Collection 9 - The Changeling

by LRH Balzer

  "There was a branch off road, again to my left, winding out of sight. I didn't see it when I was heading to the lodge, or when I had left it, but I backtracked from the main road and turned into it."

  "Distance?"

  "I backed up the truck until I reached it; it wasn't far, but there was nowhere really to turn around."

  "And how far down the smaller road until you reached the parking lot by the entrance to the mountain?"

  Solo smiled. His partner remembered more about it than he did himself. He studied Kuryakin as he tried to reckon the time. The Russian seemed distant but functioning. The shaip mind was working on their problem, unhampered, it appeared, by his physical condition. Hie gloom was lifting, at least for the time being.

  "Not far," he answered. "It was probably only a few minutes worth of driving."

  Kuryakin frowned. "Why would the entrance be that close to a main road?" he muttered.

  "Maybe they had no choice with the site."

  "Perhaps availing themselves of previous roadwork."

  "Or the proximity to the Thrush lodge," Solo added.

  "Even the difficulty of bringing in heavy equipment." Kuryakin crossed his arms, pacing back and forth. "Describe the entrance."

  "Small parking lot for maybe twenty vehicles, mainly pickup trucks actually—"

  "I didn't see a parking lot there," Kuryakin interrupted, looking at the overhang to the entrance below.

  "They may have needed it only for the construction crews. The facility didn't appear to be completed when I was there, even though Angelique said it was being shut down. The whole setup was fairly small."

  "The truck came from inside the mountain. It seems perhaps there is room for vehicles inside now."

  "Due to risk of avalanche at that time—which was a real possibility due to the excessive snowfall that particular year and Thrush's habit of blowing up or torching their bases rather than risk secrets going to the enemy—the decision came from Section One following our assignment here, to observe them, not flush them out. A surveillance of the operation was put in place, as well as pressure on the resort to make use of the far side of their property to put the new ski lifts and slopes. I remember the logistics of flushing out the Thrush lodge was complicated, especially politically, as the lodge was a legitimate operation. Just because Thrush owned it, wasn't reason enough to shut it down. Added to that, the fact that I was able to get into the underground facility relatively easy, proved there wasn't a lot happening."

  "Then what were they doing here then? You said there were three men in each of the trucks you saw, right?"

  Solo had to think back on it, but Kuryakin was correct. "Times that by twenty and we have sixty workers."

  "Doing what? What were they wearing? How were they dressed? Mining? Construction? Mechanics? Technicians?"

  "Mechanics," Solo said immediately. "They looked like grease monkeys."

  "Grease what—?"

  Napoleon smiled at his partner's look of confusion. "There, I take it back. You're not fully versed in American life yet."

  "Better than I was."

  Yes, that was true. Illya Kuryakin, the man who stood before him now, was not the same man he had met two years earlier. The blank stare was gone—at least usually—as were the harsh lines on his face, the closed guarded expression. The trapped Russian soul adrift in America.

  Now there was life in the man. A wicked sense of humor, as witnessed by his quick evasion of the Circe women who were out to marry him and subsequently pointing them in Napoleon's direction. Added to that, their friendship, their partnership, and their ability to work seamlessly in a crisis. And what often scared the Chief Enforcement Agent the most, Illya's fierce devotion to one Napoleon Solo. One day, it would kill him.

  Illya looked at him calmly, knowing he was being appraised, and the confident bastard knew he would pass. For a brief moment, the pain of the day, the heavy depression, was gone, and in its place was a certainty in one thing alone in Kuryakin's universe: Solo trusted him.

  It was enough.

  Illya turned around and walked back to where their gear was sitting, hoisting the backpack to his shoulders and shouldering his skis. "Then let's get going, if we want to make the resort by dinner. I'm in the mood for salmon."

  "And a nice white wine."

  "Creamed carrots."

  "A baked potato, fully dressed."

  "Coffee, special blend."

