The Cross of Gold Affair - Davies Fredric (читаем книги бесплатно TXT) 📗
It was more like climbing a ladder than anything else, a ladder built for men twelve feet tall. His legs began to shake with weariness before he was halfway to the top. He made frequent stops, wondering why anyone would want to get on a roller coaster for free and then go in the wrong direction; but, once past the first big drop, if the hunters hadn’t changed position the rest would be easy.
Stones rattling below alerted him. He stared down across a three-story drop to see Arnold, climbing like a mountain cougar from level to level, closing the distance between them. The big Thrush was busy watching, his pistol at ready like a deadly toy far below. Then a strange mechanical sound rang out, and Napoleon froze. His hackles rose as he recognized the roller coaster starting up.
He climbed faster, racing Arnold and the car to the top of the first drop. Twelve feet to go, and he saw it edging up; the maintenance car, normally used to check out the condition of the track, was about to squash him flat. He turned, crouching, and spotted Arnold ducking down over the side of the tracks below him. Between the car and his little friend hanging in wait, Napoleon had less choice than he would playing thimble-rig.
He stood up, facing back down the steep incline. Spreading out his legs to put one foot on each track, he leaned forward and let go. Instantly he was sliding down the tracks. His clothes whipped back in the wind of his passage, and the car behind screeched as the Thrush inside applied brakes. They really did intend taking him alive, but it didn’t look now as if they could. Every bit of brake he could apply with the burning heels and soles of his shoes only served to slow him down minutely as he rode two bannisters at once to the bottom of his slide for life.
“Here he comes I” shouted the big fellow on the ground, running to meet him. Arnold, swinging to the ground, shouted instructions. Napoleon reached the bottom of his ski slope inches in front of the car, leaped off into space, and aimed directly at Big Stoop.
The Thrush kept coming, attempting to field him, and for the first time in his life was sent flying. Napoleon rolled, years of combat training taking command. Dazed and winded, he sprawled beyond his big cushion, and rolled into a karate stance, shaking his head. He drew a deep breath, trying to keep his balance and be ready for the two who hadn’t set themselves up as bowling pins.
Arnold had gotten caught behind a fence as he came down, but the third man, having stopped the car and leaped to the cement near Napoleon, grabbed at him. Reflex, duck, seize a wrist, crossover, bend and throw. The Thrush sailed inelegantly into the girders of the Cyclone Racer, just as Big Stoop stumbled to his feet, looked around, and started coming towards Napoleon. He grimaced at the man’s size, and prepared to sidestep and chop.
“Apis!” thundered Arnold from behind. The giant stopped, and Napoleon’s sidestep was knocked completely out of synch. Big Stoop reached out and plucked him into the air, dangling him with one hand. Napoleon brought a forearm up into the exposed neck, followed by a backhand across the eyes.
“I got him, Arnold,” the giant laughed, ignoring Napoleon’s hostilities. Arnold stepped forward, his face stretched into a strange smile. The third Thrush lay very still, moaning.
“Bring him along, Apis, and help del Grado. Mr. Porpoise isn’t going to be happy about having to wait.” The little Thrush faced Napoleon, well out of arm’s reach. “You led us quite a chase, Solo. Pity it was all for nothing, but don’t worry; we only want to ask you a few questions.” The voice through his smile was a thin snarl.
Apis shifted his grip to Napoleon’s shoulder, lowering him to the ground. Without effort, he picked up the fallen Thrush with his other hand, and the four of them started moving back over the field they’d run across. Napoleon reached up and took the tracer from his lapel under cover of wiping sweat from his face.
Gambol had been a dub about frisking him, but that was no reason to think these pros would make the same mistake. As they passed through the gaping entranceway back to the boardwalk, Napoleon pinned the tracer to Apis* belt. With any luck at all it would still be there when the Great White Hunter arrived with the cavalry.
Section II : “Does Napoleon have a future?”
Chapter 5
“Let’s be reasonable about this.”
“Mr. Napoleon Solo from U.N.C.L.E.,” said the fat man, speaking in a soft, clear voice that carried over the water and emphasized the quiet that normally existed in his aquarium room. “I am Avery D. Porpoise, an executive of Thrush.” The air was stifling. Napoleon estimated the temperature at over eighty, and the humidity must have been nearly enough to make it dryer in the pool. The change from violent exertion in the chill night outside made his voice crack. “You aren’t on Thrush Central-” he said, jerking to a halt as Arnold twisted his right arm sharply behind his back.
“Thank you, Arnold,” said Mr. Porpoise, taking a sip of his drink and settling the glass back down on the water in its yellow styrofoam float. “You must take Arnold seriously, Mr. Solo, because he has just warned you to speak softly. If you insist on stirring up a lot of noise in a room I have designed for my own personal comfort, he will probably do you some personal damage.
“You’re absolutely correct about my position; I assume your briefings at U.N.C.L.E. keep you informed concerning promotions to the Central Committee of Thrush, even as I am kept informed regarding movements among your superiors. But this is only hair-splitting: I am so close to the Committee that you will probably not meet anyone ranking me during your lifetime. Within a few days, I intend to become Thrush’s paymaster-general, in complete charge of the master financial operations.”
Great frosted lamps in the ceiling kept the room like an oven, and beads of sweat rolled down the faces of all the non-swimmers. Porpoise in his pool seemed perfectly at home, resting in the garish floating chair that reminded Napoleon of the device mothers use to teach infants to enjoy the water.
Napoleon spoke softly, finding that his voice carried perfectly in the big room. “I can only put two and two together, Mr. Porpoise. Since your stock broker brought me in after I asked questions about the upheavals in gold prices, you must be earning your promotion on the New York Stock Exchange. Good luck,” he said-adding as an afterthought, “And you’ll need it, because even with Thrush’s resources, it’ll be easier to lose a fortune trading gold than to win one.”
Porpoise nearly swamped himself in a bout of laughter following Napoleon’s friendly warning. His floating drink rocked on the crests of small tidal waves, and water lapped up on the pool deck; red-faced and heaving with laughter, the fat man made almost no sound at all.
“Oh,” he said weakly, drying his eyes with the back of a wet arm, “oh, that is rich. You’ve just earned your own life, Mr. Solo, because you’ve told me what no amount of questioning could have tom from you.”
The U.N.C.L.E. agent looked questioningly from one Thrush to another around the room, and saw that each was keeping one eye on him and the other on their chubby employer. Obviously, his hysterics weren’t sending them all into conniptions of back-slapping and fair cheer. The fat man brought his laughter under control, and turned to where Gambol stood, bandaged, sweating and very nervous.
“When Mr. Solo questioned you, how much did he seem to know of this operation? Did he seem to be after you personally?”
Under the lights Gambol seemed soft and pallid. He shifted from foot to foot, touching his cut and bruised face. “Like I said, he came in like a man from Candid Camera, asking me big as life to tell him who dealt heavily in gold. If he was setting a trap, why did he spread out his U.N.C.L.E. identification, and why’d he get right to the point like that?” The little broker turned all his worries into anger, and blasted at Napoleon in a hoarse whisper, “Why me, anyway? You’ve got your damned nerve, waltzing in on a Thrush satrap organization and expecting me to just tell you exactly who I’m working for! Do you think this is some kind of game?”
