"Open mouthh mean surprizze, yah?"
"Right, Ladju. These are the men who are curious about that island you found."
"Curreeosity izz a ffuhn zzing. But zzey're noht ahll mehn. Hey you wahnna p'ay taggg?"
"Me?" said Joan. "I — uh —"
"Now just a minute, buster," said Napoleon, "That's my wife you're talking to."
The speaker erupted in a sputtering cackle as Ladju flipped back and forth in the pool, rolling over and over.
Larry flipped a switch on the small waterproof amplifier at his feet and the sound cut off. "He scored on you, Mr. Solo," he explained. "He's laughing at the moment."
Joan asked hesitantly, "Ah — did I misinterpret the tone of his..."
Larry suppressed a smile. "I'm afraid not. I have no idea how serious he was, but your reaction was reasonably appropriate. Don't worry — Ladju has a weird sense of humor; but he's tremendously honorable:— all the dolphins I've ever known are. Even if he is a little strange, even by their standards; Kanta, his girlfriend for a while, said so. Partly it's his more human characteristics, she said."
"I see," said Illya, whose smile had not been suppressed since his partner was looking elsewhere. "But about those charts.—"
A brass bell began clanging insistently on a post beside the pool as Ladju jerked the dangling rope with his teeth until Larry switched on the hydrophone again.
"Sohrry abou 'zzat>said the speaker. "You ghoing to the islan'?"
"If it's the island we're looking for," said Mr. Waverly. "What can you tell me about it? Do you know where it is?"
"I cou' take you zzeve bu' I cou'n't ttehll you whehre itt -izz."
"I have that problem on Long Island sometimes," said Napoleon.
"Actually, we have it pretty well located," said Larry. "The last chart we went over — the one showing sincline shifts and minor currents in that area — checked with the bottom contour map you read this morning. And tell them what you saw there."
"Hlotsss of misstakss on tchartsss."
"What did you see at the island?"
"Hydrophonezz ahll aroun. I wehn' up c'ose an' tchecked i' toutt.
Zzere'zz a neht across zhe reef 'assage bu' I ssmelled zzubmarinezz inzide. An' I came up to zhe beatch an' zzaw hlotss of houzzezz. Zzome bhig onezz."
"There are no established military bases in that area," said Mr. Waverly. "Where is this island, exactly?"
"It's called Fapa Tui," said Larry, "and it's at 122°48' East and 7°31' South. What exactly do you expect to find on this island, anyway? Somebody's secret laboratory or the headquarters of a subversive international organisation?"
"All that and more," said Mr. Waverly. "I presume you heard that Thrush had been destroyed?"
"Yah," said Larry. "I didn't believe it."
"You were right. Only most of Thrush has been destroyed. Fapa Tui may be their major hard base, and if it is left in operation they could restore their entire network within three months."
"I see. What do you plan to do?"
"Invade," said Mr. Waverly succinctly.
"Far out! How soon?"
"As soon as a satellite photograph verifies that this island is indeed our target, a force of five hundred men under my command will go ashore and secure that island."
"Just like that?"
"We sincerely hope so, Dr. Kaja. It will not be as simple as it sounds, but two weeks should see the end of Thrush — as we know it — with the help of our handsome and intelligent friend Ladju."
The object of this flattery twisted with delight and chirped like a soprano duck. "You Misster Hwaver'y — you p'ay tchehkerzz?"
"Checkers? Heh — as a matter of fact I used to be considered rather good at the game." Waverly's jowls corrugated as an amazed smile stretched his leathery features. "Would you care for a game?"
"Sshure. I can bea' Larry. "
"Two out of three," said Dr. Kaja. "But I'm improving with practice."
Ladju's sputtering cackle sounded again and he rolled over onto his back, kicking delightedly amid sheets of water, as Napoleon and Illya stared speechless at him and their commander-in-chief.
Alexander Waverly's communicator chirped discreetly shortly before midnight. He awakened instantly and slipped a hand under his pillow to answer it.
"Waverly here."
"Good morning, sir," said Miss Cramer's voice. "I thought you should know at once that the NASA photograph of the island you specified checks against the map— the buildings area all in the right places, except for three extra quonset huts. I've also had Section Four prepare a preliminary report on it, and they are working on a detailed study which may include a hydrographic report from soundings made in 1886; Thrush has owned the island since 1904. Would you like to hear the preliminary report or shall I send you a hardcopy?"
"Fax it to Djakarta. They can ship it on the jet which will bring the rest of our equipment here. What did you find out about submarine forces available? Did Tadashi Miruko agree?"
"He offered two hundred fifty troops, but his sub fleet is in Manila, thirteen hundred nautical miles from Thrush Island. I took the liberty of calling the naval base at Darwin, which is only about seven hundred. Under the circumstances they were willing to give us four landing subs and two hundred men. With an U.N.C.L.E. Battalion Command Module, you'll have almost five hundred troops."
"That's not too many. Have you arranged to fly Miruko's army to Darwin? And have you heard from Mike Hoar?"
