[Magazine 1967-­05] - The Synthetic Storm Affair - Edmonds I. G. (читать книги онлайн бесплатно полные версии txt) 📗

"There are some warehouses back on Fourteenth Street near the river," one of the boys said. "The company that owns them shut down about two weeks ago."

"But they have a watchman there," his companion objected. "I know. We tried to get in and he run us off."

"But THRUSH could have bribed the watchman to provide them a quick place to duck into. Apparently this thing was well planed in advance," Napoleon said. "Where is this place?"

"Hang on, Unk!" the youthful driver cried. "Awaaay we go!"

Rubber screeched on the pavement and the car shot forward. The hot rod careened around the corner on two wheels in a way that made Napoleon Solo wonder dismally if he wasn't in more danger from the driver than he was from THRUSH.

The car shot down along a railroad track and made another short right. The warehouses loomed dead ahead. The driver braked sharply.

"Do you want to go inside?" he asked.

The man from U.N.C.L.E. shook his head.

"They would spot the car," he said. "Park along the fence. Douse your lights when you drive up. I'll walk in."

"We'll go with you!" the driver said eagerly.

Napoleon hesitated. He knew it was too dangerous for the boys to accompany him. Yet he was reluctant to tell them no after all the help he got from them. He was trying to think of some excuse to send them somewhere else, somewhere they would not be in danger but would feel that they were contributing.

Before he could make a decision, he saw a car move around the corner of the warehouse. It was just after dark, too dark to be driving without lights, but there wasn't the sign of a glimmer from the cab. A bigger car came right behind it. It also had its lights completely switched off.

"Look!" he said hurriedly to the boys. "I can't wait. Take this!"

He shoved the pen-communicator in their hands. "Just talk in the mouthpiece here where this tiny hole is. Tell Mr. Waverly what is going on. Tell him to call all our people and have them surround this area."

"We want to go with you!" the boy cried.

"This is more important," Napoleon said hurriedly. "There are too many for us to handle with only one gun between us. Now get me some help quickly—or a man's life may be lost!"

"Sure thing, Unk!" the boy cried. "Hey, Uncle. Hey, Uncle!"

This last cry was made into the pen-communicator. Napoleon winced as he jumped from the car and ran into the darkness. He could just imagine Alexander Waverly's startled anger at the boy's irreverant cry. But he had no choice.

He could not permit the boys to rush into certain death. He knew that they would follow him regardless of any orders unless he gave them something to do.

THREE

Napoleon bent low and ran along the side of the fence. The cab was moving slowly in order not to attract attention. Solo came to the gate. The truck gate was closed, but there was a small personnel gate open. Just beyond it was a guard shack.

Napoleon moved closer, hugging the fence. He could see the shadowy figure of the guard standing in front of the shack. The small personnel gate was ajar, but when Napoleon pushed on it, the un-oiled hinges squeaked.

The guard whirled. Napoleon saw the silhouette of the gun in his hand.

"Who's there?" the guard said in a harsh voice.

"Quick!" Solo cried. It didn't take much acting ability to put a lot of agitation in his voice. "Where are they? There isn't a second to lose. Those rats from U.N.C.L.E. are on to us!"

"What!" the guard cried. "Mr. Martin told me this was perfectly safe when I agreed to let them use this place. I don't want to get in any trouble!"

Napoleon Solo hesitated, wondering if he could trust the man to help him. He decided it was too much of a risk.

"Come here," he said.

When the guard walked closer, Napoleon's hand flashed up and hit him against the temple with the butt of the gun. Solo caught the guard as he fell. He pulled the man into the shack. Then he turned and scooped up the fallen man's gun. He shoved it into his coat pocket.

The two cars were coming closer. The driver of the cab stuck his head out and snarled, "Hurry up and get that gate open! We haven't any time to lose!"

"Okay. Keep your shirt on!" Napoleon replied in a muffled voice. "I'm coming as fast as I can."

He shuffled across the road, imitating the guard's dragging walk. He pulled open the gate and started to swing it back. Then before the driver could put the cab in gear, Solo leaped forward. He swung the gun in a vicious blow.

The driver squalled and tried to duck. The blow caught him on the side of the head. He slumped over the wheel. Solo whirled. The big limousine behind stopped with a squeal of brakes. The darkness was split with the red stab of muzzle blast. A bullet just missed Solo. It struck the car fender and carreened off with a deadly whine.

Solo dropped flat on the pavement to present as small a target as possible. He jerked up his own gun, but the trigger stuck. The blow he struck the driver had broken the trigger spring.

He twisted frantically, rolling back under the stalled cab. It was a moment of extreme danger. If the driver recovered and started the car, he would be run over.

He dug in his pocket for the guard's gun. It was a bigger, heavier .45 caliber. Solo's own gun was a snubnosed .38, carried because its smaller size would fit more unobstrusively under his coat. He wished desperately he had the supremely accurate U.N.C.L.E. gun, but its bulk prevented it being carried on the person.

He pulled himself up against the left rear wheel. The driver of the limousine and his woman companion did not try to escape by driving away. That made Solo suspect that Illya was a prisoner in the cab.

This supposition was borne out when he heard the man yell at the girl: "Hurry! The shots will bring the police in a few minutes! Take this package of gas tablets! I'll keep that U.N.C.L.E. rat pinned down! Throw one of these pellets in the back of the cab. Suffocate our prisoner. He may have heard too much and can incriminate me. We've got to remove him."

"Okay!" the girl gasped. "How do I use them?"

"They're glass. Just throw one inside. Hurry! We haven't a second to lose!"

The two split, coming on opposite sides of the car. Napoleon groaned. There was no way he could cover both sides of the car. He tried to move toward the side the girl was approaching, but a bullet ripped the air at his ear. He whirled and fired back, but his shot went wild.

He whirled. He saw the girl's ankles. It was all of her he could see of her from his position under the car. He realized then that he made a tactical error in climbing under it. He would have been better off taking his chances in the open. That way he could have maneuvered. Now he was completely pinned down!

He tried to draw a bead on Lupe's ankles, hoping he could knock her off her feet before she could hurl the suffocating gas in on top of Illya Kuryakin.

But she moved too quickly. The right wheel got between them. He tried to snake his body around for a better shot, knowing that he was exposing himself to a deadly shot from the gun of Maxwell Martin. It was a chance he had to take. Otherwise his U.N.C.L.E. partner would die!

As he turned he saw the girl stagger back. He couldn't understand what hit her. Maxwell Martin also was so startled that he whirled to face this new danger without shooting at the exposed Napoleon Solo.

Solo, suddenly suspecting the truth, ignored the girl. He whirled and fired at Martin. The THRUSH man staggered, falling with a wailing cry.