Pulp Fiction | The Invisibility Affair by Thomas Stratton (2 page)

"Really, Napoleon!" Illya said as Solo settled into the seat beside him.

Solo smiled, "After all, their motto says they try harder and one never knows..."

* * *

A twenty-minute drive along the Tri-State Tollway brought them to the Lake Forest Oasis. Carrying their briefcases, they walked slowly from the parking lot toward the glass front of the main building. The day was warm and muggy and the air-conditioning that greeted them as they stepped into the tiled entrance section was welcome. Next to the snack bar, two men were standing near the milk and ice cream vending machines. One wore a conservative business suit, while the other had matching dark olive trousers and open necked shirt with the letters WSD on the left sleeve. The man in the suit spotted Napoleon and Illya as they entered, spoke to his companion, and strode to meet them, extending his hand as he came.

"Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin? I'm Russ Wolff of the Chicago office." He shook hands with them both, then turned to the other man. "This is Charlie Reed. He's a part-time agent for us and a deputy sheriff of Waukesha County, Wisconsin. His reports brought this matter to our attention"

Reed managed to look proud and embarrassed simultaneously. "I never thought I'd get to meet you two," he said. "I've heard a lot about you."

Napoleon smiled deprecatingly, while Illya merely nodded. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reed."

Solo turned to Wolff. "Waukesha County? The reports we read came from, uh..."

"Mukwonago," Illya interjected helpfully.

Reed nodded. "Oh, yes. That's a town in the southern part of the county. I live there, and send my reports from home."

"Well, then," said Napoleon, "It seems we're bound for Mukwonago. Will you be coming with us, Mr. Wolff?"

Wolff shook his head. "There's nothing I'd like better that to see how you two work, but I'm afraid I can't. We suspect Thrush of having its eye on the new atomic accelerator being planned at Weston, as well as infiltrating into the local civil rights movement and the local branch of the Nazi party, and our office is pretty well tied up. In fact, I'm on my way to Weston now. In any event, I probably know less about this than your do. Reed reports directly to New York, like all our part-time agents, and the request for the meeting and what information I have came from the New York office." He sounded a bit resentful.

"Can we count on our Milwaukee branch for assistance?" Illya asked.

Wolff nodded. "Certainly, but remember that it's a small branch, and they're having their troubles, too."

"Oh?"

"They can tell you about it if you check in with them. I'm not sure they want it circulated. I'm not even sure I believe it."

Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances. Checking with Milwaukee would be a definite part of their program.

"Now, then," said Wolff, "I hate to rush this, but I do have to get to Weston. New York said that you had been flown here more of less directly from your last assignment, and you would need some replacement equipment. If you'll come with me to the car, I'll fix you up and then you and Mr. Reed can be on your way."

A few minutes later, their briefcases well supplied with assorted weapons and gadgetry, Napoleon and Illya watched the Chicago agent swing his car out of the parking lot and through the service area toward the tollway entrance ramp.

"Well, Mr. Reed," said Napoleon, "suppose you tell us all about it on the way."

Reed looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I can't ride with you. I drove down in my patrol car, and I'd better have it back at the office by four o'clock, or the sheriff will be asking questions.

Illya frowned, "You mean he doesn't know you're down here to meet us?"

"Well, no," Reed said, looking intently at the left front tire of the rented car. "And if you could do me a favor..."

"Of course, Mr. Reed," Napoleon said. "After all, you are one of us."

Napoleon's intended reassurance seemed to make Reed even more uncomfortable. "Yes, well, thank you, but..." He hesitated, searching for words, then blurted our, "Don't mention to the sheriff where you got the information. He doesn't know I report to you on the side, and, well, all in all he's pretty hardnosed about moonlighting."

Napoleon blinked. "I wouldn't consider working for U.N.C.L.E. as 'moonlighting,' Mr. Reed."

"Now, Napoleon," Illya broke in, "you know that a good cover story is valuable in inverse proportion to the number of people who know about it." He turned to Reed. "Your secret is safe with us."