"Colonel Hoar requires two weeks' notice, but as a personal favor he's offered seventy experienced troops if you'll cover their transportation and the usual per-diem. How soon will you want to strike? I haven't tied anything to a schedule, pending your decision."
"I will want to strike as soon as all the troops can be brought to bear. How long will that take?"
"Forces can be joined in Darwin within-thirty-six hours, and the subs will take three days to Uffa."
"To where? We're attacking Fapa Tui."
"I beg your pardon? At 122°48' by 7°31'? Just a moment... Apparently the Indonesian government gave it a native name in '62. It was Dutch in the earliest records — used as a major transfer point in the slave trade between 1830 and 1865. It was called Uffa then. An English group was there for a few years before it was abandoned in 1887, and Thrush apparently set up there about twenty years later. All this is covered in that preliminary report, along with a blow-up from the recon photo."
"Hm. I see."
"The new construction on the island had been tentatively identified by Military Intelligence as a top-secret Indonesian military installation, but they didn't have anything definite, and the Indonesian government denied it. They have refused to participate in this operation, by the way, but the U.N. Security Council convinced them not to interfere as long as you don't carry the battle off the island or bring any forces near the mainland."
"Satisfactory. I see no reason to delay — mobilise at once. Effect armaments and security preparations according to the memorandum I left you. Put all this in motion in my name, and call me back in ten hours."
In the next few days, mighty forces shifted silently, focussing on an obscure, almost forgotten speck of land lost in the southern ocean, while Illya, Napoleon and Joan cleaned their guns and did roadwork along the wide dark beach at low tide, alternately running a mile and jogging a mile each way every afternoon. Mr. Waverly reclined beneath a wide sunshade shared with Ladju, Dr. Kaja kibitzing, across a four foot checkerboard, just awash at the edge of the pool. Evenings were spent over maps and charts of Thrush Island or working out in an improvised gym. Terse conferences were held over a jury-rigged radio link through Djakarta to Ambon with the commanders of the attack forces; coded co-ordinate systems pinpointed locations on their copies of the charts. The full plan of attack was worked out during these final days.
A heavy cargo jet, unable to land at the small Makasar field, parachuted the Squid II minisub into the ocean half a mile offshore from Dr. Kaja1s lab on Thursday afternoo
n. Ladju gave Napoleon and Illya a tandem ride out to where it bobbed low in the water, and exhibited tremendous curiosity about the sub, especially its finless propulsion and steering system. More than twice the size of Mr.. Simpson's first model, which they had employed in a similar but smaller operation against an insular Thrush base, it was nearly identical in design: a fat grey teardrop with a ring of Coanda jets pointing out at right angles to its longitudinal axis just ahead of the bulge. Silent, invisible to sonar while in motion, capable of forty-five knots submerged, it would carry the four of them to rendezvous with the main assault force, covering the three hundred miles in under eight hours with no effective limit on functioning depth; the ocean was not deep enough to crush the pressure hull.
Ladju was impressed by its speed and range, having often swum circles around conventional submarines; he discussed it with Napoleon and Illya as they checked it out until the ruddy equatorial sunset faded into the sea.
Ladju's part in the operation would be simple but essential — only a dolphin could approach the silent detectors without alerting the island's defenses, and after the transfers of personnel from one craft to another had been accomplished eighty miles beyond the ring of listening devices, Ladju would lead two or three of his friends towards the island, accompanying the Squid II as far as the outer defense Tine, closely followed by the troop subs...
The modern calendar-clock on the stone wall had an anachronistic look like a wristwatch on a knight. It showed 1830, 22 August, when two alarm lights went on almost simultaneously and a previously silent loudspeaker clattered to life. Two reclining Thrush guards snapped to alert as the Duty Tech hurried to check an illuminated diagram.
"What's that?" one of them asked. "Some kind of fish?"
"Uh-huh," said the Tech. "Couple of dolphins, I'd say. But there's more — or something. Just a minute... They're on two adjacent stations. That's funny."
"More than one of 'em?"
"Yeah. 247 and 248 are three-quarters of a mile apart, and both of 'em have something right up close making noise."
"Why dolphins?"
"I dunno. It sounds like dolphins. Maybe I'd better tape it. Dr. Egret will be able to tell. In fact," he added, as a switch started reels turning, "I think I'll call her right now. My orders are to report to her if anything unusual happens, and this is unusual as far as I can tell. The Council had held a few quick sessions, and they see armies from U.N.C.L.E. in every cloud formation."
"Me too," said the Guard. "Call Dr. Egret."
The dolphins were still at it and the tapes continued to roll when Dr. Egret arrived fifteen minutes later. She listened intently for a few moments, and then said, "They're taking turns. One of them talks for a minute, then the other one. How regular has that been?"
"Uh, I couldn't tell the difference. What are they talking about?"
"I haven't the least idea. Your microphones won't pick up most of their speech frequencies, and we couldn't hear them if they did." She bent over the oscilloscope and studied its cryptic green trace. "Do you have both stations on at the moment?"
"Yes."
"Turn one off."