  "And a disgustingly rich dessert."

  "Topped in chocolate sauce."

  "Illya, not every dessert has to have chocolate sauce on it."

  "You say 'tomAto' and I'll say 'tomAHto'," Kuryakin sang as he fell into place following his partner along the edge of the lake.

  *****

  Two hours later, they reached the resort inn, and that it was Lake Halcyon Resort, the one they had stayed at two years previous, was no longer a surprise.

  Kuryakin waited near the entrance with their skis and backpacks under watch from the doorman, while his partner confidently walked to the main desk, placed his credit card on the counter and requested a double room for the night. While the necessary paperwork was being filled out, Kuryakin sank down to the arm of one overstuffed chair, too tired to keep on standing. His eyes cast around the opulent lobby, looking at, but hardly registering, the guests.

  He heard a baby crying and turned, but there was no one behind him, no sight of any child in the area.

  Solo looked over at him, giving him a 'thumbs-up' gesture that meant, apparently, they had a room. It was strange that Napoleon could blend so well with the wealthy crowd, even in a two-sizes too big jacket, his arm in a make-shift sling and in need of a good shave. Even when he was neatly coiffured and wearing an immaculate tuxedo, Illya still felt like the country bumpkin, like he was wearing a disguise. Yet, when he was not being himself, when he was undercover, he could move around in such company with the grace and bearing of a noble count or prince, without any difficulty.

  Says a lot about your self-confidence, doesn't it? he thought with a shake of his head. It was always easier to be someone else.

  "Here's the key. The Ambassador Suite, same one we had before," Solo said softly, appearing at his side. "Go on up and check it out. I'll join you in a few minutes and we can make a call to Waverly. Everything appears fine here."

  "Where are you going?" Kuryakin asked, frowning.

  Solo pointed to the small convenience gift shop. "I'm going to pick up a few things that we'll need. I told them our suitcase were being delivered in a few hours, but I'd like to freshen up before that."

  "Our suitcases?"

  "I'll get the local office to pick up some things for us. Go ahead; I'll meet you up there."

  Kuryakin had the room secured and declared free of listening bugs by the time Solo joined him twenty minutes later, one smaller and two rather large shopping bags in his hands. "What's this?"

  Solo dumped the smaller bag on the bed. "Toothbrushes, toothpaste, razors, shaving cream, comb and hair brush, a triple package of socks, another of men's briefs and another of undershirts—purchased at the gift shop. There should be shampoo in the bathroom here."

  "There is."

  "And this is yours," Solo said, opening the two larger bags and separating the contents on the bed.

  "Sweater and dungarees for you, and a shirt, sweater, and slacks for me."

  Kuryakin took the items designated for him. The dungarees were a mid brown color and the pullover sweater was similar to one he had owned several years previous, a pale yellow, this one with the name of the resort embroidered in small letters on the upper left. "Shoes?"

  "All they had were loafers." Solo tossed him a pair of dark brown loafers and removed from the bag a matching pair of black loafers for himself. "Hopefully no one will notice we have matching shoes."

  "I'll try not to let it bother me," Kuryakin mumbled. "Dibs on the shower. I won't be long, then you can drown your sorrows in it, or whatever it is you spend so much time doing in
the shower." He raised his hands to spell off any answer. "I don't need to know, thank you."

  Solo shook his head and headed to the phone. "First, let's call this in."

  *****

  It was their first contact with Alexander Waverly since they had encountered problems on the road on their way back from the microfiche pickup, and Solo was almost amused to hear the relief evident in Waverly's voice.

  "Where are you, Mr. Solo? Is Mr. Kuryakin there, also?"

  "Yes, he's here. We are at the Lake Halcyon resort in Vermont. I just checked us into the hotel, the Ambassador suite, if you need to contact us. We have no communicators, one Walther, minimal ammunition for it. We'll need a full kit of weapons and gear for tonight, plus outdoor hiking wear and appropriate accessories, boots, etc. Our sizes are on record."

