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

"What about on the fringes outside the circular area of the storm itself?" Solo asked. "Can you get any radar return that shows a ship or submarine might be anywhere along the fringes?"

"No," the reply came back, "but the only reading we can get is the side we are on. There could be a ship on the other side, but our radar will not penetrate the entire storm area. We get a bounce-back off the clouds, you know."

"Okay," Napoleon said, making a fast decision. "The plane out there now must come back. Its fuel is getting low. I think we should go on, even though it is getting dark. We won't try to penetrate the storm itself. But I want to circle as much of the total storm area as possible. I'm sure the Waterloo is somewhere in the area."

"And if it isn't?" Illya asked.

"Then this is a real storm and not one of THRUSH's hellish experiments," Napoleon said grimly. "That will mean returning to Hawaii and starting all over again."

"There isn't time to start again," Illya said. "Time is running out on us, Napoleon."

"I know it," Solo said grimly. "Those world-wide reports of THRUSH activity shows they expect the climax to come very soon. It makes me shudder, Illya, when I think of the millions of lives that may be lost."

"It makes me shudder even more," Illya said soberly, "when I think how little we have to go on to save those lives."

"All we can do is keep trying—trying right up to the end."

The plane droned on across the wide Pacific. The sun dropped lower. Clouds started to thicken on the horizon. The slanting light of the dropping sun set them ablaze with fiery color.

The turbulence of the air increased as they started to circle the fringes of the storm.

The plane flew on, its weather radar beam scanning storm and sea. An hour passed. It was twilight, with only a few minutes of visibility left. The radar was still seeking some sign of the Waterloo.

It had grown too dark to see anything on the water by human eyesight. Napoleon and Illya left their scanners' positions and went forward to watch the radar screen over the operator's shoulder.

They watched the blips come and go on the greenly glowing screen. Once they thought they saw something, but it proved to be a whale. Another time the radar scope picked up an object, but they were never able to identify it.

Then the operator pointed out a new blip echoing from the water.

"Probably that whale again," he said.

"He's in for a tough swim if he doesn't get away from that storm," Illya said, recalling the wild froth whipped up inside the eye.

"No," the operator said. "Most of the sea agitation is along the surface. If you drop in a submarine, say, a hundred or so feet below the water, you would never know there was a storm overhead."

Napoleon and Solo looked at each other. "Then that sub which picked up the girl could have gone under the storm to make the rendezvous with the Waterloo," Illya said.

"I think this is it," Solo said grimly.

Napoleon Solo nodded. He called the pilot on the intercom. "I'd like to go down as low as possible and investigate this whale."

"It's going to be rougher down there," the pilot warned. "Hold on tight."

The huge four-motored weather plane circled, losing altitude. True to the pilot's prediction, it became increasingly rough as the plane descended.

"What is the 'whale' doing?" Illya asked. To him the glowing radar screen was a mystery.

"I've lost him," the operator said. "You see, radar beams reflect off clouds and rain masses. "We can't see anything behind them."

"I thought the Air Force uses radar to bomb through clouds," Solo said.

"Yes, but we're weather observers," the operator replied. "If we used beams that would go right through clouds like X-ray, it would do us no good. We are trying to find out about clouds and their shapes."

"I see," Solo said and he sounded discouraged. "Do you—"

"Wait! I've got something! It just came out of that rain squall mass here on the top of the scope. It's—yes, it's a boat of some kind. Just a minute. I can give you its length. It's about sixty-five feet long and— Hey, maybe that isn't a whale after all. It's making contact with the boat!"

Solo's heart leaped. "It is the sub that picked up Rosa," he said to Illya. "This is it, my friend!"

"What are we going to do? I'm for calling Waverly and getting the U.S. Navy submarines to sink both the Waterloo and the sub."

"And get them in international difficulties?" Solo asked. "We have no positive proof that the Waterloo is engaged in directing storms. All we have are suspicions. We could never get any official action on the basis of what we have."

"Then it is up to us to take unofficial action," Kuryakin said. "I don't think it would be any breach of international maritime law to go down for a close look at the ship. We could claim we thought it might be in danger from the storm."

"That sounds good to me," Napoleon said. "Solo to pilot, over! Can we go down for a close look at those ships?"

"Roger," the pilot said. "Hold on tight. It is going to be some roller coaster ride."

He put the big plane in a steep bank and started to descend. As they dropped, the two men from U.N.C.L.E. saw details of the sea. The waves were piling up. Their whitecaps were snatched away by the hard wind.

"It must be pretty important for those two vessels to meet to risk docking with each other in this wind," the pilot said.

"I imagine it is," Illya replied.

Suddenly the wind faltered, came back with a hard gust and then almost died.

"That has been going on since the blame thing was sighted," the ship's weather observer said to Solo. "It is what makes this storm so unusual. It seems to have trouble keeping going."

"Good!" Napoleon said crisply. "It will give us a break to get a close look at that rendezvous."

The plane came down only a couple of hundred feet above the water. Despite the fall of the wind the waves were still high and angry.

They faced a sudden rain squall. The plane plunged into it. Rain drummed on the windows. A sudden gust of wind caused the airplane to lurch. Then the wind died to almost nothing. They came out of the rain with the mysterious ship dead ahead. There was no sign of the submarine in the gloom, but the radar scope showed it slightly submerged and departing.

Napoleon was at the scanner's window, trying to focus a pair of binoculars he borrowed from the pilot. The plane was bouncing so badly he could not get a clear enough view in the gloom to pick out the vessel's name on the bow.

Suddenly the plane gave a savage lurch that almost tore loose Solo's grip. In spite of himself his shoulder hit the side of the plane with a hard jolt.

The pilot suddenly applied full power. The straining plane shuddered as it struggled for altitude. A wing dipped dangerously. For one startled moment Napoleon Solo thought they were falling into a side slip. But slowly the pilot brought his craft under control again.

"Hang on!" he called grimly over the intercom. "They're shooting at us!"

Then as the plane circled, struggling for altitude, Napoleon saw an explosion just off their right wing. It was a savage burst of fire and smoke, reminding him of a 75mm shell burst.

The plane shuddered again. Napoleon did not have to wait for the pilot's report to know they were hit. For a moment they lost altitude, but then began to climb with agonizing slowness.