Then only one voice emerged from the speaker, alternating something like a high pitched Bronx cheer with an unearthly titter. Dr. Egret listened intently. "Can you take that tape and slow it down?" she asked the Tech.
"Yeah — at least to quarter-speed." He started a second recorder going, stopped the first and rewound the tape a short distance. A knob was turned and the tape-started again. Another switch gave them the sound, grotesquely stretched.
The Bronx cheer became a staccato heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh lasting several seconds and the titter seemed almost articulated.,
"It almost sounds like it's saying, 'Erdeycum, erdeycum' said the Guard, and Dr. Egret nodded.
"It is strange," she agreed. "That almost seems to be a word. I'll check it in Flint's Vocabulary. I think I recognise the other sound it's a kind of laugh a dolphin gives when he's about to play a joke on an unsuspecting victim* Most of them seem to be fond of practical jokes. I've occasionally thought they might be willing to trade services for underwater versions of a whoopee cushion or an electric buzzer." She shook her head. "How long have they been at this?"
"About a quarter of an hour. They just started up all of a sudden'. We didn't even hear them approach the stations."
"You wouldn't. Switch back to the monitors, please. Let's see what they're up to now."
The tape playback stopped, and only a faint hiss and thrum of open sea filled the room. The Tech flicked a couple of switches, then looked up and shrugged his shoulders. "Huh! They're gone."
Dr. Egret snorted. "There was probably nothing to it," she said. "I'll never understand dolphins — I don't think a human being can. In some ways they're far better than people. But in most ways they're just very different."
"But a whole bunch of them — at least four, anyway — swimming up to our detectors and jabbering? What could they possibly been up to?"
"I have no idea. Some alien game, probably. I remember a couple of years ago there was one in this area who came by two or three times a week. I think it was the same one every time — it used to come up to one or another of our stations and say, 'Hello, Doctor Lilly, hello Doctor Lilly,' over and over for a few minutes before swimming away. Kept this up for a couple of months before it lost interest."
"Oh well," said the Guard, "as long as it doesn't mean anything..."
Ten miles west of the island two submarines rode low in the dark water, linked by a short catwalk two feet above the gentle swells from the darkened bridge of the command sub to the top hatch of the Squid, where a faint greenish light showed. Alexander Waverly, bundled in his camel's-hair coat, hat settled firmly on his head, stood in the bridge compartment to see the first assault group under way. One at a time they went up the ladder to the starlit top deck and across after a final checkout of assignment and equipment. The pilot who would put them ashore and pull back, went first, followed by Sanders and Goldin who would accompany Illya to the powerhouse, to settle their explosives comfortably for the short ride to shore. Voices were low, as a directional pick-up on the shore could still spot them over open sea. Dim golden lights on the eastern horizon indicated their goal.
"The main landing forces are in position," Mr. Waverly said. "They will hit the beach approximately ninety seconds after the power goes off."
"And the power should go off about thirty seconds after I've hit the telephone exchange and started the jammer," Napoleon said. "I could do it in my sleep."
"I trust you can do it awake. Mr. Kuryakin?"
"All set, sir."
A voice spoke quietly down the hatch from above. "Ready for the rest of you."
Short and Mills, Waverly's personally chosen support for Napoleon and Joan, hoisted their packs and clambered up into the warm tropical night. Illya followed them, and Joan followed Illya. Napoleon paused a moment at the foot of the ladder and turned to face his chief, uncertain of just what he wanted to say.
Mr. Waverly spoke instead. "Good luck, Mr. Solo. Just don't take any unnecessary chances." He extended his hand unexpectedly, and Napoleon took it.
"We've got them licked, sir," he said as they shook hands. "You may get the Nobel Prize for this night's work."
"I'd rather have you all back," said Waverly gruffly. "Now get going. The entire invasion is waiting on you. And remember, they don't know they're licked. It's up to us to convince them."
Quickly Napoleon turned and swarmed up the ladder. The hatch closed behind him before he was into the Squid, and then they were on their way.
Surf murmured on the sand behind them as the Squid silently withdrew and vanished beneath the inky surface. Ahead a black bulk blocked the stars and rising third-quarter moon which shone palely on the sloping coral a short distance to their right past the Barn. Both teams had rehearsed endlessly on photographs of this beachhead during the past twenty hours, and each individual knew his part like a trained dancer.
Not a word was spoken as seven figures clad in conmando black shared out equipment and separated into two groups.
Four went to the right, to the nearer corner of the high windowless wall which rose above them, the rear of the huge stone barn, almost as big as the Big House, which it nearly adjoined at the diagonally opposite corner. Three went to the left, moving like darker shadows in the star-pierced darkness, with neat bundles of high explosives and silenced sidearms at the ready.
Illya led his team around the corner, and saw that lights burned in three windows of the Big House even at this late hour. Two Guards walked the terrace. And seventy feet of blank wall stretched from the rear corner where the U.N.C.L.E. team crouched to the side door, lighted but unguarded, which would lead them to the generator room. And forty feet of neatly trimmed lawn separated the door from the wide terrace.
The Final Affair Page 14
