The Mad Scientist Affair - Philifrent John T - Страница 25

“No, not until nine. Let’s work it out.” She spread the fingers of one hand and ticked them off with the index finger of the other. “There’s two men on the gate, and two men on fence patrol. Four loaders, but we needn’t count them, because they’ve been eliminated already. And two men in the powerhouse. That’s all. Six men!”

“Plus Uncle Mike and Trilli,” Solo added, “makes eight. Four to one!”

“Since when does three go into eight four times?” she flared, but Kuryakin had a different point of interest.

“Powerhouse? You generate your own electricity?”

“That’s right. Two one hundred kilowatt turbines, one running, one in hand. Almost all our staff is process control and a power breakdown would be a disaster. What are you thinking of?”

“I got a brief look at the laboratory in the castle cellar, md it was obvious what a lot of electrical equipment your uncle uses. He will have his own private laboratory at the plant, naturally?”

“Oh yes,” she nodded, and her face tightened as she thought. “If Uncle has locked himself away in there, we’ll have a terrible job to get at him!”

“That’s what I thought. He’s a man who guards his privacy well.”

“So?” Solo prompted.

“If we can clobber the powerplant and stop all the machinery, that will bring him out of his shell faster than anything.” He eased the pickup to a crawl at the top of the gentle rise that enabled them to look down on the laid-out orderliness of the brewery. There was no sign of life or movement. Sarah extended her arm to point, as if the plume of smoke from the tall chimney had not been guide enough.

“That’s the powerhouse. And that building there, that’s Uncle’s lab.” They went roaring down the road they had traveled once before, and this time they kept on going straight past the main gate, along the ruler-straight road by the fence and to the corner into a right-hand turn. Solo expected his colleague to slow up as they approached the powerhouse area, but Kuryakin drove on past and then halted.

Casting an eye at the high wire fence, he said, “You want to bet the telephone has been busy again?”

“The four boys we met down the road, you mean?” Solo wondered. “I’d be prepared to believe they’ve had an interesting story to tell, but I can’t see anybody on guard here. Why have we stopped right at this spot?”

“I was looking for a suitably damp patch of ground.”

“Oh!” Solo nodded as if that made sense to him. “We’re going to pelt them with mud pies?”

“No.”’ Kuryakin was gravely serious as he slid out from under the wheel. “We’re going to take out their powerplant. Keep your eyes peeled for possible interference, Napoleon; and while you’re doing that, have a good look at that fence. Don’t touch it, just look. Note particularly the insulators!”

Solo blinked, watched his colleague hurry around to the back of the pickup, cast a sharp glance up and down the deserted road, and then stared at the high wire fence. Insulators? Given the clue, he noted that the top, second, third and fourth wires were slung from the heavy-angle fence-posts on ceramic holders, and that the wires themselves made unbroken half-loops around each post. Kuryakin came back heavy-footed under a ten-foot length of steel chain that had been used to anchor the generator. Solo scowled at him.

“Electrified fence?”

Sarah made a squeak as she realized the truth for herself. “I never noticed that before. Now how will we get in?”

Kuryakin dropped the chain and began stamping the shackle-end into a soft muddy patch. “Your uncle is quite a planner,” he said, “but this time, I think, he must have been reading too many lurid novels. It’s always been surprising to me that in stories and movies, when people come face to face with an electrified fence, they get worried. In actual fact, such a fence is a very delicate thing.”

“Delicate?” Solo echoed. “With several thousand volts streaming through those wires, I’m the one who feels delicate. I’m allergic to the stuff.”

Kuryakin ignored him, pointed a question at Sarah: “Why have insulators?”

She frowned prettily and said, “That’s to stop the current leaking to earth, of course, through the posts.”

“Exactly. The electricity will run away, given half a chance. I’m going to give it a chance and a half. Keep the engine running, Napoleon; this won’t take very long.” The shackle-end was safely bedded now. He lifted the slack length of the chain and stopped close to the fence, formed loops, made a trial swing, then cast the spare length up and over, and stepped back quickly.

The end of the chain cleared the top wire and curled over, flicked back, and for a few exciting seconds even the bright morning sunshine was eclipsed by the corona of coruscating flashes and sparks that spat and crackled where the links met the loaded wires. In the distance, and over the spitting of discharge, they heard the powerful and quiet hum of the turbo-dynamo lift suddenly into a howl, and then a protesting whine. Then abused circuit-breakers tripped out, the pyrotechnics ceased, and the distant dynamo lost its howl—but by that time Kuryakin was back in the cab of the truck and it was whirling swiftly away from the dead fence in a tight arc, to circle around and drive, full-tilt, where the two leaves of the fuel-loading gate met.

The three inside ducked and held on. The gate shivered and burst inwards under the impact. The truck rolled forward. As Solo hauled madly on the wheel to bring them around in the direction of the laboratory, they all heard the full-throated roar of escaping steam as the boiler safety-valves lifted.

“That’ll keep them busy for a while, Napoleon, so we only have to worry about fence-patrol and the gate-porters.”

“And to wait until King Mike comes out,” Solo agreed, treading on the brake and skidding the truck to a halt outside the laboratory. To Sarah he tossed the question, “Is there a back entrance to this establishment?”

“No. This is the only door. Look out, there!”

“I see him!” Even as she yelled and pointed, Solo drew his pistol and fired, half-out of the cab. The large man who had been running urgently along the footpath on the inside of the fence towards them kept right on moving for another six feet or so, but in a face-downwards attitude, and then he lay still, his shotgun skidding away to one side. “That leaves three, Illya. We’re wearing them down.”

The heavy double-doors of the laboratory remained inscrutable. Kuryakin appealed to Sarah: “What’s the layout inside, beyond that door?’

“A straight passage, with offices leading off either side, and process-rooms and things. Are you thinking of going in?”

“Better than waiting out here to be picked off. There’s a couple of rifles in the back, Napoleon. Discourage the opposition a bit while I go in there and call on Uncle Mike.”

Groping in his pocket for one of U.N.C.L.E.’s special door-openers, the Russian cast a quick glance up and down the little roadway, batted at his blond fringe, dashed across the gap and stuffed the little thermite bomb in the keyhole, triggered it and dashed back. As soon as the flare had died he flung himself at the door again, crashing it open with his shoulder and going down headfirst in a skid along the polished floor of the interior, his pistol out and swinging in an arc, his eyes flicking nervously in an attempt to watch all directions at one.

The reaction was totally negative. Seconds later the doors crashed open again to admit Sarah in a similarly headlong dive. As they swung shut after her, he saw she had thought to bring a rifle. They lay still and looked at each other for ten heartbeats, then he stirred and got up on his knee.

“The place sounds deserted. We’ll have to check, but I have a feeling we’ve missed the boat. Careful how you point that thing!”

With her help, he searched the building rapidly. It was very modem, the equipment bringing nods of approval from him, but it was quite lifeless. If O’Rourke and Trilli had been here, they had gone again without trace. Kuryakin sighed and pointed the way back to the entrance, but before they could reach it they heard the crash-blam of shotguns and the whipcrack answer of rifle fire. Orienting swiftly, Kuryakin shoved open a side door, trotted the length of a massive chemistry bench to the far window and peered cautiously out. The next building was some fifteen yards away, and as he looked he saw a jet of smoke spurt out and whip away in the slight breeze, heard the crash of the shot. As Sarah came to nudge his elbow he pointed, grabbed an earthenware jar from the bench and flung it through the glass.