The Dagger Affair - McDaniel David - Страница 18
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The intercom came to life, with Waverly's voice. "Mr. Erwin — Mr. Alshire — conduct our guests to Room Twelve, under maximum security. Mr. Solo — Mr. Kuryakin — report to my office at once. Everyone else, please return to your jobs. The emergency is officially ended."
"Thank you, sir," the Thrush spokesman said, looking directly into the concealed television camera. As the crowd disbursed, two U.N.C.L.E. agents came forward, sidearms at the ready, and said, "This way, please."
* * *
Napoleon and Illya slid into their seats just as the large television screen on the wall came to life. The four visitors from Thrush were sitting around half of a circle facing their screen, above which was their camera. Waverly touched a control on his desk, and the visitors looked up as he spoke.
"First, allow me to apologize for the rudeness of refusing to meet you face-to-face. But I am sure you understand the necessary precautions."
"Perfectly," said the spokesman. "An unarmed man is the most dangerous of assassins because few will guard against him. This way you will be able to listen to us without having to guard against us at the same time. And what we have to tell you and show you is of the greatest importance. If we could arrange to have these spools of videotape fed into the system..."
"Certainly. Hand them to the gentlemen outside your door."
One of the Thrushes rose, tape reels in hand, and crossed to the door, which opened automatically, revealing an armed guard. The guard accepted the tape without a word.
"Mr. Waverly, we are from the Public Relations branch of Thrush. We have data which will be of interest to you, regarding the problem of the organization known as 'DAGGER'."
Napoleon leaned forward intently. Illya nodded quietly to himself as if he had expected it all along. Waverly spoke guardedly. "We are aware of the problem of DAGGER."
"A short time ago," said the Thrush spokesman, "DAGGER came to the attention of a Satrap on the West Coast. With some difficulty, a high-level member of this organization was brought in for interrogation, to satisfy ourselves as to the nature, goals, and affiliations of DAGGER.
"The tape you are about to see is our record of that interrogation. Down the right side of the frame you will see the simultaneous polygraph recording of the subject's reactions. In the lower left corner is a meter which indicates the amount of electric current being fed through the arms of the chair. Across the bottom of the frame will appear identification of other techniques used in the interrogation. We have mimeographed copies of the transcript available for you."
An orange light flashed on Waverly's panel, and he spoke. "The tape is ready. Do you want it played now?"
"Yes, please."
He touched another button, and the image of their visitors tore up and was replaced by a field of jagged lines which shortly resolved into a scene familiar to both Napoleon and Illya.
The camera was looking down on the subject, fastened into a metal chair in the middle of a small metal cell. His body was erect, and his mouth was firmly set. A voice said, "What is your name?...What city is this?...Where are you from?" There were pauses between the questions, but the man gave no sign of having heard them. The traces on the polygraph record were unsteady.
"What are the goals of DAGGER?" The lines down the side jumped badly, with the respiration trace recovering first, heart second. Skin conductivity was drifting toward the edge of the scale until a light at the top of the frame flashed "CALIBRATE." Then it centered up, continued to drift, and finally settled into a new position.
"Where is the headquarters of DAGGER located?" The heart was beating faster and the breathing was shallower. Skin conductivity rose steadily. The man was becoming increasingly terrified, but was obviously not going to volunteer any information. The voice said, "No more questions." The man relaxed.
A moment later the word "HYPNAMINE" appeared across the bottom of the frame, and the picture tore up. When it re-formed, the voice said, "Gas administered ten minutes ago. Subject in medium trance."
The man was slumped forward in the chair. His breathing was deep and irregular, his heartbeat slow, skin conductivity low. The voice spoke again, soft and insistent. "I am your friend. I wish only to help you. But you must help me. Tell me the names of your other friends in DAGGER."
The man in the chair raised his head a little and looked glassily toward the TV monitor below the camera. In the upper left-hand corner of the frame suddenly appeared a slowly-turning spiral, drawing the eye to its center. The man stared fixedly at his screen, where the hypnotic vortex was presumably full-sized. He made a vague sound, like an attempt at speech.
"Tell me the names of your other friends in DAGGER."
"Misstraut allen, in welchen der tribe zu strafen machtig ist."
There was a moment's silence while the interrogator considered this; then he said, "Geben sie mir die Namen ihrer anderen Freunde im DOLCH."
The subject stared into the depths of the spiral and said, without intonation, "Jeder kleinst schritt auf der Erde is ehedem mit geistigen und korperlichen Martern erstritten worden."
"Wo befindet sich der Hauptsitz der Vereinigung?"
The man continued to speak in German, while Napoleon tried to remember why the phrases sounded familiar. Then he had it — they were quotations from the works of Friedrich Nietzsche, the philosopher who had preached the conquest of mankind by the superior man. It seemed appropriate, considering what they knew of DAGGER.
There was a pause before the interrogator spoke again, and this time there was a slight edge to his soothing voice. "Welche seien die Ziele ihrer Vereinigung?"
The subject's face had not changed expression, nor had the polygraph traces revealed any sign of nervous reaction. Nothing moved but his mouth, as he continued to give voice to the quotations.
After a moment the figures "G-12" appeared at the bottom of the screen, and a few seconds later pulse and respiration dropped and the man's head sank forward as his voice trailed off. The picture tore up again as a voice said, "Subject has now regained consciousness."
When the image steadied, the man was looking around nervously. The voice spoke again. "You apparently will not cooperate without a little prodding. Let us know when you have decided to talk."
The dial in the lower left-hand corner of the frame stirred a little off zero and rose perhaps a tenth of the scale. But the effect was totally unexpected. The pulse and respiration shot up and skin conductivity went off-scale in a moment. The man struggled against the clamps in panic, and gasped. "No! The leader is Keldur — Kim Kel..." His voice caught and choked.
The polygraph record showed a deep breath gasped in and held as the heart spasmed violently twice, and lapsed into slight irregular twitchings. The electric current was cut off at once, but the heart contracted again as the man in the chair made an awful sound and strained against the clamps.
The respiration trace showed one last shuddering exhalation as the heart stopped. The man slumped loosely in the chair, like a puppet with its strings cut. Skin conductivity began to fall slowly. Blood pressure fell. Pulse and respiration were two perfectly straight lines. After a while the picture cut off and the screen went dark.
Napoleon Solo glanced across the table. Illya was studying the backs of his hands intently. Napoleon reached for a carafe of water, and poured himself a glass. His mouth and throat seemed uncommonly dry. They had seen men die before, but watching a machine reading out every bodily function, automatically recording every detail of his last moments, was not pleasant.
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