[Magazine 1966-­08] - The Cat and Mouse Affair - Davis Robert Hart - Страница 21

"The cellar, Mr. Kuryakin. As you know, San Pablo was once a pirate port. This cellar is part of the old castle. It is most convenient. Listen."

The old man held up his thin, aristocratic hand. Illya listened. There was a sound, a strange sound off to the left. The sound of running water!

Carlos Ramirez smiled. "Yes, an old underground river. It is all but forgotten, you see. But I always loved the history of my country, and there was a story of the river. It runs out to the sea in a hidden cove. The old governor often used it for his pirate forays. I find it most convenient for disposing of unwelcome guests."

"Very interesting," Illya said.

"Isn't it?" Ramirez said. "Bring them all. We will get them out this way."

The soldiers marched Illya across the large, gloomy cellar to the left wall. The old man opened a door. Through the door Illya could see the deep dark river running fast, and a boat moored to the side. A stone walkway seemed to run to the right out of sight. Ramirez turned to face Illya.

"I don't imagine you could be persuaded to join me? I could make it worth your while. I like intelligent young men. Surely you have enough intelligence to know that we live in a jungle, and that you could do so much better if you would drop your ridiculous ideals."

"I imagine I could, " Illya said. "But I prefer to keep my ridiculous ideals."

"Why, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Because someone must have them."

"Ah, an honest public servant. Unfortunate."

"Besides, there is Mr. Solo."

"Naturally, my offer includes him."

Illya nodded. "I suggest you tell him yourself then."

Ramirez laughed. "Really, Mr. Kuryakin, I -"

The old poet never finished. Solo appeared in the doorway to the secret river. O'Hara stood beside him. The soldiers started towards them. Solo and O'Hara cut them down in a hail of bullets. M.M. Roy raised his hands. The Lion of Zambala shouted his surrender!

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot."

The woman, Jezzi Mahal, was made of stronger metal. She bent quickly to snatch a gun from a fallen soldier.

Illya Kuryakin dove for cover.

For a long moment the old man stood alone in the center of the cellar staring in disbelief as his men fell under the hail of accurate fire from the U.N.C.L.E. Specials of Solo and O'Hara.

Then Jezzi Mahal opened fire. Solo and O'Hara turned their guns on her. She was down behind a heavy cask. The two agents had to take cover. Illya leaped up from where he had been lying and tackled the woman. She went down biting and kicking. Solo and O'Hara came to his aid. Together they subdued the woman. Illya looked around.

"Ramirez!"

The old poet was gone. Illya and Solo left O'Hara with the prisoners and searched the cellar. Illya saw the second secret exit. It was a narrow tunnel that led up and out into the grounds.

"He's gone for his soldiers."

"I saw them," Solo said. "A whole private army."

"Upstairs, quick!" Illya cried.

They herded their two prisoners up the same way they had come down and came out in the main entry hall. The members of the tribunal were milling like sheep. Illya waved his pistol, the gun he had picked from one of the dead soldiers.

"Inside! Back inside!" Illya shouted.

They all went back into the ornate conference room. O'Hara went to work barricading the only door. It was heavy and had a strong lock. O'Hara, and the members of the international tribunal, piled chairs, enormous sideboards, and cabinets against the door. O'Hara handed extra guns to members of the tribunal, and told them to guard Roy and the Mahal woman.

At the windows, Illya and Solo looked out into the dark grounds of the palace.

"It's quiet," Solo said.

"It won't be," Illya said. "Ramirez won't give up. If he can kill us all, he can still get away with it."

"At least he'll try," Solo said. "Here they come!"

The black-uniformed troops came out of the dark and trees and ran toward the palace. Illya and Solo held their fire. Then, as the black-uniformed troops almost reached the palace, they opened fire.

The attackers went down like wheat under a scythe from the fire of the two agents. Some of the tribunal members joined them at the windows. O'Hara covered a third window.

The attackers turned and ran back to the trees.

In the ornate and elegant room of the palace, Illya and Solo watched the dark trees. The two agents lighted cigarettes and sat down against the wall.

"He'll send them back," Solo said.

"He will," Illya said.

"How much do you think they'll take?"

"Hard to say. Let us hope, Napoleon, that they will take very little more."

"We have very little more to give," Solo said. "Ammunition."

"I'd rather not think about that," Illya said.

Solo raised up and looked out the window. A faint light was streaking the sky to the east. Dawn, and in the light Solo saw the black figures come again out of the trees. The two agents rested their guns on the windowsills.

They beat off one more attack.

On the third attack there was not enough ammunition. The black-uniformed attackers poured into the palace and began to beat on the door into the ornate and vast conference room. Solo and Illya fired their last rounds into the heavy door. Screams outside and for a moment the attack on the door stopped. Then the shouts began again, and -

The shouts stopped.

The hammering on the door stopped.

Many feet ran away out of the palace.

There was the sound of many guns firing outside on the grounds, elegant in the growing light of dawn. Illya and Solo raced to the windows. Outside the black-uniformed soldiers were broken and running, some of them. Most had dropped their guns and stood with hands high.

Through the trees of the palace grounds, the whole of San Pablo spread out below in the dawn behind them, came the ragged guerrillas of Max Steng, Mr. Smith and Steng himself in the lead. And with them were the uniformed men of the second regiment, Colonel Brown and Jemi Zamyatta leading them.

"Look!" Solo said, pointing.

One small knot of black-uniformed soldiers had formed and now opened fire. Standing behind these men was Carlos Ramirez. The old poet stood tall, his cane waving, urging his men on.

The Stengali and the second regiment troops opened fire.

Carlos Ramirez fell with the last of his men.

* * *

Alexander Waverly searched in the pockets of his waistcoat for a match. The busy brows of the aristocratic face were knit in a frown as he failed to find a match. Napoleon Solo handed his chief a book of matches.

"Er, thank you, Mr. Solo," Waverly said. "Well, although I must say that you gentlemen took a frightfully long time to realize how you were being handled, the affair seems to be coming to a satisfactory conclusion. The mice have won and the cat is gone, shall we say?"

"Roy?"

Waverly succeeded in lighting his pipe. "Yes, with Ramirez dead, Roy seemed to think it wise to allow his deputy to become acting premier. The acting premier has exposed all Roy's personal dealings with various American and British companies who think more of profit than people. The election will be held next week. Zamyatta seems assured of victory, especially since Max Steng has agreed to stand with him."

"I believe even Mr. Smith is standing for parliament," Illya said.

"And Colonel Brown, although refusing to participate in politics, has agreed to serve as minister of war and security chief, no matter who wins the elections."