Pulp Fiction | The Invisibility Affair by Thomas Stratton (6 page)

"By the way," Napoleon said casually, "we heard from the Chicago office that you were having some unusual problems up here."

Brattner stopped his search long enough to glance balefully over his shoulder, then returned to work. "I suppose you could call it that," he muttered. "If we don't watch out, Thrush may get us evicted for urban renewal this year."

Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances. "I never realized that Thrush was civic minded," Napoleon commented.

Brattner snorted. "These new boys, Forbes and McNulty are quite a pair. They know the general location of headquarters, but they've never been able to pinpoint the building. So McNulty came up with the bright idea of getting the whole area condemned for urban renewal. The new expressway is going to miss us by just a few blocks, a new civic center is being pushed for an area even closer, and urban renewal is cropping up everywhere. You saw what that street outside looked like; it wouldn't take much to get this block included. We kept ahead of them while we had their headquarters bugged, but recently their lobbying has begun to pay off." He backed out of the crowded supply room, holding what looked like a miniature oscilloscope with a three-inch screen. "Here's the big detector," he said, handing it to Illya. "Now to find the wrist model."

"Would it really be such a big job to move?" Napoleon asked/ "It's rather a small operation, compared to, say, the Chicago office."

Brattner snorted as he returned to his rummaging. "Do you realize what the telephone company charges to install all this special equipment? And you know what Mr. Waverly is like when it comes to the budget; why do you think we're in this low-rent area to begin with? Oh, sure, we could move if we had to. But it would cause a lot of problems. Besides, how would it look on my service record? Who's going to promote an agent who got run out of his won headquarters by urban renewal? Somehow we've—ah, here it is!" He emerged from the room with a wristwatch-sized device which he handed to Napoleon as he kicked the door shut.

"Shall we check them out?" asked Illya, wiping a layer of dust from the larger detector's screen.

Brattner nodded and led the way down the hall. "Certainly. I think they're in good shape, but we haven't been able to keep up our periodic checks lately, the way we're undermanned." He pushed open the last door on the left. "Here's our lab."

Illya walked over to the bench full of electronic equipment that lined one wall. He pulled what looked like a small, complicated signal generator to the front of the bench, flipped a switch on its front panel, and expertly plugged a pair of angling leads into the back of the detector. After waiting a few seconds for the transistorized circuits in the tester to stabilize, he began setting the controls. When he was finished, he pressed a final button and watched the detector screen closely.

A second later, a sharp beep sounded and a bright green dot appeared on the crosshatched screen. "Very good," Illya murmured. "It's as close as we can expect with a screen this size." The dot slowly faded until it was barely visible. "Did the wrist model pick it up, too?" he asked, turning to Napoleon.

"The needle flickered," Solo replied, "but it didn't get a chance to home in."

Illya nodded. "I didn't think it would. There isn't much leakage radiation from these testers." He unplugged the larger detector from the tester and held the leads in front of him while he pressed the button on the tester again.

"That got it," Napoleon informed him. "It's pointing at you."

"Fine," Brattner said. "We have two antenna setups for the standard rig—one in our communications center down the hall and one in my car. Which do you want?"

"We'll take the communications center, if it has any comfortable furniture in it," Napoleon decided. "We don't really need a fast getaway; after all, the idea is to trail them at a distance. And I could use some sleep, after the past few days."

"There's a couch," Brattner said, leading the two agents across the hall into a room that was a miniature version of the New York communications center. Illya could recognize among other things, a console that apparently was linked directly to the main data center in New York. He also recognized the couch and headed for it.

"You dozed a few minutes while I was driving up from Chicago," he informed Napoleon, "so I have first rights to the couch."

Napoleon slumped into a chair in front of one of the consoles. "Very well," he conceded, "but if we're dividing things all that evenly, I shall expect a bit more help than you usually give when it comes to making out our report." Peering about the console, he located the antenna jack and attached the detector.

"I'm getting a little behind on sleep myself," Brattner announced. "Unless you need me...?

"No, go ahead," Solo assured him. "Keep your communicator handy so we can contact you if anything happens. I assume you don't live too far away."

