The Assassination Affair - Holly J Hunter (читать полностью бесплатно хорошие книги .TXT) 📗

Solo grunted and smiled, but it wasn't a sincere smile. "It was brought into Del Floria's by a woman," Illya said. "She claimed that a great hulk of a man in a taxi gave her the envelope with the charm in it and asked her to deliver it since he was in a hurry. She was to say it was for Mr. Waverly. Well, she delivered it out of kindness, Del Floria detained her at the mention of Mr. Waverly's name, and once we saw what she had, we questioned her. But she was what she said - innocent." Illya's blue eyes rested on Solo, puzzled, and perhaps a bit relieved.

Mr. Waverly took the story up. "And then you came in with this young woman, and –"

Lainy interrupted him. "And I've had the third degree!" She swiveled to stare at Solo, angry. "I've explained over and over again to these two… men why I followed you here, but they won't believe me. If someone is out to harm you, I have nothing to do with it. Nothing!"

Solo patted her hand. "Of course you haven't"

"It's always wise to be so certain," Illya said quietly.

"I'm not certain about anything!" Solo was surprised at the vehemence of his own tone, but the day, the night, and the constant mystery had built to a frustration he had to blow off somehow. "I'm not especially happy about anything, either. Going down fighting is one thing. Ambush is another!"

"Assassination is the proper word, I believe." Illya remained maddeningly calm. "Anyway, we've begun our investigation. Miss Michaels appears to be what she claims - a young girl with more money than she knows how to spend, and with an eye out for adventure."

"A lot you know!" Lainy shouted at him, and immediately began to cry, depositing more tears into the hand kerchief that was already soggy.

Solo put an arm around her shoulders, ignoring the impatient sighs that came from around the table. "What have you been doing to this girl?" he demanded. "I told you to handle her gently, Illya."

"We had to be thorough," Illya said defensively. "She showed up twice with the men who attacked you. We had to question her. After all, it's your life we're trying to preserve."

Lainy stopped crying long enough to babble out, "They say someone is frying to kill you. It isn't me! Truly, it isn't."

"I'm sure of that," Solo told her.

"But Mr. Waverly says I have to stay here inside this building until something is settled."

"For her own safety," Mr. Waverly explained.

"He's right, Lainy,' Solo said.

"But I have to be home!"

"No one has to be home," Illya said definitely.

"I do!" She turned back to Solo, still trusting him. "My cat, Mr. Solo. I told you about my cat. She'll be alone, and -" She dabbed at her eyes, angry with the tears.

"Don't worry about your cat," Solo told her. "We'll detail someone to go to your apartment at least twice a day to feed her, play with her, and tell her you'll soon be back." He caught Mr. Waverly's disgusted glance but refused to acknowledge it.

"Will you really do that?" Lainy sat up.

"Turn your big eyes on Mr. Waverly. He's the one with the final say.

She did as she was told, swiveling to face the man whose decisions held more importance than she could even guess. "Mr. Waverly?"

Waverly looked at her and then down at the table. He harrumphed once and surrendered. "We'll see to your cat, Miss Michaels. It's not exactly in our line, but we'll see to her. And you have nothing to fear here, you know. You'll be well treated." He pressed a button on his inter com. "I want someone in here immediately to get Miss Michaels settled. She's to have red-carpet treatment."

A voice came through the speaker. "Yes, sir. I'll attend to it myself."

Lainy smiled. "You're not an ogre after all, are you?"

The door whisked open and one of Waverly's secretaries marched in. Lainy stood up hesitantly, her hand on Solo's shoulder, asking for reassurance. Solo winked at her. She left in the secretary's wake, docile, timid, but willing.

As the door closed, Illya clucked. "You do pick up strange little creatures, don't you, Napoleon?"

Solo glanced across the table at him. "You didn't actually browbeat her, did you?"

"Mr. Solo - please," Waverly chided. "You know better than that."

"Yes, sir." Solo cleared his throat, pushing Lainy out of his mind. She would be led into the deep reaches of U.N.C.L.E., given a pleasant room, a hot bath, food if she wanted it - she would be fine. For himself, there was still a mystery to solve. "Now, where is this charm, or whatever, you were talking about?"

Mr. Waverly reached into an envelope that had remained menacingly before him and pulled out a little piece of metal. "We couldn't make sense of it at first. Now it's quite clear." He sent the charm around to Solo on the revolving table.

Solo picked it up and laid it in the palm of his hand. A charm it definitely was - something a woman might wear on a bracelet - heavy like lead, but covered with a thick gold patina. Yet no woman would ever wear this particular charm; he shuddered, because it was formed in the shape of a coffin.

"Read what's written on the back," Illya told him.

Solo turned the coffin over. He read, "Number One in Section Two, ad infinitum - one by one. It was supposed to announce my death, all right. They were certain they couldn't miss. But this other part - one by one, ad infinitum... In other words, it's not only me, but my position in U.N.C.L.E. they're after. They want my job vacant." His brown eyes came up slyly, meeting Illya's.

"Don't look at me, Napoleon; I'm not anxious for a promotion."

"It's a strange little charm," Waverly said. "Not very beautiful, really."

"It's a herald of death," Illya said somberly. "Never a pretty subject for art."

"But why? That's the problem, Mr. Solo. Why are you being privately attacked? There's nothing big going on with Thrush. We've had no Intelligence."

"Then U.N.C.L.E. has goofed for once." Solo let the charm drop from his hand as though it were hot. "Someone is trying to kill me. I want to be pulled off everything else so I can concentrate on who and why."

"A very bad idea," Mr. Waverly said. "If this is what it appears to be - an attempt at assassination - you'll be walking into a trap the moment you set foot outside Headquarters. Nothing in your apartment will be safe for you to touch anymore."

"If you'll pardon me for saying it," Solo said stubbornly, "I've always been expendable before, so -"

Mr. Waverly was stern. "Expendability on an assignment is one thing. To be cut down in the street by lunatics is another."

"I can look after myself, sir."

"Yes. And incidentally, how was it that those men managed to get into your apartment in the first place? Is there something wrong with the alarm system on your terrace?"

Solo felt his face flush and fought to control it. He had personally disconnected the terrace alarms. But he had thought it would be a normal evening, that Rachel might step outside for some air, and he didn't want alarms going off all over the place and scaring her.

Mr. Waverly went damningly on. "This isn't the first time you've disconnected your alarm system, is it, Mr. Solo?

"No, sir," he admitted.

"But it will be the last."

"Yes, sir." He stared hard at his hands, taking the chastisement as he had to take it. He had been off base. But Mr. Waverly wouldn't belabor the point.