[Magazine 1967-­10] - The Mind-­Sweeper Affair - Davis Robert Hart - Страница 9

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It fitted with the action in Anagua. Agent 44 had probably been killed not by the spies but by THRUSH. So THRUSH, too, had somehow learned what information Forsyte could transmit and had joined the search. Solo thought about the weird machine—and what it might do in the hands of THRUSH.

The thought made him shudder—and then he heard the footsteps. Someone, more than one man, was coming up the stairs from the health club. He did not think that it was any of the health club staff returning. It was probably THRUSH. He thought quickly. He was still dressed in the white uniform of an attendant of the health club. He bent down as if searching the unconscious THRUSH agent on the floor.

The footsteps came quickly along the corridor, entered the room where the machine had been, and stopped suddenly close behind him.

"Freeze, friend," a voice said.

Solo did a good imitation of a man surprised, and then scared. He started, gave a small jump, and then froze as directed. Hands came up behind him and touched him expertly for weapons. The hands went away.

"Up. Turn around."

Solo turned.

The tall man who had been driving the car stood with a gun pointed at Solo. Two other men were with him.

The tall man jerked his head curtly toward the unconscious muscular man.

"Take a look at Gregor," the tall man snapped.

One of the other men circled Napoleon Solo and bent over Gregor. The tall man stared straight at Solo.

"All right, friend, start talking. Why'd you hit Gregor?"

"He was snooping around," Solo said in his best tough-man voice. "So are you."

The man who was looking at Gregor looked up. "He's hit bad. Maybe a fracture."

"Did you do it?" the tall man said to Solo.

"He fell," Solo said.

"Where are the others?"

"What others?" Solo said.

"How do they get the info from Forsyte?"

"Who's Forsyte?" Solo said.

The man who had not spoken suddenly swore. "Let's finish the dirty—"

"Shut up!" the tall one said.

"But he—"

"But he's one of them," the tall one said. "This must be where Forsyte passes the data. This joker knows how. They've slipped out on us, but we've got this one, and The Boss'll want to talk to him."

The other two nodded.

"Bring Gregor. I'll handle this one," the tall man said. The tall man grinned a wolfish grin at Solo. "Our Boss'll talk with you, friend. And believe me, you'll talk back."

They marched Solo out. Two of them carried the moaning Gregor. The tall man prodded Solo with his pistol. Napoleon Solo let them take him.

FIVE

EMIL DANTON leaned down over Illya Kuryakin.

"You'll talk, my dear Illya. You know our methods. And don't rely on that sensor you have implanted to bring my old friend Waverly. We have blocked its signal."

"You've been busy," Illya said dryly.

"Too busy," Danton said. "Sometimes I think we all spend much too much time devising weapons and defenses, and then making counter-weapons and counter-devices. It's a weary circle. Perhaps we should make a pact—no more tricky weapons on either side. Go back to plain muscle and guns. It would save a lot of overhead."

Illya smiled. He was in the same room of the mansion, the massive fireplace looming before him, and seated in a special chair. He was not bound; there was no need. The chair held him by the electronic force that sent a searing pain through him if he tried to move. The guards stood silent. Only Emil Danton spoke.

"Come, Illya. You know you will talk. Save me the trouble and mess of torture or drugs. I'm truly weary of all that fuss. I know that you will stand the torture, and you know I'll use it if necessary. But you also know the drugs will do the job, and you can't resist them."

"Try me, Danton," Illya said, "This time you may be surprised. I may not know what you want to know."

"You know a great deal I want to know," Danton purred. "Still, you may be right about the immediate problem. What do you know about Forsyte? The good colonel has a fine record."

"I know that. He has a fine record," Illya said.

"Not a spy."

"Not a spy," Illya agreed.

"Yet he has passed on secret data."

"He has?" Illya raised an eyebrow.

Danton sighed. "Really, Illya, don't fence with me. You were following him. You arranged a test; we know that. I'm sorry about your agent in Managua. Not all my colleagues share my belief in avoiding unnecessary violence."

"You're a gentleman, Danton," Illya mocked.

"I try to be. After all; just because we are spies, thieves, murderers, and all that, is no reason we have to be uncouth. So, let us admit that we all want to know just why a man of Forsyte's caliber turned spy, and how he is transmitting his data."

"All right, I'll admit that," Illya agreed. "I'm rather glad to know that you don't know."

"I'm sure you are, but we will know. Now, I think you know more than we do. A bad situation. I want you to tell me what you know. Right?"

Illya shrugged. "I assure you I don't know anything."

"How does Forsyte pass the data, Illya?"

"I don't know."

"What does that health club have to do with it?"

"I don't know. Perhaps nothing."

"He went straight home from that club. We followed him. He had no other chance to pass data."

"Maybe he didn't sell any secrets today."

Danton slapped Illya. "Don't be too funny, my friend. He follows a routine like a robot! We know that. His routine today was the same as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that!"

"He's a very dull boy," Illya said.

Danton spun on his immaculate heel. The elegant North American Leader of THRUSH nodded to his men.

"Take him," he said.

Two of the black-uniformed men stepped forward, grinning. They had a hypodermic syringe with a very long needle of the kind used to drip a solution into the veins. One of them held Illya's arm tight and stiff. The other prepared to use the needle. Danton had walked to a far wall and stood with his back turned. The THRUSH leader did not like the sight of violence.

Illya braced, concentrating his mind to use all the previous programming against divulgence of information he could. He felt the waves of mental strength tightening on his trained brain.

A loud buzzing sound broke the silence and the tension of the room. Danton turned abruptly and stared at a speaker on his desk. He motioned sharply.

"Wait," the dapper THRUSH leader snapped.

He strode to the speaker and flipped a switch. He listened. The voice over the speaker was too low for Illya to hear. Danton switched off and turned with a smile to Illya.

"We may not need your help after all, my dear Illya. Too bad. I'm afraid that means we have no use for you. You see, my men have brought one of the gang getting the secrets from Forsyte!"

SIX

THE DOOR TO the room opened and four men came in. Illya Kuryakin watched them. Three were obviously THRUSH agents in civilian clothes—the same three who had been in the alley. Illya saw the tall man in particular.

The fourth man was being pushed into the room by the tall man. The fourth man had his head down as if groggy, and wore the white uniform of the health club, but Illya was sure that he recognized the figure. It was someone he knew.

Danton stepped forward. "So, we've got one of you, eh? Good work, men. We'll have this one talking in no time. Or would you rather just tell us what we want to know without any trouble?"

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