  "I'll have our Montpelier branch take care of it. Hold the line." Waverly came back in a minute. "They'll deliver it to your room by 8:00 this evening."

  Solo glanced at his watch. It was shortly after three o'clock. "That gives us time to rest up for a few hours before heading out tonight." He quickly filled in the Head of U.N.C.L.E. North America to their last few days, including the death of Karl Grayson. "I'd like to take a look at the progress reports our Vermont office has sent in over the last few years. Also any other data on a type of laser we observed both in January, 1964, and whatever our office has been able to put together about the modifications to the car we confiscated a few days ago."

  "And your parcel?"

  "Safe," Solo answered, not going into details over the telephone. He glanced over to his partner, patting his right pocket as Kuryakin's eyes opened to look in his direction, then closed again once the unspoken question was answered.

  "Very well," Waverly said. "There will be a car left at your disposal. Please return to U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters as soon as you have wrapped up matters there. There's an assignment waiting for you here."

  "Yes, sir." Solo made no mention of their injuries or how long they might be, and a few moments later, he hung up the telephone. "You might as well have your shower," he said to Illya, "then we can catch a few hours sleep, have dinner, and be ready to leave as soon as our supplies arrive at eight. We can check out the Thrush facility then."

  "Good."

  "Still feel something is going to happen tonight?"

  Kuryakin nodded.

  "Then we'll check it out. Can you think of anything else?"

  Kuryakin shook his head. "My brain actually shut down about an hour ago," he said, heading into the bathroom.

  *****

  He woke abruptly from a sound sleep, sitting up to stare at the luminous hands on the clock, blinking the weariness from his eyes. He still had two more hours before they would get up for dinner.

  What had woken him? He lay back against the pillow, listening to the soft snores of his partner in the next bed, the distant murmur of voices as guests passed in the hall. Then it was quiet again, except for the slight gurgle-hiss of the radiator.

  Illya knew what he had heard, but he had dreamed it, the faint cry. He had dreamed it, for some reason, his exhausted mind playing tricks with him. Just a dream.

  Unless in the room next to them, there was a new born baby.

  - 11 -

  By nine o'clock, rested, bandaged, and fully armed, they were back at the Thrush mountain base, the added adrenaline from the U.N.C.L.E. stamina pills boosting their energy level. Illya grimaced at the fuss Sam Lawrence would make when the doctor discovered they had taken the tablets; it was perhaps not a wise thing to do with concussion symptoms still lingering. Yet, he'd had no difficulty convincing his partner; Napoleon had stared at him in deep thought, weighing their options against possible side-effects over increased efficiency in the short run, and agreed that he also felt a sense of urgency about this mission.

  The local U.N.C.L.E. agents had dropped them off at the end of the road to the Thrush base, then had retreated to prepare for any necessary road blocks. Reinforcements had been summoned to assist them.

  Illya, his blond hair tucked beneath a black knitted cap, squinted through the shadows as they approached the entrance. Napoleon walked before him, clad in the same black ski jacket and pants the Vermont office had brought them. At least they were warm, suitably dressed for the weather, and had backup this time.

  Still, the hairs at the back of Illya's neck were standing on end. He felt wired, beyond what the stamina pills were doing to his system. He stopped as Napoleon pointed out the absolutely straight line of trees along the base of the mountain, hiding the entrance. He looked above them, up the slope of the mountain, his eyes searching through the darkness to the area they had been in that morning. They had been fortunate no patrols had looked their way.

  Napoleon moved off to one side, glancing around, getting his bearings. "This was the parking lot two years ago," he said softly. The cleared area had already begun to return to its wild state, with the help of a few strategically planted trees.

  Illya crouched down, studying the surface of the narrow road leading to the entrance. "They’ve plowed the road recently. It's been in regular use, but they have made it wider, even since we were here at noonday."

  Napoleon joined him. "It's wide enough for the trucks."

