[Magazine 1966-­08] - The Cat and Mouse Affair - Davis Robert Hart (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

The man in uniform in the jeep looked up at the hills and at the side road. Two men jumped from the black car. The three men all looked at the side road.

Solo got out of his car, where he had parked it out of sight from the highway, but from where he could watch the road. He checked his U.N.C.L.E. Special and plunged silently into the bushes. He worked his way down the hillside.

On the highway the three men drew guns and started up the side road. They moved swiftly but warily. Hidden, Solo let them pass, and then worked the rest of the way down to the highway.

The man left in the black car neither saw nor heard Solo creep up on him. Not until the agent was almost on top of him. Then the man heard, turned, raised an ugly-looking Luger. Solo shot him in the neck with a sleep dart from his Special. The man collapsed.

Up on the side road there were loud voices. They had found his empty car. Solo leaped into the jeep. The keys were still in it. The three men were still running down the side road when he drove away in the jeep.

Solo raced back along the highway toward San Pablo. As he approached the gravel drive down to the beach house of Jezzi Mahal, he saw the men all across the road. Armed men. Solo bent low and pretended to slow the jeep. The men opened a path. Solo jammed down on the gas and the jeep leaped forward, through, and past the men.

He drove on, crouched low, but no shots came. He raised up and looked back. The black car was coming. Napoleon Solo grinned; they would not catch him now.

But someone was worried about what he might have found at The Silver Dunes.

FOUR

The International Tribunal held the special session in the San Pablo presidential palace, the former palace of the governor general. All members were there. Martin O'Hara held the floor.

"I am sorry to have to tell you, gentlemen, but I have definite indications that Opposition Leader Zamyatta, the Stengali, and Colonel Julio Brown of the second regiment appear to be involved in some form of plot!"

There was a hubbub in the ornate room that had once held the glitter of colonial pomp. The two Western members, and the Zambalan labor leader, Mark Boya, nodded their agreement with O'Hara. The Pole and the Indian demanded to know what kind of indications O'Hara had, demanded that he produce his evidence.

Carlos Ramirez listened for a time, and then banged for order. The room fell silent.

"If this is true, we must act. If it is true. I will call in the Organization of American States. But I agree that we must know what proof we have."

The tall old man glared like a lion around the table in the elegant room. His thick shock of white hair seemed to dominate them all. His strong, alert eyes flashed from face to face in the silent room. He pounded his cane harshly against the floor.

"I repeat, gentlemen, we must have proof!" Ramirez said in a voice that had lost none of its power. "I have perhaps more than anyone to lose in this island if Zamyatta should come to power in a coup, but I will not let my personal business blind me to justice and the will of the people."

The old poet and patriot glared around him. Then he faced O'Hara.

"What exactly is your information, O'Hara?"

O'Hara hesitated. All the proof he had was the possible murder of Tembo by the Mahal woman, the list in her desk that he could not produce, and the experiences of Illya and Solo.

"Very well," and O'Hara told them what he had learned, but without telling them of U.N.C.L.E. He made it sound as if some chance information had come to friends of his.

There was another silence. Ramirez frowned, his craggy old grandee's face set in lines of thought. The Pole and the Indian member sneered.

"None of that can be called proof," the Pole said.

"We have had many rumors since we came here," the Indian pointed out mildly.

"I say it's enough," Mark Boya, the labor leader said.

"We do have a national crisis to consider," one of the two Western members said.

Ramirez listened, and then the old man spoke. "No, we do not have enough proof to charge Zamyatta and Colonel Brown. What O'Hara tells us is enough to convince me, perhaps, but we must be sure. The future of Zambala is at stake. I suggest that we alert the premier and the deputy premier, and that they quietly prepare all the military units they know to be loyal.

"I suggest we be ready, that we make quiet preparations to protect San Pablo. The deputy premier will know what to do. But we must make no move, no public announcement until we have more proof to show the world."

The members of the tribunal looked at each other. There was a general nodding of heads, all but the Polish member, who frowned. Ramirez smiled.

"Good," Ramirez said. "By tomorrow, I hope we will know more. The future of much more than Zambala is at stake."

In a small room at the other end of the presidential palace, Illya and Solo sat at a table and leaned over a small radio receiver. O'Hara had his set open, and the two agents had listened to the entire discussion. Now Illya looked up.

"He is a hard man to convince, Napoleon."

"He is that," Solo said.

"Still, he may be right. We don't really know yet what they plan to do," Illya said.

"Then I suggest we find out," Solo said.

"My thought exactly," Illya said.

"The second regiment?" Solo asked.

"That seems the most likely place. It is very hard to hide the movements of a regiment," Illya agreed.

"Shall we go?"

The two agents left the small room and went down the wide corridors of the palace. They left the building by a secret entrance known only to O'Hara—a special precaution of the U.N.C.L.E. team in San Pablo.

They emerged through the thick bushes around the palace on its wide, park-like grounds. On another hill above the city, the two agents could see the night lights of San Pablo below.

They moved quickly to Solo's stolen jeep, drove down the wide ceremonial Mall that led from the palace to the highway into San Pablo.

They reached a point where the highway into the city curved high and close to the sea. The sea itself was far below, the lights of the city directly ahead. A low wall separated the road from the rocks high above the sea, and on the far side of the jagged rocks there was a sheer drop.

It was at this spot that the shots rang out.

Solo felt the jeep go. It bucked and slewed across the highway, both front tires shot out. Solo fought to hold control. The jeep hurtled down the road, careening from side to side of the road. Twice they bounced off the low wall without going over.

At last Solo brought the jeep to a stop against the wall above the sea. The two agents did not pause to feel lucky or to catch their breath. They were out of the jeep, over the parapet, and crouching behind the parapet on the rocks above the sheer drop before the jeep had stopped vibrating from the impact.

Across the highway, from among the trees on the vast grounds of the presidential palace, men moved down to the highway. A dozen men in uniform. It was a uniform the two agents had not seen until now, a regular army uniform. British-made khaki shorts, high socks and heavy black boots, khaki shirts and light brown berets.

The men coming after the two agents were regular soldiers!

"What do you think?" Illya said.

Solo looked over the wall. "I'd have a guess that that patch on their shoulders belongs to the second motorized regiment."

"My thought exactly," Illya said. "The Mahal girl?"

"It has that feeling," Solo said.

"Or someone on the tribunal," Illya said.