[Magazine 1968-012] - The Million Monsters Affair - Davis Robert Hart (серия книг .txt) 📗

“Then it appears that Mallon was trying to leave a message behind, perhaps a clue to the secret behind this terrible affair.”

“That is what we believe, sir,” Napoleon said.

“Very well, I will have analysts view this film at regular theater screenings,” Waverly said. “We will see if there are any clues hidden in the film itself. In the meantime, you and Mr. Kuryakin carry on. And Mr. Solo -”

“Yes, sir?”

“Be careful! My secret information is that THRUSH has pulled in every member of its liquidation squad in Europe for a top priority job.”

“And what is that?” Napoleon asked.

“We do not know, but I suspect that the target is two U.N.C.L.E. operatives. You and Mr. Kuryakin! Watch out!”

TWO

“WE HAD better notify the Beverly Hills police,” Illya Kuryakin said as Napoleon Solo collapsed the pen communicator antenna.

“I suppose so,” Solo said. “Why don’t you nose around the drawing room and see what you can find out before the police arrive.”

“What are you going to do?” Kuryakin asked suspiciously. “If you have any ideas about chasing a wild bikini, forget it. She is surely gone by now. Besides, I am better fitted by temperament, training and definitely inclination to pursue that kind of suspect.”

“I don’t doubt the inclination, but I am not so sure about the training,” Solo retorted. “Just take things easy here. That leg of yours might stand up to plowing around the man-made jungle that surrounds this place, but there’s no point in straining it. We may need to run, if Waverly is right.”

Kuryakin looked soberly at his companion. “They may be lying in wait for you,” he said. “That girl could be the killer - or she could be bait for a trap. She may have run in front of our car to be sure we spotted her.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Solo said. “It could be a trap. There is one sure way of finding out.”

Illya stared questioningly.

“Yeah,” Napoleon said. “I can stick my neck out. If something bangs down on it, then it was a trap!”

Illya started to reply, but the slight lift of Solo’s eyebrows tipped him off to keep quiet.

“See you later,” Solo said. “I’m walking down the driveway to where we saw that girl run past.”

Solo had walked to the door before turning and throwing this last statement back at his partner. Illya nodded uneasily. Obviously Solo had done this to give himself an excuse for raising his voice. He had wanted someone to hear him.

Thoughtfully Kuryakin looked down at the corpse and then let his eye pass carelessly past the window as he scanned the room. He was certain that Solo had seen something at the window that caused him to act as he had.

Playing out his part to keep the person - if there was one - outside from becoming suspicious, Illya got down on his knees beside the dead man. He turned so he could watch the window from the corner of his eye. He bent over as if scanning the Million Monsters poster, but he brought his right hand up where it could slip rapidly inside his jacket. There the hard weight of an U.N.C.L.E. special rested in its uniquely designed holster.

Time ticked away slowly. He wondered if he had been mistaken.

Then suddenly the sharp crack of a revolver shattered the silence. Illya jerked out the Special. He jumped back and up, hitting the wall switch.

As the room plunged in darkness he moved swiftly to the window. The glass shattered under the impact of another shot. Illya jumped back, throwing up his arm to protect his face from flying glass.

“Don’t shoot, Illya!”

It was Solo’s voice calling frantically from outside.

Kuryakin ran to the window again. Through the broken glass he saw the dim figure of a woman racing across the lawn. He saw Napoleon fire at her.

The U.N.C.L.E. Special made no sound except a loud hiss which told Kuryakin that Solo had switched from bullets to needle thin knockout pellet projectiles. These could stun, but not kill.

But the light was too poor and the girl too fast. The darkness swallowed her before Solo could fire again.

Kuryakin pulled open the window to avoid cutting himself on the broken glass. He threw his good leg over the window sill and laboriously dropped into a flower bed.

Solo was running after the girl. Kuryakin knew he could not keep up. His wounded leg handicapped him, but he followed to keep any accomplice of the girl’s from coming in on Solo from the rear.

Suddenly there was a roar behind them. Flames shot out the shattered window of the library.

“They’re trying to destroy evidence of the murder!” Napoleon shouted. “Forget the girl! This is more important.”

Kuryakin hobbled toward the window, hoping he could get in and drag the body out before the flames reached it. But just before Solo caught up with him, there was another explosion inside the death room.

The walls shook. They bulged out and started to fall.

“Look out!” Solo yelled.

Kuryakin saw the danger and was running as hard as his wounded leg would permit. The entire side of the six story mansion was toppling over on top of them!

He knew he couldn’t make it. It was too far to run, even if he had not been injured.

“The tree!” Solo shouted. “Get behind the tree, Illya!”

Kuryakin staggered. The first pieces of blazing debris were starting to batter down on them. A brick hit just in front of Solo, bounced on the thick grass and struck Napoleon’s knee. He fell, caught himself and rolled to his feet like a tumbler.

Illya’s wounded leg cramped. The stiffened muscles threw him off stride. He sprawled flat. Solo turned to help him.

“Keep going! Keep going!” Illya gasped. “I’ll make it!”

He rolled over, catching a glimpse of a huge concrete beam teetering on the edge of the collapsing roof.

It came crashing down. Illya scrambled frantically to get out of the way. He followed Solo’s lead. The two trapped men leaped behind a huge spreading oak. They pressed hard against the trunk on the opposite side from the fire.

Illya looked up. The flaming building made a hellish backdrop for the falling pillar.

“It’s going to hit us!” he gasped.

“Don’t run!” Solo shouted.

He had seen the murderous shower of bricks and burning debris on each side of them. It was suicide to leave the doubtful protection of the great tree. The strong limbs and heavy foliage were their only hope.

The beam crashed into the tree. The smashing, splintering of tortured wood was louder than the roar of the flames. The tree trunk shivered. The huge limb that had protected them from falling brick cracked under the impact of the concrete beam.

“Look out, Napoleon!” Illya yelled.

It was too late. Solo tried to duck. A piece of the limb struck him. He plunged to the ground, unconscious.

Kuryakin sprang back as the splintered end jabbed murderously at his chest. He fell. Two bricks bounced off his shoulder. A burning door struck the shuddering tree trunk and shattered into a hundred blazing fragments.

Illya looked up fearfully. The concrete pillar was teetering precariously on the stump of the shattered tree. Kuryakin took a deep breath and shuddered. The unconscious Solo was directly in its line of fall.

Illya tried to get to his feet, but his leg wound was bleeding again. His right shoulder was bruised so badly by the bricks that he could scarcely move it.

Unable to walk, he started to crawl toward his unconscious companion. The second story floor of the mansion collapsed. A piece of burning timber hurtled toward them. It struck the ground short, but bounced and fell across Solo’s legs.

Illya snaked his body around and kicked it off with his toe. Then, flopping around again, he grabbed Solo’s arms. He tried to get to his feet, but couldn’t.

His breath was rasping in his throat. His entire body was a mass of protesting aches. He took a deep, shuddering breath and jerked a handkerchief from his pocket. He quickly knotted it around his unconscious friend’s wrists.