"Not far. I can be here in five minutes if—" He broke off abruptly and Napoleon whirled to the detector. The sound of a beep was dying away and a bright green dot showed two thirds of the way up the screen. Illya came jerkily awake and sat up on the couch. Brattner peered over Napoleon's shoulder at the detector screen.

"Thrush doesn't like to waste time, does it?" Napoleon commented. "Can you tell the location?"

Brattner shook his head. "Doesn't look as if it's moved from her apartment. They can't have taken her far, certainly."

"Strange," observed Illya as he joined them in front of the console. "It takes at least ten minutes for the coating to wear off the pill and expose the battery plates, and even with the worst case of acid indigestion, another five minutes for the charge to build up. They should be a mile away at least."

"Call your men at the apartment," Napoleon ordered. "Something may have gone wrong."

Brattner shook his head. "Can't," he said. "Since they went there for the purpose of getting knocked out, they left behind any equipment that might help Thrush—and that includes communicators. No sense in making Thrush a present of our stuff."

"All right," Illya said. "Let's get this detector into the car before the transmitter builds up another charge."

With Brattner in the lead, the agents retraced their steps through the record shop. They were in the car heading north, with Brattner at the wheel, when the detector beeped a second time. "Same place," Brattner said after a quick glance at the screen. "It's her apartment, all right; distance and direction both check."

They parked a block from Kerry's apartment, and waited for another signal from the detector. When it came, the source was still shown as the apartment, and this time the short-range wrist detector indicated the same direction.

"Let's go," Napoleon said. "Illya and I will check this out. Don, you keep your communicator channel open and be ready to back us up. I suspect," he continued, turning to Illya, "that it would be better to approach through the alley, rather than marching up to the front door."

Minutes later the two agents stood in the dark alley, trying to see through the bushes that lined the back fence. "Let's wait a few minutes," whispered Illya, "and see if we get another signal from the transmitter. One is due about now."

Napoleon nodded and looked up and down the alley. Garages lined both sides almost solidly, broken only by an occasional bush-lined fence like the one they stood behind. His nose assured him that at least one open garbage can stood nearby. "I hope no honest householder develops a sudden urge to carry out his garbage," Napoleon whispered. "Our presence here could be misinterpreted rather easily."

"Yes, I'm sure it could," a new voice broke in softly. "Just keep your hands in sight and don't make any sudden moves."

A large man stepped through the gate that opened on the far side of the nearest garage. His right hand held an object that gleamed in the faint moonlight and which was trained steadily on the two agents. As he approached, a light came on in the back yard of Kerry's building. Another man stepped through the gate to that yard a moment later. He was also armed.

Napoleon and Illya breathed simultaneous sighs of relief as they recognized the guns as U.N.C.L.E. Specials like their own. "You must be the agents guarding Miss Griffin," Napoleon said. "I'm Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin; we're from the New York office."

The guns didn't lower. "Let's see your identification, then," one of the men said.

Napoleon and Illya eased out their wallets and displayed the gold cards. One of the local agents took their wallets and inspected the cards closely, then handed them back and holstered his gun.

"Okay," he said grudgingly. "You're who you say you are. But what are you doing skulking in the alley?"

"We started picking up signals from the transmitter about half an hour ago," Napoleon replied. "Has anything been happening here?"

"The bedroom light came on for a time about three quarters of an hour ago, but that's all. No sign of Thrush activity."

Napoleon frowned. "We'd better check things out. You can turn the light out and go back to your posts. Illya and I will go in and find out what happened."

The lock on the back door yielded to Solo in a matter of seconds and the two agents stepped silently inside. They stood motionless for a moment; gradually, the kitchen took shape in the darkness around them. The house was quiet except for an occasional snore coming from a room halfway down the hall.

Napoleon inched up to the doorway and cautiously peered around the corner. There was just enough light filtering through the shades for him to make out a sleeping form. Napoleon drew back and motioned Illya into the kitchen.

"We'd better wake her up and find out what happened," Napoleon whispered, "but how do we do it without frightening her half to death?"

