The Corfu Affair - Phillifent John T. - Страница 28
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Then, in instant terror, she heard footsteps and voices and people returning. She had to hide. But where?
Napoleon Solo scowled, rubbed his jaw ruefully and tried to smother mounting irritation as he and Kuryakin escorted Susan Harvey up the last flight of stairs to where the carnage had taken place. For once in a way he was inclined to share his colleague's disapproval of interfering and unreasonable women.
"Look," he said, with long-suffering patience, "I know you have a professional interest here. I appreciate that. You've seen the tanks where she used to grow the bodies. You've seen the layout. Now, you say, you want to see the finished article. All right. But please remember that we, too, have a professional stake in this. Remember, Susan, that you are not a field agent, and that we are. Remember that that woman is still loose, and that she is dangerous. Incidentally, her cook-housekeeper companion is loose too, and may be just as dangerous as she is. This is no place for you. Now why don't you take yourself quietly off, back to the yacht, let us get things cleared up here—and you can examine the androids all you want—"
"Right now!" she insisted, stubbornly. She had thrown on a towel wrap over her bikini, and she plunged her hands into the pockets of it now. "I want to see the androids as they are. I want to see the control mechanism. If possible, I'd like to activate one—"
"You're out of luck," Kuryakin told her bluntly. "I took care of that. I'll show you. The switchgear is in here, for the heavy stuff. That little control box is only a relay. I can follow it fairly easily from the diagram we had. Look, I closed this breaker, and these switches, and blew a heavy charge through the whole range."
"What did that achieve, Illya?" Solo inquired.
"This is designed to be tuned in on any or all of the modules. I set it to cover the lot, and then blew them. That means there are no longer any android slaves working for Thrush."
"Hey!" Solo was struck with sudden inspiration. "That could also mean that all the Thrushes who have bought androids have also—stopped working. Couldn't it?"
"It could. And I am not about to lose any sleep over that, either. So there it is, Dr. Harvey. There's nothing left to see."
"Was it necessary to ruin the whole thing?" she demanded angrily
"I think so." He met her blue-eyed stare with equally blue-eyed determination. "I think this is one secret that is just as well forgotten!"
All at once she shrugged and turned away, to go back to the table and sit. "I suppose you're right, Illya. They are beautiful." She looked at the mute line of motionless figures.
"But they would pose some really terrible problems. Would they really be people, with rights and privileges, and emotions, and all the rest of it—or just property?"
"It's a tough question, all right." Solo sank wearily into the seat by her side. "I doubt if we are qualified to answer it."
"That's why I took it on myself to destroy the stuff." Kuryakin came to settle in the seat on the other side. "Slavery always is a problem, and this one—" His words cut off as a hideous cackle came from somewhere near, and by reflex he started to move. But the chrome-steel bands which clicked out of the chair were faster. With quiet strength they looped and clicked, one round his chest, one round each ankle, one round his left wrist. The right wrist, complete with pistol, was free.
He squirmed round frantically as far as he could, trying to get a line on that insane voice, a glance showing him that both Solo and Susan were totally trapped. His quest was vain.
As he wrenched himself round an empty bottle came down with crushing force on his wrist, to send the gun flying. The bottle rose and fell again, this time on his head. By the time the bells had stopped ringing in his skull, Louise had moved out and round, facing them across the table.
Kuryakin shook his head just once more, tried his bonds, and then settled for a bleak stare. So this was the famous Countess Louise! Never before had such stunning loveliness been regarded with such scant appreciation. She was totally nude, and even in her mania there was an inherent pride, a panache about the way she held herself, as if she knew that she was without flaw and good to look at.
"An animal!" Kuryakin muttered. "Madame, you do well to discard all clothing. Primitive animals have no need of it."
Something of his chill contempt seemed to strike through the fog of mania in her mind. She stiffened, glared at him, then bared her teeth in an evil leer at Solo.
"You don't think so, dear Napoleon. Do you? You loved me once!"
"Under compulsion," Solo retorted, his voice thick with revulsion. "You had a knife in my brain. It's not there now."
The lovely face contorted, swung aside to Susan. "You! Interfering busybody! Conceited, too. I have been listening. You think you are a good-looking woman, don't you? Look at me, and despair. Look at my lovely creatures and think again. And you, Mr. Kuryakin. Oh yes, I know you. I know all the U.N.C.L.E. agents by sight. Your precious organization is going to be short of three valued members when this night's work is done!"
"You'll never get away with it, Louise," Solo snapped at her. "You know there are more where we came from, that you'll be hunted—"
"Get away?" she screamed. "I do not intend to get away. Mr. Kuryakin there has called me an animal. Perhaps I am. When all I have worked for has been destroyed, do you think I care to live? Does an animal go on living when its nest has been fouled? You have come here, into my beautiful home. You have destroyed my beautiful creations, my beautiful people. Now I shall destroy you. I shall watch you die. This is something I have long been ready for, just as I planned those trap-chairs long ago, in case of trouble."
"What are we to die of, madame?" Kuryakin needled her. "Old age?"
She cackled shrilly and backed away to stand between the two center caskets and draw aside a priceless old shawl that hung there. "Old age? I do not think so, Mr. Kuryakin. When I pull this switch, the whole of the ground floor will burst into flame." She put her hand on the red lever, and for one moment they all had the impression that she was coldly sane.
"This palace is full of treasures, things beyond price. I never intended to leave them for anyone else to pick over. I shall take them—and you—with me. So!" And she swung the lever over powerfully.
The three prisoners tensed, expecting some kind of explosion, but nothing came. They stared at the demented woman. She stared back at them, grinning. Then it came, faint but unmistakeable. The smell of smoke, and fire.
"She's done it!" Solo gasped. "She's fired the place!"
"Quite right, darling Napoleon. Planted incendiary charges. The whole ground floor, and the cellars, are all ablaze by now. Pretty flames. I must see them!" She ran to the door and opened it, went out to stare down the stair well. Kuryakin heaved desperately at his bonds, trying to make some good use of his free hand.
"You'll never do it, Illya," Solo told him grimly. "They're rugged. And remotely controlled. Louise is the crafty one, all right." He made a stiff grin for Susan, was about to frame an apology, when his eye caught the sudden stir of movement and he stared. They all stared as one of the "lifeless" nude figures suddenly stirred, moved, and sprang lithely down from a casket. Solo was the first to comprehend.
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