The Invisibility Affair - Stratton Thomas (лучшие книги онлайн TXT) 📗

Illya nodded. "There seemed to be a remarkable number of children leaving for school, also. Thrush has never been noted for encouraging a happy family life."

"It's not so bad, then," said Brattner. "I was a little worried about going up against a whole building full of Thrushes. This way we may stand a chance."

Napoleon declined to comment on such restrained optimism. "First we have to locate the apartment where they're being held. The detector seems to indicate the ground floor, which is logical; easier to get in and out. But someone will have to get inside the building and get readings from several locations in order to pinpoint the apartment. Anyone care to be a door-to-door salesman?"

Brattner shook his head. "We'd have to go back to headquarters and get some sample cases. Here"—he reached into the glove compartment of his car and pulled out a small notebook—"we can take a survey."

"A survey of what?"

"How about the Wisconsin margarine situation" suggested Illya. "It came in handy last night, but it leaves me a bit baffled. I'd be happy to learn more about it."

"Learn while you earn," said Napoleon. "I take it you're volunteering for the mission?"

Illya hesitated, glancing at Brattner. The latter shook his head. "The Thrushes know my men too well. Of course, we know them, too, but there's too big a chance of tipping them off if they see us first. Only two of them have seen you."

"Oh, all right," Illya said. HE rummaged in his briefcase and came out with a comb, which he dipped in a bottle of dye and ran through his hair. "At least this stuff washes out easily; as long as no irate apartment dweller throws a bucket of water on me I'll be all right. Does anyone have a hat I can wear" All reporters wear hats."

"I didn't know that," said Napoleon.

"Actually they don't," Illya replied, "but they do in movies, which is where your average citizen gets his impression of reporters."

A brief conference on the communicators elicited the fact that none of Brattner's men wore the same size hat as Illya.

"I'll get along without one," he decided. He pulled a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles from the briefcase.

* * *

Illya pushed open the door of the apartment building and entered a hallway running the full length of the building. At the opposite end of the hall were stairs leading to the second floor and a door facing the alley. Two doors opened off each side of the hall. He quickly walked the length of the hall and climbed the stairs. The second floor was said out identically to the first. Shrugging, Illya walked to the nearest door and knocked. As

he waited, the needle on his wrist detector moved, and he checked it. I pointed down, indicating a source on the first floor or in the basement. Now to get a horizontal reading to spot the exact apartment.

The door opened and a somewhat harassed-looking young woman stood facing him, holding a small boy by the hand. "Yes?" she asked in a challenging tone.

"Good morning," Illya replied as cheerily as he could. "Our local paper is taking a survey and I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time?"

"What kind of survey?"

"We're planning a series on Wisconsin's margarine laws, and we'd like the opinions of some of the local people. So you approve, or..."

"No, I do not approve," she snapped. "Any other questions?"

Illya tried to smile disarmingly. "As I said, we're planning a series on the subject and we'd like as many viewpoints as possible. It would be very helpful if you could take the time to give me your reasons."

The boy spoke suddenly and loudly. "If you're a reporter, where's your hat?"

"I'm not a reporter; I'm a surveyor."

"Then where's your transit?"

"Hush, Johnny," the woman said. Her belligerent attitude seemed to have faded a trifle. "I suppose I can spare a few minutes, if it will help get those idiots on the ball." She made no move to invite Illya inside the apartment, and he decided not to press his luck. Keeping a surreptitious eye on the detector, he pulled out his notebook and a pencil.

"Now then," he said, "if I could have your name for the record, we can get started."

"Mrs. Denver Clark," she said and spelled it out for him. She had a variety of reasons for not liking the margarine laws. Illya dutifully scribbled note, filling several pages before she paused.

"Very interesting," he said. Suddenly the detector sprang to life. Illya deliberately dropped his pencil, and got a good look at the detector needle while retrieving it. Directly across the hall. So far so good. He straightened up. "Incidentally, I've been considering moving to Cudahy for some time. You don't happen to know if any of the apartments here are empty, do you?"

"They're all occupied right now," she answered. "There's a new building a couple of blocks south that's quite nice, I've been told."

"Someone told me one of the ground floor apartments here was vacant," Illya persisted.

"No." The woman laughed suddenly. "They probably got mixed up because that nice M. Forbes took two apartments. Said he did a lot of work at home and needed the space. Such a distinguished looking man! He seems to do a lot of entertaining, but it's all very quiet and respectable. He's a widower, I understand."

The boy had been staring at Illya wrist detector. "What's that?" he demanded loudly, pointing at it.

"Why, er...it's a wristwatch," Illya replied.

"It ain't got no numbers on it!" the boy said accusingly.

"No, it's a very modern..."

"How can you tell time if it ain't got no numbers on it?" the boy demanded.

"Hush, Johnny," the woman said. "It isn't nice to ask questions of strangers."

"He was asking you questions," the boy asserted. "I wanna know how he tells time if it ain't got no numbers!"

"Thank you, madam. You've been a great help to us. Look for our series in the paper." Illya clutched his notebook and escaped down the stairway. At the bottom he pulled out his communicator and reported his findings to Napoleon. "I'm going to try to find the exact room," he concluded. "Kuryakin out."

Approaching the wall of the indicated apartment, he reached into his jacket and pulled a tiny disc the size of a dime. A wire led from it to an even tinier earplug. He placed the disc gently against the wall.

At first he heard nothing but footsteps pacing back and forth. Finally an unfamiliar voice said, "Green, will you sit down?"

"Ah, I'm tired of this joint." The footsteps halted momentarily, the resumed.

"If you must do something," the first voice said, "look in on the prisoners. We'll be moving out; get them packed and make sure Morthley doesn't make a fool of you the way he did last night."

There was the sound of a key in a lock, an inner door creaked open, and Illya heard Kerry's voice. "One might approximate the rudiments of courtesy by notifying the inhabitants of one's intentions before entering."

Illya removed the ear plug and returned the device to his pocket. Returning to the car where Brattner and Solo waited, he reported his success and pointed the location of Kerry and Dr. Morthley.

"But if they're where you think they are," Brattner protested, "they have a window in their room. It can't be that easy."