[Magazine 1966-­03] - The Beauty and Beast Affair - Davis Robert Hart (прочитать книгу TXT) 📗

The guard drew his bayonet across the bars. Illya looked up, dropping the rope into his lap. The guard, about Illya's age, wore a sweated green uniform, hat back on his head. He'd spent two years at England's Sandhurst, but now was in bad with Zud and detailed to guard the political prisoners.

"Aly David," Illya said, "what time do you go off duty?"

The guard laughed. "Why? Do you want to go out on the town with me?"

Illya forced a smile, but thought coldly that Aly David would be astonished to learn he meant to escape. He would use this cloth rope he was plaiting as a garrote. He would be forced to strangle a guard in order to get out of this cell. He'd grown fond of Aly David; there were many of the others he'd use the garrote upon without reluctance. Brutal, sadistic animals they had proved to be.

Illya said, "I wouldn't go out on the town in these rags." He looked down at the ill-fitted burnoose. "The last prisoner who wore this thing was not only bigger than I am, he had lice."

Aly David laughed. "The lice give you something to take your mind off your troubles. I've grown quite fond of mine."

"Why don't you break out of this country? You're as much its prisoner as I am."

"Except that it is my country. And I love it," Aly David said. "Relax. They won't be using gun butts on you for another four hours. I am your guard until after recall from worship." He laughed. "And you'd better remember to sleep with your feet some other direction than toward the east—and Allah. Next time they might kill you for that slight indiscretion."

Illya exhaled and relaxed against the wall, resigned to waiting until after prayers to attempt his escape.

THREE

A ROLLS ROYCE was parked, engine idling, outside the airport terminal. A stolid-faced chauffeur stood at attention with both front and rear curb side doors held open.

Wanda and Solo marched out at the head of the convoy of Kiell, two detectives and six armed soldiers.

The soldiers double-timed out, lining up at front and rear of the Rolls Royce, guns held across their chests, ready, facing the darkness.

Solo saw a sign which read, "OMAR, 45 kilos." Beyond he saw small buildings, vague lights, and then what appeared to be eternal wasteland, rugged and lifeless, cruel looking even in the softening dark.

Kiell ordered Wanda into the front seat. Then he said to Solo. "One moment, Mr. Solo. I am sick looking at this disguise."

Solo scowled, thinking that Kiell had gotten sick of it quickly, unless he'd seen pictures of the real Solo somewhere.

Solo paused beside the car. Kiell caught the wig, jerked it from Solo's head, along with the rimless glasses. He threw them to the cement at his feet.

"In the back," he said. "Let's move!"

Solo sat in the back seat between Piebr and Frun. Frun made a slight whistling noise between his teeth, but Piebr stared straight ahead, lost in thought. Both held guns ready in their lap.

In the front seat Wanda sat disconsolately between Kiell and the chauffeur.

The chauffeur drove the car out to the wide four-laned highway, anachronistically modern, hewn from this ancient earth. He held the speedometer at sixty. Nobody spoke.

Solo stared at the back of Kiell's head, at the way his shirt collar bulged around his neck. It was strange, as if the man had a tube of flesh growing like a welt.

Solo's heart slugged faster as he stared at that shirt collar. He remembered how he had reacted when Kiell spoke of his own disguise, puzzled.

He held his breath, gazing at that bulging collar. Suppose that bulge was not caused by flesh, but by the rolled ends of a plastic mask?

He felt the sweat break out at his hair line, across his forehead. If that question weren't far-out enough, how about another one? Suppose that was not really Kiell? Suppose it was a man wearing a plastic mask, impersonating Zabir's chief of secret police?

Solo loosened the button of his jacket. Piebr and Frun reacted like robots, placing guns at his temples.

Kiell turned uncomfortably, laughed between taut lips. "Don't think you can get away with any thing, Mr. Solo. My men are trained to kill."

"I know," Solo said. "But once they're trained to kill, they never make good pets again, do they?"

Thick silence settled in the car again. Solo went on sweating. They whipped past a sign reading "OMAR 35 kilometers." Time was running out. He could not quite believe an impostor could fool the country's ambassador, or these two trained officers..

But could they not be in on the plot? But if they were impostors, would Zouida have recognized them? He'd called one of them by name. Still, he could have been fooled by Kiell, who hurled charges of highest treason at him. And Kiell had killed him on the spot. No trial, no extenuating circumstances, no second chance––nothing.

Solo pushed his hand in his jacket pocket. Both Piebr and Frun reacted. Again gun barrels pressed at Solo's temples. He withdrew a small plastic bag of bright candy wafers.

The police relaxed.

Kiell snarled at him, "Sit still, or die now!"

Solo offered the wafers to Piebr and Frun. They refused, contempt showing in their faces that he'd think them so stupid. He shrugged and plopped two in his mouth.

When he leaned forward to the front seat, Piebr and Frun leaned with him. He offered candy to Kiell who told him to sit back. The chauffeur only shook his head.

Solo said, "Have a couple wafers, Wanda. It'll take your mind off your woes."

She shook her head refusing. His sharply spoken, "Wanda! Candy!" made her sit up, nodding.

Hand trembling, she took two wafers, tossed them in her mouth.

Solo relaxed, crushed the plastic bag in his fist, dropped it on the floor. He sat back, fingering his tie.

At the moment he felt both Frun and Piebr relax on each side of him, he jerked off his tie clasp and tossed it over into the front seat.

Both Piebr and Frun lunged at him, guns up. He caught them; using their own momentum, he smashed their heads together.

Kiell turned, bringing his own gun up as the explosion in the front of the car stopped him, stunned by shock.

The gas spread instantaneously carried on the currents of air conditioning. The windows fogged with it. Everything was blotted out. Kiell gagged, gulping for breath. The chauffeur lost control of the wheel.

The big car hurtled to the right off the highway, going down the rough shoulders, and bounding crazily up the far incline before it finally stalled.

Solo was already opening the rear door of the car.

Gasping for breath, but unaffected by the nerve gas that had overcome the others, Wanda twisted around on the front seat.

Solo grabbed her under the arms, dragged her over the seat and out of the rear door. Once they were outside the car, he shoved her away from him.

She sprawled face down in the sand.

Solo didn't even glance her way. He dragged Piebr and Frun from the back seat, then pulled the driver and Kiell from the front, leaving the doors wide so the car could air out.

Wanda pulled herself to her feet, watching him, her mouth quivering.

Solo glanced at her.

"Get their guns," he ordered. "All their guns. Quick. And don't forget the chauffeur!"

He took a small needle from the inner lapel of his jacket and a plastic vial from his pocket. He inserted the needle into the vial until the liquid dripped from it. Then he scratched into the vein near the base of Kiell's throat.

He tossed the vial and needle from him then and concentrated on the tight-fitting mask. He rolled it carefully up across the face and head of the unconscious man.