[The Girl From UNCLE 03] - The Golden Boats of Taradata Affair - Latter Simon (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации полные TXT) 📗

As they approached the long houses where Tom-Tom's followers now lived, April said to the Chief: "You have enough men now to do what has to be done. We will leave you to deal with your own people. Drive them back the way we have come and leave us to settle the real villains. We'll circle the long houses and go through the workshops."

Mark said: "How about us taking half a dozen hefty lads to wreck the workshops as we go? Save us time."

"Yes. That is good," Kuala agreed. "We want no more of this slaving. If the tools are smashed, my people can start again in our own ways. I will give you time to go past their houses. They do not suspect anything. You can hear them chanting. They are not allowed to leave the houses until dawn. The guards stay with them. Tom-Tom is so sure of his control that he has no one watching outside."

"Where will he be?" Mark asked.

Kuala smiled. "I know where he will be. I am going to Tom-Tom myself. I will bring him back on his knees. I leave you to deal with your people. You leave me to deal with mine."

As April, Mark, Lars and Kazan set off, Kazan whispered:

"I think there is going to be one sorry Tom-Tom!"

They reached the workshops — long, open-sided huts with centre benches, backed by racks containing the bark strips and moulding tools. Small hand presses were spaced along the benches. This made a crude but effective production line.

April said : "Mark and I will go this side — you two the other side. We want the tara plant processing shop, then the laboratory. With any luck, Sama and Randy should be through the tunnels by the time we reach there."

She had passed across the shadow between the buildings when figures leapt on them from the deeper shadows at the side.

They were snared in fishing nets and rolled in these until their arms and legs tangled in the folds. The fiat blades of serengatas slammed on their heads. Wisely, they gave up struggling. A fact which probably saved their lives.

CHAPTER TEN: FLAMES OF TARA

The THRUSH initial advantage of using and exploiting a simple, almost primitive people now turned into a major disadvantage for them. Chief Kuala's followers overpowered Tom-Tom's men, who anyway were swiftly discouraged by their womenfolk when family began beating up family. Squabbles were one thing, outright violence an alien way of settling them. Even grandmothers and aunts clouted a few heads of their younger relatives. Ancient traditions made short work of THRUSH'S disruptive policies. Finally there were as many women as men engaged in smashing the workshops to bits.

April and Mark heard the rending and smashing hubbub as their captors dumped them on the floor, then ran off — obviously to report. Mark spoke into his communicator. "Mark to Kazan — we are temporarily tied up. Two islanders heading for boss-men. Intercept if you can."

April eased her hands free of the net folds, drew out a blade from the pocket kit, slashed the mesh and climbed through. She removed her skull-protector and ran a comb through her hair before slashing Mark's net. He scrambled free as Kazan's voice sounded in their earpieces.

"We have dropped them with dart guns. Are you okay?"

"Okay now," said April. "Proceed to far end. Try to link up with Sama Paru. Leave the laboratory section to us."

Dr. Lodori, the Padracks and their scientist guest had not equipped themselves with a modern electronic communications system. This was unusual in a THRUSH project, because they, like U.N.C.L.E., made full use of the latest systems. But such systems need people skilled in their operation to be effective, and the Taradata islanders were not trained to use them.

So Tom-Tom was whipped away before he could send a runner to warn his bosses. The two guards who had trapped April and Mark gave no thought to the fact that these strangers might be fully equipped for an assault task — perhaps to the extent of wearing skull-protectors. Both had dropped at the first blow, a quite normal agent practice to put the attacker off guard, assess the odds, and decide countermeasures. The simple guards had thought one honk on the head was enough to put them out.

THRUSH had wired the tunnels under Taramao Point for light and power from the generator, but had not troubled to put in a two-way loudspeaker system, or inter-com circuit. Evidently they had not considered possible any attack by outsiders, assuming their control of the islanders to be sufficient to ensure their own safety. It gave April and Mark much glee and a certain smug arrogance to observe these THRUSH shortcomings.

"I sense the woman's touch," said April. "Or a woman-ish man. But I'll plump for Lucy Padrack being the dominant organizer here. A man would have made sure of an adequate electronic alarm and communications system. He'd have trained a nucleus of islanders to work them."

"Thought they were safe behind the harbour. No strangers unless the boat was in," said Mark. "Then they place guards to bar the way."

"Unforgivable, and criminally slack," said April heavily. "I'd shoot the lot of 'em, if they worked for me."

Mark smothered laughter. "Darling — what are you getting upset about?"

She grinned. "I'm envious of the islanders. At least they are having a smashing time!"

"Ouch! Well, let's you and I investigate this processing section."

"Where the hell are they?" said April as they moved on. "Can't any of the bosses hear the row going on behind us?"

"Obviously not."

They entered the last section. This was long, narrow, more sophisticated than the workshops yet still by modern factory standards, very primitive. Three vats, waist-high along one side, with wheeled superstructures on rails carrying spring-loaded mesh trays. Some tara plant leaves lay on these trays, still damp. Large, yellow-brown, lace-veined, delicate-looking. Moonlight slanting on one tray made the leaves appear translucent.

April inspected the fluid, testing it with her finger, then sniffing. Mark joined her. He too made tests on the liquid and plant leaves.

"Alcohol is part of it. What's the slightly bitter taste — alum?"

April rubbed the liquid between finger and thumb. Tested again. "No, not alum. I'd guess at acetylsalicylic acid."

"Aspirin!" Mark grinned. "Perhaps the tara plant has headaches? There's a volume tester and other gadgets over there."

They moved across. April inspected some drums mounted on power-driven turntables.

"Separators," she announced, and checked the containers. "Powder? No –– earth. No — earth is drawn out — here's the waste bin." They crossed to a row of shaping machines. The pan-shaped moulds were the size of a coracle. She tested the powdery residue. "Same stuff. They extract a yellowish powder from the soil, soak the leaves in that solution, bond several together with those heat presses in the centre, coat them with the powder, then shape them to fit inside the coracles. Why, Mark — why? If it's drugs, why not extract the substance they need and export that?"

Mark was busy placing plastic explosive charges. "Let the medics work it out. Our job is S.F.D. — remember?"

"Yes — okay."

They worked quietly, then ran from the section. Ahead of them, lights glowed in a glass-windowed building — the only stone-built structure they had seen. Through these windows they could see the Padracks and a bald, thin-faced man working at some papers. In another room — a white room filled with laboratory equipment — Cheval leaned over an assembly of phials and glass tubes.