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

He kept well back after that, only watching through the knotted traffic for an occasional glimpse of the low gray chassis. At last it made another left on Latimer and turned into a large parking structure. As they cruised past, Napoleon could clearly see the Lincoln turn into the ramp heading down.

"Want to follow it and see what it eats?" he asked.

"They'd probably notice if we came right in."

"Once around the block, then."

They made it halfway. A small door between two shop fronts was diffidently identified as the Convenience Entrance of the same garage, and a parking space stood miraculously open nearby. A firm believer that miracles are not to be ignored, Illya zipped smoothly into it and locked the doors as Napoleon fed the parking meter.

Inside they were confronted with concrete and the clammy stench of the modern stable. Ahead daylight showed through the open lanes; a door labeled 'stairs' blocked a frame to their right.

"Which way did they go?"

"Down."

"This door's locked. Want to check the front?"

"Why not."

The attendant drowsed in his air-conditioned glass cage, facing the street, and remained unaware of the two UNCLE agents as they crept quietly around the end of the cement pier that protected the descending ramp. A sheet of steel which rolled down from the ceiling covered it, and a sawhorse-mounted sign said SORRY—TEMPORARILY FILLED. SPACE RESERVED FOR REGULAR CUSTOMERS.

They withdrew as silently as they had come, and a moment later Illya murmured, "Those looked like fairly irregular customers to me. I think I'd like to try the lock on that back door."

The lock was a good commercial model, but it surrendered in seconds to a set of non-commercial instruments and the two found themselves in a stairwell. Shielded bulbs cast yellow parabolas on the stained concrete walls. Without pause they hurried silently down the steps.

At the bottom another lock faced Illya's deft manipulations, but before it gave way they heard the faint sounds of voices.

"The elevator will take you directly up," said one. "Turn right when you get out."

"Thank you," said a familiar harsh precise voice.

A moment later footsteps approached, and the door was pulled open. It is doubtful that either of the two men knew what hit them.

"I'll bet they were going up," said Napoleon. "Let's catch that elevator."

They didn't exactly sprint up the stairs, but they made good time. They passed the first level on Napoleon's hunch, but checked the second. There was no door for an elevator; they took the next flight two at a time.

A nondescript door was closing in the wall and they peered cautiously out and listened. Instead of the cavernous hollow sound of the other levels, they heard the crisp close reverberations of slow footsteps with the occasional tap of a cane. Closing the stair door silently behind them and blocking the latch, they followed the sounds into a corridor which turned a right angle every twenty or thirty feet for some distance. Concealed fluorescents shed an even shadowless light along the steel paneling. Illya caught Solo's eye once with a suspicious now-what-are-you-getting-us-into look, but they saw no signs of opposition.

After the fourth turn, they heard another door open and the footsteps ahead paused. On silent feet they moved past the next turn and saw Baldwin's back disappear through a frosted glass door set in one of the identical wall panels. A concealed detent showed its return, and on impulse Napoleon leaped forward and caught it silently just before it latched. He thumped it lightly with his fist to satisfy waiting ears, and beckoned to Illya with a toss of his head.

Faint voices muttered in the next room, and faded as the speakers moved away. Gently Napoleon eased the heavy door open a crack and peered through. Baldwin and a short Chinese girl were just going through a door on the far side of an empty office. As the far door closed, Solo opened his and Illya followed him into the room, looking uneasily around.

And was plunged into total darkness a fraction of a second before a shrill buzzer sounded. The silence was shattered and other sounds grew around them. Something coughed and roared hugely on the other side of the far door, and was joined by a chorus as things slammed and two or three voices shouted. Bright bluish light grew beneath the far door, and by the glow Napoleon and Illya looked at each other.

They weren't sure what was behind that door, and they didn't think they were equipped to find out. Nonetheless, they might never have another chance...Together they hurried to the inner door.

They hit it side by side just before a dropping bar wedged into its rests, and two gray-suited figures were bowled backwards by the force of their rush through the door. Napoleon and Illya skidded to a halt and gaped into the room that lay revealed to them.

Where acres of cars could have parked, rows of diesel-powered trucks stood facing the ramps, coughing out smoke. Men in gray coveralls ran about fastening down sidepanels emblazoned with the faded and dirty insignia of two dozen old and reputable trucking firms. As the first rank engaged their clutches and rolled off, the last ones were inhaling lengths of black cable. Shots splattered the brickwork a few feet above their heads, and they jumped back and slammed the door.

"Illya," said Napoleon aggrievedly, "what's going on here?"

"I have a silly idea..."

"What?"

"You'd laugh."

Illya pushed the door open again and peered out. The last truck revved its engine and swung toward the open ramp downward, where another steel sheet was already beginning to roll down from above. As it passed, four men in gray coveralls with black berets broke from cover; two even paused to fire once more at the doorway where Illya stood staring before they swung aboard the open tailgate, with hands reaching out to help them up as the truck sped up and roared around the corner.

The mutter of its engine faded as Illya gradually eased the door all the way open and stood up. The two men they had knocked over were gone, and the place was spotless except for a few oil stains on the floor at regular intervals. Slowly they walked out into the vast empty room and looked around.

A scrap of paper, caught in the dying eddys of the last truck's departure, fluttered across the concrete towards them and stopped. Illya bent and picked it up automatically.

It was an unused piece of note paper with MEMO: in fair-sized letters beneath the neat black symbol of the fighting thrush. He showed it to Napoleon.

Solo looked at it for a minute, then looked at his partner with mixed awe and disbelief. "Aw, no," he said. "We didn't just walk into the middle of Thrush Central, did we?"

Illya looked at him and shook his head sadly. "I told you you'd laugh," he said. "But I'll bet Ward Baldwin didn't."

Chapter 4: "Sugar Maple And Pine"

"This one was spotted by pure luck, Mr. Solo," the pilot yelled over the racket of the rotors. The radio-summoned helicopter had picked them up from the roof of the garage on Latimer Street and was now following the direction of a ground station. "It ran a red light about a minute after you put in the call and traffic control spotted it. The other ones must have gotten away."

Below them, a middle-sized semi thundered along the Schuykill Expressway. The pilot throttled back to stay well behind him and fairly high. "We can't stop him until he gets back onto the streets or hits open country, so we'll just have to stay with him."

It was fifteen tense minutes from the time they picked him up in Fairmount Park before the truck lumbered into an offramp for Conshohocken and turned north. Radio summoned cars to the area for support while the copter itself began to swing back and forth across the road in front of the speeding diesel, forcing it gradually to a standstill. Guns drawn, Napoleon and Illya leaped out and ran towards the cab, where a black-jacketed driver was starting to get out.