The Cross of Gold Affair - Davies Fredric (читаем книги бесплатно TXT) 📗

get out.” His audience waited while he pulled on the well-used old pipe, examining the map with one eye. He looked up from the map and analyzed the visible bandages on Solo, comparing them with tie calm story of escaping the death-trap. “If you can get up past those knives, I can get you to the pier, and mount a solid guard while you do it.

“We have men training in conjunction with the Navy’s Submerged Test Engineering Platform operation. They were working together at the Brooklyn Naval Yard facility until military spending was curtailed and the Yard had to be closed; thereafter, the Navy has been using our undercover training grounds as a base for STEP in this area.

“One of our men has been accepted by STEP’s marine mammals, and now serves part-time as their trainer. If we didn’t have him there, the Navy would probably furnish enough men; but he’s one of U.N.C.L.E.‘s best frogmen, and I know he can position four harbor seals around that pier in an iron pattern. You couldn’t slip past his seals even if you knew where they were. He, and one of the animals, can take you in from the sea to any point you name. While you’re about your business, they’ll be on guard waiting for word.”

“Great. I can get to Jamaica Bay in a few minutes by copter. While I’m getting my land team ready, I’d appreciate your help in alerting STEP’S U.N.C.L.E. operatives that we want to mount a top priority mission within the hour.”

As Napoleon stood up, Waverly spoke.

“You’ll lead them yourself, then?” he asked. He didn’t need to mention the night’s work and the ravages Napoleon had sustained so far.

“As Chief Enforcement Officer…”

“Mr. Solo, I know your responsibilities. But I hardly need point out that you’ve put your body through a rather brutal evening and it could probably use some rest. An undersea expedition just now would be most difficult, finishing up with an unpredictable but potentially dangerous reception at the hands of Thrush.”

“But I’ve come down through that trapdoor, and I know exactly what it looks like. I know the layout of that Space House, and the size force we’re likely to encounter. You can

send another man in if you wish, sir, but in my opinion a little local anesthetic will numb these cuts. This display isn’t a shaving nick compared to what those Thrushes will do to Illya if we muff our attack.”

Waverly cleared his throat, frowning. “There is no question of removing you from the operation, unless you elect to place yourself on sick call. If your condition degenerates to the point that someone else must perform that service for you, it will be the first time in your career. You must pick the man best suited for the job, and I can do nothing but remind you not to involve the United States Navy in any way.” Waverly and Solo looked at each other, and both understood.

As Napoleon left, Waverly continued to work on his pipe and to pace. He waved to Dr. Angers to sit in his chair, and the pacing continued while Angers made arrangements for the task force Napoleon had requested.

Below, Napoleon strode into laboratory 17C to find Matt and eight men sitting and smoking, waiting for him. He greeted all of them, and went right to the end of the room where Illya had demonstrated the 315 data-display optical device. He stared at it for a few seconds, and then started moving his hands over the console as Illya had done. Power came up, and he got a picture.

“Gentlemen, here is New York City. With a few adjustments we can focus in on Long Island. So. The computer can then take us close in, expanding the aerial view to show just the south part, near Lower Bay.” He talked more smoothly, finding the controls relatively simple when once started.

“Now, with this two-mile stretch of Coney Island in view, I think we can discuss the assault. Here, near the roller coaster, is an amusement pier with a sprawling funhouse at one end.” The maps, drawn by cathode rays from digital photograph recordings, could only show major topographical features where Napoleon wished he could have the original photographs. He noticed sadly that there were no golden blips on the screen-but it was hardly likely Thrush would let Illya keep his tracer once inside the funhouse.

“You want us to crash a funhouse, Chief?” asked Matt.

“I want you to come down on this beach in a skirmisher’s formation, and half-circle the funhouse. From as far away as you can see each other, I want you to wait in the sand for my signal. When you get it, you’re to move in close, tighten up the circle approximately here, so the nine of you will be only five or six yards apart”-he used a pencil to point to positions on his automatic map, relative to the pier -“and turn on the full Flush Routine.”

“Just get ‘em out?”

“Right. We have no reason to do anything but detain anyone coming out of there. Later, we may get them on charges of kidnapping, illegal possession of weapons, and a dozen others; right now, we want to get in and get Illya out of there. I’ll be hitting them from behind, off a submarine, and trying to give them good reason to let you flush them.”

“And what’s the signal?”

“If things continue all night as they’ve been going, every light in that building will be on when we get there. If so, and if I don’t have to resort to flares or an explosion to notify you, I’ll tell you to strike by simply turning all those lights out.”

His men grinned as they pictured the scene. “Lights out,” said Matt, “and we turn on our floodlights and bullhorns, and invite the gentlemen outside for a little parlez-vous.”

The unit was on its way out their assault exit, fully armed and equipped, when Napoleon strapped himself in the U.N.C.L.E. copter’s jump seat. The pilot hovered for a moment near the Pan Am building to avoid the flight pattern of the commercial chopper from Kennedy Airport, then he stood his little machine on its side and put on full speed across the river. Fifteen minutes after leaving Matt and the land task force, Napoleon was debarking from his helicopter near the north, seldom used gate of Floyd Bennett Field in Long Island.

Section IV : “All’s well that ends.”

Chapter 13

“Is there a Berlitz course in Seal?”

BEFORE THE copters blades stopped, two dungareed sailors blocked down the wheels, and a bright young ensign helped Napoleon to the ground.

“Do I have to request permission to come aboard?” he asked.

“No, sir,” replied the ensign. “And the nearest fantail is across the harbor in drydock, so you don’t have to salute anything, either. But they’re waiting for you in the Sea-Lab area, if you’ll come with me.”

They took a jeep across the tarmac and through the air-base’s north gate, the ensign driving with Napoleon hanging on in the passenger seat. A nearly invisible path of dry, level earth led through the marshland north of Bennett, facing Jamaica Bay, and took them on a roundabout path curving through mazes of low trees that hid them from the base and the nearest civilian housing. The young ensign pulled up abruptly, with his lights picking out a single long building painted battleship gray. He got out first, and almost made it around the jeep to hold the other door before Napoleon shook himself free of the panic handle and got out unaided.

“Through this door, sir,” he said, unlocking the building. “We will be met before we penetrate to the training rooms.”

Once out of the cold they found themselves in a long

corridor with no interesting tourist attractions. Their shoes echoed dully along asphalt tile, blending with a steady vibration almost below hearing level from all sides. The whole establishment seemed alive with sounds of steady activity and a beating of ocean. Nothing relieved the sound and the monotonous color scheme until they had traveled half the length of the corridor, when the far door opened.

The ensign kept on up to within three paces of the man who entered, and saluted smartly, getting a friendly nod in return.