[Magazine 1966-­02] - The Howling Teenagers Affair - Lynds Dennis (читать книги онлайн бесплатно полные версии TXT) 📗

"I don't know. Perhaps Mr. Hooker will tell us," Illya said.

Solo nodded, snapping his fingers, his eyes studying the room. Everything seemed normal: the youngsters were dancing a storm, a bright happiness on all their faces. With the exveption of the doorman outside and some of the musicians, it did not look as though there was a person in the room over twenty years old.

"Nice, real nice," Joe Hooker said as Mahyana finished her chorus and The Beavers took a breather. The bearded banjo man squatted down on the platform. "This moving is too much, Dad. Yesterday Kandaville, today Down Under, crazy."

"Mr. Hooker," Illya said.

"Joe, Dad, just Joe. Mister is for TV stars over fifty."

"All right, Joe," Solo said. "What can you tell us about The Bedlam Trio?"

"Local group. This is home base," Hooker said, "Only—"

"Do they travel a great deal?" Illya broke in.

"No, man, they sit, you know? I mean, this is their pad. Only thing is, they—"

"Is there anything peculiar about them? Anything unusual," Solo said.

"They're on, Dad, if that's what you mean."

"On?" Illya said.

"Turned on, man—the pot, you know?"

"Marijuana?" Solo said.

"They smoke up a storm, and that's kind of funny, you know? I mean, the new rock and roll boys don't usually make that scene. They're the only group I know, way out. Only, Dads, maybe you've got another sort of group in mind."

"Why?" Solo snapped.

"Well, The Bedlam gang here ain't a trio. They're a quartet. See, over there."

Illya, Solo and Mahyana turned quickly to look at the four muscular young men on the last bandstand across the dancing room. There were four-and they were also very strange looking. They wore black leather jackets, bulky jackets that could hide almost anything. But it was their eyes.

Solo whispered "Look at their eyes!"

"The same as in the pictures—maniacal," Illya said.

"Are thinking what I'm thinking?" Solo whispered, his voice still smiling as if he was talking about nothing more important than the music.

"I am," Illya said. "A trap. That ticket was left for me to find. It must be a standard booby trap, intended to bring anyone who captures or kills on of their men straight here."

"I agree. And I think we are going to have trouble getting out," Solo said.

"I would say a diversion is indicated," Illya said.

"But we should talk to them, The Bedlams," Solo said.

"Later would seem wiser," Illya said.

"I agree," Solo said.

The two agents spoke low and casually to Mahyana. The girl nodded her understanding. Joe Hooker squatted down again on the bandstand above them.

"If you're interested, Dads, The Bedlam boys look mighty interested in you."

The bearded banjo man nodded toward the far bandstand. The four muscular young men in the black leather jackets had put down their instruments and were looking toward Illya and Solo. Illya pointed to the doorman standing with them. Solo nodded.

"All right, now. Listen," Solo said. "We'll head for the door together. If they start to cut us off, I'll drop a smoke bomb; that should shake this place up. When I do, make a run for the door. I'll cover the rear."

"Now!" Illya said.

The three agents started for the door. From the bandstand, the four leather-jacketed youths began to move to cut them off. Illya and Solo pushed the girl ahead of them. It looked for a moment that they would make it.

Then it happened.

From out of the hordes of dancing teenagers, single young men and girls began to appear—all wearing black leather jackets. The boys wore jackets and blue jeans, the girls the same jackets and tight stretch pants. They seemed to appear all through the room—and al their eyes had a steady, fixed, maniacal glaze. Eyes that were almost insane, yet happy, exhilarated.

"They've got us blocked off!" Solo said sharply. "If I throw the bomb it won't stop them all."

Illya looked around quickly.

The three agents had stopped now. They stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the wildly dancing young people, the bands beating a frenzied rhythm. Everywhere in the room the strange teenagers in the leather jackets seemed to come up out of the floor. Then there was a voice.

"Looks like you need the Paul Revere act again, Dads."

Joe Hooker had come up to them.

"I know the back way. Make with the feet, fast!"

They nodded. Solo suddenly threw his bomb. Smoke billowed up in a great cloud in the room.

The screaming began.

Illya, Solo, and Mahyana followed Joe Hooker toward the rear, under the rear bandstand and crouched low, emerged into a concrete corridor.

Two black-jacketed teenagers appeared with guns at the far end of the corridor, their eyes blazing insane joy.

"This way," Hooker cried.

Illya snapped off two quick shots from his Special at the two black jackets. The two did not even duck. But they did not fire; they just came forward at a trot. Illya turned and ran after the others.

They came out of a door into a dark parking lot. Behind them black-jacketed teenagers poured into the corridor like a boiling river. Now they began to howl like wild beasts on the trail of food.

The three agents raced across the parking lot, Joe Hooker with them.

Mahyana stumbled, fell.

Joe Hooker stopped to help her.

Another horde of teenagers, all in black jackets, poured around the corner of the building. Illya and Solo stopped for a second. Hooker and Mahyana were up again and running.

"They're cut off!" Illya cried.

"We can't help now; too many of them."

"Run, Napoleon!" Illya cried.

Solo ran. Illya ran behind him. They reached the far side of the parking lot, where there were buildings and a street. Solo went around the corner of the first building, with Illya twenty yards behind him. Illya cried out.

"I'll lead them off. They can see me."

Solo did not pause. He knew that Illya was right. He, out in front, could turn the next the next building and be out of sight. The raging, howling mob behind was too close to Illya. The weird horde of black-jackets had already swarmed over Mahyana and Joe Hooker. One of them had to remain free.

Solo turned the corner. He was out of sight for a full thirty seconds.

Illya came around the corner, the mob in close pursuit.

Solo had vanished.

Smiling grimly, Illya ran on down the dark Sydney street. They were persistent, the teenagers behind him, not like a simple mob, but Illya was a trained athlete and he slowly pulled away. He ran on toward the outskirts of Sydney.

The mob poured after him.

For a long minute the dark street was filled with howling, raging black jackets. Ten teenagers forced Joe Hooker and Mahyana into a black car that appeared from nowhere. The street shook as the horde poured on after the fleeing Illya Kuryakin.

Then, suddenly, the street was empty again.

Nothing moved on the dark Sydney street under the Southern sky.

Then a manhole cover opened slowly. Napoleon Solo climbed out into the night. Alone, he listened for a moment, then turned and walked quickly away in the opposite direction.

TWO

The sun rose slowly over Sydney. In his hotel room, Napoleon Solo spoke urgently into the tiny radio set in his hand, the two thread-like antennae extended.

"Bubba, this is Sonny! Come in, Bubba. Report, Bubba. Come in, come in, this is Sonny."