The Final Affair - McDaniel David - Страница 10
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I’m essentially a man of simple tastes.”
Illya scratched a speck from the white inset initial Kin the broad square butt of his special. and didn’t look at Napoleon as he asked casually. “Have you thought about getting married?”
“Thanks awfully, but it would never work. We come from two —.”
“Cut it out.”
“Sorry. Actually I hadn’t thought about it. I wouldn’t say it couldn’t happen, but don’t count on it.? He fitted his Special back into its lowslung shoulder rig and jerked it in and out a couple of times. ?I’d demand a lot in a girl. I don’t really think I’d care to try it again. But look, are you really that interested in the $30-a-day bonus for the 24-hour alert scene?”
“You seem to know my financial situation better than I do.”
Solo stood and stretched. “Same to you, fella. You spend 60 cents a day on transportation.”
“The subway’s convenient and it gives me something to do for twenty minutes while I’m waking up.”
“yeah. The spy who came in from Brooklyn — on the IRT.”
Both communicators chirped in chorus, and Illya barely had time to react before Napoleon flipped out his silver pen, drew down the short antenna and removed and reversed the upper point to expose the cylindrical speaker and mike. “Solo here.”
The familiar gravelly voice of their commander filled the quiet room. -We have just twenty-four hours to prepare the strike. Baldwin’s terminal is being moved between two and three tomorrow morning. We expect to have detailed plans for the operation by noon today.”
“Ah —tomorrow, you mean,” said Napoleon. “It’s only 11:18.”
?It is? My word, I’m still on New York time. Thank you, Mr. Solo. I’ve had other things on my mind. Apparently even Baldwin didn’t know until early today; their internal security is quit respectable. Stevens reported, by the way, that Baldwin is rather upset by this replacement. His old terminal is done in walnut panelling to fit the general decor of his office, and he’s seen a picture of the new design; He seems to have ordered a closet built to hold it and a secretary to operate it for him, and there’s a rumor that he may refuse to use it himself even if Central orders him to.?
“He could come up with a convincing reason if he wanted,” Napoleon said confidently.
“What do we know about the method of transportation?” Illya asked. “Can they fold it up in a briefcase and silently steal away?”
“It’s about the size of a steamer trunk —or a small refrigerator.
Similar in design to a unit you two blew up at t;hat prison camp in South America a few years ago, if you’ll remember.“I remember that very well,M said Illya.
“you aren’t likely to forget Salty O’Rourke, either,” said Napoleon.
“This one,” said Mr. Waverly. “will be leaving Alamo Square in a panel truck, possibly for the waterfront, possibly for a helipad. Mr. Stevens is remembering at the moment.”
“I think Plan A is the obvious and appropriate thing for the situation,”
said Illya. “We’ll check their procedure if Harry can remember enough, look over their route for the best spots, and intercept them.”
“Plan A takes about ten men, sir,” said Napoleon. “And it will involve a lot of noise and some —special equipment.”
“Do you know how many guards will be on the truck?” I11ya asked. “We’ll need the appropriate number of bodies to leave behind in the wreck so Thrush will be less suspicious of this admittedly unlikely ‘accident.’ Mr. Simpson has already prepared a dummy terminal to leave in the truck.”
“It’ll be split-second timing,” said Napoleon, “but we have all day tomorrow to rehearse. I think we should stay up late tonight going over whatever Harry tells us. sleep until ‘noon tomorrow and we’ll be ready to fight Thrush from midnight to dawn.”
“Admirable. Mr. Solo. We aren’t likely to hear anything before two, when Dr. Grayson will return with the tape of Stevens’ report. I sh~ll call you again when she arrives. Your strike team will be called from this office on a Y3K7 priority and ordered to you at 2:00 tomorrow afternoon. You will be sleeping in the quarters provided. I presume?”
“Yes, sir. And we’ll be in the building waiting for your call.”
“Very good. Waverly out.”
Solo replaced his communicator. “Which leaves us two and a half hours to kill. I think the commissary still has coffee —or could we telephone for a pizza?”
“Mushroom and sausage. Would you care for a fast round of Botticelli while we’re waiting?”
“There’s no such thing. Since I’m paying for the pizza, I’ll start with an H.”
“Did you ever go bowling in the rain?”
“That’s an obscure way of identifying him. but no, I am not Heinrich Hudson.”
“Did you write a famous essay titled ‘Notes On The Next War’, and a play…
No, that’d tell you too much.”
“‘Notes On The Next War’? Ah…” They walked down the corridor to the security guard at Outer Reception Station One. who would be receiving a pizza in forty-five minutes, and gave him the extension of the lounge where they would be waiting at the end of the hall next to the elevators, along with a five-dollar bill.
“Give up?” said Illya. as they started back up the hall. “Ernest Hemingway. Are you historical as opposed to fictional?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Were you…hrm1… Were you the subject of Shakespeare’s only three-part play?”
“Come on —you can do better than that. No, I am not Henry VI.” (*) ––––––––—(*) In answer to numerous questions: the rules for Botticelli. also known as ‘Culture’, may be found in most large books on games. The cycle of play is simple, as sketchily outlined above: data is gathered through yes/no questions whenever the subject fails to correctly identify a reference. until the assumed identity of the subject is guessed, in the same form. Unlike most Q&A games, both sides must work continually. SuperGhosts is an evolution from the well known game of Ghosts. and was discovered to me by James Thurber. It is illustrated elsewhere. Admittedly, both play better with more than two. —D.McD.
––––––––—Fog sifted through the dark and silent streets as a small force of men crouched motionless in the shadows beneath the concrete bulk of the Central Freeway where it crosses Hayes. They were prepared to go into action on three minutes notice anytime before dawn — or something might miss connections and they could never be called at all. Two miles away to the south an expendable tank truck waited in c~concealment. its diesel engine warm. its body filled with 2500 gallons of rocket fuel officially bound for a missile site in Marin County: and its cab empty but for a radio receiver and a few cables.
Behind the supporting pier immediately south of Hayes two more vehicles waited — a panel truck, identical in most details to the Thrush transfer van, and an ambulance which held half a dozen corpses legally requisitioned from the Unclaimed section of the City Morgue. There would be little left of the panel truck when Thrush or the San Francisco Fire Department found it, but every effort was being made to insure that subsequent investigation would show everything that should have been there. Mr. Simpson had sacrificed a malfunctioning PDP-8 calculator unit, a CRT with a burned phosphor, a misaligned photo-printer and a captured Thrush terminal housing shell, all of which would leave convincing remains after a brief but intense cremation. The same could be said for the corpses. since the Thrush guards in the truck would be taken in peacefully and held incommunicado until the entire affair was resolved. “Sometimes,” Illya had remarked at one point. “it’s inconvenient to be the good guys.”
Now both agents crouched in the rear of their panel truck. an open communicator lying on the carpet between them. Three-quarters of a mile away an observer stationed at a third-floor window was watching a pair of heavy doors which concealed the basement garage through which deliveries were made to the subterranean Thrush complex. His eyes rested in the rubber cups of a tripod-mounted pair of 10x80 binoculars focused by the blue light of a solitary streetlamp on the enigmatic steel of the unmoving doors. A cigarette stump lay cooling in the ashtray by his elbow; a can of soda sparkled faintly in the silence.
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