The Hollow Crown Affair - McDaniel David (книги онлайн без регистрации полностью .TXT) 📗
Illya fired up the TV screen and switched to the camera monitoring the rear of the building. He extended the zoom to its greatest focal length and scanned slowly along the ridge, peering among the trees. Several seconds passed.
"Uh...nice gear," said Napoleon, conversationally.
"Thank you," said Irene, passing through from the workroom towards the kitchen. "I built most of it."
"You built it?" said Illya, not taking his eyes from the screen as she left the room.
The sound of rummaging came from the kitchen, and in a moment she returned, drawing on a pair of heavy rubber gloves. "Well, not the television set, of course, nor the cameras or their remote controls, but I wired everything together and built the image-multiplier from a kit."
"That's amazing," said Napoleon.
"Just a hobby, really—after all, Ward has his needlepoint..."
"There he is," said Illya suddenly. "Look! Up on the ridge!"
Among the trees they could discern a flat, narrow, jeep-like vehicle. Its profile and the disconcerting camber of its wheels identified it as the 'Mule' configuration. A man was standing on the rear section beside a heavily braced fat-barreled monstrosity with a glittering lens just above it.
"That looks like him," said Illya, and the rear of the lodge endorsed his opinion with a thunderclap. King quickly secured something and clambered into the single seat of the Mule; a few seconds later they wheeled away and out of sight to the left.
"Mobility," Napoleon quoted, "is the keynote of Thrush. Do we have another camera around to the side?"
"No—I can swing the front and rear cameras to catch him coming or going, but why bother? He's gone east; let's head out the west window."
"Ready any time you are, C.B."
"I shall close the window after you," said Baldwin. "Should you return, you will be able to ring the front doorbell."
They went out the window, across the open stretch of ground and into the trees, ears tensed for that almost inaudible cue to drop. They were under cover before they heard it again, and it was followed almost instantly by a splintering crack from the far side of the lodge.
"He's riding in rings around the house, firing as he goes," said Napoleon. "Primitive, but effective. He isn't doing much damage yet; shall we hide and wait for him to come to us?"
"Seems reasonable. Why don't we spread out. I'll signal if I see him coming."
They spread. The PAR mired once more for the east side of the building, and hit the front door area again less than ninety seconds later. The silence was perhaps the strangest part of the one-sided battle—except for the slam of a corner of the lodge being hit, the whisper of leaves and the calls of undisturbed birds could be clearly heard. The clear bright noon sun dappled through the leaves where Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin crouched in the chilly shade, and watched and listened.
King shifted across the front of the house at his leisure, loosing a round every thirty seconds or so. A beautiful scrollwork cornice exploded into a puff of white splinters, and another section of the steep shingled roof was blown clear of cover to the steel sheathing beneath, which rang like a tin can with the impact and cratered strangely.
Another minute passed as the two UNCLE agents hugged the clammy ground beneath their chosen bushes, watching the house fifty yards away and listening for the muffled engine.
Then a corner of the house burst into a brick cloud and fragments shattered and splattered the wide white door of the garage. A red hole gaped in the masonry as though a berserk airhammer had gone through, but as the larger shards pattered to the ground they heard King's Mule approaching.
Napoleon gathered his feet under him and got ready to move in any direction called for. The jeep engine raced and slowed, ground gears and came closer. It sounded as if it stopped fifty feet or so north of his hiding place, and he waited, squinting among leaves and trunks, for further evidence. Slowly he rose to a crouch and moved forward, ducking from his bush to a stout tree to an outcropping of rock.
On the other side of the rock a good twenty-five feet of open ground separated him from Joseph King. King was climbing from the seat of his Mule onto the rear deck where the Particle Accelerator Rifle was mounted onto a sturdy tripod, with guy wires and a chain. He started to aim the gun, which indeed fit into his arms like a huge clumsy rifle, his eye at the telescope and one hand falling naturally to a panel set with buttons.
As he did so, Napoleon charged directly over the rock, scraping on the face of the granite and sprinting towards the Mule. Even as he left his cover he saw King shift his weight, swinging the gun around like a pool cue, and wondered if he could make it. The twinge in his ears triggered his knees, and he skidded to his face in the wet grass as the rock behind him shattered into gravel.
He rolled desperately, leaped to his feet as he heard Illya's voice yell something from the other side of the clearing and dove behind a large stump. King swung the Rifle and fired again, into the trees where Illya had appeared and vanished. A small tree fell, a larger one cracked, and Illya flopped limply into view.
Solo recognized the cue. While King was checking to see if Illya was playing possum, he could sneak up on him. He rose from behind the stump—and leaped sideways as the PAR swung about to bear on him again. The stump blew to flinders and left a few roots protruding from the churned soil.
Where in hell was Illya? He should be on King's back by this time. Solo lay flat in the shadow of a dense bush and peeked between its tangled stems to where his partner lay, a lump of white against the bright leaves of October. But...he was supposed to be playing possum...
The tree next to him burst a few feet above the ground and showered him with splinters; the main trunk hurtled itself backward two feet and toppled dramatically forward, its leafy crown pointed accusingly at the Mule.
"You haven't got a chance, Solo," King yelled. "I got your partner and I'm going to blow you to a bloody mist before I take Baldwin back and feed him to the Computer!"
Most of Solo's attention was occupied with an advanced-grade field manoeuver which involved crawling backwards rapidly without lifting his stomach from the ground; as a result he may have failed to appreciate King's threat. He rose to his elbows behind another tree sixty feet away and swore bitterly under his breath at the condition of his suit. He was lucky in one respect—that lovely telescopic sight was worse than useless against a fast-moving target at close range. He didn't let himself think about Illya, but looked cautiously around a tree.
King was shielded by another tree, but he seemed to be facing the area, watching closely. This really has gone quite far enough, Napoleon said to himself, and slipped his UNCLE Special from its comfortable shoulder rig. He intensely disliked shooting anyone from cover, but the circumstances would seem to dictate...
Running in a perfectly straight line, he kept the next tree precisely between himself and King. He put the edge of his face around the corner to see where his target was—and jumped back as half of the tree made a loud noise and ceased to exist between four and six feet from the ground. Then he jumped forward, another boulder as his goal. He dove ten feet away and rolled to a protected position before King could fire again, and found the automatic still in his fist. Even before he could grab a quick look around there was a deafening CRACK! and the rear half of the boulder toppled slowly forward.
