[Magazine 1968-012] - The Million Monsters Affair - Davis Robert Hart - Страница 23

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He caught a dim view of Griffis swinging around. He could see the gun in the man’s hand!

TWO

WHEN NAPOLEON SOLO made his first tentative whistle in Theresa’s commanding tone, Illya Kuryakin realized what his friend was trying to do. Illya’s mind had always been clear. It was only that the drug disconnected his mind from his body - as if a mental clutch had been thrown out.

The whistle from Solo caused a tingling sensation all over his body - proving that it had some effect. Like Napoleon, Illya did not know if this was proof that Solo had found the secret of command for victims of the slave drug.

He hoped desperately that Napoleon would follow up the trial whistle with a full command. His body was still relaxed. He had no control, but he tensed mentally. He was on edge and ready to leap into action if Napoleon could give the right tone command to activate his body.

Then Peters brought in his prisoner. Illya saw the sick despair on Solo’s face at the sight of Marsha Mallon in THRUSH’S hands. He felt the same way himself although his mentally imprisoned body did not reveal it.

Then when Theresa LeBrun turned to jab her slave drug needle into Marsha Mallon, Illya heard Napoleon’s frantic command.

The tone was perfect. He hurled himself straight at the LeBrun woman. He understood as well as Solo did that he had to take her out of the fight or everything was lost.

Theresa jerked around when Solo shouted his command to Illya. She recognized instantly that he was copying her commanding tone.

“Kuryakin -” she began.

The rest of her words were lost in the smash of Illya’s fist on her open mouth. His natural reluctance to strike a woman was forgotten in the desperation of the moment. The freedom of half the world and the lives of the other half depended on the outcome of this battle.

Theresa was knocked back. She struck against Marsha just as the Mallon girl grabbed for the gun Griffis was trying to line up on Solo’s head. Theresa tried to scream a command to Kuryakin, but her bruised lips could not form the precise tones she needed.

Illya meanwhile ducked a savage blow from Peters. He grabbed the THRUSH man in a quick Judo throw and hurled him into the other man rushing at him. He grabbed them by the hair and slammed their heads together with a savage crash.

He whirled to see Griffis jerk his gun up to kill Napoleon Solo. Frantic, Illya leaped to head off the shot.

Theresa LeBrun, crying and dripping blood from her injured mouth, threw herself in Illya’s path. The two collided and fell.

Solo tried to throw his bound body forward to hit Griffis’ legs. The THRUSH field chief leaped back out of the way. His face was fiendish as he leveled the gun at Solo’s face.

Solo had done all he could. Illya was trying to scramble up; but Solo knew he could not outrace Griffis’ bullet now.

Griffis fired! The sound of the explosion was thunderous in the small room. Solo flinched involuntarily as the gun went off. His body jerked with surprise as the bullet missed him by a wide margin and slammed into the wall.

Then he saw the reason. Marsha Mallon struck Griffis down. She had grabbed the camera-transmitter from the desk and hit Griffis in the head with it.

The THRUSH field director toppled forward on his face.

“Good girl!” Solo gasped. “Get me untied. I -”

She dropped the broken transmitter and fled into the darkroom.

“Illya!” Solo cried. “Get her! She’s the absolute key to everything now!”

Kuryakin only stood there. His slave drugged body had done all his previous orders called for. In his excitement Napoleon had yelled at him in his normal tone of voice.

He tried again and his thickened tongue betrayed him. Desperation mounting to a fever, he tried still another time.

“Illya! Illya! Untie me!”

Kuryakin’s body jerked. He leaped over the unconscious body of Theresa LeBrun and started struggling with the knot of the rope that bound Solo to the chair.

As soon as it was loosened, Solo gasped, “We’ve got to get Marsha. Knocking out Griffis won’t help us at all. The transmitter crew already has its programmed orders. Unless we can destroy it immediately, the monster orders will go out on schedule!”

He burst this out in his normal voice, knowing Illya’s brain would receive it, even though his friend’s mind could not transmit orders to his own body.

Then Solo changed to the difficult job of copying Theresa’s control tones.

“Stay here,” he said. “Keep Theresa unconscious no matter what you have to do. She can still control you until that infernal drug wears off. I’m going after Marsha. I’ve got to convince her to cooperate with us - or THRUSH is going to win!”

He cut through the first darkroom, following the girl’s tracks. Then when he went through the light-trap maze into the other room a bullet smashed into the door facing near his head.

“Don’t come any closer!” Marsha’s voice screamed at him. “I’ll kill you!”

Solo leaped back. He realized then what had happened. In his haste and anxiety he had forgotten that he had overturned the acid tanks in the bleaching room. Marsha was trapped.

“Marsha!” he called. “Miss Mallon! This is Napoleon Solo. I’m from U.N.C.L.E. We are both fighting the same battle. We must have your help. If you don’t work with us, we’re going to fail. Can you understand me?”

“Get back!” the frightened girl cried. “If you don’t get back, I’ll kill you!”

“But don’t you understand? We’re from U.N.C.L.E. We’re trying to stop this awful thing the same as you are!”

“You’re trying to trap me!” she cried. “I don’t believe you’re from U.N.C.L.E.”

Napoleon cursed in a burst of futile despair. What could he do to convince her?

“Miss Mallon!” he said, trying again. “You saw us prisoners of the THRUSH group. We -”

“THRUSH has many enemies!” she cried. “How do I know you aren’t trying to steal the secret from them for your own evil uses?”

“What must I do to convince you?” Napoleon cried, exasperated.

“Just go away and leave me alone! I know what they are doing better than anyone. I can beat them myself if you’ll just let me alone!”

“Listen! Is there a phone anywhere we can get to? You can call U.N.C.L.E. headquarters yourself. I can give you information that will positively permit them to identify me over the phone. Will you do that?”

“Even if you are from U.N.C.L.E., what good would it do?” she replied bitterly. “My father tried to contact U.N.C.L.E. and what did it get him? THRUSH killed him and almost got me. I don’t want any help from U.N.C.L.E. or anybody. I’ll go it alone.”

“You haven’t a chance,” Solo argued. “The transmitter is all set to go. The crew is ready to flash its destroying message just as soon as the Telstar communications satellite starts to circle this part of the globe. We have less than thirty minutes.”

“I don’t care!” she cried in a choked voice. “I can’t trust you! I am certain you are trying to trick me!”

Napoleon Solo groaned in frustrated rage. Never before had he so missed his marvelous collection of U.N.C.L.E. protective devices. He would have given his soul just for the chewing gum that made up into a high explosive.

This alone would have provided the “equalizer” that would have made him and Illya Kuryakin a match for the entire THRUSH group.

There were THRUSH men all over the studio. He could not hope to find a phone without being captured first. He had already seen how strongly the perimeter of the studio was patrolled by THRUSH guards. It was equally impossible to try and sneak out of the place.

Yet, something had to be done fast or THRUSH would launch its worldwide monsterizing transmissions. All they were waiting for was for the communications satellite to come into position - and that was only minutes away.

A dozen mad schemes for stopping THRUSH flashed through Solo’s mind. He considered everything from setting the studio on fire to trying to get the Air Force to bomb it out of existence. But each scheme required communications with the outside to put it into operation. And that seemed impossible in itself.

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