The Mind-Twisters Affair (18 page)

Back at Illya's tree, the two agents looked out at the garage. The car's headlights were still burning but it was out of sight around the building. There was no activity evident from their vantage point.

"You round up Rita and Sascha," Napoleon said, "and I'll get back to the vault and investigate."

Illya nodded agreement. "But first I think we should give Thrush something to think about while we're inside the vault." He loaded one of the high explosive projectiles into the Mercox, aimed carefully at a garage window, and fired.

The shot missed the window and pulverized a concrete block next to it, but it was close enough to bring a chorus of excited shouts from inside the garage. Illya lobbed a second round at the building; this one went through the window and exploded inside. It produced more shouting and indications that Thrush was vacating the garage interior.

Illya stuffed the Mercox under his belt and started looking for the two errant members of the party.

By this time, Napoleon had reached the vault and found Flavia already there, at the bottom of a short flight of steps that led to the door. Lem was crouched down at the top of the steps, still holding his pistol. Napoleon hurried down the steps and helped Flavia push on the door. After a few seconds, it began to creak slowly open.

The interior of the vault was nearly barren, except for a heavy coating of dust and cobwebs. The deep recesses in the walls were empty. A single, ornate casket lay on a carved dais in the center of the floor.

"Jabez, Senior?" Napoleon inquired,

Flavia nodded, and the two of them started searching for anything that looked like it might conceal a secret door. They hadn't found anything when, a minute later, Rita and Sascha hurriedly entered the vault and Illya's voice came excitedly from outside.

"Napoleon! Get back up here! They're up to something."

"Stay put," Napoleon snapped to Flavia, "and you two help her look for the entrance to a secret passage." He ran out the door to find Illya crouched next to Lem at the head of the stairs. "You, too," he said to Lem. "The more, the merrier."

Illya had already started to move and was impatiently motioning for Napoleon to follow. As they moved back toward the front of the cemetery, the first thing Napoleon noticed was that the lights behind the garage had gone out. ."They've been clanking and pounding back there ever since you left," Illya said as they reached his tree. "I can't see what they're up to, but -"

He broke off as they both saw what the clanking had been for. The Thrushes had been building a tank. Heavy steel plates had been hastily mounted on the front of one of their cars, which now rumbled around the corner of the garage and headed directly for the cemetery.

"You take the tires," Illya said, fitting one of the remaining high explosive rounds into the Mercox. "I'll see what these do." Aiming at a point where two plates joined, he fired. The explosion rocked the vehicle, but failed to stop it. Hastily he fired a second round with no more effect, and now it was within yards of the fence.

As Illya reloaded a third time, one of Napoleon's shots hit a tire, and the car swerved to one side. Seizing his only chance, Illya put the last of his high explosive rounds into the gas tank.

The results were spectacular. A huge fireball burst from the stricken car and roared upward. Two Thrushes leaped out, their clothing on fire, and rolled on the grass in front of the fence. The car was still burning fiercely as the fire in their clothing was extinguished. They entered the cemetery meekly when Napoleon ordered them to do so.

Shielded from any Thrushes remaining in the garage by the flaming car, the two agents herded the Thrushes back to the vault. They were almost there when a series of explosions came from behind them. Napoleon kept his gun trained on the Thrushes, but Illya glanced back to see what had happened.

"The car," he said. "That's why they wanted to get close to us. They had more explosives in there."

Napoleon prodded the two scorched Thrushes into the vault and sat them down back to back in one corner. Then he took their belts and tied their hands together behind their backs.

This accomplished, be rejoined Illya at the top of the stairs. The car, now scattered in pieces over several square yards, had stopped burning.

"What's next, I wonder?" Illya looked toward the garage and house.

"After that homemade tank trick, I begin to suspect that Whateley is back from the drug store. They were pretty disorganized at first or they might have picked us all off at the start. But now somebody is directing things. I know what I'd do in Whateley's place, and I suspect the only thing holding him back is your Mercox. Do you have any more high explosive rounds?"

Illya shook his head.

"That's what I was afraid of. If Whateley suspects as much, we may be in for a hot time."

For the time being, Thrush activity seemed to have ceased. An occasional shot came from one of the windows in the house, but whoever was shooting could hardly hope to see his target. The firing seemed to be either simple harassment or an attempt to draw a return.

Then the sound Napoleon had been dreading came. There was the distinctive roar of an auto engine; a moment later, the U.N.C.L.E. car rounded the corner of the garage. They couldn't see the driver, but both Illya and Napoleon knew it had to be Jabez Whateley. The man wouldn't trust any of his subordinates to handle the vehicle.

He was driving slowly, evidently enjoying the moment and determined to prolong it as much as possible. Slowly a section of the grille retracted and the snouts of the flame throwers slid into view. There was an almost invisible flash from the laser system, and a neat round hole appeared in the vault a yard above their heads.

Napoleon could picture Whateley chuckling to himself as he tested the weapons,

Illya glanced at the Mercox, useless now without the high explosives. "I might as well get something useful," he muttered and ran back down the steps. A second later he was back with Sascha's riotgun and Lem's pistol.

In the meantime, Napoleon had attached the shoulder stock and telescopic sight to the U.N.C.L.E. Special, converting it into a carbine. "If he's going to use the rockets, he'll have to raise the door. Maybe..." The laser flickered again, and a second hole appeared, lower down this time. Napoleon glanced up. "But I don't think we can wait." He sighted carefully and began firing. Illya followed suit, first with the riot shotgun, then with the pistol. The car body was plastic, strong but not impregnable. With high explosives, it could have been stopped, but the chances were slim with conventional ammunition. But they had to try.

They were both firing and reloading as rapidly as they could, but the sweeping contours of the car presented no surface for a solid hit. The bullets struck glancing blows and whined off into the distance. The bullet-proof glass in the windshield protected Whateley completely.

