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

"Secret agents!" she repeated wonderingly as she led them into a small cluttered living room and swept piles of books and papers from a couch and two chairs. "And I always thought technical writers only met engineers and dull executives!" She looked admiringly at Napoleon and Illya, who were looking admiringly at Kerry and Lee. "What on earth are you doing driving all over Wisconsin with secret agents?"

"You'll never believe it, but it's my Uncle Willard. He's been kidnapped by an international organization called Thrush. You see, he invented this device that makes things invisible, and..." Kerry talked non-stop for several minutes, explaining in detail everything that had happened since she had started to help with her uncle's proposal.

When she concluded, leaving Lee at a loss for words, Napoleon got in a question hurriedly. "I don't suppose that in your hikes you've noticed anything that looks like a secret dirigible hangar...?"

Lee appeared to be considering it for a moment, then blurted out, "Good heavens, no! Of course, I haven't been looking for dirigibles; but, then, they aren't the sort of thing one could easily overlook, are they?"

"Not very well," Illya said. "They're rather large. This one is probably at least five hundred feet long."

Lee thought for a moment. "There are a few placed where one could be hidden, I suppose. Are you sure it's in this county?"

"No," Napoleon replied, "but we know they took the OTSMID on U.S. 14, and presumably the hangar is in a rugged area, which leaves us with Richland and the area west to the Mississippi."

"Yes, that would seem to narrow it down that far, at least. But that's still a pretty large area to search."

Napoleon smiled disarmingly. "We had thought that perhaps you could pinpoint any likely areas on these maps for us," he suggested, producing the ordnance maps he had brought from Milwaukee.

Lee stood up excitedly. "Why don't I come along and show you? It would be a lot quicker than making you follow a map." At Napoleon's dubious look, she laughed. "Don't worry about me; I can take care of myself," she said and sprinted out of the room. A moment later, she returned carrying a Smith & Wesson K--38 target revolver and a box of ammunition. "I've never shot at a person, but I placed fourth in the women's state pistol championship two years ago!"

Napoleon shrugged. "If you insist."

"Give me a minute to get on some hiking boots and find some for Kerry. I'll be right back."

As they prepared to leave a few minutes later, Illya remembered Kerry's remark about Lee's cooking. A polite comment produced another five-minute delay and a half dozen peanut butter sandwiches. "They're very well cooked," Illya observed to Kerry as they followed Lee and Napoleon out the door.

* * *

The afternoon was spent in a fruitless search of the northern reaches of Richland County and parts of adjoining Vernon. Hours of driving bumpy back roads and clambering into gullies and over rocks revealed nothing but more rocks, gullies, and roads. It was almost eight-thirty when they started back to Richland Center.

"We'd better see about a place to stay tonight," Napoleon said as they pulled up in front of Lee's house, "before all the motels are full."

"Kerry can stay with me," Lee volunteered, "and I'll fix supper for all of us."

"Keep my car," Kerry said, "and come back here after you've checked in."

The motel was typical of a small-town tourist area, which meant that the walls were thick enough to keep one from seeing the TV set in the next room but didn't interfere greatly with the audio. The rooms were clean, however, and the water hot. Half an hour later, a much refreshed pair of U.N.C.L.E. agents drove back to Lee MacGregor's house.

Somehow, dinner hadn't gotten started over the two girls' conversation, so Napoleon insisted on taking them out for dinner. "After all, we've all had a hard day, and I'm sure nobody feels like cooking or washing dishes afterward. Besides, Illya and I are on an expense account; I think it will stand a pair of extra dinners."

"Don't let Mr. Waverly hear you say that," Illya warned him.

The girls acquiesced rapidly and Lee glanced at her watch. "It's after nine o'clock," she said, "so we don't really have much of a choice where to go. Aside from a couple of all-night hamburger stands, about the only place open is the 'Scotch Broth.' I really shouldn't be seen there, though."

"Oh? Why not?"

Lee lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Liquor! Teacher, unlike parents, must do nothing which might exert a Bad Influence on the children!" She shrugged. "Oh well, I can always make up for it by selling another book; nature books are very wholesome and respectable."

* * *

The "Scotch Broth" emphasized its name with relentlessly pseudo-Scots decor. A faint blue haze from a charcoal grill and countless cigars and cigarettes, coupled with discreetly dim lighting, made Napoleon feel at home. Sometime after their orders were taken, they received their cocktails—except for Lee, who explained that simply being there was enough strain on her reputation, without her actually taking a drink—and were quietly sipping when a rugged, outdoor type walked up to the table and clapped Lee on the back.

"Lee," he said happily. "How are you? I've been hoping I'd run into a friendly face this evening."

"Rollo!" Lee exclaimed, "Pull up a chair. You might be just the person we need." She turned to Illya and Napoleon. "This is our local celebrity, Robert Oshry Lavell. He writes articles on guns and hunting and everyone in town reads them and says how wonderful they are. Unlike my books, which molder on the library shelves. Rollo knows more about this county than anyone else, probably. He knows just everybody. I anyone knows where a dir—"

She broke off suddenly as Napoleon kicked her ankle.

"Mr. Lavell—Rollo, did you say?" Napoleon ignored Lee's startled look and looked at Lavell inquiringly.

"R. O. L." Lavell replied. "My initials. Some people"—he glowered at Lee—"think acronyms are funny."

Napoleon smiled uncertainly before he went on. "I'm Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin. We're naturalists, on a field trip from New York."

By the time they had shaken hands, Lee had recovered from the kick and introduced Kerry. She smiled and nodded across the table to Lavell. "Lee said you knew everybody in the county. Does that include those two men who were on the news this morning? The ones who saw U.S. 14 disappear in front of them?"

Lavell looked taken aback. "U.S. 14 disappeared?"

Kerry recounted what she remembered of the morning newscast. Lavell's eyes widened as she spoke, and he breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief when she concluded.

"Maybe there is something going on around here," he muttered, half to himself. "Or, if I am cracking up, I apparently have company in my delusions."

Napoleon displayed a sudden interest. "Delusions, Mr. Lavell? You saw a pit yourself?"

Lavell looked around the table, debating with himself. "More or less," he admitted after a moment, then plunged on. "I was down towards Maplewood this afternoon, southwest of here. There's an old gravel pit down there, and I've fixed up a little private target range. I was trying out a new scope mount, one that fits a Bushnell telescope to a Navy Arms Co. percussion revolver."