The Electronic Frankenstein Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  "I said there were three things, Napoleon Solo, that made it necessary for me to take drastic measures to oppose both THRUSH and my father's secret plans. You know now what two of them are. But you have not questioned me about the third."

  "And what is the third?" Solo asked.

  "I told you that I have watched you often through the all-seeing eyes of the machine, Napoleon Solo. Despite myself I have come to respect and admire you. I will strike a bargain with you. If I can find a way that will enable both you and Mr. Kuryakin to escape from the ruins before it is too late—will you promise me that you will not forget what I have just told you? THRUSH has become my father's enemy? At any moment the blow may fall. The instant they cease to need him he will be destroyed. Only you can save him. If U.N. C.L.E. can strike first my father's life may be spared. Surely if I help you to escape, U.N.C.L.E., out of gratitude alone, would rest content with so shattering a blow to THRUSH."

  The proposal was so unexpected that Solo remained for an instant silent, turning it over in his mind. Such a promise, he knew, would have to be conditional. Lee Cheng could not possibly escape the exaction which justice would demand—life imprisonment, at the very least. The frail little man's Frankenstein monster had been used as an instrument of death, and while justice could be tempered with mercy it could not be toppled from its pedestal by bargaining on any level.

  Neither was it anything that Solo would have cared to attempt. Lee Cheng's guilt would not be lessened by the repentance of his daughter—if her repentance was genuine—or by her offer of help.

  He was very careful to make his answer noncommittal and reassuring. "I'll do my best," he said.

  "Then I will do my best," the woman at his side said quickly, a gleam of relief coming into her eyes, "to arrange for your escape. It will be difficult and may take a little time."

  Solo was far from sharing her relief. What she had said about Illya was causing him increasing concern. "My father is not being too kind to him" could have meant more than the words suggested. It could have veiled an ordeal by torture that Illya might not be able to withstand.

  "There should be no conditions attached to the kind of bargain we have just made," Solo said. "Kuryakin has risked his life more than once to save mine. You can hardly expect me to be unconcerned as to his safety."

  "I know," Lhasa said, meeting his gaze with more understanding than he had dared to hope he would see in her eyes. "But what would you have me do? Take you to him? It would be difficult and dangerous. He is under constant guard."

  "But you could do it, I think," Solo said. "I would just exchange a few words with him. It's important to me. I must be absolutely sure that he is all right. You just said—"

  "I know what I said. But that does not mean that all of the guards will obey me, or even that I can trust more than three of four of them not to betray me. Why can't you believe me when I tell you that Kuryakin is in no immediate danger?"

  "That depends on what you mean by danger," Solo said. "He may be in more danger than you know. Not of losing his life perhaps, but—" He let what he could have said remain unspoken.

  For an instant Lhasa returned his stare almost defiantly. Then she shrugged. "All right," she said. "I'll take you to him."

  ELEVEN

  GOBI SOS

  IN AMERICA it would not have been thought of as a room, but as a warehouse interior of an arsenal supply depot.

  The walls were of stone, but they had an almost metallic sheen and they towered up into shadows. Long benches stood against the walls and one stood a little out from the wall and extended from the doorway to a far corner where a huge pile of miscellaneous objects lay scattered—steel helmets, gun belts, canteens and what looked like a collapsed parachute.

  On all of the benches there were metallically gleaming instruments of science. Their technological configuration was apparent at a glance, although some were much larger than others.

  But it wasn't the instruments of science, nor the scattered objects of desert warfare equipment that were half-obscured by the shadows that caused Solo to come to an abrupt halt just inside the doorway and draw in his breath sharply. The woman at his side had shut the door firmly behind them and was watching his face intently, as if she feared that just the sight of the half-naked man strapped from his waist to his shoulders by leather thongs to one of the benches might cause Solo to turn upon her in rage.

  Illya Kuryakin's back was crisscrossed with swelling welts, and he was moving his shoulders about, as far as the thongs would permit, as if to ease the pain of what could only have been recently applied lashes.

