The Dagger Affair - McDaniel David - Страница 20

"The interrogation you just witnessed, combined with our knowledge of Keldur's psychology, indicates most strongly that this is not a group of rational individuals," said the Thrush leader, his inflection implying that this in itself was sufficient reason for their destruction. "DAGGER, we have every reason to believe, is made up of fanatics — people who are incapable of logical reasoning." He hesitated. "We have not yet been able to determine the cause behind such a large number of fanatically dedicated individuals clustering together. Nor have we been able to make an estimate as to the actual number. But our data indicates a minimum of one hundred."

"You have shown us something we didn't know," said Waverly. "Allow us to return the favor. Only the innermost circle of DAGGER is aware of their actual goal. Other parts of the organization know only as much of the total as is necessary. As to their fanaticism, this is also related to their position in the ranks. The innermost circle is quite as fanatic as your evidence indicates."

"Fanatics are the worst enemies," said the Thrush, "and the worst friends, as well. We employ a few, for special purposes, but dislike them as a matter of policy. Any man who cannot be bought cannot be trusted. He may sell you out at a whim."

Waverly's face crumpled into a smile of disbelief. "This may seem immodest," he said, "but I have always considered myself trustworthy, and of my best agents I have heard nothing of bribery."

"Proof of our point, Mr. Waverly. A man's price is not always money, but depends on the man. Money is the most common denominator, but in fact your loyalty has been bought — by the ideals which the United Network Command for Law Enforcement represents. This is your price — and it is a price which Thrush cannot meet. If U.N.C.L.E. stopped working toward those ideals — if they stopped paying your price — you would take your services to any other organization that would pay the coin you can accept. You are trustworthy because you have been bought — and at a price which few could top."

Waverly nodded slowly and thoughtfully, sucking on his pipe. He smiled again. "You may be right. And may I add that most of my top agents are 'bought' for the same price — service, directed toward the control of crime. Crime of all kinds," he added pointedly.

He considered a moment, then suggested, "I would guess that the price Thrush pays its highest echelon is personal power?"

"That is mostly correct. We try to buy every man at his own price. Power is the highest, money the lowest. You show a quick grasp of our principles — I think we may be able to come to some kind of agreement after all."

* * *

Negotiations continued for several hours. Waverly was on the intercom part of the time, on the transoceanic telephone part of the time, and bringing consultants from other departments into his office most of the time. There were a vast number of things to arrange.

The Thrushes were to remain as hostages, but Waverly insisted on at least two high-ranking operatives of equal value to Solo and Kuryakin. Thrush agreed without reservation to cooperate with U.N.C.L.E. until the problem of Kim Keldur and DAGGER was nullified. At the insistence of Waverly, they agreed, although hesitantly, to modify their methods of operation to some extent during the period of cooperation, out of deference to the sensitivities of the governmental supporters of U.N.C.L.E. with regard to anything illegal.

Because of the greater flexibility of the Thrush organization, it was determined that Solo and Kuryakin would go to San Francisco, to work with the Nest there.

"Keldur has definitely pulled out of Los Angeles," the Thrush spokesman said. "We have been able to trace a few of his supporting connections, and everything indicates that his base is somewhere in the Bay Area. Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin have the only first-hand knowledge of DAGGER."

"Of course," said Waverly. He paused, thoughtfully. "I think," he said slowly, "we will be sending a third party."

"Fine," said the Thrush. "Separate accommodations?"

"Not necessary," said Waverly. "I plan to work in the same conditions my men do."

Chapter 10: "The Technological Hierarchy For What?"

The jet touched down in San Francisco late the following afternoon. Among the first passengers out were Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin, and Alexander Waverly. To the casual eye they would not have appeared to be together. The wave of disemplaning passengers carried them through the collapsible passage from the jet directly into a waiting room, and into the corridor leading to the center of the terminal. Then, its force spent and its components spreading out, the wave deposited them near the doors at the top of the corridor.

They walked into a flare of lights, behind which large gray pieces of equipment bulked. Napoleon got a glimpse of a television camera, and then a microphone was shoved in his face and a voice said, "Welcome to San Francisco! My name's Bud Carey — what's yours?"

Squinting against the lights, Napoleon was able to make out a tall, handsomely polished man in a gray suit. He was showing a lot of teeth. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Heh-heh-heh!"

"Solo — Napoleon Solo."

"Well, Mr. Solo! Is this your first trip to San Francisco?"

"No — no, it isn't." He was able to see past the lights now, and Waverly's retreating figure was silhouetted against the daylight beyond the glass wall across the concourse. Illya was nowhere in sight.

"Our question for today, Mr. Solo, is, 'What do you think is the best age to be?'"

With scarcely a pause, Napoleon said, "One hundred and fifteen."

"Well, how about that! Why would you like to be a hundred and fifteen?"

"I didn't say I'd like it — I just said it would be a good age to be. If you were one hundred and fifteen, think of how long you would have lived."

The emcee didn't think of it. Instead he asked, "And how old are you, Napoleon?"

Napoleon scowled. "I'm sixty-three. And I owe my good health and continued vitality to daily applications of alcohol inside and out, a diet of raw meat and french pastry, and half a dozen cigars every day. Now if you'll excuse me..."

As he hurried past the TV camera and lights, he heard the emcee exclaiming, "Sixty-three! It certainly is a wonderful thing, ladies and gentlemen! Heh-heh! He must be a Californian! Now here's a nice-looking young lady ?" At this Napoleon threw a glance over his shoulder and saw the announcer bending down to address a shriveled hag who could well have been one hundred and fifteen. He didn't wait to hear her answer.

Waverly and Illya were standing impatiently by the baggage delivery area. There was a girl in crisp whites with them, wearing a blue cape lined with red, and Napoleon regretted even more the time he had spent making a fool of himself in front of dozens of televiewers.

There was their luggage too, and Waverly turned as he approached and looked at him coolly. "Our presence in San Francisco is supposed to be somewhat less than public knowledge. Did you consider the effect your appearance could have on our Mr. Keldur?"

"Now really, Mr. Waverly, I've seen that show, and they don't exactly call for volunteers. Bud Carey just grabs whoever comes within reach. Besides, Mr. Solo doesn't look like such a publicity hound to me."

Napoleon looked down at the girl. She was small and slender, with very long, very blonde hair under her starched white cap. Her features were delicate. Her eyes were large and brilliantly blue, and looked intently into his. He found himself speechless for a moment.