[Magazine 1967-­10] - The Mind-­Sweeper Affair - Davis Robert Hart (читать лучшие читаемые книги .TXT) 📗

"Mr. Jones and Mr. Ivanov, of course," the girl said as if she knew their famous names by heart. She was every inch the beautiful receptionist. "May I ask who you wish to see?"

"You work late," Illya said, as he looked around at the activity along all the corridors.

"Two shifts," the girl said brightly. "You gentlemen should know that, defense contracts and all."

"Very good," Solo said.

"We try to keep production going," the receptionist said. "Now who did you say you wanted to see?"

"Mr. Rand," Illya said.

"Do you have an appointment? It's rather late for Mr. Rand."

"No, we have no appointment," Illya said.

"You might say this is a surprise visit," Solo said.

The blonde became frosty. "I see. Well, I'm sure that Mr. Rand has nothing to hide about our work for you. I'll see if he's in his office.

The blonde manipulated some keys on an intercom system and whispered low into a speaker, her eyes still on them and hostile. Both agents smiled at her, and Illya pretended to look around with a critical expression. When the girl looked away to listen more carefully to her intercom, Illya touched Solo.

"Security isn't very tight, Napoleon."

"No. It looks like anyone can just walk in," Solo agreed.

"Could it be a wild goose chase?"

"Maybe. But where is Danton?" Before Illya Kuryakin could answer this, the blonde receptionist turned to them again, all smiles now.

"Mr. Rand will see you. Straight down the center corridor, the last door on the left. You'll see Mr. Rand's name on the door."

They thanked her and began to walk. Their quick eyes noted the activity all around them. It seemed legitimate and normal. No one looked at them unduly and no one ignored them pointedly. They were observed and ignored in the exact combination and degree they would have expected for any visitors at a busy electronics plant.

"Could we be wrong?" Solo said.

"I expect we'll find out enough, Napoleon," Illya "There's the office. Keep you gun ready."

"I haven't taken my hand off it," Solo said.

Illya Kuryakin opened the door of the office marked: Kevin Rand, President. The two agents stepped in. Solo checked the corridor behind them. There were two young men in it who seemed to have no interest in them.

Illya surveyed the office.

It was a large office, as befitted the president of a company. There were four tall windows, shaded now at night. A large polished wood desk stood in front of the windows. There was a comfortable modern-Danish teak-and-upholstery couch, three matching chairs, and a coffee table. The tall swivel chair behind the desk was empty.

"He acts like a company president anyway," Solo said, indicating the empty chair. "Keep them waiting."

Illya said nothing. He was looking at the paneled walls. There was a door in each wall. Illya considered the doors.

"The one on the left probably leads to the next office," the small Russian IJ.N.C.L.E. agent said. "But where does that door on the right go? This is supposed to be the last office. The hall ends just outside."

Napoleon Solo looked at the door. "Maybe it goes into the plant."

"Suppose we take a look, Napoleon?" Illya said.

The small agent turned to walk toward the door on the right. Before he could take two steps the left hand door opened and a man stepped through. He smiled.

"So sorry, gentlemen. My apologies for keeping you waiting. I wanted to have some figures at hand," the man said, and waved a sheaf of papers.

Solo stared. He touched Illya as the two of them turned to face the man. It was the man who had been working the machine in the room above the hot room of the health club. The tanned, slender, grey-haired man his helpers had called Professor and Chief.

"You're staring at me, young man," the slender man said to Solo.

Illya positioned himself to cover the doors and drew his gun. Solo covered the grey-haired man with his pistol. The man looked at them both with an incredulous expression on his face.

"I gather you think you know me," the man said evenly, "and that you don't like me very much."

"Who are you?" Solo said.

"Who? Why, I assumed you had come to see me. I mean, my name is on the door."

"You are Kevin Rand?" Illya said.

"I certainly am, young man. What do you plan to do with those ridiculous pistols?"

The slender, grey-haired man stood firm and imperious in the office, but with a faint line of amusement around his mouth. Illya glanced at Solo. Solo stared hard at the slender Kevin Rand.

"And you don't know me?" Solo said.

"From your appearance perhaps I should, but I really don't," Rand said.

"You didn't see me in the health club?"

"What health club, Mr.—What are your names? I gather that you are not two gentlemen from the defense department named Jones and Ivanov."

"Do you have a twin, Mr. Rand?" Illya said.

"Not that I know of," Rand napped. "Exactly what is this all about?"

Solo stepped closer. "You claim that you were never in a New York health club. That you didn't get some top-secret data from a Colonel Forsyte by using a machine on him? That you didn't knock me out in the health club?"

Rand stared. "A machine that—what? Is this some kind of joke? Do I look like a man who could knock you out? Really, gentlemen, are you sure you feel quite all right?"

Solo spoke carefully as he watched Rand. Illya still covered all the doors.

"I saw you, Rand. I saw the machine and you operating it. I heard you talk about Forsyte."

Rand blinked, and then he nodded. "Did you now? Well, that puts a different look on it all, doesn't it?"

"I'd say it does," Solo said. "Now—"

Rand smiled. "Yes, well I had to be sure what you did know, didn't I? Get them!!"

Solo and Illya both whirled to the windows behind them. There was nothing there. Instantly they turned back.

Rand was gone.

"We fell for the oldest—" Illya began.

There was a sudden hissing sound.

Clouds of vapor, gas, poured into the office from vents in the ceiling.

"The windows!" Solo shouted.

They ran for the windows and tore down shades.

There were no windows. Where the windows should have been, where the shades covered, was nothing but blank wall with window sills nailed on!

"A trap," Solo cried.

"And we—" Illya began. Neither of them spoke again as they suddenly collapsed. The only sound in the room was the hiss of the gas.

FOUR

THEY REVIVED side by side in a large bare room with bright hanging lights. Faces stared down at them. In the center of the ring of faces they saw the smiling face of the slender, grey-haired man— Rand.

"So, gentlemen, you're awake. I was afraid for a moment that our little sleeping potion had been too much. That would have been too bad."

They blinked and looked around. They were seated on a couch along the wall of the large bare room. They were not tied, but men in white smocks held guns and stood all around. The room itself looked like a warehouse. Boxes of electronic parts were stacked everywhere.

"Yes," Rand said, "you are in our warehouse. It is quite safe and remote. You are my guests. The men with guns are only a precaution in case you preferred not to be my guests. Now, perhaps we can get down to business. Who are you, and who do you represent?"