The Dagger Affair - McDaniel David (читать хорошую книгу полностью .TXT) 📗
A quiet whistling note filtered out through Napoleon's jacket, and he pulled out his transceiver.
"Solo...Of course. Where?...How many of them are there?? Okay. I'll be there in ten minutes. Play hard-to-get."
Gloria looked at him questioningly as he rose.
"I'm sorry too," he said. "There's an emergency. My partner is in trouble, and he thought I might like to join him."
"Trouble?"
"Yes. He's under attack by about a dozen gentlemen who appear to be working in the interests of DAGGER — and Kim Keldur."
She sat there staring at the closed door for a full minute after the car motor roared and the wheels spat gravel and Napoleon Solo took off into the night.
* * *
Illya crouched behind a packing case carefully selected for difficulty of access to and ease of escape from. His assailants were no longer trying to keep quiet, and had even gone so far as to snap off a shot or two at him before he had sought cover.
He was in contact with Napoleon, and had kept him informed of the conditions as they became apparent. When he arrived, he would be fully aware of the entire situation and be able to function within it. Theoretically.
The DAGGERs had done nothing for a minute or two, and Illya was beginning to wonder whether they had given up and gone home. Napoleon should be outside about this time, and he might meet them leaving. Illya opened his transceiver again.
"Napoleon — be careful when you come in. They're so quiet I can't be sure what they..."
Phud! Something burst a few feet from Illya and a white cloud of vapor spread out around it. "Never mind. I just found out. They're using gas. Get in here quick." The sentence used up the last of Illya's breath, but before he inhaled again, he was able to fish a small plastic case out of his pocket. His chest was beginning to ache as he opened it and pulled out two little rubber devices that looked a little like ear-plugs.
It is much harder to hold breath out than to hold it in — he just had time to fit the plugs into his nostrils before taking a deep breath. He took it slowly, because the filters passed air slowly. It would be impossible to take any violent exercise with them in, but it would have been just as difficult after a few deep inhalations without them.
It seemed a shame to disappoint them, Illya thought, so he fell over anyway, pulling a crate down with him. He made quite a satisfying clatter, and added to it with a few well-chosen gasps and groans before becoming still.
And in the next few seconds, while the attention of every attacker out there in the near-darkness was focused on Illya, Napoleon Solo came silently through the back door. Looking quickly around, he spotted a steel ladder in deep shadow, leading up to a gridded catwalk around the whole room some thirty feet above the floor, from which he would be able to command the entire area of the warehouse. As he slipped up the ladder, the scene below him took on a new dimension.
Silent figures were moving among the packing cases, converging cautiously on a spot where a broken crate lay beside a still form. Napoleon could see only part of the focus of interest — a leg and part of an arm were visible. That was enough.
Illya, you've done it again, Napoleon thought, and, bracing his automatic on the railing, drew a bead on the back of one of the moving figures.
The faint rustle of cloth sliding against skin warned him a fraction of a second before the blow fell. He jerked to the side, and a heavy wrench smashed against the railing inches from his hand. A sound like a leaden gong rolled through the room, and the moving figures disappeared as Napoleon spun around, the gun ready to fire.
A foot burst out of the darkness and caught his wrist, sending the pistol spinning away into space. With his left hand he grabbed for the foot, caught it and pulled.
His attacker fell heavily, and Napoleon leaped upon him, landing painfully on the metal catwalk as the other rolled quickly aside and leaped to his feet. Napoleon swung a leg, and swept the other's feet from under him. Then they were in a clench, rolling against the concrete wall and then toward the edge.
A pair of hands fumbled for Napoleon's windpipe. He grabbed for a wrist, and wrenched it hard. The other hand caught his tie and slammed his head against the railing. Lights flickered momentarily before his eyes and he brought his knee up hard, feeling something soft give before it. There was a whoosh of breath.
His attacker didn't slow down more than a moment. A head caught Napoleon under the chin, and he tasted blood. He caught a flailing elbow in both hands, and bent it the wrong way. There was a muffled sound like a nut being cracked, and the other man gasped in agony and fell away. He made weak, pain-filled sounds as Napoleon quickly searched him. A security badge pinned to his shirt identified him as "Pat Frieden, wrhse mgr," and, by implication, fink for DAGGER. He was unarmed.
As he stood up, Napoleon became aware of the noises on the floor below. Something slapped against the wall a few feet from his head, and something like a hot spark stung his cheek for a moment. At the same instant, he heard the thunder of a heavy automatic pistol echo through the room. He hit the catwalk again, and made his way on his belly to the spot where the ladder ran down to the floor.
He peered over the edge, and saw a flash of fire from Illya's location. Apparently his fellow-agent had most of the baddies pinned down, but one of them somewhere was dedicated to keeping Napoleon out of the battle until Illya's ammunition ran out.
A desperate situation, Napoleon decided, calling for desperate measures. He got out his transceiver, and set it to a local frequency.
"Hello, Illya! If you can hear me, fire two shots at your friends down there."
A pause, and then Blap! Blap! came two silenced shots.
"Okay. I'm up on the catwalk. I'll work my way around till I'm directly over you, and then I'll lay a couple of tear-gas eggs. If you can spare a minute, get your filters on. When the eggs hatch, be ready to take off to your left — to your left — over two crates there and straight for the door. Hit anything that comes out that isn't me. If you got all this, fire two shots in the direction you're going to jump."
Blap! Blap! Two spurts of flame went off toward Napoleon's right, Illya's left.
Cautiously, Napoleon began working his way along the catwalk. It was a gridwork, rather than a solid plate, and his figure would be clearly visible from beneath. He could see only one crouching figure under the catwalk between him and his goal.
Staring into the darkness, Napoleon finally spotted a gleam of metal. There was the wrench Frieden had come after him with. He would be no help to anyone for quite a while, but his wrench could come in handy — Napoleon tucked it in his belt and started quietly along the catwalk.
He moved without a sound, but there was a light glow above the walk directly over the spot where one of the enemy crouched, casting a cross-hatched shadow down the whole height of the wall. The passage of that spot would be the hardest part.
Napoleon moved cautiously to the very edge of the cone of light, and then slipped the wrench from his belt. Looking carefully across the floor, he saw no one looking in his direction. He rose to his knees and leaned far out, holding onto the railing with one hand, and flipped the wrench.
It caught the unsuspecting lurker squarely in the back of the head. He slumped forward and lost all interest in the proceedings. The thump and clatter of the wrench were loud in the stillness, and then there was another shot from Illya and a couple of answering shots from concealed attackers. Before the echoes of the thunder died away, Napoleon was off and sprinting across the light. He passed, as nearly as he could tell, unnoticed.
