[Magazine 1967-­05] - The Synthetic Storm Affair - Edmonds I. G. (книги регистрация онлайн .TXT) 📗

"I wish I had time to enjoy that smile," he said with a sad grin. "But I got to run. Is this enough to cover the bill?"

He handed her a twenty.

"And enough to leave a tip that will make you more than welcome any time you want to come back!" she said, her scarlet lips smiling out of her tanned face.

"I hoped I'd be welcome for some other reason," he said and closed his eye in a sly wink.

Her smile broadened.

"You will be!" she said.

She sighed when he jumped over the hibiscus hedge to the street and strode rapidly away without a backward look.

Solo followed the two men for a couple of blocks. They kept their distance behind Kuryakin. Napoleon could not tell for sure if they were following his partner.

They left the more brightly lighted section of Waikiki and the girl cut across Kalakaua Avenue at Fort DeRussy, the Army's Waikiki rest center. Kuryakin, after a pause to make sure she did not see him, crossed over behind her. The two men continued down on the east side of the street.

Solo shrugged and turned back, sure now that they were not following Illya. But in the middle of the block he glanced back. The two shadowy figure were crossing now. Solo stopped, his heart starting to beat rapidly. He could not see either Kuryakin or the girl.

Apparently the two shadows waited until Illya was out of sight before crossing. This marked them as professionals who knew how to divert attention.

Napoleon reached for the gun in his shoulder holster. He slipped it in his jacket pocket and kept his hand on the butt and his finger on the trigger.

He hurried after the shadowy figures. He caught just a glimpse of them turning up a side street toward the beach. In the distance he could see a beach hotel.

The two men cut suddenly down a path running across a small park to the right of the street. It was obvious to Napoleon Solo that they intended to flank Kuryakin.

He started after them. They were out of sight behind a thick stand of ornamental bamboo. He advanced cautiously.

There was always the possibility that they had spotted him following them.

But when he came around the bend he saw one of the men just disappearing around another turn in the park path. He started forward in a half run. As he did another figure stepped from behind the bole of a huge palm. A shaft of bright tropic moon streaming through the rustling palms overhead clearly outlined the gun in his hand.

Solo jerked his own automatic from his pocket. But he was too slow. Before he could shoot the shadowy figure pulled his own trigger.

There was no loud report, only a muffled snapping whine. The tiny, needlelike projectile the gun fired struck Solo in the shoulder. He felt a sudden spreading numbness that flashed through his body with lightning speed.

He tried to shoot, but his arm was paralyzed. The gun dropped from his nerveless fingers. He tried to shout a warning to Kuryakin. His tongue froze in his mouth. He tried to run. His knees collapsed. He fell forward, hitting the grass.

The paralyzing shot apparently only affected the motor nerves. Solo did not lose consciousness. He heard quick footsteps of the other man returning.

Then a sneering voice said, "I thought you said these U.N.C.L.E. rats were tough!"

"Don't underestimate them, Taro. Watch them every second. They are tricky."

"They won't put anything over me!" the heavy voice of the man addressed as Taro said.

"I'm giving it to you straight, Taro," the other THRUSH man said impatiently. "Don't get over-confident. The only U.N.C.L.E. man you can count on is a dead one!"

"Well, in just a little while that is how you can describe this punk!"

He laughed—a cold, sneering chuckle.

THREE

"Get in the car!" Taro said. "When Horton gets the other one, I'll dump 'em both in the Ala Wai Canal!"

"Be sure you make it look like an accident," the other THRUSH man said. "Things are too shaky right now to risk getting the Honolulu police mixed up in this mess. They're not open to bribery."

"I know my business!" Taro snapped. "When I do a job it's done right."

"Okay, but work fast. That paralyzing serum only holds for a short time. It has to be that way so none of it will show in any autopsies after a victim is found dead."

"Just get me the other punk," Taro said. "Then I promise you it will be over in fifteen minutes."

"Horton is a good man. He'll have the other one here in a minute."

There was no more conversation between the two. They pulled Napoleon Solo back behind the clump of bamboo. He lay there trying to figure what had happened. He was sure that he had not been followed himself. Also he never detected either of the men he was trailing looking back. Yet he had run directly into a trap. It was hard to explain.

Shortly a car pulled up at the curb behind them.

"Horton?" Taro asked.

"Get a move on. I got the other one!" a heavy voice said from the car.

The two men picked up Napoleon and rushed him into the car. He was propped up in the backseat beside an equally paralyzed Illya Kuryakin.

"Okay, you two take care of them," the THRUSH man said, turning the murder over to Horton and Taro. "I've got to get Lupe and get her on the seaplane out of here. Things worked out great. I'll file a report to THRUSH headquarters on what a great job you boys did."

"Thanks, chief!" Horton said. "I thought for a minute it wasn't going to work. Lupe paraded past that sidewalk restaurant twice before that jerk from U.N.C.L.E. was bright enough to spot her."

"Yeah," Taro put in. "And I thought for a minute the other one wasn't going to have brains enough to follow him. I though I would have to go in and poison his salad!"

"There's no time for talking. Get moving," the THRUSH cell chief said. "And don't waste too much time. That serum wears off fast, but don't worry if they move a little. It will be at least another fifteen minutes before either can use his limbs enough to pose a threat."

"Should we tie 'em up?" Taro asked.

"No, I don't want any rope burns on their wrists. It must look like an accident with absolutely nothing suspicious about their being corpses."

"Okay, so long, chief; we'll—"

"Wait!" the cell chief said hurriedly. "I almost forgot something. Frisk them. These U.N.C.L.E. rats carry all sorts of cute gadgets like rings with hidden knockout needles, little balls of tear gas, chewing gum that explodes, mints that turn into fire bombs, and all sorts of trick devices. Unload their pockets."

"We'll have this thing over before they come to enough to use anything like that," Horton said confidently.

"I know," his boss replied, "but THRUSH laboratories are always interested in what new gadgets the competition has come up with."

They quickly turned out both men's pockets. The miniature tape recorder shaped like a package of cigarettes, the pen-communicator, the ring with its hidden needle for dispensing knockout potions, and the lighter that doubled as a cutting torch, all went into the THRUSH cell chief's pocket.

"Turn on the dome light," Taro said. "Maybe he's got something we didn't get."

"Don't!" the cell chief cautioned. "We can't afford to attract attention. Feel for them."

"Hey! Here's something in Kuryakin's lapel. It's like a lapel button, but there's a tiny bulb on the back!"

A thin hope Napoleon Solo retained crumbled when Taro made that discovery. He had hoped they would overlook that hidden reserve of pressurized tear gas.