The Diving Dames Affair - Leslie Peter (читать книги онлайн без сокращений .TXT) 📗

And somewhere not far away must be the heads within whose crania lay the warped brains which had conceived the evil plan which Napoleon Solo alone could thwart.

If he was lucky!

The doors on the higher level were mostly glass-paned and Solo saw as they passed offices with desks, a library with rows of filing cabinets, a computer room bright with levers and dials and lights, a miniature lecture theater where the semicircle of seats surrounded a vast wall map whose rash of bulbs and flags concentrated around the newly filled-in shape of the lake.

Finally the girl drew him against the wall and put her lips to his ear. "The first door around the corner of the passage is the radio room," she whispered. "There's probably only one man there at this time, as I say - but the Council Chamber is immediately beyond, and the main control room lies between the two, only further in, as it were... So there may be lots of other people within call."

"I don't know why you should do all this for me, Mrs. Lerina -"

"You can call me Alice."

"Alice, then - thank you. I don't know why you should risk your life like this for me - but I'll try to make it up to you if ever we get out of here... Are you actually on duty tonight? Could you have some reason for walking past the radio room door?"

"Sure I could. You want me to find out who's there, is that it?"

"It would help, Alice."

"Okay," the blonde said. "You want I should try and get the guy to come outside?"

"I don't think so. There may be other people who can overhear. If you could go past and signal to me afterwards..."

"Will do," the girl said. She walked on around the corner of the passage, with Solo sidling after her like a disembodied shadow. Beyond the right-angle, the corridor was wider, with rubber floor tiles in marbled gray. Halfway along, a shaft of bright light barred the gloom by an open door. Alice Lerina walked up and paused, looking into the room.

"Hi, there!" she said. "You all on your lonesome?"

"Like usual on this trick," a mans voice replied over the faint burble of automatic morse. "I'm waiting for a call to come through from some guy he has a report to make from Zurich, Switzerland. You wanna come on in and share the solitude?"

"I don't mind. Watcha got there, anyway?" The girl stepped across the threshold, trailing behind her one arm with which she gave Solo first the thumbs-up sign, then a single finger pointing upwards.

Taking this to mean that the man was alone and that it would be safe to approach, the agent tiptoed up and peered cautiously around the door. The room was small, but it was packed with chassis after chassis, console upon console of the most advanced electronic equipment Solo, had ever seen. On the far side, bent over the dials of a short-wave receiver, the blonde and the operator had their backs to him. "Now this filter slope here, see," the man was saying; "with this you can tune out..."

There was a small monitor speaker above the set from which bursts of static occasionally sputtered. Under cover of this, Solo flitted across the room until he was immediately behind the man.

He didn't know whether it was the small current of movement he made in the dry air, or whether the girl inadvertently made some telltale sign - but a sixth-sense warning jerked up the man's head before he was within striking distance. He was a big fellow, a brawny; blue-jowled man in a singlet and uniform trousers, but he moved fast. He was on his feet facing the agent, having intercepted a glance between Solo and the girl, before Solo could raise an arm.

"Why, you dirty little..." he began, glowering at the blonde.

Solo's fist caught him in the solar plexus. It was essential that the man should not shout or cry out, that any struggle should be as silent as possible. Once anyone else's attention was attracted, Solo's plan would be ruined.

The operator doubled forwards with a grunt of astonishment and pain. His lips drew back from his teeth as he straightened, tugging at a blackjack in his waist band. Before he could draw enough breath back into his savaged lungs to yell, Solo had to disarm and then silence him.

Wheezing, with his eyes streaming, the man lurched forwards. Solo chopped viciously down, flat-handed, at his wrist and the blackjack clattered to the floor. At the same time, the agent raked a stinging blow across the bridge of the man's nose with the back of his other hand and thudded one stockinged heel to his kneecap. In his weakened state, Solo's only card was surprise - and he had to play it for all he was worth before the big operator could recover his equilibrium and get to close quarters.

The agent dodged back from a roundhouse left but was unable to avoid the followup - a short, pounding right that carried all the man's weight and slammed into his body just below the heart.

Solo heard his own choked grunt of pain as his legs abruptly turned to rubber and he collapsed backwards onto a wooden chair. Still groaning for breath, the operator pounced: grabbing a handful of dungarees, knuckling himself a firm hold and hauling Solo to his feet, he smashed his other fist to the agent's jaw.

Through the roaring blackness that threatened to engulf him, Solo saw dimly the huge fist drawn back again, the great face poised menacingly behind. With his remaining strength, he reached desperately up and grasped the man's ears. Then he went suddenly limp and dragged his adversary's head down after him. The man, caught momentarily off balance, pitched forwards, his hands flew instinctively out to break his fall, and his forehead crashed into a bank of equipment behind the chair.

Using the seat for leverage, Solo executed a kind of half back somersault and brought his knee jarringly up to connect with the underneath of the operator's chin as he hauled down on the ears. There was a sudden cessation of movement and then he was smothered in the dead weight of the man's unconscious body.

Panting, Solo laboriously hauled himself out from underneath with the help of the girl. Brief though it had been, the fight had totally exhausted him. Alice Lerina had been right - it would be some time before he regained his strength.

There would be no question of his attempting any further trials of strength, he realized bitterly as he dragged himself across the room to a transmitter. He must do what he had to do and worry about any subsequent action when the need for it arose. Slumping into a chair, he began methodically testing switches and revolving dials. Behind him, the girl watched wide eye.

---

It must have been almost twenty minutes later, and the agent's labored breathing had settled down to a steadier and quieter rhythm as he concentrated on his work, when a section of wall behind them swung silently aside to reveal three men standing there.

"All right, you - away from that transmitter. Move!" The words cracked out from the thin mouth of the man in the middle.

Solo whirled away from the radio. The man had slender, almost feminine hands with dirty nails and cigarette-stained fingers. A half-smoked cigarette drooped soggily from one corner of his mouth. And a short-barreled P.38 hung negligently from his right hand.

Behind him were a tall, white-haired Negro with a lined face, and a well-dressed man whom Solo recognized as Wassermann, the holder of the concession to build Getuliana and the dam, whom he had met in Brasilia.

"Don't do anything foolish, Mr. – er – Williams... or should I say Solo?" Wassermann drawled. "Greerson may look a little lackadaisical, but it's deceptive, I assure you."

Solo stood perfectly still, his hands at his sides. A few feet away, the girl crouched above the unconscious body of the radio engineer in a pose that was almost a caricature of guilty surprise. Apart from a sharp intake of breath when Greerson had first spoken, she had remained completely silent.