[Magazine 1966-­05] - The World's End Affair - Davis Robert Hart (бесплатные онлайн книги читаем полные версии TXT) 📗

Half delirious, Solo laughed. "Can't blame the silly fellow," he said to the empty waves. "I really am not at my best. Lucky Bernice can't see me now."

For some reason, the idea seemed very funny to him. Bernice, who shuddered with distaste if a single lock of her auburn hair got out of place!

As if to bring him back to the unpleasant present, a large and fragrant bit of offal floated past his face.

High above him, in the city itself, he could see that a large cornice on the roof of the Continental had torn loose and was hanging and was swinging precariously over the street. One of the new apartment projects was afire. Through the smoke, as though framed in some nightmare, he saw a man, pajama coat flapping in the wind, poise on an upper windowsill and jump, turning slowly end over end as he plummeted down.

The end of some poor devil. He wondered what the fellow was thinking as he saw his end rushing up to meet him. Probably nothing. For a man to do the Dutch act, forces stronger than conscious thought would have torn his brain away from any semblance of reality, so that fear retreated, and nothing remained but the dreadful certainty of the thing that he must do.

Someone was groaning softly. With a shrug of distaste, Solo realized that it was he who was making the noise.

He grinned bleakly up at the storm-tossed sky.

Waverly had always said that he, Solo, had a bit of madness in him.

This would make the old devil suck on his pipe and nod, all right.

Then, so gradually that he was not even aware of it, conscious thought went away, and only half dreams remained. Finally those too went away…

A harbor patrol boat discovered him bobbing unconscious among the orange peels an hour later.

Three

String music filled the candlelit room. The room was intimate, paneled in wine velvet. A rich curtain of the same material isolated. it from the remainder of the restaurant. Across the stubs of the candles which had burned down during the meal, Illya Kuryakin took Mei's hand.

"It's been a delight to dine with you, my dear." Illya kissed her hand in his best continental manner. "Especially here in Hong Kong, with the city relatively intact, the generator recovered by U.N.C.L.E., and those two antagonistic countries back to the conference table. I must say you look radiant."

"Only because you have been kind enough to show me so many new and wonderful things these last few days," Mei said.

A remarkable change had come over the Tibetan girl. She had adopted a Western wardrobe. Her lustrous dark hair was done up in the latest bouffant style. She looked quite sophisticated and gorgeous. Rather maliciously, Illya decided he was glad Napoleon was still confined to the hospital.

Mei sipped the last of her wine. She glanced at him warmly. "I never believed we would live through it all. You showed such amazing courage."

"Well," Illya said, "I hate to sound stuffy about it, but it is nice of you to admit that someone else besides my dear friend Na -"

The curtains whooshed back. Dapperly dressed, Napoleon Solo grinned down at them.

"Someone mention my name?"

He walked with a slight limp, hut his arm was out of the cast. He whipped the curtains together behind him and pulled a chair over.

"That doctor is a gentleman. He didn't want to release me yet. But when I told him I wouldn't miss this party for the world, he listened to reason. Well, here we are, the three of us again. Mei, you're ravishing." He patted her arm.

The girl's eyes glowed. Illya raised his napkin to hide a dyspeptic expression.

Solo rubbed his hands together. "What's on the menu? I'm starved. I would have been here sooner -"He reached for the wine bottle "- but it's raining outside. From natural causes, I'm happy to report."

Solo stopped in the act of pouring. "You know, I completely forgot. Mr. Waverly signaled the hospital to see if I knew where you were. He wants to talk to you right away. I think it'd be better if you stepped outside. Sometimes the communicator does make a lot of noise."

Jaw rigid, Illya rose. "Very well. But I'll be back."

"No need to hurry."

Solo turned to Mei and looked deep into her eyes. She seemed mesmerized.

"Mei," he said, "listen to a great idea. I have a few weeks' vacation due, the wounds and all, and I was wondering whether we could use that time to get you ready for a beauty contest coming up in the States. I think you'd be sensational as Miss Free Tibet -"

The curtain rings gave an angry clatter as Illya Kuryakin left. Napoleon Solo kept right on talking.