The Mesmerizing Mist Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  "Stay well out from the shore and use the only dock on Mrs. Pine's island for a marker. Have your sled cruise around in an apparently aimless fashion all day. THRUSH lookouts at the dock will assume you are the usual run of sailing enthusiasts who slither around out every day."

  April paused. "This is important, Jim. Now that our short-wave blind-spot has been discovered, flash-semaphore will be our only possible means of communication. We can't risk flags, so our only solution during the daylight hours is U.N.C.L.E.'s daylight-semaphore kit. Without the glasses that make the flashes visible in broad daylight, plus the infra-red sending apparatus, we will be completely isolated. Are you equipped with a daylight semaphore kit?"

  Schwartz's voice mirrored his disappointment. "No. I wouldn't know how to use it if I did. I've never learned the flash-semaphore code. All I know is the flag routine. My contacts gave up the light-code years ago when the new lightweight short-wave transmissions came in."

  "I can understand that," April said. "This is only the second time in our experience when we couldn't get through with our short-wave. The other time was in East Germany. Mark and I were marooned in a castle on a mountain-top, THRUSH had every inch of the area blanketed with detecting devices. We didn't dare use our transmission sets. After we squeaked through that experience, Mr. Waverly put our technicians to work on the task of supplying an emergency substitute. The daylight-semaphore was the result."

  Slate interrupted her. "Sorry to butt in, honey, but I just remembered that Art Loomis and George Kean are U.N.C.L.E.’s best semaphore men. If either or both of them are available, we're in business. There are a half-dozen others, but Art and George have had more experience than the rest of the agents. Ask for them, Jim, when you ask for the equipment."

  April said, "Thanks. Now, back to Jim. Have your semaphore men keep an eye on the cliff-top directly above the cable-car route. If the weather is a bit hazy, you might not be able to see the cable pylons, but you can always pinpoint the spot by remembering that the lower terminus of the cable is the dock.

  "There is a tiny pavilion at the upper terminus. I doubt if you can see it from the ice, but that is where either Mark or I will send and receive messages-whenever we can make it, of course. One more thing, Jim, get gas masks. Plenty of them. Now, Mark. Please take over."

  "You've covered the situation beautifully, dear girl. Jim, I have only one thing to add. Get the hell out of that area, on the double. THRUSH is sure to patrol that particular spot regularly, from now on. Head for the village, pronto. Signing off. Good luck.

  "Back to you, April. I suppose it's a foregone conclusion that Randy and Corrigan are on their way to my Waterloo in the forest. That's the ideal spot for a THRUSH type third degree. Johnny is an old pro. He'll see to it that both of them are inoculated against the truth serum. I tipped off Illya Kuryakin about the snakes. They should weather that, too. U.N.C.L.E.’s antidote is miraculous.

  "If I know Krause and company, and believe me I do, they'll toss the boys into the pit, after they fail to get any information out of them. I don't want to sound overly optimistic, honey, but I think we can count on getting the boys out of that pit alive."

  April shuddered. "I hope you're right. Anyhow, we can't help them right now. Take a look out the peep-hole of your door, Mark. You'll probably see the twin to the guard who is posted outside my door."

  Mark Slate groaned. "I don't have to look. I knew Krause wouldn't be fooled by my bird-sketching act for very long. That raid on our contacts below the cliff proved that he knows I'm an U.N.C.L.E. agent. He's keeping an eye on you, because we showed up here, together. He'll allow us to go about our customary domestic duties, under watchful eyes.

  "I'd be dead now, if he weren't afraid of rocking the boat and getting Mrs. Pine and the other disciples emotionally upset. We're safe until the old girls have outlived their usefulness. Then, back to the snake-pit for me, if we don't clip THRUSH’s wings first, of course."

  April's voice was grim. "You and I have unraveled worse tangles than this. That was a real brain-flash when you stored the mist-throwers and parachutes on a top shelf of the butler's pantry. That's your exclusive territory. Not even a nosy servant will climb a ladder, open those cabinet doors and look in there."

