The Power Cube Affair - Phillifent John T. (версия книг .txt) 📗

"If you insist on quoting Confucius," Kuryakin murmured, "you really must try to get him right." A silence grew, drew out thin, then ended in a dry chuckle. The cigar end brightened a couple of times.

"Shall we try again?" the old voice suggested. "I'm in sympathy with your aims, but I cannot allow you to jeopardize my operations."

"I've heard that before." Solo grew impatient. "Your operational style leaves me cold. We'll play this hand our own way. And if you value Captain Barnett at all, you'd better leave him where he is. If he collides with us he is likely to get damaged."

"As for that overblown trollop you sent out to bring us in," Kuryakin declared, and grinned to himself in the dark as he heard a stifled gasp, "you can leave her at home too."

"That overblown trollop, as you called her," the old man said, "is sitting not three feet away from you at this moment, Mr. Kuryakin."

"I know. I can smell her. And hear her. Right now, for instance, she has just taken a weapon into her hand, most probably a gun of some kind, presumably aiming it at where she thinks I am. Would you care to bet I can't take it away from her before she can pull the trigger?"

This time the silence was so tight it rang. Then the old man sighed.

"Very well. Put it away, Nan, we'll have to try a different tack with this pair. Let me have a moment to think. Believe me, gentlemen, Mary was a mistake that must not be repeated. And my Operation isn't quite what you seem to think. Perhaps I had better explain that side of it."

"Is that wise, Charles?" Miss Perrell spoke for the first time.

"I think so, my dear. I don't think you've realized, yet, just who we are entertaining. You've heard of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement—"

"Oh my God!" she gasped. "U.N.C.L.E. agents. And I called them well meaning amateurs!"

"At any rate we can count on their discretion. You won't find us in any index, phone book or list, Mr. Solo. We have no name, no official existence, and, in a way, no authority, hut I'll come to that in a moment. We are outside the law, a position that has as many drawbacks as it has privileges. You see, those who uphold the law are equally tied by it, have to respect it. And that is why something like seventy percent of all crime in this country goes unpunished. Undetected even. Of course, most of it is petty stuff, but not all. I could recite you a list, a long list, of people who are literally above the law, who can buy and sell anyone who works for wages, who can buy justice, even invisibility. Most of them are known to the forces of law, but they can't be touched. And that is the situation my group strives to correct. As I've said, we have no official standing, nor do we have bosses, levels of authority, rules, a code—nor any system of payment, honors, rewards, nothing like that. You might say we are just an extraordinary assembly of highly individual people trying to do good."

"Noblesse oblige?" Kuryakin murmured.

"That's about it. That's what has brought you into it, the belief that you've run into something that ought to be stopped, right? I have that kind of thing reported to me several times a week! My function is to coordinate, to pass the information along to those who can deal with it."

"Like Captain Barnett?"

"Not at all. Roger is just one of thousands. He happens to be in the services. Many are. Many others are not. All are hand picked to be loyal, reliable, observant. They report. That's all. Anything odd and unusual, out of line, suspicious, it comes back to me. That is all they do. Mary was one such. Her reports went to Roger; his reports to me. Of himself he knows nothing else, so can't give anything away. But I have other people, rather special people, who deal with things. That's why I am upset about Mary. It should not have happened. There will be other people to deal with that side of it."

"Permission to kill?" Solo queried, and the old man snorted gently.

"I deal in information. Sometimes, when necessary, I help. I can pull some very long strings. As a rule we operate to whittle the opposition down to the point where the law can step in. Sometimes we are—more drastic than that."

"So what are you offering?"

"Cooperation. Tell me what you know. Pass the message you had from Mary. Give me time to get some positive lines on the people concerned. Keep in touch with Nan here, and as soon as I have it I will pass it on. Well?"

"I'll make a deal," Solo said carefully. "We want the people who pulled this particular job. That's all. It's personal, nothing to do with the Command this time. You can have the message, and all the data we've got." He took the cassette from his pocket and slid it across the table, went on to explain how it had been garnered. He filled in details of events since, particularly the fracas outside their hotel. "Barnett's beautiful gopher girl could do with a little probing. And that technique for rounding up juvenile delinquents to order!"

"Yes!" The old man sounded thoughtful. "Damnably easy to do, too. In any shiftless mob it only needs one or two persuasive voices to sway the whole thing. I must say Absalom Green is new to me. Mary was especially interested in the drug business, these infernal psychotoxics and hallucinogens. The yacht will be easy enough to watch, but they'll be too smart to use it openly."

"A question," Kuryakin spoke up. "Your special people— do I take it Miss Perrell is a sample?"

"You may take it so, why?"

"She's female. So was Mary Chantry."

"Hah! A dove and a hawk are both birds, but there's a world of difference between them, you must admit. Very well, gentlemen. Nan will take you away again, and I will be in touch with you as soon as there's anything to pass on."

As they followed her out there was something about her footfall that betrayed the mood she was in. In the car she said nothing at all until they were well clear of the rendezvous. Then, pulling into the roadside and canceling the blacked out windows, she half-turned to glare.

"Overblown trollop, eh? Smell, do I?"

"You should be flattered," Kuryakin said innocently. "You were acting a part. You fooled us completely."

"I am not acting any part right now," she said, through very white teeth. "Understand this much. Charles put you in my charge, so you will do as I say. Or you can get out and walk, right now!"

"That's fair," Solo approved. "We'll get out, and you'll have to go back to Charles and tell him exactly how you lost us. Ready, Illya?"

For one moment he thought she was going to scream; then she drew a deep breath and swiveled forward.

"All right!" she muttered. "Yours today. Where do I drop you?"

Smothering a grin, Solo gave her the address and the car stormed away. In a while Kuryakin sighed and leaned forward.

"What are the terms for a truce, Miss Perrell?"

"Overblown trollop!" she repeated savagely. "Talk about pearls before swine! Overblown!"

"I too was acting a part," he said placatingly. "That was merely corroborative detail, intended to lend artistic verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative!"

"Good grief!" The car did an involuntary swerve as she twisted her head to stare back at him. "Where did that come from?"

"The words are W. S. Gilbert, but the sentiment is mine. The pearls were appreciated, but it wasn't the proper time to say so. Not called for."