The Electronic Frankenstein Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  The helicopter was less than four hundred feet to the east of them now, and descending quite rapidly. But it had not quite reached a hovering position and seemed to be moving with a puzzling lack of stability. Solo thought for a moment that the pilots had manipulated the controls with insufficient precision high in the sky, and were endeavoring to correct a miscalculation that would have carried the 'copter a considerable distance beyond the tent area.

  But it was hard to believe that pilots so experienced could have committed such a blunder, and his alarm increased when the 'copter began to sway and lurch violently.

  It never reached a hovering position directly overhead. Instead it dipped with appalling suddenness, shot off at a tangent to its original course and went into so fast a vertical spin that its outlines became blurred for an instant.

  It was still revolving when two sharp blasts put an end to the spinning, and a bright sheet of flame spurted skyward, accompanied by a billowing cloud of smoke.

  Half the 'copter was aflame when it began to fall, with an incredible slowness at first and then with a speed that no aircraft less massive could have attained after being blasted down in midair.

  It crashed to earth a hundred yards from where Solo and Kuryakin were standing, sending another sheet of flame spiraling skyward. So violent was the impact that a small earthquake seemed to pass over the desert, hurling them to the sand and stinging their nostrils with a spattering of micro-bullets composed entirely of sand.

  When they struggled to their feet a pillar of smoke was arising from the shattered 'copter, laced with darting tongues of flame. But one of the pilots had managed to escape from the wreckage and was running straight toward them cross the sand.

  It was difficult to imagine how he could have survived so fiery a holocaust with no more than a soot-scorched face and a slight limp which slowed him down a little as he ran. But in some miraculous way he had not only extricated himself from the wreckage, but had suffered no injuries in the crash crippling enough to keep him from outdistancing the swiftly spreading flames.

  He was gesturing to them as he ran, as if he had something to tell them of such vital importance that not even the terrible ordeal of struggling to save himself in time could blot it from his mind.

  Illya Kuryakin was still too stunned by what had happened to move from where he stood. But Solo, while almost as stunned, managed to stagger forward until the distance between the advancing pilot an U.N.C.L.E.'S Number One operative had been considerably reduced.

  "You're safe now," Solo shouted. "Better slow down or you'll be flat on your face. Even if another explosion comes—"

  "That's what it was, an explosion!" the advancing pilot shouted, not heeding Solo's advice. "But it wasn't a flash-fire accident. We were fired upon!"

  But that's impossible Solo thought, coming to an abrupt halt and waiting for the now slightly swaying man to join him. His waiting was in vain, because the runner's swaying increased and he began to lurch back and forth across the sand as erratically as the 'copter had done before the explosion had sent it crashing to the earth in flames.

  There was a sudden, blinding flash and the running pilot rose eight feet into the air and went spinning back toward the still flaming wreckage. He screamed just once, piercingly, his lips writhing back from his teeth.

  Solo could not see what it was that was bearing him backwards. But his face, where the soot had not blackened it, was a livid mask of terror, and it was easy to see that he was experiencing as well an al most unendurable agony.

  There was another sudden flash and the pilot's spinning body flew apart in the air, as if some invisible force had shattered it. Instantly, gruesomely, severing the arms from the trunk, the legs at the knees, and causing the head to split open like a coconut dropped from a tree.

  What was 1eft the body thudded to the sand a short distance from the wreckage and was almost as instantly enveloped in a swirl of smoke that continued on past it over the sand until it was half way to where Solo was standing.

  For an instant he had to fight against a threat he could not remember ever having experienced before—the danger of actually blacking out from shock alone. It did not surprise him too much. To witness so ghastly an execution at close range, with no warning, no chance at all to summon a danger-conditioned fortitude to one's aid held a degree of horror that made such a threat very real.

  In the vicinity of the wreckage the desert was strewn with still flaming debris, and the heat could be felt from where Napoleon Solo stood. But it wasn't the heat that caused him to take a few steps backward and blink furiously. It was the towering figure that had come suddenly into view a half mile beyond the wreckage, its vast bulk silhouetted against the sky and half blotting out the blazing sunlight.

