The Dagger Affair - McDaniel David - Страница 15

He got to his feet again, tossing the door aside, and glanced up. Illya was directly above him, so the body of the helicopter would have concealed the embarrassing incident. Napoleon decided to say nothing about it.

He took a few more deep breaths, and looked inside the cabin of the plane.

In the co-pilot's seat was a man in a brown suit. He had the remains of a Thompson sub-machine gun in a badly shattered case near his feet. He too was badly shattered.

So was the other brown suit in the back seat. He was not easily recognizable, but was probably the spokesman of the team. Thrush had lost a couple of good agents and a pilot.

In the fourth seat, firmly strapped in, lay the tan camera case.

Napoleon smiled a grim smile as he reached across the ruin of the second Thrush agent and unfastened the strap around the bag. The zipper was still closed.

He pulled the bag out. Thrush had really let themselves in for it this time — as expected, the E/D apparently had had a timer built in. It had gone off in the plane in mid-fight.

The engine had been killed, as had the signal from the tracer. The Thrush pilot, unable to restart the engine, had probably been trying to either glide to Shaver Lake for a water landing, or perhaps even into Fresno. But in the dusk, unable to see the ground clearly, none of his instruments functioning, the mountains had come up to meet him. There was a fair probability that they had never known what hit them.

Then luck had stepped in on U.N.C.L.E.'s side — the impact had damaged the Energy Damper, and the signal from the practically indestructable tracer had started again. The power for the long-range transmitter was beginning to fade after about seventeen hours, but there had been enough to guide them directly to the spot. Score one for our side, Napoleon thought, as he slung the camera case over his shoulder and started back up the ladder to the helicopter.

An U.N.C.L.E. T-33 jet was waiting for them at Fresno Airport, and less than an hour later they were in Los Angeles. Napoleon had radioed Feldman the situation, and waiting at this airport were a long-range jet, tanks full and engine warm; Garnet Keldur, just off the plane from Las Vegas; and Ralph Feldman, who greeted them as they stepped out of the T-33.

"Glad you made it back. Your fresh horse and one passenger are all ready to take off, as per your request, as they say. Both are fully fueled and good for the full distance to New York. I relayed the story to Waverly; he said if the gadget was damaged he'd have your heads. By the way — before you take off, could I possibly see the thing that's caused all this fuss?"

"It's inside here," said Illya, holding up the bag. "It may be wired to explode, so we'd rather not open it."

"Oh, I don't need to see the works. I just wanted to be a little impressed that something that small could do everything this is supposed to be able to do — and inspire all this chasing around. What's it weigh?"

Illya hefted it experimentally. "About ten pounds."

Feldman shook his head in amazement, and said nothing for a moment. Then he collected himself and said, "Well, give my regards to Broadway — and Waverly, too. You'll have to justify the expense for this private jet to him."

"Absolute necessity," said Napoleon. "The thing is quiet now, but if it should act up on an airliner and cause a crash, we'd all be terribly embarrassed. As well as dead. And there'd be a lot of innocent bystanders dead with us. This way, we'll have a parachute hooked to the thing from the minute we take off. We'll put Garnet beside it next to the hatch, and if it goes off and kills the engine, I yell to her, and she kicks it out. Then we can start up again, and go back and rescue it later with a horse, or a dog team, or something it won't put out of action."

Feldman nodded. "A good plan," he said. "Simple, practical, and effective."

"And mine," said Illya.

"Of course," said Napoleon, honestly.

Chapter 8: "Looks As If They've Got It Working."

It was early evening in New York. Waverly had not been at the airport to greet Napoleon, Illya and Garnet, but he had sent a car with orders to bring them directly to his office.

Outside what appeared to be a window, the United Nations building was a sparkling column against the darkening sky, and the lights on the river were brighter than the few stars that had begun to appear.

Waverly turned away from the view as his door opened, and two agents and a friend entered.

They carried a light brown camera bag directly to the swivel-mounted table and set it down, then took seats as Waverly ambled over, tamping his pipe.

"So this is your infernal machine, eh?" He looked it over carefully. "Not especially impressive. Had a look inside?"

"Not yet, sir. In case it might be booby-trapped, we thought we'd leave the surprises to the lab crew."

Waverly nodded absently and fumbled for a match. "Mr. Kuryakin, would you ring for a messenger to take this thing to the laboratory? They're expecting it."

To Waverly, lighting his pipe was a five-minute vacation from his job. He expected to spare no concentration from it, and took pains to be sure everything else was taken care of before he started. His staff was aware of this, and took equal caution not to interrupt him in the midst of this ritual.

Before the ancient briar was smoldering to his satisfaction, the messenger had come, been given the case, and departed without a word. At last an even glow came from the bowl of the pipe, and an unsteady streamer of aromatic smoke rose toward the air-conditioner. Waverly extinguished his fourth match and leaned up to the table.

"The laboratory has been given all the data in your rather spotty reports," he said. "I would like a complete coverage on everything that has happened since you left Las Vegas, and then we will go over your reports for detail. Incidentally, Miss Keldur, allow me to offer the thanks of this organization for your courageous cooperation. Anything you can add to these reports will be most welcome."

"Well, while Napoleon and Illya were off recovering the Energy Damper, I flew straight to Los Angeles. I met Mr. Feldman there, and told him all that had happened — as Illya had explained it to me. I was a little confused at the time — I'm still not quite sure what this 'Thrush' is — but I just waited there. And about one o'clock they came flying in with the camera bag, and we took off for New York. That's all I can add right now. Oh — the E/D was perfectly quiet through the whole trip."

"I think," said Illya, "it must have been damaged in the crash. The field seems to have been cut off about that time, judging from the tracer signal."

"Well, I suppose something would have had to have been disconnected to make it safe to transport. I only hope it was not damaged beyond all repair. Mr. Solo, describe the site of the crash, and everything you can remember about the crash and your recovery of the — ah — Energy Damper."

Napoleon leaned back and closed his eyes. He began with the first pickup of the signal from the tracer, described the terrain as they had approached, covered the brief search for a landing place, and gave a moment-by-moment account of his time on the ground. When he came to a description of the bodies, he opened his eyes for a glance at Garnet, and said, "I saw no evidence they had died any other way than the obvious. They were in?rather unpleasant condition. Do you need details?"

Waverly puffed his pipe a moment, and said, "Not now. Leave them in the final report, though."

Napoleon closed his eyes again and finished. He did not omit anything, including his struggles with the door. He heard a muffled giggle from Garnet, and a snort from Waverly, but did not pause.