The Thousand Coffin Affair - Avallone Michael - Страница 21

There was a stone Administration Building of sorts and a long, low hangar not too large in size. Possibly a remote outpost, strategically situated. France was still to the west. He checked the range of mountains showing behind him. And then there was no more time to look for outstanding landmarks. The small airfield was in an uproar.

Uniformed men were rushing from the Administration Building, rifles at high port. The patrol planes had taxied into view behind him, turning sharply to face his own plane, like matching bookends. Solo didn’t wait for any further activity. He jumped to the ground, feeling the concrete jar his feet. Jerry Terry, as compactly as she was built, felt very heavy.

He heard footsteps behind him and a click of rifle bolts driving home. And then a maddeningly familiar voice said:

“We meet again, Mr. Solo. And as you see, I am not as expendable as all that.”

He froze, a sudden recognition dawning with the subtlety of a thunderclap. He turned, forcing himself to smile.

“Well, well. Heard any loud humming sounds lately?” Standing before him, dressed in an official-looking gray uniform, was Denise Fairmount. Even boots, jodhpurs, visored cap and the German Luger jutting from her smooth fingers could not hide the beauty of her face and figure.

“Yes, Mr. Solo. And now it will be my turn to hand out the punishment. Take him. See that the girl isn’t shamming. And then bring Mr. Solo to my office. There are a few questions he must answer.”

Napoleon Solo shrugged.

Thrush again. And he had flown right into their waiting arms.

“KISS ME BEFORE YOU DIE”

THE PRIVATE interview began within ten minutes of their unscheduled landing. Solo was thankful for small favors. For some reason, Denise Fairmount seemed to be in charge here and she wanted to question him privately.

“You’re not looking eminently officerish, Denise. I rather like you in that uniform. Though I must say I much prefer silver lame on lady agents.”

“Please spare me your sarcasms. We may be alone, but I’ve only to press a buzzer and you will be extremely incapable of escaping from this place alive. Also, as you see, I have a Luger.”

He remained seated in the hard-backed wooden chair. She had ushered him into this tiny cubicle in the stone building and was now ensconced behind a low metal desk, idly training a dark Luger at his heart. It would be useless to try anything sudden or ill-timed. She knew it and he knew it.

She had removed the visored hat and placed it to her left on the desk. Her dark hair was wound in a severe yet attractive bun behind her neck.

“You should have told me you were a Colonel back in Paris,” Solo said lightly. ‘We could have had all kinds of fun saluting and marching back and forth.”

She frowned at him, her eyes cautious.

“Yes, I am a Colonel. I have until now killed twenty-seven men. I will kill more. I will kill you when the time comes. I tell you all this so that we will not waste each other’s time with the sentimentalities of the Hotel Internationale. You were an assignment then, however pleasant. And you still are. But that is all you will ever mean to me, Napoleon Solo.”

“If you say so, Colonel.”

He had already measured distances and opportunities, and concluded with regret that nothing could be accomplished in this office. It was so small that the woman would have little to do but start blasting away. A lady with twenty-seven notches on her Luger would have no difficulty managing the twenty-eighth one.

“I am interested in what you have to say, Solo.”

He smiled. “It’s nice to know I have a ready audience, anyway. But what about the girl? There’s nothing she can tell you.”

“When she is revived, she will be brought here. One can find out many things when two prisoners are involved, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Denise Fairmount laughed. “Perhaps not. But I’ve been instructed to take the chance. The unit you escaped from has lost their opportunity. When your escape was relayed here, we waited. I must confess I never thought I’d see you again.”

“You’re seeing me. Now what do we do?”

She showed her teeth in a smile, but her eyes were cold.

“You are to provide a list of names, I understand.”

“Is that all you want? I’ve got a million of them. Daniel Boone, George Washington, Dwight Eisenhower, my aunt Trudy—”

“Stop it!” she snapped, her military composure breaking; “Foolish talk will get you nowhere. Would you like to watch while the girl dies? It won’t be a pleasant death, I assure you.”

“I can think of several other things I’d prefer,” he admitted.

There was a black telephone on the desk. Solo could see that Denise Fairmount was expectant, waiting for it to ring. He gauged the distance between himself and the desk. Too far. He would have to find another way.

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in the spy business, Denise?”

Her dark eyebrows shifted in surprise.

“I believe in the future of what I am doing. The same, no doubt, as you do. That is reward enough. And when the day comes—” She paused, catching herself.

“Go on,” he urged. “You were going to say something about today Europe, tomorrow the world? The song never changes, does it? Only different people sing it from time to time.”

Her eyes flashed and the Luger jutted menacingly across the top of the desk.

“You are an idiot,” she said quietly. “I should kill you now and claim you attempted to escape.”

“Why don’t you, then? I can make it look good. I’ll reach across the desk and kiss you.”

She bit her lip, a flush rising in her face. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. “No, you will not trick me. In spite of what we shared at the Internationale. There are many men yet and I am still young.”

“You’ll get old in this business, lady. Take my word for it.”

“I only want your word on names, and places in the U.N.C.L.E. organization.”

“Sorry, I’m all out of names now.”

“We shall see—”

The phone rang. Deftly, she spun the receiver to her ear and listened. “Good. At once, then.” She replaced the receiver. He didn’t like the pleased smile on her face.

“You won’t change your mind, Solo?”

“It’s not my business to change my mind. I thought you knew that much about me, Denise.”

She stood up, brushing her jodhpurs with her left hand and tugging the Sam Browne belt which girdled her slim waist. The Luger centered on his chest. She also returned the officer’s cap to her head.

“Get up,” she commanded. “And walk through that door. We shall see how much agony your lovely friend will have to endure before you begin to tell us what we want to hear. Our doctor has patched up the lady so that she will be wide awake to enjoy her coming torment.’

“My, you are a bitch, aren’t you?”

“Move,” was all she said, motioning him toward the other door of the cubicle. Solo rose and sauntered toward the barrier, keeping his hands away from his body.

The door.

There was no telling what was behind the door.

It was as bad as he had expected. Worse, possibly. It was one thing to be in the soup himself, quite another to have to stand around while it was stirred with somebody he liked.

The door opened on a short corridor without illumination which led into the long, low hangar. Solo could smell the heavy odor of gasoline and grease. There was a stench like burning rubber in the air, too.

The hangar was empty of aircraft. The wide doors had been left open, hanging crookedly on their steel running bars to show the German landscape. The mountains stood poised in view beyond the tarmac.