  It was moving slowly toward the wreckage. It was ablaze with many-colored lights which even the downstreaming sunlight failed to dim. It had an unmistakably oriental look. The arms were bent sharply at the elbows and were held well out from a body that seemed divided into segments that overlapped.

  What looked like a gigantic stone turban enveloped the upper part of a head which was sharply angular and gleamed with a metallic luster as it swayed slowly back and forth.

  Clearly Illya Kuryakin had seen it too, for Solo was aware of the younger man's harsh breathing a little to the left of him, and could hear the swish of his sandals as he moved about on the sand.

  Gradually, as he stared, the figure grew dimmer, as if the newly arisen sun resented its presence and was reaching out with long arms of radiance to blot it from sight. It seemed to merge and blend with the sunlight as it went walking into the east.

  TEN

  THREE DESERT MAIDENS

  THE HEAT was intolerable and the sun was a blazing red eye that seemed to follow Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin as they dragged themselves over the sand. Not only had they lost their way in the desert—they had started out with no knowledge of what Sun Lin could have told them if he had been still alive. The Gobi was a man-killer.

  Its monotony stripped it of all guideposts. Just as you felt you might be on the track of something—the recovered trail of a camel, perhaps—what you thought might be hoof-marks in parallel formation turned out to be wind- flurry indentations.

  There were no big mirages to mislead them. Just little ones that were infinitely more misleading. They became illusion-tormented in slow stages. There would be moments when they seemed to be caressed by cool winds, encouraged by what they were quite sure were distant but encouraging voices, urging them not to abandon hope, promising them a reward for their efforts.

  Illya was the first to collapse. He did it without complaining, without uttering a single word of protest. He simply stopped dragging himself forward, sank level with the sand and lay still. Solo blacked out a few minutes later.

  * * *

  THREE DESERT maidens, their faces veiled in morning mist, were tripping lightly over the Gobi sands. Three desert maidens, arm in arm, their long yellow robes flowing out over the sand.

  Only—there was something wrong. All three of the maidens looked exactly alike. They had the same eyes, the same high cheek bones, the same facial pallor.

  Solo had seen each of the three faces—or one face—before. But not in the Gobi. Somewhere far away in another world. But how could three Gobi maidens look so enchantingly beautiful, when behind them loomed gray buildings that had nothing whatever to do with the Gobi and should not have been there at all?

  Tall gray buildings and hurrying New York faces tight with strain. A long gray limousine moving slowly through a canyon of stone. Against such a background, how could three lovely maidens maintain their poise and trip so gracefully over the sand? How could their faces fail to mirror something of that same strain?

  "Wake up, Napoleon Solo," a voice that was all music seemed to whisper deep in Solo's mind. "This is Lhasa. We meet for the second time, under circumstances which have greatly changed. You have been delirious for hours. But it is important for you to know
that many things have changed—so that you will not think that you are in the presence of an enemy."

  The voice ceased for an instant, then went on again. "When a man has endured almost more than the human mind can bear, it would be cruel beyond belief to let him go on thinking that he is still in deadly danger. So long as you remain here you will be in danger. But it is not immediate; you are completely safe for the moment. Try to understand that. It will set your mind at rest, and make your awakening less of a torment."

  The three desert maidens drew suddenly closer to one another, their linked arms tightening as they danced. And suddenly they seemed to merge and blend, to coalesce and run together until there remained just one enchantingly radiant maiden in a long yellow robe tripping gracefully over the Gobi sand.

  Napoleon Solo opened his eyes.

  Ebony black and immense was the first object that met his eyes. It towered in one corner of an enormous room in which many screens, set at oblique angles, glowed transparent in the light of a flickering fire. The ebony black object was a statue, and Solo gradually realized it was a somnolent Buddha, with features slightly smiling.

