The Mind-­Twisters Affair - Stratton Thomas (книга читать онлайн бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

"What about the others?" Napoleon asked. "They haven't done you any harm, and they aren't members of U.N.C.L.E., so…"

Whateley shook his head. "I suppose we could eventually convert them, but it would be very inconvenient, and there is always the chance that in a long project like that, someone would get careless. Not to mention that we shall have to remain on constant alert in case U.N.C.L.E. does send in more agents before we have completed our test here. No, I'm afraid there's nothing for it but to eliminate them."

Whateley stood looking mournful for a few moments, then consulted his watch and brightened. "Time for phase two," he said cheerfully. "I must be on hand for all stages of drug preparation. I'll keep you informed of my progress; it's the least I can do as a host." He switched off all the lights except the one in the dungeon and walked off down the dark corridor.

Curtis had recovered his interest and now looked thoughtful. "The man's mind is definitely unbalanced. Perhaps the next time he comes down here to gloat, I can apply my psychological insight. Manipulating him would be difficult, of course; one never knows precisely how an unstable mind will react."

"Be my guest," said Napoleon. "Any reaction other than killing us outright will be welcome. In the meantime, however, we need to work on more direct means of escape."

Silence fell as the prisoners pondered their situation. Napoleon worked steadily in an attempt to get the tape off his fingers.

Whateley had been gone for some time when there was a slight noise from the corridor. The prisoners looked up to see Flavia Whateley entering the dungeon. Rita began to smile hopefully.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Napoleon inquired.

"Getting you out of here, I hope," she replied. She was now fully in the light, and they could see she had a welding hood pushed back on her head and was pulling a small rubber-tired cart loaded with acetylene and oxygen tanks, hose, gauges, and a cutting torch.

"I knew we could count on you," Rita exclaimed.

Flavia smiled faintly. "I expected you to think I was a devil-worshipper and a Thrush, like Father. I hadn't realized - I thought all of his talk about gods and demons was just a pose. Oh, I knew that Grandfather had really believed himself to be a wizard, but Father had been educated; he was really a brilliant man. I just don't know what happened to him."

"What's likely to happen to us is more important right now," Rita said. "Get that torch going, kid."

"How did you find us?" Napoleon asked as she lit the torch. "Your father said you didn't know anything about these passages."

"I didn't," she said, starting to work on the bars of Rita's cell. "I was in an old storage room in the basement a while ago when I heard a noise outside one of the walls. As far as I knew there weren't any passages there, so I went over and investigated. There had been some junk piled against that wall - I was looking through it for some copper tubing that was put down here somewhere - but I'd moved most of it. Once I had the rest out of the way it wasn't hard to find the door."

"Clumsiness pays off again," Napoleon commented. "That noise was me."

"Anyway," Flavia continued, "I overheard Father when he was talking to you; when he said he'd have to eliminate everybody. In fact, when he started to leave, I barely got out of the passage ahead of him. Then I followed him back to his study, and listened. He was starting an incantation! I could hear him muttering, deciding what demon to summon, and for the first time I knew he wasn't joking."

"Did he get any results?" Illya inquired.

"He didn't finish it. I think he must have been missing an ingredient. He cursed a lot, and I could hear him open drawers and things, looking for something. Then he came out and got in his car and drove away and I came down here. I suppose he's gone to buy something."

"I wonder what ingredient for a spell one could purchase at a corner drugstore?" Illya mused. By now Rita was free and Flavia wheeled her cart over to Napoleon's cell. In a few minutes, all the prisoners were free.

"The next problem," said Illya, "is to get to the car."

"How do we get there?" Napoleon inquired. "I assume it was put in the garage to avoid curious eyes, but how do we reach the garage from here?"

"If you don't want to go tramping back through Whateley's study," Illya suggested, "how about the passage they brought us in through? It had some branching corridors."

"It's worth a try." Napoleon turned to Flavia. "Do you have any idea where we are in relation to the house and grounds?"

She stood quietly for a minute, mentally retracing her steps through the passages. "We should be about in the middle of the back yard," she said finally. "The garage will be back this way." She led the way through the corridors, turning now and then when she came to an intersection. Eventually they encountered a short stairway. Napoleon led the way up. After a short period of experimenting, he pushed open the door at the top of the stairway and the group stepped out into a grease pit, one wall of which was the door. There was a car parked over the pit but it left enough space for them to climb out.

The garage was large but crowded. Besides the U.N.C.L.E. car, there were two damaged Thrush vehicles plus Lem Thompson's pickup truck. A third wrecked car, which Napoleon recognized as the hotrod which had plowed into the Beaver Dam Muck Festival, sat outside an open door, next to a wrecker made of a twelve-cylinder Packard roadster with the rumble seat removed and a hoist installed. The damaged cars had been partially dismantled; evidently some Thrush mechanic had been working on them. Luckily, the U.N.C.L.E. car had not been locked, and Illya hurriedly entered and opened the weapons compartment. He looked unhappy as he pulled out the Mercox and a handful of projectiles.

"We're short of ammunition for this," he said. "One tear gas, half a dozen high explosive, and three hypodermic darts."

"But aren't you going to get away?" Flavia said.

"Our job is to stop this entire business," Napoleon explained. "But it might be a good idea for you to leave before the shooting starts. You could take the wrecker out there."

"Not on your life!" Rita objected. "You're not going to catch me running around in one of Thrush's pet cars when Thrush agents could be anywhere in town. At least if I stay here I'll have some protection."

"If we could make it to my place you'd have protection," Lem said.

"Sure, if. I know you have a regular arsenal out there, but I've got no assurance that Thrush would let us get that far."

"I agree with Rita," Curtis said. "In addition, I would hesitate to miss this unique opportunity to study a criminal organization in its native habitat."

"You got queer ideas of fun," Lem grumbled, but he made no move toward the Packard.

Napoleon nodded. "Much as I hate to say it, Rita does have a good argument. It might be safer to stick together."

"But what are you going to do?' demanded Flavia.

"Stop your father, somehow," Napoleon replied.

"But you can't just shoot him down!"

"That's what he was goin' to do to us," Lem reminded her.

"But he's sick! He needs a psychiatrist, not a firing squad!"

"Don't worry," Illya answered her. "It's U.N.C.L.E.'s policy to avoid killing except as a last resort. The more help you can give us, the less likely we are to have to resort to violence to capture him. This," he held up the Mercox, "is an ideal weapon for the purpose, if we can get in position to use it." He explained.