The Assassination Affair - Holly J Hunter - Страница 9

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"Go Practice Your Karate"

FOR TWO DAYS, Solo restlessly paced the halls of U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters, and every time his feet led him automatically toward Section Two, the man at the check point turned him back with a grin and a wave of the hand. The inaction was agonizing. In his mind were al ways the two names he had heard in the fight in his apartment - Louie and Robard. He could almost feel them beneath his hands - their weight, their height, the solidity of their muscles. He longed to pummel them senseless for turning him into a pointless, jumping-at-shadows prowler in his own office.

At the moment, he was prowling the lower sections. Mr. Waverly had kept a maddening silence for two days, had shut him off from all information and briefings, and time had started to wear on his nerves. Even the brief flirtations with the staff beauties had suddenly fallen fiat. There was no future in these flirtations. There seldom had been, but now they were even wary of talking to him, afraid they might let something he wasn't supposed to know slip out.

He had been imprisoned in filthy little cells for longer durations than this. He had been chained or bound for longer times. He wondered why this confinement was so much worse. But he knew the answer. Here there was no hope of escape. He had absolutely nothing to occupy him except the thought that an assassin waited somewhere, perhaps even inside the building. Louie and Robard, whoever they were, remained outside. He had no concern over them. But there was someone else - someone inside with him - who might appear at any corner, any door recess, and begin blasting at him without warning. He wanted desperately to go outside, track down the brain behind this nasty scheme, and have it out with him. But only Illya was allowed that joy. For himself, he had to keep on pacing and trying to fill the hours.

He walked the smooth, metal corridor alone. No one else was about. They were all shut up in their cubicles with work to do. He marched with measured strides, setting a destination in his mind.

From the next corner, a shadow fell across the floor. Solo stopped. His hand slid to his gun and had it out and grasped, the safety off, in one fluid movement. He held his breath, waiting.

The shadow lengthened, coming to the corner. A figure took shape, and he sighed. It was Lainy Michaels, her; face squeezed into a confused frown. She halted when she saw the gun pointed at her, but then she laughed. "It's only me! Do you always carry that thing around?"

Solo stated flatly, "From now on it's an extension of my hand." He holstered the gun, relieved that it was only Lainy and not one of the regular staff. He would have looked pretty foolish drawing on one of his friends. "Are you on your way somewhere?"

"I'm just wandering."

"You're allowed free run of the halls?" Solo noticed that she wore a badge that would let her onto any floor.

"I'm not, actually," she admitted. "I was told, and I mean told, to go directly from one place to another, and there are only certain places I can go, but I get lost." She saw the direction of his gaze. "Oh, the badge. Well, I get lost so often that Mr. Waverly let me have this badge. He said he trusts me to try my best to stay where I'm supposed to be, and if I do get lost, I won't set off those noisy alarms."

Solo laughed. So Lainy was responsible for the three alarms of the last two days. He hadn't been told. It was all reasonable, but surprising that Mr. Waverly had melted enough to trust her with such clearance.

"I feel like a mouse in a maze, Mr. Solo. I was going to the cafeteria."

"I'll take you down."

"Don't bother if you're busy. It was just something to do. I'm bored, I guess."

Solo led her along the corridor anyway, their foot steps falling together as he shortened his stride to accommodate hers. "Do you miss your cat?" he asked.

"Even though you think it's silly - yes, I do."

"It's not silly at all. But she's being cared for. That's one thing I've been allowed to check."

"I know." Lainy giggled. "Twice a day someone rushes to me with a report on how much she ate and played and how she's feeling. I think I'm causing quite a bit of commotion, and it seems so funny. I guess I own the first Pussycat from U.N.C.L.E."

"Keep causing the commotion. It relieves the boredom."

"You re bored, too? I've heard people talking about how you're cut off from everything. How do you fill your time?"

"I'm on my way now for a Karate work-out. Practice makes bruises and they're better than nothing. You can at least contemplate them." He stopped, an idea forming to help her as well as himself. "Would you like to come along?"

She was suddenly, unexplainably nervous. "I don't know a thing about Karate."

"To watch, Lainy! To watch!"

"Oh, yes, then. I'd like it. No one gets hurt, do they?"

"Let's hope not." He circled her waist with his arm. "If anyone does, it's Mr. Solo, because the instructor is about seven feet tall and five feet across."

His contagious grin spread an imitation of itself over her face. "If you know about that kind of thing, Mr. Solo - Karate and Judo and all - I guess my mother should have told me. I picked a dangerous man to spy on, didn't I?"

"More dangerous by the minute, little girl. Anyway, maybe you can pick up some pointers to use on your boyfriend."

"That's not the idea at all, Mr. Solo."

"Don't tell me that two days inside U.N.C.L.E. have turned you into a femme fatale!"

"I only wish you believed it," she said.

---

Two more days of inaction and Solo finally commanded his way into Mr. Waverly's office to wait for the older man and air some of his gripes. The whole process of hiding inside the building was ridiculous to him; worse, because with every day his nerves stretched more tautly, his reflexes sharpened themselves, until he was a loaded gun with a finger pressing the trigger. The thing had to be settled. Waverly wouldn't be happy to see him, but after four days of no communication, Waverly had no choice.

The door at last flew open and Alexander Waverly came in. He glanced at Solo once as he went to his accustomed place. He sat down, laid his pipe before him with the papers he had been carrying, and cleared his throat. "Well, Mr. Solo," he said, "do you suppose we need a mediator?"

Solo didn't respond with the grin Waverly expected. Instead he answered grumpily, "If things don't clear up, we might, sir."

"Nerves - Waverly bobbed his head - see." His tone was understanding, almost condescending, and it jerked little rivulets of anger along Solo. "It would seem to me, Mr. Solo, that U.N.C.L.E. has tremendous resources for the venting of nervous energy. Go practice your Karate, or your marksmanship. You do have to keep in trim."

"I've already done those things, sir. All day and half the night."

"Really." Waverly sent Solo a chilly, estimating stare that made the agent uncomfortable. "Then I'll have to find something for you - to keep you occupied - to exercise your brain."

Solo brightened. "That's what I've been waiting for, sir. I didn't join this organization to sit around the office."

"But you will sit around the office," Waverly said evenly. "And you'll make the least possible nuisance of yourself while you do it."

Solo stared down at the table, feeling oddly as though he'd had his knuckles rapped by a schoolteacher.

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