The Corfu Affair - Phillifent John T. - Страница 19
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- 19/31
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"The thing we have in mind," Kuryakin said heavily, "is about half an inch long and the caliber of an ordinary pencil lead. It's a miniature transmitter-receiver, powered by body heat."
"In its military usage," Cronshaw added, "the man in the field would have it taped to his jawbone so as not to interfere with his movements. It's designed to convert into audio frequencies."
"That's rather beastly." Susan Harvey repressed a shiver. "I suppose someone with that thing in his head would hear voices."
"He would hear commands. Instructions," Kuryakin declared, with sudden inspiration. "And he would obey, or suffer. Imagine what a simple power boost would do! And the person at the other end, the controller, would be able to listen in and hear everything that went on, all the time!"
"Well," Waverly sighed and put down his pipe, "at least we know this much, then. Mr. Solo is in the hands of the enemy, but not willingly. He is under compulsion by this fiendish device. The next question must be, how do we get him back?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS the whole of the efficient organization that was U.N.C.L.E. seethed into fervent activity to deal with the problem, Waverly was at pains to make one point clear.
"We want Mr. Solo back," he said, facing a team of experts from all sections, "preferably. But failing that, he must be killed. He is much too dangerous to be left in that woman's hands." It was a bitter decision and there was more than one sympathetic glance for Illya Kuryakin, but no one questioned the correctness of it. The United Network Command was too important to be risked for the sake of one member.
For two days, Kuryakin did less than anyone. Try as he might, his brain was too bothered by various factors, and in any case he was in urgent need of rest and recuperation from his wounds. Susan Harvey attended him as often and regularly as her time would allow, but he was difficult, both as a patient and as a person. In neither valence would he render any clues as to his feelings. Never, she felt, had she made less impression on a man. It was as if she was transparent, as if he couldn't see her, no matter how carefully she tried to make herself pleasant and attractive. He had interest in two things, and two things only. One was for news that Solo had been sighted. The other was for some outcome to the ceaseless quest for some efficient way of getting that telltale module safely out of Solo's head, if and when they did manage to catch him.
Answers to both came in quick succession on the evening of the second day. Kuryakin had taken up residence in one of the spare small apartments within the crumbling brownstone facade, so as to be on hand in the event of any news. Susan Harvey had come to visit him, ostensibly to change his bandages but in secret fact to try out on him the effect of her newest and most brief mini-dress. She had long and extremely attractive legs, and she knew it. He would have known it too, had he taken the trouble to look, but he didn't. She sat, now, directly opposite him and crossed her lovely legs with deliberate abandon. Then she sighed and shook her head in despair.
"All right!" she declared. "I'll tell you!"
"Hmm?" Resounded indifferent. "Why?"
"Jerry Cronshaw made me promise not to, because it's still in the uncertain stage, but he thinks he is getting close to a way of jamming the output of those modules with a directional beam."
"Hah?" Kuryakin sat forward at once. "That's more like it. If we can catch him, and jam the signal effectively until we can get him operated on—the operation is straightforward enough, isn't it?"
"Nothing to it," she declared. "I can do it myself."
"That's great!" The change in him was startling. She felt a twinge of sharp envy that he could care so much more about his friend than he did for a woman—meaning herself.
"He really means a lot to you, doesn't he?"
"It's not that, exactly." His grin was instantly wry. "It's just that he's not safe, running around on his own, and with that radio voice inside his head there's no telling what he might get up to."
"Oh well." She took courage from his flippancy. "If you're feeling that much better, how about going out somewhere this evening, to celebrate?"
"Celebrate what?" he asked pointedly. "The redundancy of female attire? You can't surely be serious about going out in that?"
"Why not?" she demanded, tugging ineffectively at an almost nonexistent hem. "What's wrong with it?"
"There isn't enough of it to be wrong. You'd be arrested!"
"All right!" she shrugged. "We'll stay in and celebrate, then..." Her suggestions trailed off as the telephone shrilled for attention. Waverly's voice came.
"Mr. Kuryakin? Is Dr. Harvey with you? Good. I want both of you in my office, a once, please."
"Is it Napoleon?"
"I think so."
"We're on our way!"
Waverly's outer office was full of silent grave-faced attentive men. Number One, Section One, waiting until the new arrivals were settled, swept them with a steady gaze.
"The wheels are beginning to turn," he announced. "Last night another military center was raided and another consignment of the radio-modules was taken. This time we have had instant cooperation from the military as to critical wavelengths, and those modules will be useless to whoever has them. That is by the way. We know where they are. At this moment they are being held within Thrush-Miami head quarters. Our man on the inside informs us that the Thrush station is standing by for an important courier from Paris, who is to collect the modules and carry them to Corfu. We believe we know who that courier will be."
He swiveled to snap his fingers and the display screen lit up to show detail of a rambling old house in Coral Gables, standing in semitropical grounds.
"If it's Solo, we are going to have one hell of a job snatching him out of that rat's nest," a deep voice declared.
"That is not the intention, here. If, as I think, it will be Mr. Solo, our strategy will be to let him enter, make his pick up, and leave again. We will take him later. A point to stress. This operation must be done with great care. For one thing, we must operate completely outside our customary style, in a completely unorthodox manner, because we are dealing with a man who knows all our routines. For that same reason we cannot afford to use anyone who is known to him by sight."
"That won't work!" Kuryakin objected instantly. "Napoleon knows just about every enforcement agent on the staff. All the top rank men, anyway. If we pull out all of them we might as well quit right now. We'll be so crippled, we won't stand a chance!"
Waverly half closed his eyes, stroked his jaw with his pipe stem as he weighed the objection, then shrugged in resignation.
"Very well, we will have to make do with very careful and elaborate disguises. Now for the essential strategy. I'll sketch it, and if anyone can suggest improvements, please interrupt as we go. We have very little time to waste."
Napoleon Solo sat back in the taxi, apparently quite at ease, but in fact very much on the alert. The pick up operation had gone very smoothly, just a trifle too smoothly for his peace of mind. Surely there should have been some sign of opposition? The cab crossed the Tamiami Canal, and once again he could see the airport lights.
"I'm certainly sorry I couldn't stay awhile and visit with you boys," he said. "You seem to have a nice place here. In the daylight, they tell me, the scenery is pretty good too!"
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