[Magazine 1967-­11] - The Volacano Box Affair - Davis Robert Hart (читать полностью книгу без регистрации .txt) 📗

In the briefing Alexander Waverly had advised landing at Tengah, a military airport controlled principally by the British R.A.F., instead of at Kallang. The latter was closer to the city of Singapore, but was a civil airfield, and Illya didn't want to risk recognition.

A long ride from Tengah to the city was to be preferred to assassination at Kallang. But after the long, arduous plane trip Illya was no longer sure which was the more desirable.

Waverly had instructed him quite thoroughly on every aspect of his mission. In essence, Illya was to contact Napoleon and exchange information, but they were strictly prohibited from meeting. Waverly wanted them to act independently to cut down the risk of their collective capture. Napoleon had April Dancer to serve in whatever capacity Napoleon thought best.

They had two primary objectives. The first, and most important, was to locate Dacian and his captors and destroy the formulas, equipment, and personnel before an aggressive action could be taken. But if that were not possible, they were to wait for Waverly's signal indicating that a satellite had detected a volcano box in action. They were to rush to the site and take whatever measures necessary to put the machine out of commission. They were to play it by ear, and to use whatever transportation and weaponry the circumstances called for.

"There is one aspect of this," Waverly had concluded, "that I cannot emphasize enough. Namely, that you will have between twelve and forty-eight hours to pinpoint and destroy the box from the moment of detection."

"Yes, sir," Illya said, instinctively looking at his watch.

NAPOLEON HAD arranged for April Dancer to check into a small hotel downtown and to pass herself off as a tourist. She was eminently skilled as a linguist and could therefore submerge herself in the market place and listen without anyone suspecting she understood. There were several clubs and bars where underworld elements and spies hung out and, picking up an unsuspecting American tourist named Don Wirts, she made him take her to these places for drinks. She kept her eyes and ears open, while murmuring the usual hare-brained tourist cliches to her escort.

Napoleon, in the meantime, had made a number of attempts to find out the names of the principals of Singapore Oil, and the company's address. Singoil was its cable address, and this THRUSH front had been the clearing house for communications involving the volcano plot. But all of his inquiries, discreet and otherwise, had availed him nothing. Singoil was a completely false company with nothing indeed but a cable address. Furthermore, the messages received by the cable company were neither delivered nor picked up. Several times a day a man would call and in fair English, say, "This is Singoil; please read any messages." And so there was apparently no way to trace the principals.

Napoleon was walking off his frustration at quayside when Illya buzzed him.

"I'm in town," the Russian in formed him with the bland understatement of a fraternity brother checking in at a conference. "What's up?"

"The rats are far underground," Napoleon said. "I can't trace Singoil for all the tea in this part of the world, which is considerable." He explained the efforts he'd made so far.

"How about sending them a message which must be delivered in person?"

"They'll know it's a trap," Napoleon protested.

"Exactly. You'll let yourself walk into it, and that'll lead you to our playmates."

"It's a beautiful idea, and I thought of it before you did, but there's one thing wrong. Suppose, instead of capturing me alive for interrogation, they simply decide to gun me down on sight."

"That would be unsportsmanlike like," Illya said. "But I don't think they'd kill you until they knew what's brought you here, how much you know, and how much you've told other people."

"That's comforting," said Napoleon Solo, chuckling.

"Let April Dancer follow you. When the tag is made, she'll be right behind you. She can contact me and we'll drop in on the party before the firecrackers go off."

Napoleon reflected for a moment. "If you think it's such a fool proof idea, why don't you serve as decoy?"

"I'm too young," Illya explained.

It was arranged. The only hitch was that Don, April Dancer's escort, had grown intensely attached to her, and she couldn't shake him. Don Wirts was a burly Californian with plenty of money and a lusty passion to see and do everything. He was boisterous, yet innocuous and pliant, and he agreeably escorted her everywhere she directed. But this morning he would be in the way, and it took an act of considerable rudeness to make him go away.

April went to a ladies' room and, as soon as she was out of his sight, rushed into the noisy street of Singapore.

April took a taxi to the docks on Keppel Harbor and got out a few blocks away from the cable office. At 10:30 she saw Napoleon going into the office. He paused a second to look for her and, satisfying himself as he glimpsed her shock of ash-blonde hair, he entered it. Then he emerged after a minute, crossed the street and entered a bar.

April felt uncomfortably exposed here, for it seemed unlikely that a pretty, unescorted lady tourist would hang around the harbor longer than she had to. An hour passed, but at last there were results.

A messenger boy, in white ducks and a greasy, torn undershirt, entered the cable office and exited a second later. He crossed the street, went into the bar, and came out with Napoleon behind him. He looked around to make sure he wasn't being followed, but April had made herself invisible behind some huge baskets of fish.

Napoleon Solo was ushered to an old English Ford and pushed in unceremoniously. April signaled her taxi, which had been parked up a side street, and she took off after the Ford. She kept a respectable distance behind, but kept a special channel of her communicator open until she was relieved to hear a beeping sound on it. Good. Napoleon had planted a tiny transmitter in the car, and she would not have to keep the car in sight in order to track it down.

Nevertheless April didn't want to lose visual track yet, because she hoped to glimpse the men who had abducted Napoleon. The Ford made its way into the marketplace on the north side of town, where foot traffic was so heavy that the cars bogged down in a sea of orientals.

April observed three men getting out with Napoleon, and she quickly paid off her driver and leaped out of the taxi. She couldn't make out any faces, but by jumping up from time to time she could follow the four men as they wended their way through the throng. Then she got a chance to close in as the foursome ran into some sort of demonstration in the street, and the crowd in front of her momentarily thinned. But just as she was about to exploit her advantage she felt a strong hand close around her arm.

April Dancer's instincts directed her to bring her arm up to break the lock, then grab her assailant around the neck and drop to one knee. But while her nerves were tensing for the judo throw she recognized the voice. It was Don Wirts' drawl. "I thought for sure you'd been carried away by white slavers. I been looking all over creation for you, honey!"

His simple, grinning face blocked her view of Napoleon. "You lug, get out of my way." She thrust him aside and jumped up to see if her quarry were still visible. But Napoleon and his guardians were gone.

If it hadn't been a matter of life or death. April would have found Don's expression of injured dismay laughable. And if it weren't so genuine she might have suspected him of engineering this encounter. But no, he wasn't a THRUSH agent. He was simply a well-meaning oaf whose solicitude for her just might bring about the destruction of Singapore.