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

The car stopped in front of a building marked Film Lab. Theresa identified herself to the guard and they went inside. It was pitch black inside. Kuryakin wondered if she had the eyes of a cat as well as the soul of a tiger.

They came out in an office. Illya’s heart turned over with a jolt when he saw Napoleon Solo across the room. The man from U.N.C.L.E. was bound to a straight chair. Solo looked deathly tired and sick. Ugly bruises stood out vividly against the paleness of his skin.

A stocky man got up from a film editor beside a desk littered with film cans and a camera that looked exactly like the control transmitter found on Hollywood strip and again in Paris after the riot.

“I’m Griffis,” he said to Theresa. “Your identification?”

“Million monsters, seven-oh-three,” the girl said, giving her secret pass code that identified her as a member of the project.

“Who is this with you?” Griffis asked suspiciously, staring hard at Illya Kuryakin.

“This is Kuryakin,” Theresa said with a peculiar smile twisting her vampirish lips.

Griffis reared back like a frightened horse. He jerked open the desk drawer to grab his THRUSH gun.

Theresa LeBrun laughed, a definite contempt in her voice.

“Don’t panic,” she said. “Kuryakin is unable to make a single move unless I order it.”

“Only a fool toys with these men from U.N.C.L.E.,” Griffis retorted. “They have more tricks than the devil himself.”

“Don’t worry,” Theresa retorted. “He is under influence of THRUSH’S latest development, a slave drug. His mind is disconnected from his body. His muscles react only to a precise tone code.”

She turned to Illya.

“Sit down,” she said.

Like a well trained dog, he reacted to her command.

Griffis still looked doubtful.

“Stand behind him, Peters,” he said. “I don’t trust these U.N.C.L.E. rats under any condition.”

“Let me show you something,” Theresa said.

She took a tiny gun from her handbag. She held it out to Illya.

“Don’t do that!” Griffis screamed.

Theresa laughed and put the gun back in her purse.

“You see,” she said. “He could have grabbed that gun and killed us all if he had been in control of himself. That proves he is not shamming. He is completely in my control!”

“How long will he stay under the drug’s influence?” Griffis asked.

“Long enough for you to interrogate him,” Theresa said. “But you will have to relay your questions to me. I must repeat them with just precisely the right tone unless you can ape the tone yourself.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Griffis said. “You do it. I want to question him about the extent of U.N.C.L.E.‘s knowledge of this project.”

“Why was it necessary to bring him all the way back here from Paris for that?” Theresa wanted to know. “I could have gotten all that from him there. But for no good reason I received a THRUSH code message to bring him back.”

Griffis said, “It was my orders. We had just captured Napoleon Solo, his companion. I thought it best to interrogate the two together. That way I can compare their stories, fill in the gaps which the other does not know, and get the full story. He was returning anyway, so there was no additional risk. In fact, this seemed the safest way to me.”

Theresa shrugged. It was obvious both to Solo and Illya that she was not impressed by Griffis. The THRUSH project chief in turn seemed somewhat wary of the French girl.

Solo’s heart started to beat faster. Although the situation seemed desperate, he was the type that never gave up hope. Now the obvious animosity between these two key figures in the THRUSH scheme gave him an idea of trying to play one against the other. He had no idea how it could be done, but it was a thin thread of hope.

Also, there was Kuryakin himself. Theresa’s tale of a “slave drug” struck Solo as fantastic. He had never seen or heard of the girl before, but she was, he thought, obviously a THRUSH agent. He was certain that if THRUSH had developed such a revolutionary drug, U.N.C.L.E. spies in the organization would have reported it promptly to Waverly.

He stared at his companion, wondering if Kuryakin was feigning or actually under this strange woman’s control. Then he saw her turn her back to Illya.

“How much does U.N.C.L.E. know about this Million Monsters affair?”

A sickening jolt ran through Napoleon Solo’s body and exploded in his brain when he heard his companion tell the absolute truth, which was that they knew only what they had observed during the riots.

Kuryakin’s answers made it plain to Solo that Illya was truly in the grip of some terrible compulsive force. He was giving answers that not only revealed how little they knew about the subliminal effect, but also things that were damaging to the entire U.N.C.L.E. organization.

There was no question in his mind that Illya had sold out. He knew his companion too well to even suspect such a crime. That meant then that the girl’s fantastic claim of a “slave drug” was true!

Sweat popped out on the bound man’s face. His stomach heaved and for a moment he was so disturbed that he felt physically ill.

“Take it easy,” he told himself. “There is a way out. There has to be!”

He shivered as his agile mind sought a solution. Illya’s ready answers proved that no one could fight the terrible drug’s effect. He knew as soon as they drained Kuryakin’s mind dry he would be inoculated himself. Then what Illya’s hadn’t spilled of U.N.C.L.E.‘s secrets, he would.

“If THRUSH can obtain all we know about U.N.C.L.E. between us, they can destroy Waverly and all of U.N.C.L.E.!” he thought, shivering as the horror of their situation grew on him. For the first time in his long battles with THRUSH, he was close to despair.

ACT VI - THE MONSTERS’ REVENGE

SOLO CLOSED his eyes, but his mind was alert. A hundred mad schemes tumbled through his mind as he sought some way to turn the tables on their enemies.

Suddenly through his despair the glimmer of an idea broke through. He tensed, straining body and mind as his ears caught every changing inflection of Theresa LeBrun’s voice as she questioned Illya Kuryakin.

There was definitely a rhythmic pattern to her tonal inflections. It was subtle, but different from the tone in which she address Griffis when she paused in her questioning of Kuryakin.

He recalled that she had told Griffis that victims of the slave drug responded to certain voice tones.

The almost computer-like precision of his mind dissected each tone she used in addressing her prisoner. Her questions came rapidly on the heels of each damaging answer Illya Kuryakin reluctantly gave her about the inner workings of U.N.C.L.E.

Solo kept sorting the tones, cataloging them in his mind, and mentally repeating them as he sought the proper inflection and tone color.

He knew that he could not do it all mentally. He needed practice aloud, but dared not risk it. Everything depended on surprise. He could only sag against the rope that bound him to the metal chair - and sweat and hope.

It was not warm in the room. California nights are not hot. But Solo could see a thin film of sweat on Illya’s forehead. It showed how much Kuryakin was trying to fight against giving his betraying answers about U.N.C.L.E. It also showed the tremendous power of the strange drug.

As the questioning went on, Napoleon Solo was sure that he now understood the tonal control the girl was using, but still he hesitated. He knew this would be his one and only chance. If it failed, then he and Illya would die, and U.N.C.L.E. would die with them. With Waverly’s secrets exposed, it would be relatively simple for THRUSH to hamstring the great organization.

Sweat dripped off Solo’s body. Never in his life had he been under greater strain. And he knew that Kuryakin was in even worse torment. Illya’s mind knew that he was giving away secrets about the organization that meant so much to him. But he was powerless under the terrible influence of the super-powerful drug.