The Stone-­Cold Dead in the Market Affair - Oram John (читать книги онлайн бесплатно регистрация .txt) 📗

Solo went on into the kitchen. Illya and Blodwen were dusting themselves off. Illya said, "You timed it beautifully. Those were my last four shells."

"You're welcome," Solo grinned.

They walked along the corridor and met the inspector coming from the dance floor. He said, "We've cleared out the small fry. Now for the big catch."

They found Anna Soo Lee sitting in her throne chair. Her hair was elaborately arranged and her makeup had been applied with meticulous care. She was wearing a tunic and trousers of rich white silk — the traditional color of Chinese mourning, Solo remembered — and there were white satin slippers on her small feet. Her golden hands gripped the arms of the chair, her face was expressionless.

She said, "Do not stand on ceremony, please. I have been waiting for you. There are things which I must say before I go."

The inspector began: "Anna Soo Lee, it is my---"

She stopped him with a gesture which would have seem appropriate in a Ming empress.

"Do not embarrass us both," she said coldly. "I know your stupid formula. It means less than nothing to me now. And it is to these other gentlemen that I wish to speak.

"Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, you have beaten me. The mission with which I was entrusted has failed. But remember, before pride betrays you, that it was but one operation among many. Thrush is invincible. Thrush will destroy U.N.C.L.E. as you have destroyed me — and as I shall now destroy us all...."

Her black eyes gleamed. Illya had been watching her hands. He saw the fingers tighten on the carved heads that decorated the uprights of the chair.

He yelled, "Get out!" and thrust Blodwen toward the open door.

Long jets of liquid fire streamed from the gaping mouths of the carved figures. Before the men could reach the safety of the corridor in Blodwen's wake, the room was a mass of flame.

Illya said, "I'm going back. We can't leave her."

"Don't be a fool," the inspector snapped. "You'll never make it."

"I can try." He plunged forward, breaking free of their grasp, but couldn't cross the threshold. The heat was like a blast furnace.

Through eyes half-blinded with smoke he made out a tiny figure sitting immobile on her glowing thrown.

They pulled him away. The fire was spreading rapidly. There was nothing to do but get out while there was time.

As they reached the sagging double doors and stumbled into Newport Street, the first fire bells were clanging the arrival of the pumps from Leicester Square.

They stood by the police cars and watched the smoke billowing from the building.

Illya said quietly, "She dreamed of ruling the world. She died, at least, like a queen."

THE END

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posted 4.8.2004, transcribed by Sheryl