The car crept closer. Then the door opened, just a crack. Napoleon quickly sighted and fired. The bullet ricocheted off harmlessly and before he could fire a second time, there was a
whoosh
of fire. Both agents dived back down the steps and flattened themselves at the bottom. A moment later, about a yard from where they had been at the top of the steps, an explosion rocked the vault.

The two agents had been protected by the steps, but next time... "How many of those does he have?" Napoleon asked.

"Enough to get our range," Illya said. "At least half a dozen. We're just lucky that the heat seeking system isn't sensitive enough to respond to body heat."

At that instant, Rita and Sascha came bursting through the vault door. Each had an U.N.C.L.E. Special.

Napoleon stared at them unbelievingly for a second. "Where did you get those?" he snapped.

"We couldn't find a passage," Rita said. "But there was a little compartment in the coffin. And it's more useful than that tear gas gun, so -"

Napoleon wasn't waiting for the complete story. He leaped up and dashed inside the vault. "Everyone inside!" he shouted as he disappeared through the door.

Puzzled, Illya and the others followed. "Shove the door shut!" Napoleon said over his shoulder as he moved around the dais until he found the coffin's compartment and began rummaging furiously.

As he pulled something out, another rocket hit the vault; the entire structure shook. One of the empty recesses crumbled and dust flew in the door, which Illya and Curtis were trying to force shut.

Illya glanced back and saw that Napoleon had an U.N.C.L.E. communicator in his hand. "It's a little late to call Mr. Waverly," he said.

But Napoleon was making quick adjustments on the communicator, then speaking into it rapidly.

Suddenly, there was silence. The deep throated rumble of the U.N.C.L.E. car's engine was gone.

Napoleon pocketed the communicator and breathed a huge sigh of relief, and started toward the vault door. "Let's go take possession of the car and Whateley. I don't think we'll have any trouble from the rest of the Thrushes once we've done that."

Comprehension suddenly came to Illya. "The anti- theft program in the computer..."

"Exactly," Napoleon said. "When it receives the code I just sent, it shuts off all power, locks the brakes, and looses a fast-acting anesthetic gas into the driver's compartment."

The two agents hurried out to the car. In the east, the first light of dawn was beginning to show.

Professor Curtis produced a quart jar from his refrigerator and held it up proudly. "Midford, '59," he explained. "A very good year for rose hip extract."

Lem Thompson looked decidedly uneasy until Curtis pulled several glasses from a cabinet and began filling them from the jar. "Oh, it's for drinking," he said, relief showing in his voice. "Looked like more medicine, there for a minute. I got enough of that for a month of Sundays." He glanced at his arm, swathed in bandages and supported in a sling.

Napoleon, even though he had tasted Curtis' concoctions before, managed a polite smile as Curtis handed him a g1ass. Illya merely looked glum. Rita Berman thought of her grades and put on a cheerful face.

"Did you and that little man in your fountain pen get everything worked out last night?" Rita asked as she sipped cautiously.

Napoleon ignored Illya's startled glance as he replied. "Yes, everything's under control. Mr. Waverly got some men from the Chicago branch to take the Thrushes off our hands. They're probably in New York by now."

"Jabez, too?" she wanted to know. "In spite of everything - well, I just can't believe he would have followed through on his threats."

"Hah!" Lem said, touching his bandaged arm. "I suppose this ain't following through enough for you?"

"I'm afraid Lem is right," Napoleon said, "but we have hopes for Jabez. U.N.C.L.E. has some pretty good men on its psychiatric staff, you know."

"In other words," Lem snorted, "you're gonna do to him what he was gonna do to us."

"You can't say that curing an unbalanced mind is the same as drugging an entire community!" Rita exclaimed.

"All depends on who's in charge of the balance, I guess," Lem said philosophically. "Besides, I didn't say I was against it. Letting him off too easy, if you ask me. None of my business, though. Just so I get my truck fixed, and get all the farm work done." He looked meaning fully at his injured arm.

"It's all been taken care of," Napoleon assured him. "Mr. Waverly said he'd have a check in the mail for you today. And one of the Chicago agents will be down to help you out until your arm is better."

"What about Flavia?" Rita asked. "I haven't seen her since last night."

"She s coming back to New York," Napoleon said. "She decided that a sink-or-swim effort at her sculpting would be the best thing for her."

"You aren't planning on giving her a lift, are you?" Illya asked, a note of incipient claustrophobia in his voice.

Napoleon considered for a moment. "You must admit, it wouldn't be quite the same as it was with Dr. Armden," he said, then hurried on as he noted Illya's dour look. "No, she's coming later. It will be a few days before she can close up the mansion. And then she has to get her tools and all the rest shipped ahead."

Before Rita had a chance to comment, Napoleon's communicator sounded.

"Solo here."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Solo," came Waverly's voice. "I've been in contact with Whateley, through the agents bringing him in. He mentioned some rather unusual volumes in his library. I was hoping that, before you left -"

"Considering the nature of his, ah, delusions," Napoleon interrupted "do you think it wise to let him have access to his books?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Solo, not for Whateley. There are a few I would be interested in seeing myself, if you could arrange to pick them up before you leave."

"They might give you an insight into the workings of his mind," Illya offered helpfully.

"Quite right, Mr. Kuryakin; they could be invaluable to our psychiatric staff in their treatment of Whateley. Though I must admit a certain personal curiosity myself. The world of the occult and the like, you know."

"Certainly, sir," Napoleon said. "You had some particular volumes in mind?"

Illya listened as Napoleon copied down a dozen or more titles. "You don't suppose," he said dubiously, once Napoleon had signed off, that Mr. Waverly would ever
really
try to dispatch agents by broomstick?"