  "You lied to me!" Solo breathed. "You said that no harm would come to him."

  "I did not know," she said, "that my father would—"

  Lhasa straightened abruptly, a look of alarm coming into her eyes. They had both heard it, a sudden, clattering sound just outside the door that had barely closed behind them.

  "That guard!" she said. "I'm not sure I can trust him. I did not like the look he gave me when I ordered him to leave. He may be waiting just outside. I'd better make sure—"

  She had opened the door again and was gone before Napoleon Solo could move across the enormous room toward Illya Kuryakin.

  "There's a bolt on that door!" Illya cried out sharply. "Lower it into place. Don't let her come back. Hurry! We'll never get another chance."

  It seemed sheer madness to Solo, for what chance could two unarmed men possibly have in a room that was securely bolted? But he turned, grasped the bolt firmly and let it clatter into place, then crossed the enormous room in ten swift strides to Illya's side.

  "Unbind me," Illya said, ignoring the appalled look on Solo's face as his eyes came to rest on the ten or twelve long red welts that crisscrossed the younger agent's back. They had cut deeply into the flesh, and it was easy to see from the tight set of Illya's lips that the pain was still agonizing.

  "There's a powerful transmitting apparatus at the end of this bench," Kuryakin said. "Get me loose and we'll put through a message to Harris in Tokyo and Waverly in New York. It won't be picked up, because Lee Cheng's metal giant is lying immobilized in the desert close to where it brought the 'copter down. It developed another defect right after we caught a brief look at it."

  Solo began swiftly to loosen the thongs which bound Illya to the bench, talking as he did so, his voice tight with strain.

  "How did you find out all that? I had a very good chance to get some information just as vital, but I seem to have muffed it. Cheng's daughter—"

  "She's a very talkative girl," Illya said. "But I guess you know that. She was here, along with her father. He finally lost patience and presented me with a souvenir of this place I'll be carrying with me for some time. Twelve lashes, straight across the back, with a very ugly cat. But trying to get vital information out of a man that way can backfire. He had to give me some information so that I could fil1 in the rest of it for him, which of course I refused to do."

  For an instant Illya's lips twisted in a wry smile, despite his pain. "He thought it was safe enough to let a few things slip out, because he didn't think I'd ever leave this room alive."

  "Are you sure you will?" Solo asked. "Even if we get a message through to Tokyo and New York, there's a long road of winding before any help could get here."

  "That's what Lhasa said," Illya replied, the smile returning to his lips for the barest instant before the last thong fell away. "She's quite a girl. More loyal to her father than to THRUSH. But for awhile, apparently, THRUSH didn't begin to suspect that.

  "She took command in New York, but her father's danger made her turn against THRUSH."

  "Lhasa," Solo said. "I didn't even think to ask her her name. Did she say she respected and admired you too?"

  "To some extent. But think nothing of it. It goes with that kind of talkativeness, when there's something of importance to be gained by it."

  "That's what you think," Solo said. "All right, we'll send those messages. First to Harris and
then to Waverly. Maybe they can tell us something we don't know—that will give us a straw to clutch at. We could sure use one. They'll be clattering at that door any minute now."

  Illya nodded and swayed a little as he moved toward the end of the bench. Solo saw the transmitting apparatus then, for the first time. It was huge and looked powerful. He hoped that it was as powerful as it looked.

  "You know how to operate it, of course."

  "I don't think I'll have any trouble," Kuryakin said. "It's stripped down and looks efficient. I imagine it has a very powerful beam. Would you like to send the messages?"

  "It's all yours," Solo said. "But for God's sake be quick about it."

  It took Illya Kuryakin only a minute to groove it to the right wavelength. Once it was grooved in, the ground pulses began to operate continuously and Harris' voice in Tokyo came in precisely two minutes later.

  Illya spoke briefly for another minute, filling Harris in as completely as that brief time interval permitted and what Harris said in reply Solo could not hear. He could only hope that it wasn't too tragically depressing.

