[Magazine 1966-­08] - The Cat and Mouse Affair - Davis Robert Hart (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

Outside, he turned once to look back, his eyes narrowed to remember where he was. The cave entrance was camouflaged cleverly, impossible to see from the air or the ground unless you knew it was there.

Directly above the hidden entrance was the tall peak of a mountain. A peak with a little white scar. Illya lined the scar up with a black boulder lower down on the mountain—and he had his line for the cave entrance. Men now came pouring from the camouflaged entrance.

Illya Kuryakin turned and ran off into the jungle.

* * *

Solo watched the small detector attached to his dashboard with one eye as he drove on into the mountains of Zambala. His other eye alternately watched the road and the truck still behind him. He could lose the truck, but he was more interested in knowing who was in it.

He was almost sure that whoever was driving the truck, and the masked woman, and the men who had attacked him on the hill behind the prison, all belonged to the same group.

But what group?

He wanted to find out, but the first order of business was to locate Illya and free him from whatever was holding him.

Suddenly Solo jammed on his brakes. The detector showed that the trail made a sharp left turn. Solo peered out his window. To the left, perhaps five miles off, he saw a tall mountain with a long white scar just below the summit. A narrow track led off toward the mountain.

Quickly checking the truck behind him—it was closer now—Solo turned his car and plunged into the narrow track. The going was hard; the car bounced from ruts and deep holes in the narrow track. But there were tire marks in his headlights; some vehicle had come this way. Where another vehicle could go, Solo could go!

Behind him he heard a squeal of brakes and the grinding of gears as the truck tried to follow him. He did not think the truck could move as fast on this narrow road, but he hoped that they kept coming. He turned his attention back to negotiating the murderous road. Then he jammed on his brakes again.

He listened to the moonlit night.

Far ahead there were shouts and the distant sound of men running through the jungle.

Solo jumped out of his car and began to run along the track, his U.N.C.L.E. Special set for automatic and fitted, as he ran, with its stock and hand grip. He listened to the sounds ahead and behind. The truck was battling the road but coming closer slowly. The men ahead were rapidly closing in.

A twig broke in the jungle to Solo's right.

He heard the click of a stone.

Crouching low, Solo circled through the jungle toward the sounds. Ahead, in the gloom of the moonlit night in the jungle, he saw a sudden movement. Solo hit the dirt and crawled ahead toward where he had seen the movement. In front of him a bush moved. He crawled closer. A face emerged from the bush directly in front of him, not more than inches away.

"Well, Napoleon," Illya said, "you took your time getting here."

Solo sighed. "You'll never learn to wait, will you? If you don't stop rescuing yourself, I may give up my rescues."

"I can't depend on you, Napoleon. You're so slow."

"But steady," Solo said. "I mean, I'm here."

"Yes," Illya said, "and why are we lying on our faces?"

"I heard you," Solo said.

"And I heard you," Illya said.

"Perhaps we could stand up now," Solo said.

"I had the same thought," Illya said.

The two agents stood up. Solo passed Illya his small spare automatic. Toward the mountains the sound of pursuit was closer. Toward the road the sound of the truck echoed in the night. Illya looked at Solo.

"You brought some company," Illya said.

"That I did," Solo said. "I presume they will now join your friends."

"It is a distinct possibility," Illya said. "I'd prefer not to be sandwiched in the middle."

"Wait!" Solo said.

The two agents listened in the moonlit night. The sound of the truck had changed. There was a sharp grinding of gears and the truck sounds began to move away. The two agents listened until they were certain. The truck was going away.

"Your friends do not seem to be friends with my friends," Illya said.

"It would appear that way," Solo said.

"Then I suggest we give that some thought while we make our escape," Illya said.

"Good thinking," Solo said. "Now?"

Illya listened to the sounds of pursuit coming much closer.

"Now," Illya said.

The two agents ran through the jungle and emerged on the rutted narrow track beside Solo's car. It was the work of seconds to turn the car and drive as fast as the narrow track allowed toward the main road.

There were distant shots in the night as they reached the main road and roared away, leaving the black-uniformed pursuers shooting at shadows.

THREE

Before they reached San Pablo again, Illya had told his story, Solo had reported what had happened to him.

"I think Mr. Smith was the beggar I followed," Illya said.

"The man with the thin beard has to be Max Steng himself," Solo said.

"Then my captors were the Stengali," Illya said, "and they appeared to be mystified by the events at The Morgan House."

"Which could be a smoke screen," Solo said. "Or Tavvi could have been working on his own. Or Tavvi could have been working with someone else without Max Steng's knowledge."

"Check," Illya said. "But who are your friends? Who is the woman who probably killed Tembo? They dress almost exactly like the Stengali, but they did not seem anxious to meet the Stengali."

"Suppose we find some food and some beds. Tomorrow I see what I can do about that woman," Solo said.

"While I have a session with O'Hara," Illya said. "He may know something about the woman and her companions."

In San Pablo the two agents went straight to the hotel room O'Hara had arranged for them. For once they slept undisturbed.

By nine o'clock the next morning Solo and Illya were in the hidden calm of the miniature U.N.C.L.E. headquarters behind the bookcase in the mansion on the hill that overlooked San Pablo.

O'Hara listened to their reports. The local Section II man agreed that Illya had been captured by the Stengali. He could not guess who the pursuers of Solo were.

"Unless it is some men imported by Zamyatta," O'Hara said, "which is a possibility. There have been reports of bands of unidentified men in the hills. All across the island, in fact. There have been other killings. Mura Khan and the attempt on Premier Roy were only the latest. Premier Roy has made some documents available to the Tribunal that seem to implicate Zamyatta with the Stengali.

"But Chairman Ramirez wants to move carefully. Zamyatta has many followers. We must be sure or the country could explode, and you know what that would mean down here. The Dominican Republic affair is bad enough, but here—"

"What about this woman, Jezzi Mahal?" Solo said. "And what is The Silver Dunes?"

O'Hara frowned. "You're sure of that name?"

"I'm quite sure," Solo said. "Why?"

O'Hara sighed. "Jezzi Mahal is a wealthy and very high and mighty young lady. Jet-set, social, and her father was my father's only rival as the richest businessman in Zambala. She has been seen often with certain important army officers."

"And The Silver Dunes?"

"Her beach cabana. She spends the summer there. She would be there now. It is a few miles out of San Pablo, on the south coast. What we Zambalans call our Riviera."