[Magazine 1966-­09] - The Brainwash Affair - Davis Robert Hart (читать книги онлайн полные версии .txt) 📗

"Brushed Solo off? What does this mean? I was upset. Yes. This terrible business. So much on my mind. I hope you will apologize to him." Then Caillou sank back, hardly at ease, even in his own office. "In what way may I serve you?"

Illya grinned. "Solo and I had hoped to be of service to you— with your help, of course."

"Anything. But how could you hope to serve me?"

"I'm sure it's no news to you that the dollar, the pound and the ruble have been devalued in the world market. A sudden, inexplicable drop in their value, a demand for gold payments—"

"A desperate situation—for some countries."

Illya stared at him, frowning. "Lester! Those nations lead the world."

"Perhaps it is time for a new world leader."

"Is this you talking? Surely De Gaulle's government knows a devalued dollar will further depress the franc—"

"It is nothing Bon Charlie would wish."

Illya leaned forward. "We've a good idea who would want panic and fiscal chaos. That's why I've come to you."

"Me?"

Caillou straightened. "What would I have to do with such matters?"

"You've gotten nervous since the old days in Iran," Kuryakin said. "Staying alive in the world of finance can be a slower, but more agonizing death than that of the firing squad, my friend.

"We plan to expose the plot to wreck money values. We plan to expose the people behind it. I came to you as an old friend to enlist your aid in checking on the actions taken in international monetary affairs. We believe that through you, we can locate the people responsible and expose them."

After a moment Caillou nodded. "Naturally I'll do anything I can."

Illya smiled and stood up. "Good. This is what we were sure we'd hear from you."

"What else would you anticipate to hear from an old friend?"

Illya laughed and nodded. "Right. You see, I still wear it." He held up his wrist, shooting his cuff and displaying the twin to the Swiss chronometer worn by Solo.

"What?" Caillou looked con fused.

"The watch, Lester!"

Caillou gazed at the watch, puzzled. "Yes. Very nice watch, indeed."

Illya caught his breath and retreated a step, staring at the banker.

Caillou stiffened. "What's wrong, old friend?"

Illya dampened his lips with the tip of his tongue. "Nothing, old friend, I've just sort of goofed, that's all."

He continued to back across the lavishly furnished office, not taking his gaze from Caillou's face. He reached behind him, turned the knob. He opened the door, stepped out into the midoffice of the suite.

Closing Caillou's door, Illya turned and walked swiftly toward the reception room.

Entering it, he heard the rasping buzz of the intercom summon Yvonne into Caillou's inner

Yvonne sat at her desk, face gray. She ignored the buzzer. She stared up at Illya.

"It's been one of those mornings when nothing goes right, hasn't it?" Illya said sympathetically. He walked out.

The buzzer continued waspishly. Yvonne got up, entered Caillou's office.

Caillou stood in the center of the room. He held out a small card with a telephone number on it. His hand shook.

"Get me a private, outside line," he ordered. "Call this number."

"For whom shall I ask?"

Caillou's voice crackled in rage.

"Never mind! Just get me the outside line. I'll talk to whoever answers."

PART TWO

INCIDENT OF A WORLD IN PANIC

ILLYA OPENED the corridor door of Caillou's office and stepped outside.

"Kuryakin!"

The name was whispered at him, hissed.

He wheeled around. He was not fast enough. As he turned, leaded gloves smashed across his eyes. He grunted in pain, and so did Albert.

Sickness spread out through Illya from the bridge of his nose.

Rocked on his heels, Illya staggered. He toppled against a wall and shook his head, trying to clear it.

Albert advanced upon him.

Illya gazed up through an occluding red haze at the pointed beard and old-bronze features of the Moor.

The Moor laughed. "So I get you at last, eh?"

Illya managed to speak lightly through the pain clouding his mind. "What kept you?"

Albert showed him the snout of a Biretta. "Never mind that. Do you come quietly?"

Illya looked at the gun.

"The only way to go," he said. He straightened. Albert inclined his head toward the rear of the corridor.

"I warn you," Albert said. "Do not push me. You are worth nothing to us alive."

"You keep talking like this, Albert, and I'll begin to think you don't like me," Illya said.

Albert snorted. "Keep walking."

They passed the bank of public lifts, walked to the service elevator.

Keeping the gun fixed on Illya, Albert pressed the button.

The doors parted. Albert motioned with the gun. Illya preceded him into the cage

The elevator plunged downward.

Suddenly Illya lurched toward the controls, grabbed the lever, thrusting it downward.

Albert pressed the trigger instinctively,

The sound was like a cannon in the metal cage.

The roar reverberated through the well, bouncing off the sump and the roof.

The bullet imbedded itself inches from Illya in the metal. He wheeled around, whistling. "I never thought you'd do that. They must have heard that in every part of this building!"

"I could have gotten you between the eyes if I wished."

"What would you do carrying a corpse around?"

"Keep pushing me! You will find out!" Albert stepped forward, waving the gun. "Let go of that handle!"

As he spoke he reached out for it.

"As you say," Illya said. He held his breath, timing it perfectly.

He released the handle. It flew upward as Albert's hand came toward it.

Albert screamed in pain as the handle slapped across his agonized hand.

Illya brought his fist upward, sinking it wrist-deep under Albert's belt. Albert fired again, the shot going into the flooring. Illya chopped Albert across the neck with the side of his hand.

For what seemed a breathless eternity, Albert stood unmoving, staring at Illya in a mixture of pain and contempt.

Illya caught his breath. His hand ached as if he had karate-chopped a four-by-four, and yet the big Moor continued to stand, peering at him.

The elevator moved downward again.

Illya stood tautly, waiting for the Moor to attack him again.

Albert disintegrated gradually.

First, his gloved hand loosened and the gun toppled to the flooring.

Then a strange new emptiness veiled his eyes, they rolled up on their sockets.

Albert slumped to his knees. He gazed up at Illya for another moment as if unable to believe what was happening to him. Then, as the elevator stopped, its doors parted, he sprawled forward on his face and lay still, in the elevator doorway.

For a moment Illya hesitated. Through the open door he saw the elevator had reached a supply basement.

He knelt, took up the gun Albert had dropped. Then he dropped it into his pocket and stepped across the prone hoodlum's form.

He paused, gazing down at the unconscious man.

"I do hope you won't be too inconvenienced explaining to your friends bow this happened, old fellow."

Illya turned then and hurried toward an alley exit.

TWO

GIZELLE UNLOCKED the door on the third floor of a sidestreet hotel.

Solo waited politely, but the blonde put her hand in the small of his back and thrust him forward into the room,