The Hollow Crown Affair - McDaniel David - Страница 20
- Предыдущая
- 20/32
- Следующая
* * *
It was just about the same time of day when, forty-some miles to the south, Ward Baldwin, quietly but impeccably dressed, walked into the town square in Barre and paused to study the statue of Youth Triumphant. It squatted, or knelt, facing Burlington, holding a sword point down, at the westernmost tip of what might have been a town square but now was cut off as a traffic island. Around one hundred and eighty degrees behind it ran a stone bench with a high back curving slightly over the seat six feet above the ground. The back was a shallow compound curve, capable of gathering and focusing sound while keeping neither sun or breeze from anyone who chose to rest there. Both ends of the bench were empty.
Baldwin hobbled up to the southern end and sat. The white granite cube of the statue's base filled the center of the half-circle and he looked casually in several directions for Irene. He didn't see her approaching in the few minutes before the clock in the city hall tower sounded the hour of two, but as the last chime faded in the intermittent snarling of traffic, a voice murmured in his ear.
"You were early."
"Good afternoon, my love," said Baldwin, scarcely moving his lips. "You have discovered a fine meeting place."
"Thank you, Ward. I trust you were able to shake your watchdogs without trouble?"
"I sent Mr. Solo on a weekend in the mountains. I strongly suspect it of being a trap—for me, not for him."
"You think more highly of him than you admit."
"I have never questioned his survival instinct, my dear; merely his intelligence and taste. Chandra took Mr. Kuryakin to lunch."
"Bless her heart. She has a real talent for this work. I wish she would decide to come in professionally, but she keeps saying that it's too much fun to do for money."
"I received your bouquet with pleasure—and the pigeon, of course, arrived this morning."
"She must have gotten distracted. She was sent Thursday night."
"Could she have been intercepted?"
"Not without injury. I'm sure we're safe here for the time being, at least. But I wanted to know whether Alexander Waverly is acting on the advice you gave him."
"Yes. I heard an interim report—couched in the most guarded terms, of course—from him yesterday evening. Our misguided associates will be prevented from doing severe harm without actually suffering setbacks which could reflect adversely on us when this nonsense is resolved. But I was uncertain of my actions after you signaled me at the dance; did you mean that King is coming north or that Thrush Central is becoming increasingly militant? Or vice versa?"
"The fan gestures have the same problem as the flowers," Irene said. "Neither has a vocabulary quite suited to our purpose."
"All the better," said Baldwin seriously. "It forces us to think more deeply of what we are doing. I had no trouble following most of your meanings, in context."
"At the time I didn't know King was coming north," said Irene, "but Thursday I heard through Elma that King had told Central if they weren't able to keep you from cutting them up a bit at a time, he was going to Vermont with his PAR for a field demonstration."
"The Particle Accelerator Rifle? I believe Mr. Solo has referred to it as the Scrooch Gun?"
"That's right. Have you seen it? It's all coils and tubing, with fins around the barrel to dissipate the heat from the RF and magnetic coils in between. It looks like a hand-prop for Buck Rogers."
"I'm told it acts like one; the footage I examined was moderately impressive, as I recall..."
"Well, Central offered him an assault force for back-up, but he turned it down. He said he would prove his worthiness for the Council seat by taking care of you and Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin all by himself."
Baldwin released a sigh of pleasure and frank relief. "My dear," he said, "the man is an obvious monomaniac. And monomaniacs never take adequate precautions. He wishes to prove his worthiness? Very well. If he succeeds, he must be worthy. But if he is unworthy—we may close the books on Mr. King."
"He's a very convincing monomaniac," said Irene. "He gave Central one more chance to get you and they took it. There will be a fifteen-man undercover force hitting the UVM campus looking for you about a quarter past five on Monday afternoon."
"You know I would never question your sources, my dear," said Baldwin after a respectful pause, "but are you certain of that?"
"Unimpeachable, my love," said Irene. "But I must admit I am rather proud of it."
"The Computer indicated the likelihood of such an attack, but it predicted a smaller force, optimized at four-point-seven men in an early morning attack Thursday."
"Insufficient data."
"Of course. King's pressure. My campus defense forces will be quite able to take care of this group; an undercover assault force will not be prepared to commit actual mayhem upon uninvolved persons, especially large numbers of them. None of my personal staff should have to lift a finger—and we will probably have very good seats for the show."
"Don't be overconfident, my dear," said Irene. "If a covert force fails, they could still send in an overt one before giving King final permission to take the field." She paused. "Pigeon post isn't fast enough. I'll use the flowers. I can telephone and telegraph a bouquet to precise specifications overnight. I will have the Mercedes standing by if you find the situation a little too hot for you."
"Now, Irene..."
"Adequate precautions include admitting you may lose, dear. You taught me that, and it saved both our lives in Burbank. The Mercedes is in perfect condition and adequately close."
"You are quite right, my love."
The chimes just up the hill sounded the quarter. "We mustn't stay any longer," said Irene. "Goodbye, Ward. Do be careful."
"Of course, Irene. And you as well."
A slight rustling was his only answer, and traffic roared around the little island of silence for several seconds before he rose and walked slowly back in the direction from which he had come.
* * *
Napoleon Solo became aware of things bouncing around and something soft under him. He began sorting out sensory impressions even before opening his eyes to check and decided he was in a car, going downhill on a reasonably good but twisting road. A seatbelt held him in place, and he was wearing his own coat.
He looked blearily around to the right and saw the beginnings of a sunset behind the nearby hills; he looked left and saw Chandra Reynolds at the wheel. "Uh," he said, uncertain of what else to say.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," she said brightly without taking her eyes off the road. "How do you feel?"
"Like a used football. Do you know what happened?"
"Those were the Twins. They were sent out to get you. Fortunately I came along and explained things to them in time; they'll make up a story of some kind to tell the manager. I think they're his cousins or something."
"Oh." He thought for a while. "Are you part of Thrush?"
"Certainly not. They do too many things I don't approve of. But Ward is like a father to me. Naturally I want to know what goes on around him."
"I appreciate that. But how did you know what was going to happen to me?"
"Well, I didn't exactly. But I knew you were in trouble, and I thought I should help you for Ward's sake."
- Предыдущая
- 20/32
- Следующая
