The Utopia Affair - McDaniel David (электронные книги без регистрации TXT) 📗
Refet did not wait for him to disappear, but melted silently back into the woods and was gone.
"Unless there is someone on the staff important enough to demand your attention, your assignment must be one of the guests. It would be interesting to try to find which one."
"We can only ask that you do not, sir," said Matsujiro. "Our job is not an easy one, with Park Security to watch out for, and with all respect you could best assist us by forgetting our presence here."
Silverthorne scowled. "You realize that I am several levels of rank above you," he said. "I could order you to give me all the details of your assignment."
Refet's lips parted slightly in a wolfish smile. "You could sir, but we would not answer you. Our orders came directly from Central—White priority. You should be aware that Central is not lightly disobeyed."
"Or interfered with," added his partner. "You have the power to command us in many things, but our first duty is to Central. We should not have been seen by you; in this we have failed. With this already against us, surely we could not willfully continue to disobey."
Silverthorne regarded the broad innocent face of the elderly Japanese with unallayed suspicion. "I have seen few guests here who are important enough to warrant your employment. You are valuable men."
"We are but humble workers; mere arms of Thrush Central and the Ultimate Computer."
"No compliment intended," Silverthorne said. "A statement of fact. You may be mere arms, but you are without exaggeration the finest assassins in the world."
"My friend Kiazim is indeed dexterous with weapons," said Matsujiro with a nod, "but I fear my poor talents are comparatively few. I was adjudged slow and clumsy by my masters in the Imperial Guard."
Refet's eyes crinkled at the corners. "You have snatched a flying arrow from its path before my very eyes," he said. "You have shattered stones with your bare hand and scaled walls a fly could not climb."
"Children's tricks," said Matsujiro flatly. "Truly I can accomplish things few men are capable of, but I have seen the true masters of my art and I know that I am indeed less than they."
"Very well, very well," said Silverthorne. "If you will not tell me what I wish to know, you need not attempt to impress me with either your skill or your modesty. I am quite aware of both. If I have any use for you, I shall contact you." He rose, and they followed.
Matsujiro bowed. "And if we are able to help you without lessening our chances of success in our assignment," he said, "we shall be only too happy. Good night, sir.
It was four days before Silverthorne had a reservation for the outside telephone line, and when his call was placed his first question concerned the two assassins.
"They're absolutely right, sir," said the Sydney satrap. "All we've seen here was the part of their orders saying Total Security and the UCR heading on the message. But we have Central's word that you are not their target.
"Thank you for your concern," he said with a trace of sarcasm. "Now what have you done about the business in Port Moresby?"
He was willing to accept the situation as it stood—he had no choice. But he would sleep easier with his windows wired and a chair propped under the doorknob, though he didn't mention that to Sydney.
Chapter 7
"Always The Easiest."
ILLYA LEANED BACK from his little playback unit and allowed himself the luxury of a deeply regretful sigh. His six-week vacation was scarcely half over, and it looked as if he would have to get back to work already. His almost instinctively planted bug in Silverthorne's cottage had caught a bigger fish than he'd had any reason to suspect, and his job was cut out for him until Waverly was safely away from Utopia.
So Silverthorne was a top executive for Thrush. Obviously, someone somewhere had recognized his description of the putative Mr. Dodgson, and a team of assassins had been neatly delivered accordingly. He remembered scanning Refet's file a couple of years before; though the face eluded his memory, the reputation had stayed with him. Matsujiro was a stranger, but his reputation was guaranteed by the company he kept.
He would save this tape cartridge for U.N.C.L.E.'s files; voice prints on all three men could prove valuable. Tomorrow he would find a way of picking up and replanting one of his bugs—probably the one from the table in the main dining room; Waverly used it only irregularly, usually being invited to join other groups at meals. The bug in the Security Office brought him nothing but two hours a night of worthless trivia played at double speed, but he'd put a lot of effort into planting it and hated to undo it all. Besides, it still might prove useful.
Now another of his carefully forged keys would be needed. The room the two men shared would probably work from the same master that would open his own—were it not for a slight individual change he had made in the lock the night he moved in.
He definitely did not look forward to meeting either of the gentlemen in person. Illya was well aware of his considerable abilities in the arts of self-defense, but he was equally aware of his limitations. He could break a pine board, but not a brick; his hands were too valuable for other purposes. Taking on either the Turk or the Japanese alone would have been a very chancy business—attempting to confront both simultaneously would only end in a badly shattered Russian and an unprotected Waverly.
He knew he'd have to find them. But this meant they might find him first. And if Waverly were left unprotected the entire assignment would have failed. In his small neat handwriting, he penned a brief memo addressed to Waverly, outlining the situation and describing the two assassins. He sealed the memo in an opaque envelope which he directed to Leon Dodgson—#35. This he sealed within a larger opaque envelope, and printed Curley Burke on the front. The old mechanic could be trusted to hold it without explanation, and would know enough to deliver the contents to Dodgson if anything happened to Illya.
To make sure it didn't would be nearly half his job. His policy must be one of covert interference unless something otherwise unblockable made the sacrifice necessary, and in that case he could at least reveal the assassins as he did so. He'd been told emphatically in New York, "Don't Make Waves." Which prevented him from killing them at once, and made his own secrecy even more important.
Illya opened his eyes after this moment of thought and saw that twenty minutes had passed by the desk clock since he had closed them. His legs were slightly stiff and his clothes clung to him uncomfortably. He rose, yawned widely, and put his electronic devices neatly in their nests. His alarm would go off in five hours, and today had been a long day. Bed waited, and his raveled sleeve of care badly needed knitting.
The next day was Wednesday, and Illya's duties for the day included the main dining hall. Switching the light bulbs was refreshingly easy, and the bug dropped into a safe pocket in his apron. It went from there to his locker half an hour later, and he picked it up there at the end of the afternoon shift before returning to his quarters.
He spent some time patrolling the corridor near the assassins' room until he had assured himself that both were out and likely to be gone for a while. When the hall was empty, he tested his master key and found it to work perfectly. In a moment he stood inside the darkened apartment, listening intently for any sound indicating discovery.
