[Magazine 1968-012] - The Million Monsters Affair - Davis Robert Hart (серия книг .txt) 📗

He waited, full in the open now, presenting himself as a target to draw out the other. There was a long ten-second wait. At least it seemed long to - Napoleon. He slipped the gun cylinder back to the knockout pellets.

Still there was no sight of the man. Solo started cautiously forward, wondering if the THRUSH liquidator had fled. But as he stepped up on the sidewalk, Napoleon caught a sudden movement to the left. He whirled and fired. The THRUSH agent pitched forward.

Solo took a second to assure himself that the man was unconscious. Then he propped the THRUSH man against the wall where he would not be trampled as the bewildering rioters started moving again.

This done, he hurried across the street to see after Illya. Kuryakin was sitting with his back against a store front. His temple was bloody from the savage blow he had taken when his head hit the pavement.

“Okay?” Solo asked anxiously.

“Don’t bother to put the pieces back together!” Kuryakin said with a strained attempt to grin. “I’m broken in so many pieces it’s not worth the glue to repair me!”

“I’ll get a police car to run you down to the hospital.”

“You go for me,” Illya said weakly but with a stubborn thrust of his jaw. “I got business to tend to. Like, say, a photographer with a camera that isn’t a camera at all!”

“What is it then?” Napoleon asked.

“Sit down here beside me,” Illya said. “I’m not equal to standing up yet and you look like you’re about to fall.”

“For once in your life you’re right,” Solo said. He stiffly lowered himself down beside his friend.

“This has been one hell of a night,” he said.

“And it is still a long way to morning,” Illya said. “Man! How my head clangs. I feel like there are a couple of giants in there with sledge hammers pounding away for all they are worth.”

“Are you sure -?” Solo began, giving his companion a worried look.

“I’m sure!” Illya snapped. “I have no objection to going to a hospital, provided the nurses are pretty - just as soon as this case is in the file. But not one second sooner!”

Solo knew that it was useless to argue. Illya Kuryakin was a man who hated above everything else to fail. And his manner showed definitely that he felt that he had failed now. He did not view their lack of success in capturing the “photographer” as just a temporary setback, as Solo did. To him it was a failure and it rubbed his temper raw.

“Okay,” Napoleon said. “What about this peculiar cameraman? To save time, I’ll ring Mr. Waverly in on the report.”

After Solo extended the pen communicator antenna, Kuryakin said, “When he hit at me with the camera, it broke open. The inside of the box was a jumble of electronic circuits. The lens was actually a concentrating transmitter antenna. There is no doubt that it is a portable transmitter for emitting some kind of signal which definitely influence the minds of people who have seen The Million Monsters film.”

“It fits in very well with the probability given us by the computer,” Waverly said.

“Then this is the situation as we understand it right now,” Napoleon said. “THRUSH has tainted a motion picture called The Million Monsters with subliminal suggestion forces which have the power of impressing themselves on young people from the cradle to about thirty. The producer, Fred Mallon, learned what had happened to his film, and knowing he was watched, sent you an anonymous note of warning.

“Then he was murdered for his trouble. His daughter, a lovely but intellectual miss, evidently is under the influence of this subliminal suggestion force. We saw her leave her father’s house just before he was killed. If she is under THRUSH control she could have done it herself.”

“She was definitely under control when she attacked us in the air terminal,” Illya put in. “But she was not tonight, for she tried to murder the ‘cameramen.’”

“That is very odd,” Waverly said. “But we can be sure now that this ‘cameraman’ was actually the ‘monster master.’ These subconscious suggestions received from the film apparently lay dormant until excited by this exciter transmitter.”

“At least we are making progress,” Solo said. “The next thing is to try and get our hands on a wave transmitter. Once we know how it affects these rioters’ minds, then we can forge some sort of counter-measure.”

“I agree, Mr. Solo,” Alexander Waverly said. “I am certain that the outbreaks here and in Europe are just tests. This matter of portable wave machines is too crude. I have a horrible vision of these waves being sent out by huge transmitters bouncing their broadcast off Telstar communications satellite to blanket the world!”

“I believe, sir,” Napoleon said, “that half the world’s population is under thirty years of age.”

“That is correct, Mr. Solo,” Waverly said. Despite an effort to maintain his characteristic calm, the U.N.C.L.E. chief’s voice was not quite as steady as usual. “Can you imagine what will happen if half the world’s population becomes THRUSH’s slaves?”

Napoleon looked out across the devastation on Sunset Boulevard. He shuddered.

“That will never happen, sir!” he said. “We’ll find some way to stop this monstrous plot against humanity.”

“Are there any leads?” Waverly asked.

“I hope so,” Napoleon said. “I hit one of the ‘liquidators’ with a pellet. He is still unconscious. When he comes to, I’ll interrogate him under the truth serum. If he knows anything, I’ll get it out of him.”

“Liquidators?” Waverly repeated. “Then they did catch up with you. There were four.”

“Two you can scratch from the list,” Napoleon said quietly. “One I have. The other probably helped the ‘monster master’ to get away. He was shot. I don’t know how badly.”

“I see,” Waverly said. “Two to one odds. Very good, Mr. Solo. But there will be others, you know. This is just the beginning. From now on your lives will be a paramount THRUSH target.”

“That’s right, sir,” Napoleon said grimly. “But do not forget that they are my target too! And I don’t usually miss.”

“Oh, I’ll never forget that!” Waverly said. “Never! And now what about Mr. Kuryakin? I noticed quite a strain in his voice. And I also noticed that he hasn’t jumped in with his usual interruptions. Is he -?”

“Never felt better!” Illya said quickly. “Hear that pitty-patter of feet? That is me running the hundred yard dash down Sunset to show how lively I am!”

“Hmmm!” Waverly said. “Anyway, will you be able to keep your schedule and check on that Parisian film importer?”

“Yes, sir!” Illya said without hesitation.

“Very well,” Waverly said. “Gentlemen, thank you. We have made some progress. Please keep me informed.”

“Can you walk?” Solo asked his companion after closing the antenna to break the connection with U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.

“No,” Illya said, struggling groggily to his feet. “But I sure can totter!”

“Well, I’ve got to get this THRUSH liquidator out of sight before the police work their way down this far,” Napoleon said.

Kuryakin nodded. He understood the urgency. The police, under Supreme Court decisions, could not question a suspect without his lawyer being present. Such niceties had to be put aside when the fate of civilization depended upon the outcome. The charge of U.N.C.L.E. truth serum in its secret receptacle inside Napoleon Solo’s ring packed a power that no person could resist.

“Where are you going to take him?” Illya asked.

“For a ride,” Solo said. “If you’ll give me a hand, we’ll drag him back in the alley where the police will miss him. Then while you watch over him, I’ll find a phone and call one of the U-drive car agencies to send me down a vehicle. Then I’ll drop you at the airport and find a nice secluded spot somewhere.”

“And then -” Illya asked.

“Oh, then we’ll talk awhile,” Solo said, glancing grimly at the prisoner.

ACT IV - THE MONSTER MAKERS