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

"It was no such thing!" she snapped. "I personally checked it out before it left South America. The trouble was in sabotage—here! Now what about your highly vaunted security!"

The tall field chief grabbed Lupe's shoulder. "If you try to send out a report like that, I'll—"

Lupe's hand flashed down to her handbag. She didn't bother to draw the gun cached there. She fired through the leather. The field chief clutched his stomach. Blood pumped between his agonized fingers. He pitched forward on his face.

The girl from THURSH whirled to face the others, drawing the gun from her bag. The group, three European and the big Polynesian, stared silently at her.

"Get the THRUSH-Pacific on the coder!" she snapped. "It sends though the water. The storm atmospherics will not interfere."

One of the Europeans came to remove a silver key from the body of the dead man. He moved back, keeping a wary eye on the gun in Lupe's hand.

He inserted the key in an electronic box. The key completed a complicated circuit inside.

A voice from the box said, "Four-oh-one. The check shows the mixer-coder in operation. We cannot be intercepted. You may speak."

This is THRUSH outpost three," Lupe said, going over to the mike, but keeping her gun on the men. "I had to liquidate the field chief here. Inform the rest of my status, please."

"The lady known to you as Lupe de Rosa is a member of the Supreme THRUSH scientific board. Her orders take precedence over all other THRUSH agents below Division One level. Is this understood?"

Each of the men, including the Polynesian, were required to give his identification number into the black box and their understanding.

"Can you report now?" the voice asked Lupe.

"You have my report to the time I contacted the Waterloo. I was unable to go aboard because of the high seas. However, the data I received from the ship permitted me to deduce the trouble. It came from a weak signal generated by one of the focalpoints we use to start the gravitational spin to create the revolving storm. I came here in the submarine after ordering the guidance crew on the Waterloo to move the storm's eye over the atoll here."

"Excellent!" the THRUSH voice said. "What did you learn?"

"The trouble is sabotage! Someone in this group deliberately grounded the central machine. It could not put out full power. The saboteur is surely still among us!"

"There are electronic interrogation machines in the submarine," the THRUSH voice said. "Did it remain?"

"Yes, it is submerged in the lagoon to keep it from being harmed when the eye passes," Lupe said.

"Call the sub commander and have one of the machines brought up to the control room," the THRUSH voice said. "Ferret out the traitor as quickly as possible—and take care of him! I'd like a report as soon as possible on his identity."

"I will do so," Lupe said crisply. "I also have either Solo or Kuryakin prisoner here. I never could get their faces straight in my mind. The other one is dead. He burned up in the plane crash."

"Wonderful!" the THRUSH voice said. "Give him a complete interrogation on the machine. File a full report of all you learn from him. This will give us a full picture of how much U.N.C.L.E. knows of our present program. This is a wonderful break!"

"Then may I—liquidate—him after the interrogation?" Lupe asked with a vicious sidelong glance at Illya.

"You may have the pleasure, my dear!" the voice replied.

What hit Illya Kuryakin hardest was not the death sentence imposed on him, but Lupe's claim that Napoleon had burned to death in the plane.

He swallowed a huge lump in his throat and stared stonily at his captors.

Silently he promised himself that he would find some way to avenge Napoleon Solo before they destroyed him.

Lupe also turned to face the outpost crew.

"None of you are to leave this room until we get the interrogator over here!" she snapped.

She walked around to face Illya. He took a deep breath. The belts binding him to the chair cut into his arms.

"I'm willing to make a deal," he said in a toneless voice.

She smiled cruelly. "I've been with THRUSH for five years. I was recruited right out of college and sent to work with that fool Santos-Lopez. So you see I have had plenty of experience with U.N.C.L.E. and its people. You do not make deals."

"Can I bring up one point to convince you that I might?" Illya asked quietly, giving her a steady stare.

She gave him a sharp look back. "I'll listen to anything." she said.

"It is this," Kuryakin said. "What makes you think this is the only place where we were able to plant saboteurs?"

She started. She started breathing hard. Her face turned white.

Stabbing in the dark, but basing his supposition on her alarm, he said, "I know that this storm brewer is your baby. It means everything to you because you developed it from Santos-Lopez's basic data on storm destruction. You saw a way to twist his principles around. You sold the idea to THRUSH. You'll go high with them if it works. You many not need any social security for your old age if it fails—for people who fail THRUSH don't have old ages. I might keep you from failing!"

"You're trying to trick me!" she snapped. "I can get everything out of your mind with the interrogation machine and you know it!"

"Can you?" Illya said and gave her a malicious grin. "What about this!"

He partially opened his mouth and made a quick flip of his tongue too fast for her to follow clearly.

"See it?" he said and sneered at her. "It's a mouth capsule—of poison, Lupe! I'm going to die anyway. I heard that voice from THRUSH pronounce sentence on me. I'm going to beat you to the punch! All I have to do is crush down on this thing with my teeth—and there'll be no mind left for you to probe!"

She sucked in her breath sharply. Her eyes searched his face, looking for some clue to the truth of his claim.

"I don't believe you!" she cried hoarsely.

Illya Kuryakin shrugged. "That's a chance you have to take. Shall I point out the saboteur here—as a mark of my good faith? Then if I prove right when you put him on the interrogator, maybe we can make a deal on what other U.N.C.L.E. men are hidden in your organization, here and in the Atlantic."

"I don't believe you!" she whispered again.

"Okay!" Illya said.

He looked over the silent, tense group of men across the room from them. He selected the one he least thought could possibly be the unknown saboteur.

"That's the one!" he said, nodding his head toward the man.

The man, small and with a rat-face, squeaked in alarm. "That's a lie! That's a lie! He's lying like a dog! Don't believe him. He—"

He lost his sense of judgment in his alarm. He started toward Lupe, his arms outstretched in fearful supplication.

"Stop!" Lupe snarled, and before the frightened man could obey she shot him.

The rest stared in silent fascination at the dead man. Illya's anxious eyes were scanning their faces. He was seeking some clue to which was the real saboteur.

When he first mentioned that he was going to reveal the man's name, the noticed the big brutish Polynesian unconsciously grip his fists. Then when he named the rat-faced man, the fists relaxed.

He thought this very curious. His eyes went back to the giant. It seemed impossible for this nearly naked native to know enough about the operations to sabotage it in the first place. And even more puzzling, what could be his motive?