The Hollow Crown Affair - McDaniel David (читать книги онлайн без .txt) 📗

Illya dove through the door one length ahead of Napoleon, who dragged it shut behind him and hit the carpeted floor of the hall. The prickly fur slapped against his cheek as the concussion drove them together, and something caught him agonizingly across the ankles. Dust billowed around him as he caught his breath and choked. Stunned, he tried to raise himself on his elbows and found he was paralyzed. He tried to roll over, and then Illya was beside him. "Lie still," he ordered. "You've got a door on your legs."

"Oh, good," said Napoleon. "I thought it was something serious."

"You're lucky you don't have a pair of broken legs. Come on, see if you can stand."

With help, he got to his feet, but both his calves ached fiercely. "Yeah," he said doubtfully. "But I'm not going to be running a whole lot for a while."

"Can you walk?"

"Don't rush things. Just point me in the right direction and give me a push." He bent a knee and staggered a few steps towards the stairs.

"Come on. A little exercise will work those kinks out." Illya was fitting the telescopic sight and silencer to his UNCLE Special. "Did you ever get a fix on him from the window?"

"Dunno. Sounded like it was coming from that little clump of trees near the main road."

The lobby was deserted, and they dashed across the open space as another impact rocked the inn. As they flopped below window ledges Illya said, "I felt a flicker of anticipation just before that round. Did you hear anything?"

"Before the shock? I don't think so."

"Listen. If you twitch just before it hits, that's it." He rose to his knees and leveled the telescopic sight out the window. Steadied on the ledge, he swept its circular field across the edge of the grass to the grove which stood perhaps fifty yards away. He studied it slowly until he winced and the dull THUD! of another hit shook the ceiling.

"Yeah," said Napoleon. "I think I nearly heard something then."

"That was it."

Solo had his own Special clipped together by this time and was reclining on a window seat, studying the scenery through his own sight. After a moment, he said, "There y'are. Try your infrared filter just left of that big white tree."

Illya spun through four filters to a dark one, and a black shape outlined itself in camouflage against the height of living trees. "Got him." Holding the image carefully he dialed back to clear. Now his eye could pick out the details—a patch of shade resolved itself into a man, some sticks and shadows became a tripod and a great horrid thing on it...

"Wow," said Napoleon at that moment. "There's the Scrooch Gun. See it?"

Illya considered. "I've got four rounds of armor-piercing here," he said. "You have any?"

"Uh...two."

"That looks like a big battery pack right under the tripod. That is a tripod, isn't it?"

"Yeah...Oh, right. I see it." He sighed. "I only wish it didn't look so much like something out of a cheap science fiction movie."

"The large coils around the rear of the barrel generate the initial pulses; they taper towards the front because the pulses come faster and need less individual power. The fins are for cooling. The deeply curved stock would allow him to balance the thing to hand-fire if necessary. The lens above is probably a powerful and very accurate sight; the tripod allows him to use it to fullest advantage."

"I didn't say it wasn't reasonable," said Napoleon reasonably. "I only said I wished it didn't look so much like something out of a cheap science fiction movie."

"I know. So do I. Somehow, knowing how reasonable it is makes it worse." His ears sang lightly and the building shook. "That's about half a second warning, right?"

"Uh-huh. What's your target?"

"The gun. King's behind the tree."

He braced his arm and fired. The overcharged cartridge was deafening and had no visible effect. Illya flexed his fingers, set the elevation up a notch, and loaded another AP round. He centered the crosshairs just above the middle of the mess of coils which was pointed somewhere up and to the right towards their room, let out half his breath and gently squeezed the trigger until the pistol thundered and leaped in his fist.

"You're low," said Solo.

Illya recentered the scope and saw the gun unharmed with a shattered wreck of steaming metal swinging beneath it.

"You got the battery pack dead center. Where were you aiming?"

"At the battery pack, of course. Mr. Waverly would want us to capture the gun whole, wouldn't he?"

Sirens faded up in the distance, wailing closer. "Unless he's got a spare pack charged up and ready to clip on, he's going to be in trouble now."

Illya nodded, and squinted as patches of light and shade shifted and withdrew beneath the trees. "There he goes now. Probably has a car just around the corner."

A police car squealed into the parking lot and three men in khaki leaped out. As Napoleon and Illya eased themselves erect, a sharp voice spoke from behind them. "You all right?"

The two UNCLE agents spun around to face a man in his shirtsleeves. "I'm the manager. Heard that fella outside, and saw you were better set up to defend than me. Phoned Sheriff Patterson—that'll be him at the door."

A voice of command on the porch shouted—"Holman—Crawford! Hit up those bushes and watch out. Hello in there!"

"He'll want to ask y'a few questions, but I'll speak for you." He glanced down. "Y' might want t' put your pants on before he comes in."

Napoleon looked down and remembered an armload of clothes dropped in the upstairs hall. Oh..."Thank you," he said, and fled.

With the police they checked the area around the tree and the tree itself for clues. A patch of leaves had been seared by acid and fragments of dull metal lay scattered some yards beyond. The tree itself was unmarked save for a worn but deeply graven legend, Barnabas loves Josette.

"Nothing," said Napoleon, as they started back to the Inn.

Illya shook his head in amazement. "And it looked like such a quiet little town."

Chapter 14: "It Was A Long Way To Go For A Pinhole."

It was past time for lunch when they found the tiny transmitting unit hidden in the chassis, and Illya examined it as they ate. "I was wondering," he said, "why Thrush didn't come down on us in St. Johnsbury if we were bugged. And now I know."

"Tell me, Mr. Tambo."

"I beg your pardon."

"Skip it. Why?"

"Because," said Illya, gesturing like a conjurer with the little magnetic module, "only King knew it was there, and only King had the right transmitter to start it sending. That was the ace up his sleeve and the reason he wanted to come up without a Thrush army."

"I'll bet he brings them next time," said Napoleon. "If only to find us."

"Not us," said Illya. "Baldwin." He took a bite of potato and ate it thoughtfully. "Speaking of which," he said indistinctly and swallowed, "how do we go about finding Baldwin?"

"He will have left us a clue of some kind," said Napoleon. "Or Irene will. They have enough faith in us to know we'd have faith in them. Besides, they'll want their car returned."

"Or Irene will," said Illya. "What kind of clue would they leave? Nothing too subtle, but nothing King could possibly have found if he'd gotten us and found the note, or even gotten us to tell him all we know."