  "I must admit, it was a rather bright idea. And, it's the one place I can be sure of getting to the stuff when we need it. As you say, that's my territory."

  April said, "You're not on duty until ten. Take a sleeping pill and set the alarm for nine-thirty. You're going to need all of your faculties when we get rolling. Little man, you've had a busy day."

  "And a restless night," Slate muttered. "You're right, of course. I've got to have sleep. I don't think even Benzedrine would snap me out of the fog I'm in. G’night, dear girl. We'll map out our campaign tomorrow.”

  Mark Slate lowered the antenna of his pen-transmitter, placed the instrument in a drawer of his bureau and reached for the water pitcher. One sleeping tablet and one gulp of water later, he was in dreamland.

  April was on the verge of lowering the antenna on her tiny set, when she felt the instrument vibrate. She heaved a sigh of relief as she recognized Randy’s voice.

  “April here. It’s great to hear your voice, Randy! How in the world did you manage to use your transmitter? Mark and I figured you and Johnny would be getting the third-degree about now."

  "The big boy evidently got word that the schedule has been pushed up a bit. He gave orders to have us kept on ice until he has time to put the thumbscrews on. We're in a room with no windows. They had us trussed like Thanksgiving turkeys, but they've untied us. I guess they figured we would be in a more receptive condition for truth-serum if we weren't paralyzed with cramp by the time they got around to us.

  "Before we were tossed in here, we heard enough to know that this place is jumping. I heard the guy they call General say that he needed all hands to remove camouflage. Looks like we're here just in time for the action. I’m not going to ask you what you have in the line of ammunition, but, knowing you and Mark, I’m giving U.N.C.L.E. the fat end of the odds, even if we are outnumbered.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Randy, darling. We have a couple of aces up our sleeve. All we have to do is play them right. Keep a stiff upper lip. Give Johnny my best. Mark’s too.

  “If there is any change in your status, contact me at once. I'll be available most of the time. If either Mark or I don't answer, don't worry. Just keep buzzing us. We'll contact you from our end, the moment we're ready to move. Over and out, Randy. And a special prayer for your safety."

  General von Krause peered skyward. THRUSH’s phenomenal aircraft was due to land in exactly five minutes. The sun would not climb to the top of the surrounding mountains for at least a half hour. That gave them plenty of time to raise the supporting poles and tie-in the camouflage net to the surrounding trees, after the plane landed.

  "Fritz, my boy. We must work fast when the airship lands. See that the men are ready to replace the camouflage in record time. We can take no chances. One splash of daylight and a low-flying plane might spot our revolutionary craft."

  His voice was exultant. "Tonight is zero hour. Tomorrow we will be masters of the United States. Then, the world is our oyster. We will not fail this time. There is only one military power in the world strong enough to thwart us and we will have that power on its knees within twenty-four hours, thanks to the mist, our organizing and the aerial miracle I see hovering above us, now."

  The air-craft settled on the turf as silently as a bird arresting its flight. The exit hatch opened. Dr. Conrad, who was standing at attention with the other personnel, stole a look at the exalted expression on the faces of Krause and Fritz Waller, as a man with an awkwardly hanging right arm stepped out. The man's face was that of a handsome young man. Conrad knew that face. He had handled the anesthesia when Dr. Hubert Klein, undoubtedly the world's greatest plastic surgeon, had given it to the man.

  Krause lifted one hand in an all too familiar salu
te. "Heil---" he began. The man on the ramp shook his head and smiled. "Welcome, Herr Director," the former Nazi terrorist finished lamely.

  A moment later, the man with the strangely inactive arm and Krause were embracing. Conrad's salute was the conventionally upraised arm of a Nazi soldier. The newcomer returned the salute with his left arm. The gesture included all of the personnel. A cordon of sharp-eyed men, bristling with weapons, surrounded the newcomer as he and General von Krause disappeared in the direction of the laboratory.