  Upon the screens—there were eight of them in all—long red dragons writhed, with their tongues darting fire. There was a brazier directly opposite the Buddha and from its glowing coals a thin ribbon of smoke coiled.

  There were rich oriental rugs on the floor and hanging lamps as well which shed a mellow amber radiance over their intricate designs.

  "Napoleon Solo, look at me," the voice that was all music pleaded. "At me—not at this room, which pleases my father but gives me no pleasure."

  She was kneeling at his side, and since he was on his side, staring straight across the room toward the opposite wall it was not strange that he had failed to be aware of her presence until her voice came to his ears.

  Napoleon rolled over on his back and then sideway again until he was staring directly into her eyes. His head whirled for an instant, from weakness or dizziness perhaps, and he had to blink furiously to bring her features into sharp relief.

  For an instant the tall gray buildings seemed to come sweeping back, but he knew now that they were solely an illusion and that he was not within walking distance of the United Nations. If he remained calm only the room and the woman at his side would remain.

  "You have been out of your mind for hours, Napoleon Solo," she said. "You woke up once, but you did not recognize me. But you must have seen my face in your dreams, for you talked wildly about our meeting in New York.

  "It was a tragic meeting and one that I now regret. I threatened you, warned you what would happen to U.N.C.L.E when your every move became known to us in advance."

  "But why––"

  "Wait," she said, laying two fingers on his lips, and bending so slow above him that her breath fanned his face. "Let me finish and then you can talk. I have much to tell you."

  She paused an instant, her eyes almost feverishly bright. "My father you saw on New York," she went on quickly. "He is Lee Cheng. But he is not a THRUSH agent."

  The name was unfamiliar to Solo but it brought an instant question to his lips. "Lee Chang—your father? You mean that frail little man who turned and fled back toward the car when I was forced to make sure that you were not carrying a concealed weapon? The other two were not old enough—"

  "He is neither frail nor little in his mind. He invented what you have come to the Gobi to investigate and, if possible, destroy. It is a machine that can move about in the desert and pick up what is said and done by an isolated human target thousands of miles away. It can penetrate all wails, listen and record what has been said and send televisual images just as far."

  Lhasa's voice took on a more vibrant intensity. "It is—yes, a kind of Frankenstein monster. Soulless, lifeless, except for the terrible kind of artificial life that my father has endowed it with. Nothing remotely like it has ever been developed before. It is a machine of a thousand eyes, a thousand ears. And my father would use it to dominate and enslave the world and restore the ancient glories of our race. There should be no need for me to remind you how great was the glory of China thousands of years before Western civilizations rose and fell."

  "But if your father—"

  "Wait," she insisted, her voice suddenly almost pleading. "I have more to tell you. There is little about you that I do not know, Napoleon Solo. I watched you often through the all-seeing eyes of that machine, both before we met in New York and afterwards. Sometimes I could not see you at all, because it goes blind at times, completely blind, and records nothing that my father and THRUSH would like it to see and hear. Deaf and blind. It happens often. But my father is working night and day to perfect it."

  "Your father and THRUSH. But you just said that he was not a THRUSH agent."

  "I asked you to be patient, to hear me out. If you will listen, you will understand. Your battle so far has been entirely with THRUSH. And your suspicions have not been wide of the mark. THRUSH is making use of my father's invention in an attempt to destroy U.N.C.L.E and increase its criminal power a hundredfold. But THRUSH does not know what my father's secret plans are. When the right time comes he will supplant THRUSH. He will be the all-powerful one. But now he must pretend that it is quite otherwise. He has always been a poor man and without the support which THRUSH gave him—"

  "He has agreed to work with THRUSH to destroy U.N.C.L.E., is that it?" Solo asked.

  "Yes, and I have helped him. It is I who have been a THRUSH agent. I am a unit commander, I have been entrusted with important secrets. But all of that is of no consequence when it is balanced against what is happening now."