  Kuryakin turned briefly to nod at Solo. "Now Waverly," he said. "What I just heard will rock you back on your heels."

  Solo could only hope that it wasn't an exaggeration.

  For two or three more minutes Illya remained bent over the transmitting apparatus. His hand had moved again swiftly and had then remained stationary.

  Suddenly he turned from the instrument and shook his head. "I can't contact Waverly," he said. "He's not in the office or anywhere in the building. But there was no real need for me to try and get him, in view of what Harris told me. Rescue is on the way, if we can hold out until it gets here." '

  "But that makes no sense to me," Solo said. "How could such a thing be possible? The 'copter—"

  "It was blasted down and you thought that U.N.C.L.E had no further resources at its command in the Gobi. But that's where you're mistaken. Do you think Harris would have sent us here with no replacements?"

  "You mean he didn't tell us?"

  "There are some things Waverly apparently seems to feel it's wise to keep a secret, even from Napoleon Solo," Illya said. "He told Harris but not us. Another U.N. C.L.E. 'copter is on its way here, yes. And it's carrying a bomb load we can drop on Lee Cheng's eavesdropping giant. If—and it's a big 'if', of course—we can stay alive until it gets here."

  "But how did they know where we were?" Solo asked. "If they've started out already—"

  "Harris says it was easy. U.N.C.L.E.'s Tokyo unit picked up a telecast from the giant, precisely as U.N.C.L.E in the United States picked up that Newfoundland telecast. An erratic, very short, freak telecast. Right after it blew another electronic tube, perhaps for the hundredth time."

  Kuryakin smiled grimly. "They even saw us dragging ourselves over the sand and collapsing. Then the giant collapsed and the telecast flickered out."

  "If we can stay alive until the 'copter gets here," Solo said. "That's a big order."

  "It may not be too big to fill," Illya said. "If we keep our wits about us. What do you suppose is keeping Lhasa from coming back? I'd give a lot to know."

  The sudden rattling of the door made it almost seem as if Illya's words had been overheard by some mysterious imp of the perverse bent on startling them.

  Solo swung about, strode to the door and unlatched it. He opened it only a few inches. But when he saw Lhasa's pale, agitated face framed in the aperture he opened it wide enough to admit her, then quickly closed and latched it again.

  She remained for an instant close to the door, staring at Solo and Illya with a stricken look on her face. "My father knows," she said. "That guard betrayed me. He also knows you sent two scrambled messages to Tokyo and New York. There's a recording device attached to the transmitter. He has the messages, but that combined range-finder and recorder just reproduced what you said without unscrambling it. And what was said to you from Tokyo. How long should it take him to unscramble both messages?"

  "Not more than ten minutes," Solo said. "They were not coded messages. Kuryakin spoke directly to our agent in Tokyo. But there was some scrambling, which was straightened out instantly at the other end. It may take your father a little longer, unless the recording device has some very specialized instruments."

  "There's probably nothing he hasn't got," Illya muttered. He moved quickly to Lhasa's side and gripped her by the arm. "Your father will be here the instant he unscrambles those messages," he said. "Is that what you're trying to tell us?"

  "Yes, and he will not spare you," Lhasa cried, the wild look that had been absent for a moment returning to her eyes. He will kill you both. He killed your Mr. Blakeley over there by that table." She gestured wildly. "I did my best to protect him, as I would have protected Napoleon Solo. But he was just as stubborn and reckless. He insulted my father to his face—"

  Lhasa stared at Solo. "You must go before it is too late. There may still be time. My father still trusts me, although not as completely as before. I lied to him explained that I had reason to believe that if you were together here for a few minutes your conversation would be worth recording. He knows how skilled I am at eavesdropping and I think he believed me. But I can't be sure."

  She swung about abruptly and pointed toward the shadowed corner where the desert warfare equipment had been piled up.