  "Not a large one. Not a flatbed."

  "There was a flatbed inside it years ago. There was some pretty hefty equipment in there," Napoleon mused. "So are they closing shop?"

  "Or, they are getting ready to move it closer to civilization." Illya closed his eyes, considering the situation. "Or, maybe, it is not the laser-modified car but something altogether different."

  Napoleon laughed. "One crisis at a time, please. Let's pick up our paychecks for this one before we start on another." He scratched at the base of his chin. "Snowfall warning for tonight, so why bother going to all this trouble if they have to do it again tomorrow? They must be plowing for tonight—and soon."

  As if on cue, the snow plow returned, three men on it talking to each other above the roar of the engine, obviously pleased with their accomplishment for the day. As it approached the stand of trees, a piercing light came on from high in the evergreens by the entrance, illuminating the snow plow and the general area around it and the two U.N.C.L.E. agents ducked out of sight. After a moment, it cut out, and the stand of trees began to move, sliding to one side and showing the entrance to the cavern.

  "There must be camera somewhere, but it needs the bright light to function in the darkness," Napoleon whispered while the snow plow moved into the tunnel.

  "No sensors, or it would have already come on."

  "Something's going on here. Tonight," Napoleon said, firmly, and Illya willed his heart to resume a normal pace. "The road blocks should be ready to set up by now, but they'll be out of sight. No use spooking any lookouts Thrush has. It's going to be a busy night."

  Illya stared at the closing gate, watching the row of trees move laterally across the snow, his nerves racing.

  Once he had stood on the edge of the highest diving board at the government sport facility in the USSR. While waiting for his cue to take his turn, he remembered the feeling of the air around his bare damp skin, the pounding of his heart anticipating what he was about to do, his minuscule flinch as the voice barked out for him to dive. Flexing, the board under his feet, the slight bounce as he rose on his toes, the shiver of suspense, then he had moved, up and out, tucking into a ball to somersault twice, then stretching his body ready to cut through the glassy surface of blue water.

  He felt like that now, that he was on the edge of the board, waiting, his skin crawling with anticipation.

  Ten minutes later, the light suddenly came on, and a moment later the gate moved a few feet and a crew of six men came out and walked around checking the road conditions, then the snow plow backed out again and cleared away the entire entrance to the cavern before disappearing back inside, along with the six men. The gate closed.

  "They're moving something big out, all right.” Napol
eon made a quick decision. "I'm going to go down the road a short distance, out of range of this satrapy and alert our forces to prepare for a large flatbed truck. It would run through whatever usual road blocks were set up." Alexander Waverly had the Vermont U.N.C.L.E. office on full duty, and they were ready to put the state police forces on stand-by alert. The FBI and army were also waiting for word to said in their troops, if needed. Solo had the distinct feeling they were needed.

  "We're going to let them go?" Illya asked.

  "We'll get them down the road. We need to let as many of the trucks and personnel leave as possible. Saves us going in and flushing them out. Once out of here, they can only go in one of two directions, and we've got them both covered. Besides, Mr. Waverly didn't want to risk gunfire setting off an avalanche."

  Illya nodded, then resumed watching the entrance through his night vision binoculars. Fortunately, Napoleon had been back for several minutes before the light flashed on again, then two guards slipped through the crack in the entrance, looked around, and then the gate creaked open. An army-type jeep came out first, a group of four men on it with automatic weapons, eyes checking out their surroundings as it disappeared around the comer. Thirty seconds later, a large limousine, windows darkened, emerged from the tunnel, wheels spinning slightly as it made contact with the slippery road, then it continued around the bend. Another half a minute, then a truck came, an armed Thrush soldier hanging from each side at the back, sight enhanced by night goggles.

  Solo and Kuryakin dropped into place the moment it cleared the comer, ducking to the side of the entrance, hiding behind the thick fake stand of trees. It was nearly a full minute before the flatbed emerged.