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

Obviously the man lived on this island. He was here when the THRUSH men came. He certainly was not an U.N.C.L.E. agent. And so far as Illya Kuryakin knew, no other organization was aware of these stormy operations.

He caught the giant's eye. The big Polynesian looked back at him dully, the very picture of brutish stupidity.

"It can't be," Illya told himself.

His eyes sought the faces of the others as they listened to the cold, murderous voice of Lupe de Rosa warn them that the same bullet would be waiting for any of them who tried to come toward her until she determined which was the traitor.

Illya stared at her, then looked back at the big Polynesian. The giant stared straight ahead, his face still a mask of stupidity.

"Maybe—" Illya told himself. "Maybe, but if he did—why?"

TWO

His thoughts were interrupted by a thin chime from among the masses of electronic equipment. After warning the huddled group of men not to move, Lupe went over to the machine. Watching her, Illya could see why she had risen so high in THRUSH circles. She was completely ruthless in furthering her ambitions.

Lupe de Rosa pressed a circuit switch. Immediately the voice they had heard before came out of the speaker.

"We have received reports from the Waterloo that the storm has maintained its strength. This indicates that the Pacific tests are now successful. What is your considered opinion in launching an immediate attack according to Plan A?"

"I am ready," the girl said firmly.

"Good!" the voice said. "We must know if U.N.C.L.E. is sufficiently aware of our activity to throw any kind of barrier in our way. As soon as the interrogator turns the mind of this U.N.C.L.E. man inside out, report at once."

"Yes, sir," Lupe said.

"Then if we are safe from U.N.C.L.E., the attack of storms against the East and West Coasts of the United States, Hawaii, Japan, India, France, England, the North Countries and the Mediterranean countries will be launched exactly twelve hours from now. Is there any technical reason why this should not be done?"

"None!" Lupe said firmly.

"Excellent. If this succeeds, you will be more than amply rewarded. You have earned our deepest gratitude."

The girl's face flushed with pleasure as the connection was broken. Kuryakin shivered as he thought of the utter devastation the chain of hurricanes and storms would bring to the world. He knew that meteorologists claimed the damage from one typhoon was equal to a thousand atom bombs. This meant that THRUSH's stormy attack would bring more destruction to the world than if all the nuclear powers on earth fired all their stockpiled atomic bombs. The terror, devastation and death would be beyond belief.

His grim thoughts were broken by a sudden bellow from the big Polynesian.

"Missy!" he cried, his deep voice sounded like the bass blast of a conch horn. "The prisoner! He moved! I think his arms loose!"

"What?" Lupe cried, whirling about. "Check him!"

"Yes, Missy!" the giant said and lumbered toward Illya. Kuryakin was sure now that he was the saboteur.

He waited breathlessly to see what trick the native would pull.

As the big man rounded the bank of computer cases, he suddenly grabbed one and overturned it. It smashed back into Lupe. She fell with a strangled cry. Her gun exploded into the bunker ceiling as she fell.

The giant whirled. His face no longer looked stupid. He caught the back of Illya's chair. He sent it and its bound occupant crashing into the men who charged him.

Illya and the chair crashed into the three men. They all sprawled into a heap. The wooden chair legs collapsed, leaving Kuryakin's arms still bound to the intact back.

Before any of them could scramble up, the native hit the light switch. In the wild melee in the dark Illya crawled to one side and got to his feet. He started to twist and strain in a frantic attempt to free himself.

Across the computer room the door opened. He glimpsed the native leaping out into the night. He tried to follow and crashed into one of the THRUSH men. They both fell. Before Kuryakin could get up, the lights came on. He saw one of the men aiming a savage blow at his head. He tried to dodge, but didn't make it.

The blow was not sufficient to knock him out, but it kicked him off balance. He fell and his head struck the edge of the upset computer. He sprawled flat. His senses reeled. He fought to hold his consciousness.

As if from a great distance he heard Lupe's outraged screams for the men to help her reset the fallen computer.

"The storm is out of control without it!" she cried.

As if in answer to her cry, the eye began to move from its stationary position over the atoll. The wild winds whipped toward the island.

ACT XI: THE PASSING STORM

Napoleon Solo kept his eyes closed as the THRUSH man ordered the big Polynesian to leave him to burn in the flaming plane. The native moved the imprisoning log slightly in his first attempt to free the man from U.N.C.L.E. Solo was afraid to test it with the two still about.

The sounds from the back showed him that Kuryakin was captured. He knew that their only chance lay in himself staying free. He did not feel that he could capture the entire island alone. He hoped only to stay free long enough for the storm to pass. Then the atmospherics would clear up sufficiently for the pen-communicator to get a message out to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.

After that it didn't matter what happened to him.

Out on the wing the flaming gasoline was spreading rapidly toward the cockpit. He knew he had only minutes left. He raised his head slowly. The pilot's compartment door was open. He could see the THRUSH men taking their Air Force prisoners out through the waist door.

If they looked around they could see him. But it was a risk he had to take.

The flames were so close to the cockpit that the heat was scorching through the metal skin of the plane.

He pushed against the log. He was unable to bulge it. The terrific heat of the encroaching fire was causing the sweat to roll down his face. The slight movement made by the Polynesian giant helped some. He could move slightly, but not enough to squeeze out.

He relaxed, panting from his exertions. The heat was becoming unbearable. He pressed his body up as tightly as he could against the imprisoning log. He reached in behind, struggling to loosen the belt that held the seat padding in place. He grabbed one end and tried to pull it free.

It came part of the way and stuck. He took a fresh grip and jerked again. His hand was so sweaty from the increasing heat that his fingers slipped. He hastily dried them on his trouser leg and took a fresh grip. He sucked in his stomach and pressed his body up, grating against the rough trunk of the tree.

He slowly pulled the padding away.

This gave him extra space and he started working his body free. It came slowly, tearing his clothing and in places raking the flesh raw.

He finally pulled himself free and fell back on the flight deck. The metal was unbearably hot. The plexiglass side windows suddenly shattered under the terrific heat of the burning wing. Flames licked hungrily into the cockpit. Solo staggered back through the hatch into the waist of the plane.

He peered cautiously through the broken door. The THRUSH men had gone with their prisoners.

He hesitated, then jumped down to the ground. He bent almost double and scurried into the uprooted coconut grove to keep from presenting a target against the light of the blazing plane.

The typhoon devastation was terrific. The once densely palmed island had half its trees snapped or uprooted. Looking about, Napoleon could see the giant wall of the eye moving in. The storm was but half over. He realized he had only a short time before the island would again be lashed by the fury of the typhoon. Unless he found some sort of shelter, there was little chance that he would survive the storm.