The Monster Wheel Affair - McDaniel David (серии книг читать бесплатно .TXT) 📗

Napoleon and Illya smiled triumphantly at each other, and started up the corridor. After a couple of intersections, Illya suddenly turned right and pointed to a large pair of doors across the hall some hundred feet away. Each half had a glass panel in it, and a red sign above the door said something about unauthorized personnel keeping out. Napoleon pointed this out as they trotted towards it.

"Fine," said his partner. "If you want to go back and get a surface pass, you go right ahead. I won't wait for you."

"Under the circumstances, I guess we can probably get away with it just once. But I hope they won't consider it a black mark against our records."

"I hope they haven't sealed the door."

The loudspeaker brayed again, and its metallic voice was all around them. "Open level two," it barked. "They are making a break for surface passage Delta on level one."

"You guessed!" said Napoleon bitterly as they skidded to a stop at the doors, and found them immovable.

Illya shook his head and pulled something out of his pocket. "I think the time is past for subtlety," he said. "I'll blow it."

Napoleon fell back, shifting his attention to the hall behind him. He snapped the rifle's control over to semi-auto and pointed it down the corridor.

Seconds later a gray-helmeted head poked around the corner. The rifle spat flame, and the head disappeared. Part of the shoulder was still visible, however, and it fell to the floor. Napoleon hugged the wall, and pulled his stomach in as far as it would go.

A shot from a concealed marksman slapped into the door near him, and he pulled in a little further. Apparently they were only shooting wildly in hopes of connecting. He glanced at the impact spot and saw the remains of the bullet. It was only slightly damaged—a small hypodermic dart. That must be Alpha ammunition—probably some knockout juice. Not that it mattered much—if it connected, it might as well be a bullet as far as they were concerned. Better a bullet, in fact; with a slight wound he could keep going, but this would put him out of the fight entirely with only a scratch.

Illya called from behind him, "It's going! Down!" and he dropped flat, hands over his ears, feet towards the door, body limp.

The blast threw him a few feet and knocked all the wind out of him, and the concussion made his head ache—it was actually too loud to have been heard. At least it would discourage their attackers from coming around the corner for the next minute or two, and give them some head start up the tunnel.

Napoleon was on his feet again in a moment, and past the shattered ruin of the door a moment later with Illya hot behind him.

A faint glow of starlight scarcely warned them as they approached the end of the tunnel, but then there was a cool sea breeze on their faces, sloping lava under their feet, and a glittering sheet of stars across the whole sky above them. And then they were off, bounding downhill, careless of the uneven ground and treacherous rocks.

Finally the protective shade of the forest was around them, and they slowed, panting for breath.

"Okay, trusted guide, you got us out of there. Now can you find where we left the scuba gear?"

"No trouble, kemosabe," said Illya. "Follow me."

It wasn't quite that easy. In a matter of five minutes feet could be heard crashing through the brush after them, and their progress to the beach was impeded from time to time by the necessity of pulling into a small invisible ball under a bush while the unfriendly natives went stomping past.

Between guard platoons they were able to work their way gradually downhill towards the sound of the surf, and eventually the trees parted before them and black sand spread down to the curling breakers, foam white under the stars.

Illya held out a restraining hand. "Let's follow under the trees," he said. "They probably have infrareds."

Napoleon nodded. "I knew there was something important we left home."

"Next time we'll remember. You can carry it instead of that rocket pistol."

They started down along the beach, paying attention to the woods on their right.

The stars near the eastern horizon were dimmer against a soft gray sky than they had been against the bottomless velvet of night when Illya stopped and pointed. "Over there somewhere," he said.

Flame spat out of the darkness of the trees, and a bullet snapped the air between them. They were flat on the ground by the time the sound reached them. Illya wriggled across the distance between them and whispered, "I was about to say, our gear is stowed over there."

"About where the other end of the target range is located?"

"Just about."

Napoleon sighed, and fished out his U.N.C.L.E. Special. "Now I know why they taught us to put these things together in the dark. Let's see—shoulder stock...silencer...flash shield.... The telescopic sight won't do any good here; I can't see him anyway. There we are." He rested his assembled weapon on his forearm, and directed it towards the trees. After a few seconds he said, "Come on, fella—shoot again so I'll know where you are."

But he didn't. Half a minute passed.

"Maybe he changed his mind," said Napoleon, consideringly. "Illya, old man, why don't you stand up and see?"

"If it's all the same to you," said his partner, "I'd rather wait as close to the ground as I can. Would it be all right if I just waved something?"

"Fine, but don't just lie there. My hand's getting tired."

It was another half minute before he heard an answer. "Here's a piece of driftwood with my shirt over it. Ready?"

"Any time you are."

Illya raised the stick cautiously. A rifle cracked in the brush and the shirt jumped. The U.N.C.L.E. Special coughed twice, and a listening silence returned to the jungle beach. The two intruders joined it in listening, and heard nothing. After a bit Illya raised the shirt again, and drew no response.

"Either you got him, and he'll be no further trouble, or you missed him and he's waiting for us to expose ourselves," said Illya helpfully.

"Okay—let's go see."

Napoleon gathered his feet under him, took a deep breath, and broke for the trees. He ran zig-zag, in a half-crouch, his automatic ready in his fist. No fire came at him, and then he was flat on the ground again, under cover. A few seconds later Illya joined him.

Together they crept cautiously through the sparse growth towards the spot where they had left their cache. Illya recognized the tree, and Napoleon spotted the gray-uniformed body lying a few feet away.

"Another point for our side," he said, checking the Thrush over and clipping off an insignia. Section Three was always interested in details of Thrush uniforms.

Meanwhile, Illya was poking his stick into the soft earth, looking for their bundle. He found it quickly, and was brushing the dirt and loam off it when his partner returned.

The two slipped into the wet-suits and scuba gear quickly, and sealed their automatics back in the rubber pouches which would protect them from the highly corrosive sea water and the pressures at one hundred feet.

Then they were ready. Illya flipped on his pocket transceiver and sent the simply coded signal which would turn on the lights in their minisub, then tucked the silver cylinder in his pouch and sealed it. Then they headed into the surf.

Napoleon had set his mask over his face and taken the mouthpiece in his teeth when a spout of silver spray shot up a foot from him. Illya surface-dived in four feet of water and caught an out-going wave. Solo was right behind him.