  "There are several holstered pistols there," she said. "Strap two of them to your waist. As soon as you are in the inner courtyard start running—straight through the outer courtyard into the desert. You may be stopped, but it is a chance you must take. I would have planned your escape quite differently if I had had just a few hours—"

  She paused an instant, then went on breathlessly. "The temple is in ruins. There are crumbling blocks of stone everywhere, a protection against bullets if you weave about and move in and out of the shadows."

  Solo nodded and strode quickly to the equipment-cluttered corner of the enormous room. He picked up a gun-belt, strapped it to his waist and hurled another toward Illya Kuryakin, who had moved almost as quickly into the shadows.

  Illya caught it and lost no time in buckling it around his slender hips.

  Lhasa had unbolted the door and was standing a little to the left of it when they returned across the room to her side.

  "You must hurry," she warned.

  Solo had unbolted the door and was passing into the stone-walled passageway beyond when she clutched him firmly by the arm.

  "Remember your promise," she pleaded. "My father is lost to all reason now. His death will be certain unless the destruction of both machines makes THRUSH abandon all thought of removing him the instant his usefulness ends. Only U.N.C.L.E has the means of accomplishing that. In utter defeat THRUSH will lose all interest in a pawn that has failed them."

  It flashed across Solo's mind that in defeat THRUSH might take a vital interest in a man who might still be capable of rebuilding a destroyed Frankenstein monster. But he saw no reason for calling that to her attention.

  TWELVE

  THE DEATH-RAY MONSTER

  A STIFF WIND had arisen, stirring the palms on both sides of the inner courtyard, hazing the sky with a curtain of' blowing sand. Solo and Illya broke into a run, the long-barreled guns jogging at their hips.

  They saw no one until they were two-thirds of the way across the courtyard. Then a shaven-headed giant with a gleaming sword in his hand, his head a mottled blur in the half-light, barred their passage. He had leapt out of the shadows and stood directly in their path, his silken trousers blooming out on both sides of his knees. The trousers and shaven head gave him more the aspect of some huge-statured, evil jinni from the Arabian Nights than a Chinese armed guard with a red dragon at his back.

  The dragon was made of porcelain, but the huge guard was not. He swung the sword back and forth as if he wished to demonstrate how easy it would be for him to cut off Solo's head and when neither Solo nor Illya stopped running advanced upon them, still swinging the mammoth sword.r />
  Solo waited until he was very close before he tugged his pistol from its holster, steadied it carefully and drew just as careful a bead on the advancing guard's midsection.

  He fired. The pistol leapt in his hand as it roared, and the guard bent double, then went staggering back against the red porcelain dragon and toppled sideways to the sand.

  The shot brought two other guards rushing into the courtyard to avenge their fallen comrade. Luckily they were much smaller men, and Illya Kuryakin had no difficulty in disarming the nearest one by ripping his sword from his clasp and burying it to the hilt in the sand. While the sword vibrated like a tuning fork he gripped the still enraged guard by the back of the neck, and brought his forehead down forcibly on the heavy jeweled handle of the sword three times.

  The guard crumpled with the groan to the sand and Illya was spared the need of stopping the remaining guard in the same way, for Solo did it with dispatch by bringing the barrel of his pistol into forceful contact with the man's shaven head.

  Almost instantly a fourth guard appeared, his naked torso matted with coarse black hair. He was almost as huge as the Jinni-like guard but his features were not of oriental cast. But his nationality did not interest Illya at all. He was only concerned with the length and rapidity of his stride as he advanced and his wise refusal to slash at the air with his sword. The weapon was pointed directly at Illya's chest, and Illya was quite sure that he could not save himself simply by leaping aside.

  His hand darted to his hip. But before he could draw and fire another shot rang out a few feet to the left of him. The sword fell from the huge Caucasian's hand and a red gleaming hole appeared on his chest just above his heart. The rage went out of his eyes. He fell to his knees and then forward on his face, a thin ribbon of blood trickling from beneath his right shoulder over the sand.