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

THREE

THE FIRST THING Napoleon Solo had done when ushered into the English Ford was hook a barbed, miniaturized radio transmitter on the pants of the man next to him. It was practically invisible, but it didn't have to be very big, for all it did was emit a steady beeping. It could do so for weeks. Napoleon prayed that the man was not planning to change his clothes immediately.

Seconds after taking this precaution he felt, as he'd expected, the jab of a hypodermic needle in his arm, and without hesitation an anesthetic—probably sodium pentathol—swept over his consciousness like the waves of the sea.

When he revived he'd been stripped and dressed in a pair of white pajamas. He was on a cot in a cell, looking into the round face of the man bearing the signal transmitter. Napoleon let his eyes wander to the man's pants, and the tiny silver nodule, looking like a feathery seed clinging to the fabric, was still there.

The man pointed a rather lethal looking Mauser at Napoleon's eyes, and gestured with it towards the open cell door, outside which stood another guard. The agent cleared his head, rose unsteadily, and staggered out.

They led him down a shiny, white-plastered corridor and into a dim chamber with a desk, some chairs, and a circle of oriental guards in white pajamas, the snouts of their Sten guns trained on choice parts of Napoleon's anatomy.

Behind the desk sat a powerfully built man with slanted eyes, straight dark hair, and an expression of monumental confidence.

"Kae Soong, I presume," said Napoleon.

The man smiled. "You would be Mr. Solo, if my dossiers don't deceive me."

Napoleon did not acknowledge.

"Mr. Solo, I would like to know why you have permitted yourself to be trapped."

"I wanted to meet you."

"You now have that pleasure. But am I unduly suspicious in suggesting you have your associates following you?"

"They aren't following me, but I'm sure they're looking for me."

"I prefer to think your organization is not as haphazard as that. Acting on that assumption, I have prepared a welcome for any that dare think my headquarters are an open house." He scanned Napoleon's eyes for a reaction but found none to raise his hopes. "But it is of no consequence. This place will be abandoned tomorrow morning. Our work is done. Mr. Solo, now that you've located me, I imagine you must be brimming with questions."

"Only one. Where is Edward Dacian?"

"In our custody. In fact, he occupies the cell next to yours. If you would like to share his cell, we'll gladly accommodate you. I'm afraid you won't find his company terribly stimulating, however. He's rather dull these days. But he'll liven up, as the saying goes, when he sees the fireworks display we've planned for the city of Singapore."

"I guess it goes without saying that I'm invited too."

"Oh," smiled Kae Soong, "your presence is indispensable to its success. Although if you did miss this one, you would still have an opportunity to see many more around the world. We have a large number of them planned for the near future."

"Then Dacian—"

"Has told us everything." He nodded at his captive as if to conclude the interview. "There is much to be done, so if you'll excuse me—"

He rose, and Napoleon's arms were gripped by the strong hands of two guards. He was led, almost carried, back to the cell block, but this time was thrown into an occupied room. It took a minute to adjust his eyes to the darkness, but when he finally could make out the bundle on the cot next to the far wall he was appalled. The features belonged to Edward Dacian, but the emaciated body and hollow countenance belonged to a survivor of a concentration camp.

FOUR

AFTER IDENTIFYING and introducing herself over the communicator, April told Illya of her progress in locating Napoleon Solo. "I found the car and watched it for four hours, but nobody claimed it. I have someone watching it now, but I can't just sit around and wait. Who knows how long it will be before they go back to the car—and how can we be sure the car belongs to THRUSH at all?"

Illya held silence for a moment, then asked, "What makes you think he attached the transmitter to the car?"

She pursued her lips as if struck by a revelation. "I don't know—I just assumed—"

"Let's assume that's an illogical assumption," Illya said, "and go on from there. We tag cars only when we can't tag people. The reason is obvious. Cars can be abandoned permanently or for long periods of time. So we try to hook our tracers onto individuals. How close are you to the car?"

"A few blocks away."

"Follow the beeps and see if they lead to the car."

April did as Kuryakin suggested, and when she got to the car, where she'd left Don in attendance, she signaled Illya. "I'm ashamed to say it—"

"We don't have time to be ashamed. Follow the signal as far as is safe, then buzz me again when you've located the source. Is that Don still with you?"

"He's looking at me now as if I'm a madwoman."

"Get rid of him immediately."

Don Wirts' mouth was wide open.

"You're a policewoman!" he gasped. "You're a spy, I'll bet. That's why—"

"I've no time to explain," April Dancer said, "but if you want to do your country a service, continue to watch this car and I'll contact you as soon as I can. If you see anyone get into it, remember what he looks like and follow him. But keep out of trouble."

"Gosh!" he exclaimed, and then added, as April fled down an alley way, "I hope she's on the good side."

Like a bloodhound baying after a strong scent, April followed the twists of Singapore's streets according to the strengths and weaknesses of the signal on her receiver. The beeping grew louder as she approached what seemed to be a complex of city administration buildings, and when she entered a small plaza the intensity of the beeps confirmed that she'd closed in on her quarry. Even if she'd had no receiver, the presence of two sinister Chinese outside a two-story, white-brick edifice would have told her she'd found what she was looking for. April communicated her location to Illya.

"Does it look assailable?" he asked.

"There's a steel fence with spikes around the building, two guards in front. No fire escape visible, but I'll go around the back for a look."

"Proceed on your own. I'll await your signal. If I don't hear from you in two hours I'm going to join the party."

She backed out of the alley that led onto the plaza and decided to approach the hideout from another direction. She walked around what she hoped was the perimeter of the plaza, and then headed back in on a narrow street on which small crowds of peasants were engaged in bargaining over fish and vegetables.

Night had settled over the city, and to the south one could see the neon glare of the downtown section. But this area was relatively dim, and the scene was made even more macabre by the whitish glare of gas lamps under which the peasants' wares were displayed.

When April emerged on the plaza she realized she was in a better position to approach the house unseen. A tree towered over the fence, and though it was some thing of a shinny to get to the lowest branch, she fancied she could do it. She put a dark shawl over her ash-blonde hair and strolled casually past the tree.

As soon as April Dancer was under the branch she leaped up and caught the limb with one hand. Her other hand swiped at it but missed, and she dangled helplessly for a moment. Then her loose hand closed around the bark of the trunk and she lifted herself by dint of her fingernails alone.