[Whitman] - The Affair of the Gentle Saboteur - Keith Brandon - Страница 16

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"Not hungry, thank you."

"You sure?"

"Sure."

"Honey, I don't like this. Look, we got a kitchen man in the back. He's big; he can take these two guys and knock their heads together. Don't be afraid now. I can see you're afraid. You got tears in back of your eyes, I can see. Now just hold up. William!" she called toward the kitchen. "Hey, Bill!"

A towering man in a white apron came out of the kitchen and out from behind the counter. "Okay, I been listening. I'll take care of these bums, lady. I'll throw them right out on their ear." He took hold of Steve. Kuryakin pulled him off. The man clenched a huge ham-hand, turned swiftly, hammered the hand at Kuryakin. Illya ducked and jolted a fist upward, in a short thrust to the man's jaw. Abruptly the man sat down on the floor.

"No. No!" Now Pamela was crying. "Please, no!"

The man sat on the floor, blinking.

The woman behind the counter held a kitchen knife menacingly.

"Please! Please!" Pamela cried.

Kuryakin helped the man to his feet. "Sorry."

"You sure pack a wallop, young fella," the man said, rubbing his chin. "Give him the dime, Esther. This is no bad one. Bad, he could have kicked me in the head while I was sitting down there. He could have kicked my brains in. Instead he picks me up and says he's sorry. Well, I'm sorry, young fella. Mistake in judgment. Takes all kinds. It's a crazy world. Give him the dime, Esther."

The woman put down the knife and rang the cash register.

Kuryakin accepted the coin and went to the phone booth and closed himself in.

12. Change in Plans

AFTER BURROWS' CALL to Solo, Sir William Winfield had routinely called his office and had been advised of urgent business. The British Ambassador to the United States and the Japanese Ambassador were flying in from Washington for a conference with Sir William; they would be in his office in the UN Building at ten-thirty that morning and would remain for lunch with Sir William. He, of course, confirmed the meeting. His son was missing but UNCLE was actively engaged in it. There was no assistance he himself could provide. Waverly had put his own car and chauffeur at Sir William's disposal.

"You know the arrangements," Waverly had said. "The first contact is one o'clock. After that, who knows how long it will take? I'll be in communication, by telephone, with my car as soon as anything breaks. My chauffeur, Ronny Downs, beginning at one o'clock, won't leave the car. You keep him informed where you'll be. If there's any news, I'll get through to him, and he'll get through to you. When your business is completed, come down to the office and you and I'll sit out the vigil together."

Sir William had left the UN Building at one-fifteen.

"Anything?" he had asked the chauffeur.

"Nothing, sir."

He had gone home, spent a half-hour with his wife; he had been glib and cheerful, pretending assurance, encouraging her about Steven; then Downs drove him to UNCLE headquarters.

Waverly was alone when Sir William entered. Green blinds were drawn to keep out the sun; Waverly was slumped in his chair at the desk, smoking.

"Sit down, Sir William."

"Thank you."

Waverly smiled glumly. "The contact's been made."

"How do you know?"

Waverly laid away his pipe. "Stanley and Mr. Solo went off alone as Eric Burrows instructed, but five cars at safe distances went along with them not as Eric Burrows instructed."

"I—I don't understand."

"Our lab introduced certain substances into Mr. Solo's body that give off an electronic signal. Special computers in the cars indicate precisely where and what distance he is from them. The men in the cars are in communication with me." Waverly pointed to an oblong box on his desk. "This is a lovely instrument, a sender-receiver meshed with the sender-receivers in the cars; the synchronized wave bands automatically change every thirty seconds. Thus, if by chance a conversation is intercepted, a listener can hear only a thirty-second fragment."

"The cars are out of sight?"

"Far out of sight."

"Then how do you know about the contact?"

"Mr. Solo with Stanley came to the intersection of Savoy and Remington at approximately one o'clock; that the computers were able to pinpoint. On Remington Road the car was abandoned, and they walked."

"But how...."

"The electronic signal emanating from Solo. The rate of speed of his movements can be computed. He walked, presumably with Stanley, for about a half-hour. During this time, one of our cars spotted Solo's abandoned car—didn't touch it, of course. Then, oh, about twenty minutes ago, the rate of speed accelerated again. They were picked up by a moving vehicle. And that's about how it stands right now."

"My son?"

"Not yet."

Waverly lifted a lever of the oblong box. "Alex here, calling Number One. Come in."

McNabb's voice was clear. "They're still moving at a fairly good clip. Number One, Jack and I, trailing. Number Two a half-mile behind us. Three, Four, and Five are fanned out on other roads. No significant stops since he entered the moving vehicle. No hits, no runs, no errors—nothing. All smooth, no change."

"Check." Waverly depressed the lever. Sir William was sitting forward, his hands clasped so tightly the knuckles were white. "So far, so good," Waverly said. "Please relax. So far it's going exactly to specifications, and my people are instructed not to interfere, to take no risks. Our object is to effect the exchange without putting the hostages in any possible jeopardy. We hate losing Stanley, but the welfare of your son and our Mr. Kuryakin is paramount."

"But—all this time...?"

"According to specifications, Sir William. Burrows—and we can't fault that—was being careful. He set the rendezvous a good distance from the point of destination. We can't blame him for that, can we?"

"No, I don't suppose..."

"And even before the rendezvous—he let them walk for a good half-hour on a country road, observing them from somewhere, I'm certain—making sure they weren't being followed—that we were proceeding in accord with his instructions. All of that is good rather than bad, Sir William. I appreciate your concern. Your son—"

The short sharp jangle of the phone startled him. He had left orders at the switchboard that he was not to be disturbed unless it was a matter of extraordinary importance. He pulled the receiver from the cradle and said curtly, "Yes?"

Sir William watched as the Old Man straightened tall in his seat.

"Yes... yes... um... I see." The color was up in Waverly's face; in the dim, shadowy green of the sun-subdued room his eyes sparkled with dancing lights. "Yes ... yes ... all right. Now hear me. Stay just where you are. Just stay there! They'll pick you up. 'Bye now." He hung up, turned a smile to Sir William. "Your boy is safe!"

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Thank goodness!" Sir William was on his feet, his hands spread on the desk; he leaned across to Waverly. "But what—how...?"

"Listen!"

Waverly flipped the lever of the oblong box.

"Alex here! Number One! Come in!"

"You're loud and clear, Chief," came the voice of McNabb.

"Hold sharp! We've got a shift in operation!"

"I hear you, Chief. Go!"

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