"Of course." Napoleon's cordial smile returned. "You can give us a quick rundown now, and we can arrange a meeting place for later conferences. We have transcripts of your reports, but a first-hand account is always more informative. Now, as I understand it, the problem is that a house disappeared briefly and then reappeared, and later the owner of this house disappeared and hasn't reappeared. We have a dossier on the owner, Dr. Morthley. Brilliant man, though a little eccentric. Now then, if you could repeat in detail just what you saw and did that first night..."

"It was about two months ago," Reed began, and proceeded to give a vivid description of his encounter, apparently forgetting his four o'clock deadline with the patrol car. "I stopped by to talk to Dr. Morthley the next day," he concluded. "You know, feel him out a bit. I must say, if he knew anything about it, he was a good actor. A lot of guys would try to bluff—you know, convince me that I hadn't really seen anything. That's when you know they're up to something. Morthley wasn't that way, though. He seemed quite concerned, but didn't have any explanation."

"Did he say whether or not he'd been working on an experiment that night?" Illya asked.

Reed grinned ruefully. "Yes. He did, but it was just a string of big words to me. Omniperceptual something—or was it omnidirectional? Something like that; I didn't understand any of it, and he said it couldn't have had anything to do with what I saw."

"And the Doctor himself disappeared yesterday?" asked Napoleon.

"Well, not exactly. I just found out about it yesterday. As near as I can tell, the last time anyone saw him was three days ago. There was two days' mail in his box; that's how I found out about it. The mail carrier on that route is my father-in-law."

"Do you always watch over the rural residents that closely?" Napoleon asked.

"No, but I've been trying to keep an eye on Dr. Morthley ever since the house disappeared. Something was going on out there. So when he didn't pick up his mail, I checked on it.

"Are there any nearby neighbors?" Napoleon asked. "Anybody who might have seen anything suspicious?"

"No close ones, really. The house sits between two curves in the road. Nearest houses are a half mile away, and with the curve and trees—and a couple hills—I don't think anyone in them could see anything. Old Mrs. Cartlin could probably see the place, though. She lives on another road, about a half mile away, but it's on a hill, and until the leaves are all back on the trees—"

"You haven't questioned her?"

"No. I didn't have any real reason to ask questions until he disappeared. No real reason now, for that matter. The sheriff says Morthley probably went on vacation, and as long as that's the official view I don't have any right to nose around. Besides, anything you say to Mrs. Cartlin is common knowledge all over that end of the county in a couple of days."

"Could you show us around the area this evening?" Illya asked.

"And," added Napoleon, "could you give us a list of the people living about two miles in each direction, particularly those in the direction of the nearest highway?"

"And one other thing," said Illya. "Would you tell us how to get to Mukwonago?"

"I don't know about showing you around tonight," replied Reed. "I'm supposed to be on duty at the sheriff's office we've got a couple of men sick, and everybody else is doubling up to handle the work. You could come up and see, though. That's in Waukesha, now, not Mukwonago. He rummaged in the glove compartment of the patrol car and handed them a map of Wisconsin. "I could get you the list of people by then, and maybe snow the sheriff into letting me off to guide you around. Make sure you don't tell him you know me, though."

"That sounds fine. We'll see you this evening, then." The two agents got into the car. Illya behind the wheel. Reed still stood near the left door, fidgeting. "Was there anything else?" asked Illya.

Reed looked as if he were about to blush. "There is one thing you could do for me, since it's getting so late; I won't have time to stop by my place before going to the office and..."

"Yes?" Illya said impatiently.

"Well, I have some"—Reed hesitated—"some margarine in the car. I picked up on the way down here, and I was going to leave it at my house before..."

Both agents looked blank. "Margarine?" they chorused.

"Yes, said Reed, fidgeting more intensely. "It's colored margarine, and it's still illegal in Wisconsin. It's a dairy state and every year they try to get it made legal, but so far...Anyway, the only way to get it is to buy it in some other state and bring it back. Everybody does it, but with me being a law officer...Well, like I said, the sheriff is kind of hardnosed about a lot of things. There was some uproar a while back when one of the other deputies was caught with some margarine, and—" He broke off, with an elaborate shrug.