Illya shrugged. "Go back outside and ring the doorbell."

Napoleon stared at him. "Your devious Russian mind is showing," he whispered. The two agents silently left the house.

Two minutes later, they were standing at the front door, confronting a disheveled and confused Kerry Griffin. She smiled sheepishly when they had explained the situation.

"After you left earlier," she explained, avoiding their eyes, "I went right to bed, but I woke up with a headache. It must have been force of habit, to take an aspirin from the bottle next to the bed. I'm not really very alert at times like that; I didn't think about the aspirin being your transmitters. I'm sorry I caused you all this trouble."

"That's all right.' Illya reassured her. "It gave the instruments a good checkout. Now we know they work correctly. You get back to sleep and we'll see you tomorrow."

"Incidentally," Napoleon said, "did the transmitter cure your headache?"

Kerry looked startled. "Why...yes, it did! I feel fine, now."

"Remarkable. Well, try not to take any more of them; we'll keep a check on this one and see how long it lasts."

Kerry nodded agreement, said goodnight to the agents, and stepped back inside. Napoleon and Illya tracked down the local U.N.C.L.E. agents for a conference.

"Just a suggestion," Napoleon warned them. "Don't be quite so efficient when and if the real Thrushes show up. Remember, the object is to get Kerry captured without getting yourselves killed, and coming out with guns in your hands is a bad way to do that. Let them get the drop on you; they won't shoot if they don't have to. Too noisy."

The agents nodded. "It's just that we've been trained to never take a chance with Thrush, and it's hard to break the habit."

"We sympathize," Illya said, "but remember that this time capturing Thrush agents gets us nowhere, and shooting it out with them is equally useless and could get you killed."

"Good enough," Napoleon said. "Now we had better get back downtown if we're going to get any sleep at all tonight. He glanced at his watch and groaned. "One-thirty already. Let's get back to the car."

Brattner looked up quizzically as Napoleon and Illya climbed into the car. "She took it by mistake while she was half asleep." Napoleon explained. "Keep the detectors on; we'll run a check of transmitter life. It varies according to whose stomach it's in, you know."

As the car pulled out into the street, the detector beeped again. "Oh, shut up!" Illya muttered irritably, then stopped abruptly as he looked at his wrist detector. "What does yours show?" he asked Brattner.

"Not much," he replied, then slowed the car to take a more careful look. "Hey, it's moved—I think."

Illya was checking his wrist detector. "Hard to tell, it hasn't moved far yet. Wait for another signal."

Brattner stopped the car completely and all three agents watched the screen of the larger detector. The next beep came on schedule and showed that the transmitter had definitely moved. "At a guess, they're headed for the south side on Lake Drive," Brattner said, and gunned the car forward.

"Don't make too good time," Napoleon said. "We want to trail them, not head them off." He smiled in rueful admiration. "That was a slick operation. Thrush must have had someone watching the house, and they slipped in while we were having our little conference with the local agents. Very efficient."

Illya nodded. "But a trap is a trap, no matter how efficiently one walks into it. Old Russian proverb."

"I thought you were too sleepy for that sort of thing," Napoleon complained. "Incidentally, Don, where are the other two agents, the ones on the day shift?"

"Home in bed, I hope," Brattner replied. "They're due back on duty at seven. Why?"

"I was thinking that the agents back at the house should be notified that their quarry is gone, so they can get some sleep themselves. We'll need everybody on the job tomorrow—today, rather. And since they don't have their communicators, you can't reach them directly."

"You're right. I'll call George and have him drive over. He's up with a sick kid half the time anyway. Or maybe you'd better call, since I'm driving. It's channel J."

Napoleon made the call; instructing George to notify all agents to assemble at headquarters with full equipment at six A.M. Brattner muttered something about "undermanned" but continued driving. They came to a swooping downhill curve that went past a set of darkened tennis courts. He pulled off to one side of the street and turned off the lights. "That's the Drive down there at the flasher," he explained. "We'll wait here until we get another transmission. We might even be able to spot the car, if we're lucky. If it hasn't gone by already. If it's really on the Drive."