  Solo waited for her to continue, feeling suddenly confident that no further questions would be needed. She was clearly going to tell him everything he had to know. The intensity of her gaze confirmed it and the almost pleading look in her eyes.

  "Three things," she went on quickly, "have made it necessary for me to take drastic measures to oppose both THRUSH and my father's secret plans. First, THRUSH no longer trusts me. My failure in New York and my inability to keep you from reaching the Gobi has made them turn against me. The penalty for that kind of failure could be death."

  "I see," Solo said, nodding. "And the other two reasons?"

  "Do not misjudge me," she said. "I would race death gladly if it would help to save my father. But even if I succeeded in getting THRUSH to go on trusting me, my father's life would still hang in the balance. And the scales are tipping dangerously against him. He had become reckless, headstrong, blind to all caution. He is moving much too fast. If his mask of pretence drops, and it could at any moment, THRUSH will destroy him. Instantly—because to them he is nothing but a pawn. When once his invention is perfected—"

  Her hand tightened on Solo's wrist. "His ambition to become the dominant one has made him lose contact with reality. I can no longer advise or control him. My pleadings fall on deaf ears. He is not only working to perfect the electronic monster that U.N.C.L.E. must find a way to destroy—but he has invented another, smaller but just as destructive Frankenstein-like giant. It is solely an instrument of death, for it can send a lethal ray half as far as the televisual pickups that make the larger mechanical giant a civilization-destroying threat. It would be less destructive on a global scale, but it is frightful enough, and he is planning to use it against THRUSH."

  "Good God," Solo breathed. "How—how close is he to perfecting it?"

  "I do not know," the woman at his side said. "He has kept that a secret, even from me. But I'm convinced that THRUSH may destroy him at any moment. I'm sure they suspect more than he knows, or will allow himself to believe. As I've said, he is deaf and blind to all caution. He has no way of finding out just how much THRUSH suspects when the machine's eavesdropping mechanism breaks down, and that has occurred often."

  "Where is this new invention now?" Solo asked. "Is he working on it here?"

  The woman at his side nodded. "Yes, right here in the ruins."

  "The r
uins?"

  "We are in the ruins of an ancient Gobi temple," she said. "With money supplied by THRUSH my father has converted it into a series or connecting laboratories and workshops. It was once a holy place. But it is not so holy now, for THRUSH has seen to that. We have had five THRUSH visitors just in the past month. They fear that what happened in New York may be repeated here. You and your friend Illya Kuryakin outwitted them at every turn. They never thought you would get so far. Your arrival has greatly alarmed them."

  The mention of Illya's name made Solo forget everything else for a moment. His concern for the safety of Kuryakin had been continuously on his mind from the first. But he had forced himself to remain silent about it, considering it wiser to wait until the woman at his side had told him enough to convince him that a display of concern would be of more benefit than harm to Illya. A premature question would have been an act of folly and what he had to guard against most of all was changing a talkative woman into a suspiciously silent one.

  But now he felt that the question could be safely asked.

  "Where is Kuryakin?" he said. "You haven't told me how we got here. If anything has happened to him—"

  "I told you that I wished only to set your mind at rest," the woman at his side said, before he could go on. "My father found you both wandering in the desert and had you brought here. You were delirious, raving, barely able to drag yourselves along. It was my father who directed the attack which brought the helicopter which came to your rescue down in flames, from here by remote control. The electronic eavesdropping machine is equipped also with electronic weapons of deadly accuracy and range.

  "You would have been killed if it had not stopped functioning shortly after it brought the plane down. That is one of the defects which my father is working night and day to overcome."

  Lhasa paused, to stare at him steadily for a moment. "Your friend is safe," she said. "My father is not being too kind to him, because he does not wish to displease THRUSH at this point. There are certain questions he must ask the very stubborn Mr. Kuryakin. But I have protected you from all that, and I intend to go on doing so. My father, whatever he may believe, is not yet all-powerful here." She continued to stare at him steadily, her eyes seeming to veil more than they revealed.