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

They split, each diving for the opposite side of the road to divide their attackers' aim.

Napoleon hit the ground, snaking his body around under the doubtful protection of a small evergreen. Across the street Illya Kuryakin took refuge behind a small rock wall. A spray of sub-machine gun bullets smashed into the rocks. Illya ducked, sprawling flat to save himself.

THREE

Across the street Napoleon Solo raised up on his knees and started shooting. He kept his aim low, hitting for the car's tires. The first bullet caught the left rear wheel.

The car swerved as the tire exploded. It plunged straight at the low wall hiding Kuryakin. Solo leaped to his feet, caught in a sudden clutch of fear as the out-of-control vehicle aimed straight at his companion.

Solo caught just the briefest glimpse of Kuryakin as Illya threw himself to one side. The car struck the stone wall, ripping the mortar loose and plunging halfway through before it came to a halt.

"Illya!" Napoleon cried running across the road. "Are you—"

"Look out, Napoleon!"

Solo could not see the cause of Kuryakin's frantic cry, but he knew his companion too well to disregard the warning. He dropped flat, hugging the street curb for what little protection he could get from it.

A gun cracked from the back of the wreck. The slug slammed into the concrete, inches from Napoleon's head. It glanced off at a screaming angle after bringing blood to the man from U.N.C.L.E.'s cheek with a chip of pavement.

Napoleon shifted slightly in order not to present the same target twice. The shot came from the back of the wrecked car. He half raised and fired through the broken rear glass.

A bright red stab of muzzle blast showed him his mistake. The next shot came from under the wrecked car instead of inside it as he thought. The shot came so close it scraped cloth from the shoulder of Napoleon's coat.

He shot back, aiming for the spot where he saw the muzzle flash. The bullet struck metal and clanged like a bell. Napoleon, realizing their adversary had pulled back, ducked half doubled up and make a dash to the right.

The killer's gun barked again, but his fleeing quarry ducked behind the remnants of the stone wall. Napoleon moved stealthily forward, his gun ready, seeking a target.

He saw a shadow move on the opposite side of the wreck. He raised the gun, but before he could pull the trigger he heard Illya yell again. Once again he couldn't see the new danger, but he flattened against the wall.

Then he heard the roar of a car's engine and headlights cut through the darkness, throwing him into a bright glare of light. He caught just the briefest glimpse of a man's silhouette. He was leaning out the passenger's side of the car. He was holding a sub-machine gun in his hand.

ACT II: THE STRANGE STORM

It was impossible to scramble over the wrecked wall. He would run directly into the other killer's line of fire! In that moment of desperation Napoleon Solo realized that he had only two alternatives. He could crouch there and die—or he could attack!

Either one seemed like suicide, but it was better to go down swinging! He leaped to his feet, bent almost double and charged straight toward the flaring headlights.

The killer cursed loudly and tried to lean far enough out the door to bring the gun to bear on the charging man.

But as he leaned out he presented a target of his own. Solo's gun spat at him, but the jar of running spoiled his aim.

Behind the other wreck the first killer got rattled and started to shoot at Napoleon's running back. The bullet passed over Solo's head with a deadly whine and smashed into the windshield of a car facing the man from U.N.C.L.E.

The driver screamed a frantic curse and shouted for the gunman to stop before he killed the wrong targets. He shoved the car in gear and tried to ram Napoleon. But as the car started Solo leaped on the hood. He shoved his gun through the shattered windshield. The gunman frantically tried to swing his gun around.

The driver twisted the steering wheel frantically. The car swerved, throwing Napoleon on the grass. A burst of fire ripped from the killer's tommy gun, but it flashed up toward the sky as the man was thrown back by a straight shot from Illya Kuryakin's gun.

Solo twisted around. As Illya raised up to fire the shot that saved Solo's life, he made a perfect target for the first killer still crouched behind the wrecked car.

As Solo twisted he saw the man rise up. He shot from the ground, without aiming for he realized in that split second of danger that Illya's life hung by a mere thread.

He missed! He shot too fast, but there was no alternative.

The bullet struck the edge of the shattered windshield. The spray of splintered glass showered the crouching gunman. He jumped and his aim was spoiled. The bullet intended for Kuryakin smashed into the ground at the U.N.C.L.E. agent's feet.

Solo whirled as the driver of the stalled car grabbed for the machine gun dropped by his dead companion. As the man raised up, Solo's bullet caught him between the eyes. Napoleon whirled, but it was all over. He saw Illya walking rapidly toward the slumped figure of the other THRUSH agent.

After they made sure neither of the THRUSH men were playing 'possum but were really dead, Solo said crisply, "Keep me covered just in case there's another group following them."

Illya nodded silently. He went over and switched off the car lights so they wouldn't present as good a target if another attack was made by THRUSH.

While Solo hurried over to the wrecked taxi to see what had happened to Santos-Lopez, Illya stared at the dead men. For perhaps the thousandth time in his life he wondered about them and the strange organization they served.

THRUSH! An organization so strange no one knew even what its initials stood for. Only one thing was clear about THRUSH. This was that was composed of a group of men willing and able to use criminal means to affect a dream of world conquest.

Apparently the organization was based in and received support from a certain European country, but it had never been determined that the country's government was behind the organization. Because it operated world-wide, only a world-wide crime fighting group like U.N.C.L.E. could effectively block this super-evil group.

Kuryakin took a deep breath as he considered their narrow escape. Each tangle with THRUSH was more difficult than the last. He wondered, staring at the dead men, where it all would lead.

The blare of a police siren broke his thoughts. He went down to the street to identify himself and make a report to the police. The tough manner of the police changed instantly when Illya flashed his U.N.C.L.E. identification.

He turned as Napoleon Solo came up. The man from U.N.C.L.E.'s face was grim. Illya did not have to ask him what Santos-Lopez's condition was. Solo's face told him.

"Chalk up another for THRUSH," Illya said bitterly.

"We did the best we could," Solo said slowly. "Unfortunately time was so short we had to approach Santos-Lopez direct. We should have arranged an interview with him through some third party he trusted. He would have trusted us then."

"What do we do now?" Illya asked. "This thing isn't over by any means."

"No, I'm afraid this storm expert's death only complicates what promises to be a bitter battle. I've got to report to Waverly that we failed. Why don't you help the police as much as you can? I'll call New York."

Solo walked over to the broken wall, where he could not be heard by the others. He pulled out his pen-communicator and twisted the cap to extend the aerial. His low spoken call letters were amplified and transmitted instantly to a room high in an office building in New York.