[Magazine 1968-012] - The Million Monsters Affair - Davis Robert Hart (читать книги TXT) 📗

“No, I’m not, Mr. Kuryakin,” she said, shrugging.

“How did you know my name?” he asked.

“The lady you referred to came to the counter a few minutes ago and pointed you out. She asked who you were.”

“Oh?” Kuryakin said.

“I checked the plane’s manifest and found out for her.”

“So -” Illya Kuryakin said thoughtfully.

“Her name is Theresa LeBrun,” the counter girl said. “And she is off to Hollywood, according to her ticket. That is all I know.”

“That is enough to get me started,” Illya said. “Have you a phone I can use?”

She led him into the office. He called the American consulate and got the night charge-de-affairs to look up Theresa LeBrun’s application for an American entrance visa.

It took about five minutes and the loud speaker was directing all passengers for the trans-polar flight to Los Angeles to gather at gate number two when the attache’s voice came back on the wire.

“Mr. Kuryakin? Miss LeBrun’s application requests entry into the U.S. to work as an actress with Fred B. Mallon Productions in Hollywood.”

“Mellon!” Illya said. “Thanks!”

He turned, and after a smiling thanks to the girl, he hurried toward the gate. He noticed, however that Theresa LeBrun was not going. He halted and went over to her.

“I believe this is your plane, mademoiselle,” he said with his most engaging smile. “If I could be of assistance in -”

“I am afraid I must miss it,” she said. Her voice was distant. Her deep gray eyes looked straight into his face with an expression that seemed to Illya to be a mixture of wariness and vexation. “My companion is late.”

The voice was not the same. However, he got the impression that her deep throated tones were not natural. She was deliberately not talking in her regular voice.

The plane was loading. Illya could not wait. He decided the best thing to do was go on to the plane. Then he could call U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in New York and get them to relay a request back for the French police to investigate the background of Theresa LeBrun.

But as he started through the gate, the pretty counter girl came running after him.

“Mr. Kuryakin!” she called breathlessly. “The police called. Inspector Moreau asks that you wait a few minutes!”

“But I must catch the plane. It is urgent that I -”

“The police have ordered the plane held for you. The passengers will go ahead and load, but the pilot will wait. Inspector Moreau will be here right away.”

Inspector Moreau was even then hurrying across the lobby. The inspector drew Kuryakin back into the airline office, shutting the door in the face of the curious girl. The Frenchman unwrapped a package he was carrying. It was a smashed press camera - but with a difference. The insides were covered with wrecked wires and transistors.

“It is the same as we found at the riot site in Hollywood,” Illya said. “It is the transmitter used to stimulate the subliminal hypnosis as I told you.”

Moreau nervously rewrapped the evidence.

“Mr. Kuryakin,” he said. “I fear we must revise our theories about these murders. This was found at the site of the latest riot which broke out just after you left us.

“I remembered what you said and I went looking for some sign of direction. I saw a photographer acting just as you described the man on Sunset Strip. When I got him cornered, he ripped out the inside of his ‘camera.’”

“This is identical with the device used in Hollywood,” Illya said.

“You are sure? I wished to check with you before you got away,” Moreau said. “Is there any chance of you staying a few more days and assisting us?”

Illya replied that Solo was missing. Waverly had recalled him to complete the Hollywood segment of the investigation.

“That is a great pity,” Moreau said uneasily. “I fear we are involved in something that is too big for us.”

“It may be too big for all of us if we don’t get a lead soon,” Kuryakin said.

“Well, let me walk to the plane with you, Mr. Kuryakin,” Moreau said. “We have held you up as long as we should. I hope you will cooperate with us from the States. I’ll send you a full report on the Paris riots.”

“Good,” Illya said. “I’ll keep you informed of our own work.”

They passed through the gate and started toward the waiting airline. Suddenly the plane seemed to jump in the air. The fuselage, gleaming in the searchlights, bulged and then split with a thunderous roar of fire.

“Look out!” Illya cried.

He threw himself to the ground, dragging the inspector down with him. The door of the plane went hurtling over their heads. Then the gas tanks exploded and a hellish blast of fire burst out of the doomed plane.

ACT V - PRISONERS OF THRUSH

THE NEXT THING Napoleon Solo remembered after falling unconscious on the hill overlooking Mallon’s studio was being carried down a dark hall.

He heard a steel door creak and then slam with a metallic clang. He had difficulty focusing his eyes. All he could make out for sure was that the room they passed through was very dark. He could hear gears whirling. There was a sloshing sound as of water being agitated.

He could also hear the harsh breathing of the men carrying him. In the background a woman sobbed softly. He thought it was Marsha.

They were carried into a small office. Solo saw a desk piled high with film cans. A heavy set man with a petulant face was seated at a portable film editor beside the desk.

“Don’t bother me!” he snapped over his shoulder at the men holding Solo. “I must get these release prints ready for the big premiere. If they’re trespassers, throw them in the acid vat. Get rid of them. I’m not interested.”

“The girl is Marsha Mallon!” one of their captors said. “We saw her watching the studio from the park hill.”

“Good,” the film editor said. “Throw her in the acid. Get rid of her completely. Take no chances on her getting away again.”

“The man is Napoleon Solo! We found him following -”

“Solo!” The editor got up so quickly he overturned his chair.

He grabbed Napoleon’s hair and pulled Solo’s head up for a close inspection.

He gave a startled exclamation and let Napoleon’s head fall. A fearful oath slipped from his lips.

“How did those rats find out we are making the release prints down here? Get upstairs, Peters, and get THRUSH headquarters on the secret band. Tell them what happened.”

“Okay, Mr. Griffis,” Peters said. “What about the girl?”

“Leave her here,” Griffis said. “And contact Abbott to bring over some truth serum. Headquarters will want them interrogated before we - dispose of them.”

“If she spilled everything to U.N.C.L.E. -” Peters began fearfully.

“She didn’t!” Griffis snapped. “If she had, the police would be here in force. I have an idea she told U.N.C.L.E. nothing. I think Solo was following her and she didn’t know it.”

“If U.N.C.L.E. is moving in,” Peters said uneasily, “I want to be moving out!”

“Don’t lose your guts now!” Griffis snarled. “We’re running these monster prints night and day. The transmitter to bounce the signals off the Telstar communications satellite for worldwide reception will go into operation in three days. If we can get these films in the theaters by then, nothing can stop us! THRUSH will control the world.”

“You’ll never do it!” Napoleon Solo heard the girl cry out suddenly. “You -”

Her cry ended in the brutal sound of a hand slapping against her mouth.

“You caused all this trouble!” Griffis snarled. “If you hadn’t run out on us, everything would have been set before U.N.C.L.E. suspected anything!”

“This was mine and you stole it!” she cried. “I’m not going to let you get away with it! You’ll pay for everything you’ve done to me and my father! I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing I do!”

“I think it will be the other way around!” Griffis said with a sneer. “You will be the one who dies, my dear! And -”