Illya kept his face deadpan more successfully than Napoleon, though he doubted that Reed could see either of them while staring nervously at the car's outside rear-view mirror. "I think we can manage, don't you, Napoleon? After all, if we can't get a case of colored margarine through Wisconsin customs, we had better turn in our credentials. If we're caught, we can always say Thrush planted it in out trunk."

A few minutes later they were back on the Tri-State Tollway, heading for the Wisconsin line with twenty-four pounds of contraband margarine.

It was just after five when Illya angled the car into a parking space a half block past the Waukesha County Courthouse. Illya locked the car while Napoleon virtuously fed a nickel into the parking meter. After a few minutes' search through the rambling corridors of the building, they located the sheriff's office.

Behind a large desk with a line of books across its front sat a middle-aged man, a little overweight, with graying, slicked-down hair. He looked up from the papers on the desk and smiled cordially as the two agents stepped through the door. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Napoleon stepped to the desk. "Sheriff Shorey?"

The man nodded.

"I'm Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin," Solo explained, producing his wallet with the gold identification card. "We're special agents for The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, and we'd like to talk to you about the disappearance of Dr. Morthley from Mukwonago a few days ago."

"Mr. Solo and I just flew into O'Hare a few hours ago," Illya offered. "The New York office sent us as soon as word was received of Dr. Morthley's disappearance."

"That's right," Napoleon said. "There's reason to believe that the disappearance of Dr. Morthley could have serious international implications." He held out his hand for the wallet, which was dangling limply from Shorey's hand. "Could you or one of your men show us the house where he lived? We'd like to get at it as soon as we can. New York is anxious for a preliminary report."

Shorey, trying as best he could to cope with the incomprehensible handed the wallet back to Napoleon and attempted to look helpful.

"I could show them, Tom." Charlie Reed stepped into the office. "I've heard about their organization, though I can't imagine why they would be interested in Dr. Morthley."

The sheriff seized the opportunity. "Fine, Charlie," he said heartily. "You show these gentlemen what they want to see. I'll stay at the desk until you get back. Anyway, McDermit called and said he might be able to come in tonight; he can take over for you if he does." He turned to the agents. "This is one of my deputies, Charlie Reed. He can show you around; he knows the area around there like the palm of his hand. Let's see, that was Solo and...?"

"Kuryakin," Illya answered. The agents solemnly shook hands with Reed for the third time that day.

"The patrol car is out in front, if you want to ride with me," Reed said.

Napoleon considered, then shook his head. "We'd better follow you in our car. We may want to look around after you've gone back on duty. I wouldn't want to cause any problems for the Waukesha County law enforcement." He smiled at the sheriff as the three men stepped out of the office. As they walked down the corridor, Illya felt sure he had heard a sigh of relief as the door had closed.

When they reached the sidewalk, Napoleon said, "You lead the way. We'll follow; we're parked down the street. We'll want to take a look at Dr. Morthley's house first, then perhaps we can talk to the neighbors."

"Right. Here's the list of names you wanted. I'll drive past where you're parked and you can swing in behind me."

Twenty minutes later, Illya turned off a dusty country road into a rutted driveway behind Reed's car. They followed the drive around to the back of the house, where it stopped in front of an unpainted wooden structure that had apparently served as a garage for Dr. Morthley. Through some trees on their right, they could see a large, sagging building badly in need of paint.

"It's a barn," Illya said, noticing Napoleon's glance at the structure.

The agents walked up to the back door of the house, where Reed was waiting.

"Did Dr. Morthley have a car?" Illya asked.

Reed nodded. "Yes. It's gone; that's one of the reasons the sheriff thinks he went away by himself. But he'd have had his mail held' he was very particular about his mail."

"Now, you said there was a bright light in the basement the night the house disappeared," said Napoleon.

"Uh-huh." Reed pushed open the unlocked back door and stepped into a kitchen. He motioned toward a door on the far side of the room. "It's through there."

Napoleon opened the door and felt for a light switch. When he found it, light from the basement illuminated a landing where the stairs took a sharp turn. Solo ducked his head and led the way down.