The Splintered Sunglasses Affair - Leslie Peter (электронные книги без регистрации txt) 📗
"That is of course only of academic interest," he said. "But with this apparatus we come into the realm of practical applications. And all this is—when you come down to it—is a kind of electrical generator." He paused and added significantly: "And water is a perfect conductor..."
The draught behind the Russian increased. There was the sound of footsteps, and tall, white boots creaked into his field of vision.
"Quite a pretty pair!" Giovanna del Renzio said, staring up and down the trussed figures of the two agents. "But how droll they look, spread out on the floor like that..."
"They will look more droll still, when our little experiment begins," Carlsen replied suavely. "Perhaps, my dear, you would like to explain?"
"It's quite simple really," the girl said to Illya. "As you heard, water is a perfect conductor—so if we connect the out put of the generator to the spray, the water droplets, as they whirl round, will carry the charge... so long as there is continuous contact, drop by drop, back to the metal of the crosspiece. Anybody on whom the spray falls when such a contact exists will therefore receive a shock, of course—unless or until the particles of water separate, when the circuit is broken.
"Since the speed and direction of the spray is indeterminate, as is the frequency of electrical contact within it, the amount of time a person under the spray would in fact be receiving shocks is also totally random."
"The point of all this," Carlsen put in, "is that in most forms of—er—persuasion, the person to be persuaded can see the hot iron or the stroke of the whip or whatever it is on the way... and can therefore in some manner tense himself, prepare to tighten up in anticipation of the pain. But imagine—as I am sure somebody in your position, Mr. Kuryakin, easily could!—the victim in the dark awaiting the arbitrary movements of a spray such as this... knowing that, even when the water touches him, it may not carry a charge. And that the charge itself, and therefore the amount of pain it produces, is also infinitely variable. Infinitely, Mr. Kuryakin!"
"It may seem unduly bizarre or complex," the girl added, "but the system has been perfected to save time, really. The disintegration of self control actually does arrive much more quickly, I can assure you. It's rather like the old Chinese dripping tap torture, with uncertainty thrown in to add a... logical... element."
"Yes, yes," Carlsen said. "And in the line of labor saving, like all modern equipment. And in that connection, of course, I must not neglect to point out that, as the floor becomes covered with a thin layer of water itself, a charge carried by spray falling on it can be transmitted to the body even though the spray may not in fact touch it. If you think a little you will see that this is why we use iron rings and wire for the purpose of securing you. Both conduct admirably."
"If your people spent less time on the melodrama and more on planning, you might be a little more successful," Illya said.
"We shall see how successful we are in a little while. A very little while, I should think," Carlsen replied. "Your headquarters are mad to send you against us. How can your puny little efforts triumph against our computer? Mr. Solo is not yet with us, my dear; but I think we might venture a little trial run, eh?"
The girl nodded. Keeping her eyes on Illya, she walked over to a main riser culminating in a tap from which the rubber tube feeding the sprinkler ran. Slowly she turned the brass wheel opening the faucet.
For a moment nothing happened. And then, with a sudden hiss, the crosspiece jerked into motion like a watery firework. From each end, a fan of spray feathered out, describing a moving spiral of mist in the air. And as the apparatus revolved more and more rapidly, these two, plus the smaller issues along the length of the rotating bar, coalesced to form a single arc of droplets which scythed this way and that in the bright electric light beneath the cellar ceiling. Initially, Illya saw the figure-of-eight patterns the damp made on the dusty floor.
And then a trailing end of the douche fell once, twice and—after a slight delay—a third time coldly over the gooseflesh on his skin. By the time he had caught his breath, the whole floor was shining uniformly wet.
Giovanna del Renzio was attaching some piece of equipment to the tap. "This," Carlsen said, raising his voice slightly over the swishing of the sprinkler, "will vary the pressure of the water reaching the crosspiece automatically, so the pattern of its fall will start to vary also. We'll let you watch for a few minutes before we go out and turn off the light; but first let me show you the electrical side of the business!" He wheeled the generator closer to the sprinkler, drew on a pair of rubber gloves, and made a connection.
The water was falling across Kuryakin's flesh every now and then, sometimes in a fine veil, sometimes with a certain amount of force. And now, suddenly, one time, the unmistakable tingle of a mild shock whipped across his belly and up over his shoulder to his right arm.
Carlsen was turning a rheostat control on the generator.
Again water swept over the Russian. Once more it approached, wavered, went away, returned—and a violent spasm arched his body up from the iron rings as what felt like a red-hot whip scalded across his thigh. A hoarse cry of pain was torn from his lips. A few feet away, Napoleon Solo moaned slightly and shifted against his bonds.
Giovanna del Renzio's bright plastic raincoat was shiny with water. Water dripped from the ceiling, washed across the floor and streamed down the cellar walls. Kuryakin could feel it clammy against his back. But there was no more water in the air. The girl had switched the apparatus off.
Carlsen, his suit dark with moisture, spoke from the far side of the room. "We're going to leave you now," he said. "Some time during the next hour the lights will go off. And at indeterminate times subsequently, the sprinkler will be turned on—and off—sometimes with current, sometimes without.
"You have already had a taste both of the mild and of the fairly severe current... although, of course, we can make it stronger still if we wish. We do not wish to keep on interrupting you with tedious requests as to whether or not you are ready to speak. So every sound you make will be taped, and at intervals we shall play the tapes back. When we judge from the noises that you are—er—desirous of further conversation, we shall return. But not before."
He was about to turn and go, shepherding the girl before him, when Lala Eriksson appeared in the doorway. She had changed out of her green suit and was wearing slacks and a turtle neck sweater in black. There was a slight smile on her face and her eyes were shining.
"Lala!" Carlsen sounded surprised. "I know we promised you the first trick, but I thought we'd agreed that a half hour to reflect—"
"I know, I know," the girl interrupted. "But the more I think of it, the more I'm inclined to the view that too much time in the light is a bad thing. It may give them the time to steel themselves, you know. And we simply cannot afford to let them do that."
"Very well then. At the beginning, anyway, you're the boss."
He turned back to Kuryakin with a sardonic smile. "For you, at any rate, the night starts now. Other plans will be carried out as outlined." He switched out the light, ushered the two girls into the passage, went out himself and closed the door.
In the sudden intense darkness, Illya lay spread-eagled on the wet floor and wondered desperately what he could do. There was nothing. His bonds were unburstable; since he was naked, there was nothing he could reach or hope to adapt from his clothes that might help; Napoleon Solo was still unconscious—and even if he could have talked, it would have been useless, as everything they said would have been taped. He imagined, from the scrap of conversation he had heard, that they were to take it in turns to actuate the combined water-electric torture. There were probably controls just outside the door, and Lala Eriksson would be at them now. How long, he wondered, would they be able to hold out against the combined onslaught of pain and uncertainty?
