The Assassination Affair - Holly J Hunter - Страница 14
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Archer checked his watch, decided it was time to call in, and activated his transceiver. "Archer at Point Eight," he said. "They're not in sight yet."
Waverly's voice answered him soberly. "They've just passed Point Five. They're moving very slowly. Give them a few minutes."
"Yes, sir," Archer said. Move slowly and bunch your targets even more, he thought uneasily.
"And, Archer," Waverly came through again, "since you're one of the farthest points out - be ready. The move has to be made soon. If it happens, call me for help, and then give Mr. Solo assistance."
"Yes, sir. I have the procedure drilled in my mind." Archer closed down his transceiver, reluctant to break contact. He hoped in the depths of himself to get in on this action. He agreed with Solo about this nasty business. When they had last talked in the cafeteria, Solo had been angry - at fate, at Thrush, at everything. To put your life on the line for a reason was one thing; but to be attacked in the dark by assassins was vicious. Archer wanted to attack the assassins in return.
A bare whisper of sound caught his attention. It came from the back of the alley. He would normally have thought, cat, and let it go, but not tonight. Tonight be whirled around, and in the dim shadows he made out a figure. His stomach clenched. A mugger? A robber? Or the assassin?
The figure moved and it was gigantic. A giant of a man was standing at the end of the alley. He was a cross between an ape and a prehistoric throwback. Only the gun he pointed at Archer put him in the twentieth century.
Archer went for his own gun. It was firmly in his hand, the safety off, when another sound hit him, again from behind, but in the direction of the street. Even as he pivoted he saw the descent of a heavy gun butt, his head was struck at the temple, and the alley disappeared in a deeper blackness. He fell, and that was the last he knew.
Louie, tall and thin, stood over Archer's body and hollered for the towering Julius. "Get to the car, Julius. It's time."
Julius came lumbering by, his big feet in the over sized shoes looking the weighted boots of Frankenstein's Monster. Then Julius was gone and Louie was alone with the unconscious agent. Louie pointed his gun at Archer's head, shrugged and lowered it. Maybe Adams wanted them all dead, but for himself, he had nothing against U.N.C.L.E. agents. He didn't really know what U.N.C.L.E. was.
He strode to the street and the waiting car, smiling. It would soon be done. With the details they'd gotten from inside U.N.C.L.E., it had been easy to find the scattered backup agents, and easy to take this one out of action For all the hatred and fear U.N.C.L.E. generated in the old Professor, Louie thought they had done a lousy job of concealing themselves in the alleys.
---
In the car, Illya checked the rear window for the hundredth time. Solo felt his friend's movement and countered with a careful gaze forward. Illya turned back, a set expression on his face. "I think we're being followed," he said softly.
"All right" Solo gulped in a deep breath, preparing himself. "This is it. The question is, do we let them catch us?"
"Lead them close to our backstops so we'll have help. We just passed Point Six. Let Seven and Eight check them out and we'll stop them near Nine. That way we'll be sure."
"Make the report," Solo ordered.
Illya opened the glove compartment. Inside, a small radio glowed. He spoke into the microphone. "Mr. Waverly, we've had a nibble. We're being tailed by a blue Chevy, old model. If he follows us when we make the turns for Points Seven and Eight, we'll know. We'll stop at Nine."
Waverly's voice came into the car. "Put on some speed, Mr. Kuryakin, as though you're trying to lose them. We want no false alarms."
Illya returned the microphone to the glove box, then braced himself wisely as Solo's foot pressed harder on the accelerator.
The U.N.C.L.E. car eased forward, gaining speed. In the rearview mirror, Solo watched the other car dig into the cement to catch up. He kept his foot pressure steady, maintaining a set speed, forcing his hands to stay relaxed on the wheel. He didn't want to get too tense, too full of adrenalin. Not yet
The next turn came at him and he wrenched the wheel to the right, squealing around the corner. Behind him, the blue Chevy made it at the last minute. It was coming for him, all right. Let it come. He smiled into the night being cut by his head-lamps.
He calculated from the map in his mind and said, "Point Seven coming up, Illya."
"And straight away to Eight." Illya's voice was throaty. He was getting an edge on, too. Both of them were priming themselves, pacing themselves to Point Nine and the confrontation.
Solo sped on, his eyes roving the street ahead and coming to rest briefly on a recessed doorway where a fellow agent should be maiming Point Seven. And there he was. The agent raised his hand in a sign of recognition, then pivoted to watch the blue Chevy. He was soon out of Solo's sight.
"It's coming on faster," Illya said. "Catching up."
Solo pressed back against the seat and stamped on the accelerator. He had to elude the blue car until Point Nine because that was the plan. Waverly would have called ahead and set everything up to meet it
Illya gasped, "Don't kill us before we get there!"
"Hang on," Solo warned him. "Here's the last corner." The U.N.C.L.E. car barely made the turn, careening, and narrowly missing a collision with the opposite curb. But the blue car hung on, incredibly gaining on the distance until it was only seventy feet from Solo's bumper. Souped up, he thought. A camouflaged hot-rod.
This street, leading past Point Eight where Archer waited, was nastily narrow, and Solo wished he hadn't chosen it as part of the route. But there was no traffic, and very little light was cast by the street lamps. He could speed here as though the devil were after him. And the devil was.
One block ahead, lights appeared to the right and a car crawled out of an alley. Solo let up on his momentum and veered to the center of the street, his hand hard on the horn. But the car - a black Cadillac - didn't stop. It came into the street and across it, braking in the center, blocking the way.
Solo stamped the brakes, pumping to slow, then hitting them with all the strength in his leg. Slowing wasn't going to do it. But a complete stop was out of the question with the Chevy so close.
The Cadillac stayed in the street and he barreled at it, then wrenched the wheel to the left, taking the curb to pass on the sidewalk. He wobbled between two lamp posts and steered back to the right to avoid hitting the brick buildings. He would just make it
Nastily, the Cadillac lurched ahead, jumping the curb in front of him. The sidewalk was blocked!
Solo's foot crushed the brake pedal and he brought the car to a neck-wrenching halt two feet from the Cadillac, jerked it into reverse, and then stopped all action. For the blue Chevy had jammed itself in behind him and he was blocked from both ends.
The street loomed empty on Illya's side, but there was no cover there. It would have to be his side, then, with the brick building towering upwards. His hand reacted, coming up with his gun, in unison with Illya's. He touched Illya briefly and motioned to the left, directing him to follow.
Solo jumped from the car, leaving his door open and crouching behind it for shelter. Illya scrambled out, hit the sidewalk and opened the back door of the car to give them a little box of protection. Solo faced the Cadillac, and Illya crouched the other way, ready to take on the Chevy.
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