The Dagger Affair - McDaniel David - Страница 17

Pete laughed bitterly. "Look. This is like showing a transistor radio to Edison. Worse. Edison knew what radio waves were — and was a heck of a lot smarter than I am. He could tell you what it did, even if he couldn't tell you how. Getting this thing started was a piece of luck — getting it stopped again was just as lucky. We connected a broken wire to start it, but disconnecting the wire again didn't stop it. Besides, the soldering guns got cold and we were working by match-light. I cut a wire — a different one — and it stopped. And that was about the third wire I cut. I know which ones I cut, and I think I could put it back together again. It might start if I did, or it might not. I think I could get it going again, and I'm pretty sure I could stop it if I did. Outside of that, I don't know anything."

"You read the reports on this — do you remember the description of a variable factor called 'Theta'? Do you think you could control it?"

The lab technician gave a snort of laughter. "If there was a knob marked 'Theta' I could twiddle it and see what happened. But all there is that I can understand is a timer. And it's gone off a long time ago."

"What are the chances of building another one?"

"For the guy that built this one, pretty good. For me? Ask a bushman to build a laser!" His voice dropped conspiratorially. "Look, I've got a top clearance — tell me the truth. Did you really get this off a flying saucer?"

Waverly harrumphed, and his face seamed into a smile. "No. I wish we had — the Martians would probably be more willing to cooperate than the individuals who actually did built this." He sighed. "Keep working on it, and find out what you can. Obviously some of the circuitry is dummy to confuse investigation. If you need to start it up again, let me know beforehand, and I'll authorize transportation to Site Delta, so you won't upset things here again. Do everything you can to it — short of destroying it. And if you absolutely have to destroy it, check with me before you do."

The technician shook his head sadly. "I'll do what I can, but I don't know how much that'll be."

Waverly clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "It will be as much as any man in our organization could do — that's why you're here. Now do it."

Pete lit up with encouragement. Compliments from Waverly were rare. Of course, they almost inevitably accompanied his request for the impossible, as in this case. Perhaps this was one reason his workers so often accomplished the impossible.

* * *

Back upstairs, Napoleon gave voice to a speculation.

"Thrush seems to know quite a bit about what DAGGER is doing. What do you think of the idea that DAGGER might be just another front for a Thrush operation?"

Waverly exhaled a cloud of blue smoke and shook his head thoughtfully. "Seems unlikely. They lost three operatives and an aircraft trying to capture the Energy Damper. And they would be aware it is beyond our ability to duplicate — or even understand. It could do more harm here in this building than anywhere else." He steepled his fingers and stared at them as if he were trying to remember how many he had. "Besides, Thrush seems quite as concerned about DAGGER as we are. An interesting point for speculation. Thrush has definite reasons for not wanting to see the world destroyed. I wonder..."

In the following seconds Waverly did not seem inclined to say just what it was he wondered about. None of his listeners intended to speak first, though, and after a while he nodded slowly and thoughtfully to himself, and the corners of his mouth twitched a little.

At last he looked up. "It's getting late. There will be quite a bit to do tomorrow, I'm afraid. Miss Keldur, have you residential arrangements? If not, we can put you up in one of our apartments for the time being."

"Thank you," she said. "I'd appreciate that."

Napoleon rose, saying, "It's been quite a while since lunch. If you're as hungry as I am, I know a little Italian restaurant, and since it's Saturday night..." His voice faded as he accompanied her to the door.

Illya paused a moment, and looked carefully at Waverly. "If you will pardon my asking, sir, do you expect something to happen tomorrow?"

Waverly leaned as far back as his chair would allow. "Yes, Mr. Kuryakin, I do expect something tomorrow or Monday — something totally unexpected." He frowned. "I only wish I had some idea of the form in which to expect it."

Illya pondered this for a few seconds, and then said, "Thank you, sir. Good night." He allowed the door to slide softly closed behind him.

Section III: "Though It Rain DAGGERS With Their Points Downward."

Chapter 9: "Take Us To Your Leader."

The unexpected happened right on schedule just after lunch on Monday. Napoleon and Illya were, surprisingly enough, at their desks, taking care of paperwork that had piled up while they been away. Garnet was shopping. No one knew where Waverly was — as usual. At about fifteen minutes after one the usual quiet of U.N.C.L.E. headquarters was shattered. A cascade of flashing lights, bells, horns and sirens sounded as every alarm in the building went off at once.

Television monitors at strategic points sprang to life, showing the scene in the entrance area just behind Del Floria's shop. The receptionist had hit every button on the board, and was now standing behind the desk, her back to the camera, gun in hand. Running footsteps converged on the area as shirt-sleeved agents, bristling with armament, rushed to her aid.

Standing just inside the secret door, looking about them with mild interest and complete calm, stood four individuals — three men and a woman. All were formally, neatly dressed in black suits, and were reasonably pleasant-looking. One had just set a large briefcase gently on the floor by his feet, and all were standing patiently, hands at their sides, as the protective mechanism of U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters closed around them.

All four were wearing Thrush badges. The men wore them like blazer badges on their coat pockets; the woman wore one quite a bit smaller and higher on her jacket.

They said nothing, but watched the tumult about them and waited for the alarms to run their course and eventually to be silenced.

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were not the first to arrive, and found themselves blocked by the backs of a half-circle of U.N.C.L.E. agents with automatics and sub-machine guns. The alarm bells were being stifled throughout the building as they hurried into the entrance area, and the last one stopped as they shouldered their way to the front of the crowd.

In the silence, the tallest of the men said, "If you're quite finished..." A buzzer went off suddenly over the door leading into the tailor shop, and the receptionist did something with the intercom. A moment later it stopped.

The Thrush agents looked around carefully, and spoke again. "If you're quite finished, we would like to speak with Mr. Waverly. We are unarmed — we are not dangerous, and we are willing to submit to any examinations. The briefcase is not a weapon." He picked it up, placed it on the desk, and slowly and gently opened it.

The circle of guns bristled as their holders moved a half-step back, and the briefcase came fully open. It appeared to contain only some papers and two small reels of what looked like videotape.

The receptionist looked at them, eyes wide; looked into the briefcase, and looked back at them. Her mouth was open a few seconds before anything came out. "Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm afraid not. But under the circumstances..."