[Magazine 1967-­12] - The Pillars of Salt Affair - Пронзини Билл (электронные книги без регистрации TXT) 📗

But Estrellita Valdone, whatever else she might be, was also extremely loyal. She remained adamantly silent. The man named Benson refused to tell them anything either.

Illya and Mr. Waverly, having left the specialists to continue the interrogation, were now seated in Waverly's office. Illya had become increasingly mired in futility. They had the answers right there, not two doors away from them, yet they couldn't pry them loose from the two THRUSH agents. And time was running short.

The two men sat in strained silence. Waverly was pouring over a recent batch of reports from U.N.C.L.E. offices throughout the world, reports which told him nothing he did not already know. Illya watched his superior shake his head sadly. The tension inside him was about to reach a boiling point.

There was a knock on Waverly's door. He pressed one of the buttons on his desk and the door opened, admitting an agent named Bradshaw, who Illya knew slightly, from Intelligence Section IV.

Waverly looked up as Bradshaw approached his desk. "Yes?"

"I have the reports on Benson and the Valdone woman you asked for, sir," Bradshaw said. "Took us some time to run them down."

Waverly took the papers Bradshaw handed him. "What were you able to ascertain?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Bradshaw said. "We have no files on Estrellita Valdone; she's either a new recruit or an agent that THRUSH had kept well-hidden. Apparently she really is a model in Mexico City, lives alone in an apartment there, but beyond that we draw a blank."

"And Benson?"

"No known THRUSH activities," Bradshaw said. "At least, no definite connection with them. But he's got a criminal record-strong-arm stuff, mostly-that dates back several years."

Waverly was reading one of the papers Bradshaw had given him. He frowned slightly, tugging at his ear lobe. "Interesting item here," he said. "I expect if we were to confront our Mr. Benson with this bit of information, he might become more amenable to answering our questions. What do you think, Mr. Kuryakin?"

Illya sat up straighter on his chair, taking the paper from Waverly. He read it over. "Perhaps he might, at that," Illya said, determination replacing some of the tenseness inside him "Shall we find out?"

"Indeed," Waverly said, rising.

THREE

Benson sat on a straight-back chair in one of the U.N.C.L.E. interrogation rooms down the hall from Waverly's office. He sat stiffly, apparently somewhat bothered by the constant questioning, but remaining obstinately quiet.

Waverly spoke softly to the two interrogators, and they left the room, leaving Benson alone with he and Illya.

Illya said, "Have you decided to talk yet?"

Benson said nothing, glaring up at him.

Illya smiled faintly. "How many times have you been in prison, Benson?"

"What?" Benson said, startled at the sudden turn in questions.

"Three, isn't it?" Illya asked him. "Once for assault with a deadly weapon. Two years. Twice for armed robbery. Four years and, eight years. Three different terms, Benson."

"So what?" The angular man said, not quite understanding.

"Just this," Illya told him. "In your language, that makes you a three-time loser. Surely you know what it means if you're convicted of another crime."

Comprehension touched Benson's eyes. The color drained from his face.

"That's right," Illya said. "Life imprisonment. Without possibility of parole. The rest of your life behind bars, Benson."

"Wait a minute," Benson said. "Listen, I haven't committed any crime. You can't prove anything against me."

"Can't we? You held a gun on me in that warehouse. You threatened me with it. That constitutes assault. And if you want more, there's the fact that you're a convicted felon in possession of firearms. I shouldn't think we'd have any problem proving guilt."

Benson's eyes were wild. Illya Kuryakin knew he had struck home, just as he had hoped Many men of Benson's breed possessed an innate fear of being caged, and he was no exception.

The angular man wet his lips. "Are you offering me a deal?" He said. "I tell you what you want to know, and you forget about what happened in the warehouse, is that it?"

"We are not in a position to offer a 'deal', as you put it," Waverly said. "However, if you were to volunteer assistance of your own accord, I expect a court would be inclined to lenient action. We would be willing to testify in your behalf, naturally."

"What about THRUSH?" Benson said. "They would kill me if they knew I gave out information.''

"We can offer you every possible protection," Waverly told him. "THRUSH need never know what you tell us here tonight."

Again, Benson wet his lips. He seemed to be weighing in his mind the possibilities. His fear of imprisonment, even greater than his fear of T H RUSH, won out finally. He said, "All right. I'll tell you what I know."

Illya had been holding his breath. He let it out slowly. "Where were you taking me tonight?"

"I don't know," Benson said.

"I thought you agreed to cooperate," Illya Kuryakin said, anger necking his voice.

"I don't know where they were taking you," Benson said. "That's the truth. I swear it. The woman, Estrellita, was the only one who knew."

"All right," Illya said. "Tell us about the salt chemical."

"It's being developed at a secret hideaway," Benson said. "I don't know where."

"What's the name of the man behind the project?"

"I don't know that either," Benson said.

"Just what do you know?"

"Yesterday, I received a coded message," Benson said. He passed a hand nervously across his face. "I'd gotten them before. I was part of the team that conducted tests on the salt chemical. We never knew where the tests were taking place until we received the message."

Illya Kuryakin nodded, looking at Waverly. Now they were getting somewhere.

"This message you received yesterday," he said. "What did it say?"

"It gave a time and a date. Seven o'clock, the twenty-third."

"That's today!"

Benson nodded. "And it gave the name of a town. Pardee."

"You were supposed to go there?"

"Yes. Go there and wait for instructions."

"Pardee," Waverly said, trying to place the name. "Pardee."

Benson took a long, sighing breath. "It's on the Colorado River," he said.

"Of course!" Waverly said. "The Colorado—River! Come long, Mr. Kuryakin. We have work to do."

They left Benson in the care of the two interrogators waiting outside and returned to Waverly's office

Waverly said, "Seven o'clock; Mountain time, most likely. Even so, that would have been, ah, three hours ago."

"Three hours," Illya said, nodding. "That salt chemical has already been introduced into the Colorado."

"Yes," Waverly said. "And from the town of Pardee, I should think. Pardee. Where is that town?"

He went to the huge full-scale world map located on one wall of his office, switched on the light above it, and peered at the section depicting the midwestern United States. "Here it is," he said, his finger touching a tiny dot in Eastern Utah. "The Wasatch Mountain."

"What good does our knowing exactly where the chemical was put into the Colorado River do us?" Illya asked. "We can't stop the crystallization process without the antidote."