The Corfu Affair - Phillifent John T. - Страница 23

"I think," she said, "it's high time I gave you another shot of sedation. You're beginning to get worked up…"

The trim blue-and-silver yacht heaved lazily at her anchor in the jewel-blue swell of the Ionian Sea, just half a mile south of the Kanoni Lagoon, and slightly less than that away from the eastern shoreline of the island. On the upper deck, in the glorious afternoon sunshine, Illya Kuryakin lolled in blue bathing briefs and acted the part of a careless holiday-maker. By his side sprawled Susan Harvey, taking the sun in a minimum white bikini. The pair of them had gone deliberately through the charade of showing excitement and interest in the scenery, had stared adequately but not too pointedly at the pink-and-white fairy tale palace in the near distance. Now they were just lazing, showing no great interest in anything.

Solo had warned them about Louise and her habits with her telescope, so they knew they had to go through with the act thoroughly. Their detailed and critical study of that candy floss edifice on the shore had been done from the safe obscurity of below decks. Down there, too, were four men, agents handpicked for muscle and determination. They were keeping completely out of sight. They were ready and willing to cross that blue water and pitch in to any activities, if called for, but not otherwise. Waverly had hammered that point home repeatedly.

"We can expect no local cooperation or support," he had warned. "And we do not want to provoke an international situation. There are plenty of people who would be only too happy to be able to pin on us the idea of an invasion by force. Hostile power. Interference in national affairs. That kind of thing. The Countess is a well known and respected figure. She would make full use of any such excuse, given the ghost of a chance."

So care was essential. Everyone understood that. The one thing none of them discussed, nor doubted, because it was so obvious, was that to Solo had fallen the hardest job of all, one with the most desperate risk. Desperate, and highly delicate, Kuryakin mused as he rolled over, and looked at his wristwatch.

"His plane is due to touch down in half an hour," he murmured. "Right on sunset. The Thrush big boys have been there almost an hour. She will be giving them the first sales pitch by now, and anxiously waiting for him with the new supply of modules. It's going to be tight. You sure he's fit?"

"Of course I'm not sure," Susan retorted, the edge on her voice revealing her tension. "I've said all along that he should have had at least another week under observation and therapy. But you would have it that we couldn't spare the time."

"Don't blame me, blame the circumstances," he said. And it was true.

As Solo had pointed out himself: "I'm overdue. I was instructed to fly direct to her from Miami, and the longer I'm delayed the more suspicious she is going to get. I know we have a cover story laid on, but that's too thin to be stretched very far."

And there had been another spur to speed. Keen-eyed observers had reported all the signs of another gathering of the big Thrush people at the candy floss palace. The reason was obvious, as Waverly had pointed out.

"The Countess works out her operations very carefully. Obviously this meeting follows on the acquisition of a new set of modules and is the moment for more sales. And each one of those sinister delegates will be carrying a quarter of a million dollars in cash. This is a moment that might not come again in years. We have to seize it."

So the plans had been worked out and set in motion at top speed. Solo had been able to help a great deal with inside information. He had been supplied with fake modules. He had described, as precisely as he could, the electronic setup, and the yacht carried equipment to jam any frequency the Countess might use, as a last resort. But, as Solo had been able to warn ahead of time,

"Be careful how you go, if you have to break in. That palace is booby-trapped like nothing you ever saw. Louise has it stuffed from floor to roof with priceless art treasures, and she takes no chances with them."

He reviewed that, and other things, as he sat in the plane and stared down at the green and blue beauty of the island now spinning and turning below as the pilot wheeled to get into position for the run in. Just barely, he could see the yacht, properly in position. He slid a hand into his pocket to get out his communicator and murmur into it.

"Puppydog to Goldilocks. Any bumps?"

"Not a wrinkle, so far." The reply was prompt. "The birds are gathered safely in. I shall go swimming at dusk. Shine blue when you need me. Good luck, and out!"

Solo carefully deactivated his instrument and put it away. In the same movement he peeled a thin strip of lead foil from the module that was stuck to his jawbone with flesh-colored plastic, knowing that Crawford White, who was one of the strong-arm party below, would be simultaneously removing his module. So far as they could tell, Louise had not detected the switch at all. He hoped she would not detect this second one. He eyed the red warning in front of him and spoke it aloud, ruefully.

"Fasten your seatbelts, hah! You're not kidding!"

Purple-red dusk was rolling down from the mountains as the airport taxi set him down by the steel-frame gates, wheeled away and went protesting back up the steep little side road. Solo stepped close, directed a long arm through the grille and round the corner to the switch that sent the gates swinging open.

There had been no hint of communication from Louise. He would have been able to feel it had there been any. The fact bothered him. He leaned on the gates to close them and began walking up the drive. That walk seemed to have no end. His nerves were on tiptoe and every shadow offered refuge for possible danger, a temptation to alarm. The biggest worry of all was that with Louise rules were elastic. She could make them, and keep to them, so long as it suited her. But she could also toss them out of the window as and when she felt like it.

She must know, by now, that he was near. For instance, she must know that he had entered the gateway. That gate could be electrified, to discourage unwanted guests from leaning on it. And you had to lean on it to move it. But there had been no jolt, so perhaps he was clear. Perhaps! On the other hand it could well be that she was playing with him. You could never be sure.

By the time he reached the stone steps and began to mount he was moist with sweat again. And that wouldn't do. Even if she lacked every other method, Louise would be able to note his tension with the naked eye.

He paused just inside the hall doorway to take a slow look around and to cool off. Everything looked unchanged and as it had been. Then he started, nervously, as a figure moved into sight and came across the floor to meet him. It was Katherine Winter. He wasn't certain what to do with his face. She looked prettier than he remember, unexpectedly cool and wholesome in a gay cotton print. He chose a smile. She returned it with a hint of concern.

"Nathan! I—we have been worried about you. We had begun to think something must have happened when you didn't arrive five days ago. Where have you been?"

"Oh, here and there. Ran into a few snags, but nothing serious and it's all right now. How's Madame?"

Seemingly casual, he watched her closely. After all this time he still was none too sure about Katherine. She was, without doubt, a first-class cook. Louise had sworn she was nothing more. But you could never be sure. Chances were she had a hole in her head and was nothing more than one of Louise's growths. As he watched her, he saw her beaming smile fade just a trifle.