The Corfu Affair - Phillifent John T. (серии книг читать бесплатно .txt) 📗

"In there," she said, stepping aside with a gesture. "She's waiting for you. Dinner will be only a few minutes."

He nodded, went on past and into the big room, paused a moment to survey the familiar luxury, then turned and closed the door after him. Outside, Katherine stood quite still for a moment, then, yielding to a sudden impulse, she kicked off her shoes, stooped to catch them up, and went in silence to the door, to press her ear close and listen.

Inside the room there was a storm-cloud silence that crackled. The aura of lethal violence was strong enough to taste. Solo swept five pairs of eyes that were like spears, and none were more dagger-like than those of the Countess herself.

"You are late five days, M. Solo!" she stated icily. "You will explain that delay, now!"

Outside the door, Katherine gasped in surprise. Solo? But he had said his name was Summers! She listened again.

"So I'm late!" Solo grinned lightly, although he knew as surely as he knew the day of the week that there were at least four lethal weapons trained on him under the table at that moment. "You ask me to explain? Do you need it? You know where I've been, and what I've been doing!"

"Perhaps," she said silkily. "Just the same, tell me now."

"All right. I ran into trouble changing planes. In Rome. An U.N.C.L.E. agent got curious. He wasn't sure, so he started asking awkward questions. I gave him a run. It could have been fun, but I was in no position to play games, so I slipped him and found a hole to hide in. Just one of those things. All clear now. Satisfied?"

Katherine, pop-eyed and breathless, was fascinated. She had heard of U.N.C.L.E. Now she realized that these people were on the other side. All of them, including Mr. Summers, who was now Mr. Solo. And the Countess. She wriggled her ear closer still, holding her breath, and heard a chesty growl.

"This is perhaps true. We heard rumors of such a disturbance, but no details, just that U.N.C.L.E. and the police were in a mix-up. Why did you not come to us for a cover, Mr. Solo?"

"This," Louise explained, "is Signor Cesar Scortia—"

"I know," Solo interrupted, grinning. "Head of Thrush Roma. I've seen your picture in the files. And I imagine you'd recognize me, too. So what would have happened if I had tried to solicit help from you, signor? I know that I am no longer working for U.N.C.L.E. Louise knows it. But did you know it?" He shifted his gaze to Louise herself, and even now he could feel the magic of her vibrant personality. She was a lovely woman, and looked as outrageously beautiful as ever. It took some effort to look her straight in the eye, but he managed it.

"You have me on a string, Louise, and I know it. You have your fun with me because I'm helpless. All right. But do you realize just how difficult it is for me? I'm known. Every U.N.C.L.E. agent knows me on sight, and so does just about everyone in Thrush. I have no friends at all. I can't afford to take chances, at all."

Incredibly, she managed to look concerned. "It is true, my dear. I had not thought. It shall be corrected at once. I will inform all Thrush centers that you are my man, from now. And I will be especially nice to you as a reward. Later. You have done well."

"Just by the way," he said, concealing his relief. "You ought to know that Miami is warm, right now. Like Paris. The fuss in Rome was because an U.N.C.L,E. agent climbed aboard and trailed me all the way from Miami. My guess is that they had suspicions, but couldn't prove anything. Just a warning of how the wind is blowing."

Halfway down one side of the table a slim brown-faced man stirred and turned his slanted Oriental eyes on Solo.

"Kow Li Chang," he said, "of Hanoi. If the eves of U.N.C.L.E. are so keen elsewhere, why not here also?"

"Mr. Kow!" Solo nodded politely. "Think it over a bit. How would you work a stakeout here, on a place like this? On a small island, on a house that is backed up against a mountain, with an open view of any sea approach, and only one access road, which is barred by a steel gate. And thousands of inquisitive Corfiote eyes watching every strange face in the hope of making a drachma or two. No, sir. You have to hand it to Louise. She has this place fixed up as foolproof, believe me."

He watched the Countess, saw her lingering suspicions melt away into pleasure, and once again he felt relief. Unpredictable as she was, and brilliant too, he had learned one thing, that she liked butter, the more thickly it was spread, the better she liked it. She was almost purring now as she turned a dazzling smile on him and beckoned.

"Come and sit by me, my darling. You have brought the precious things for me, haven't you? Good. You must forgive me for seeming to doubt. I was only making a test. I knew that you would not be false to me, ever."

He went to sit by her, to hand her the little packet of modules, and to pretend to be mollified. One hurdle was past, but there were plenty of hazards ahead. By far the most dangerous was Louise herself. Even though he knew exactly how fiendishly ruthless and evil she was, she was still all woman, and fascinatingly lovely. As he laid her exquisite hand on his wrist and patted it, he felt the electricity of her charm. The glittering attachments on her silver bangle were instruments of nightmare, but they hung from an arm that was a poem in shape, wreathed in skin like satin. Her silky midnight-blue gown swooped alarmingly low in front and between the magnificent swelling curves so proudly revealed lay a tiny silver key, depending on a slim chain. And that was the key to her electronic death grip on her helpless slaves. Solo eyed it, watched the generous flesh rising and falling, and knew that he was in for a tough time and would be glad when it was all over. As Waverly had said,—it seemed a long time ago,—this woman was very dangerous indeed.

On the other side of the door Katherine Winter inhaled a deep and unsteady breath, her head whirling. Out of the confusion, one thing stood firm. No matter what that nice C.I.A. man had told her, she was determined to find out more. And this very night, too. There was something very queer going on here, and she was not going to sit by any longer and pretend not to notice. She was going to snoop, so there! And then, all at once, she remembered her professional duties. The dinner! Aghast, she fled for the kitchen on stockinged feet.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THAT dinner was a knife-edged and nerve-wracking business. Solo had to call on all his resources, to remember just how he had been before with Louise, and to play his part right, yet not to say too such, because Katherine the innocent was present. Quite unnecessarily, he was formally introduced to the other guests at the table. He could have named them offhand, from his memory of the files at U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters.

One, a large blond beast of a man, was Willy Bulow, big boss of all Thrush activities in Scandinavia. He could have won a part in any Viking movie. Another was Felix Brassant, a rat-faced elder who had most of the seamier side of Marseilles in his pocket. It was quite a gathering.

While he was playing his part, Solo was haunted by an inner vision, of Thrush satraps all over the world spreading and growing under the influence of men like these—the word passing round that Countess Louise had slaves for sale. Perfect slaves. Tailor-made androids like Adam there, who waited on them at table as impassively as a Greek God come to life. And the hard-eyed men would come, like these, the way others had before them. And they would depart again, each with his precious slave. And each with a thing in his skull, not realizing that when the moment came, Louise would push the button and they would all be slaves. Her slaves!