corridor Solo gestured them near him.

  “Now listen. I don’t know where we go from here, exactly. But we’ve had a lucky break, so let’s ride the streak while it lasts.”

  The streak had already evaporated. The concrete floor hummed and dropped from under them.

  Jackie burbled in terror. Sabrina screamed. They plunged through space and struck warm water. Gasping, floundering, Solo struggled to the surface.

  Lights glared. He regained his footing. The water was only up to their chins. Another cement panel rolled aside, this time above the water line. Solo goggled.

  In a lighted booth behind double-thick safety glass, Brocade smirked down at them, hands on her hips. Her chin was bruised. Her nose was smudged with dirt. Hate was in her eyes as her amplified voice dinned at them:

  “As I suspected, Mr. Solo, you weren’t sincere. I had to test you, of course.” Her face turned ugly. “You ninny! Did you think I would amuse myself without taking ample precautions?”

  “Well, I had hopes---“ Solo began.

  “The hopes of a desperate man who has lost his senses,” Brocade said.

  “It’s beginning to look like that, isn’t it?”

  Solo wasn’t as chipper as he sounded. Sabrina clung to him in terror. Jackie Woznusky sloshed in the water like a terrified mastodon.

  “How did you get back here so fast?” Solo asked. “I really decked you.”

  “You thought you rendered me unconscious, Mr. Solo. We women of THRUSH aren’t dainty tea-party types, you know. We have stamina. And there is a special little tunnel which runs underground from the clearing back to here. I have often used it.

  “You have disappointed me dreadfully, Mr. Solo. Consequently, you find yourself in a special tank we have used on occasion to deal with members of the work force who tried to leave Lobba-Lobba before their contracts expired. Dohm will be furious with me---“ Brocade was reaching for a stainless steel rod extending from the wall of the booth “---but I think I can convince him that disciplinary action was necessary.”