  Fritz Waller barked directions to the men. There was a controlled frenzy of activity. Two huge pneumatic cranes scurried about with a clatter of gear. Two hooded men raised a nozzle, attached to a tank. Poles began to rise on all sides. There was a loud hiss. All of the ground crew moved hastily into the forest. A completely odorless gas lifted the single gigantic section of camouflage-canvas to a height level with the surrounding trees. Hooded men, clinging to the limbs of the trees like monkeys, grasped the canvas and tied it into the foliage.

  Fritz Waller gazed with gloating eyes at THRUSH’s strange-looking aircraft, as it sprawled in the dim light like a gigantic bird of prey. His thoughts were exultant. When the sun went down at the termination of this day, the weird visitor from the sky would rise with the speed of lightning, to pounce upon a helpless and controlled populace.

  TWENTY

  A SAUCER IN U.N.C.L.E.’S LAP

  April Dancer’s touch was light and her fingers nimble as she adjusted the necklace around Mrs. Pine's leathery neck. The hard old eyes smiled back at April from the mirror.

  The head of the ménage was in a mellow mood. The household was running smoothly. Her new butler was a gem. And, so handsome! Her personal maid was the envy of the other disciples. And, now the crowning joy! Oran Thant, high priest of the Bahalia cult, was right here under her roof as a houseguest.

  Mrs. Pine's sigh was one of sheer content, as her eyes travelled from the maid's piquant features to the priceless string of pearls that decorated her throat.

  "I am wearing these in honor of our spiritual leader," she confided. "This is a great day. I will tell you just how great when I am permitted to do so."

  Her expression was that of a sly child. "The great spirit has instructed me not to speak of our plans to any outsider until our mission is accomplished."

  The phone on the dressing-table buzzed softly.

  Mrs. Pine said, "Yes? Oh, it's you, Gandura. In thirty minutes? Very well. Will His Excellency be there? Of course. I understand. The high priest must be alone when he communes with the great spirit. The library? I'll notify Slate at once. He will see that His Excellency is not disturbed. Will Mr. Walton be with us, today? What a pity! No. Mrs. Twombley is not in the least disturbed. She knows that her grandson is all right. Yes, I'll be on time."

  She cradled the receiver. "I won't need you until after the conclave. Please instruct Slate to make sure the library is in perfect order. The High Priest will use it today as his headquarters. Hurry, child! The warning gong will sound in a few minutes."

  As April started for the door, Mrs. Pine called after her. "Tell Slate that His Excellency is not to be disturbed under any circumstances. No one is to be allowed in that area."

  Slate made the usual head count of the mansion's domestics and gave them Bahalia's new ruling, that the staff must remain in the kitchen until the second gong signaled the termination of the conclave.

  "Mrs. Pine has a special bulletin for us, today. His Excellency, the High Priest of the Bahalia Movement, is making the library his headquarters. We are under strict orders to stay away from that area until otherwise notified."

  Slate led April to one of the pantry's two stairways. They descended in silence.

  "I know this wine cellar like the back of my hand," he whispered. Removing a large grill from the brick wall, he motioned for her to step inside. "The air-shaft you're in goes right past the library and on up to the roof. I have a hunch this High Priest character will be holding a strategy powwow. This is too good a chance to miss."

  "Wonderful!" April said. "These bricks are a cinch to climb. Replace the grill. If anyone snoops around down here, I'll stay put until you signal me. Three beeps for all clear. One long beep and silence and I go on up to the roof. Okay?"

  Slate nodded. Fitting the grill back into the wall, he hustled back upstairs. The sound of laughter, the hum of voices and the clink of silver told him that no outsider had entered the kitchen in his absence.

  April Dancer kicked off her shoes and looked for handholds. The sound of voices speeded her efforts, as she made a cautious ascent. The voices grew louder. She peered through the ventilator grill and drew a deep breath of satisfaction.

  Krause, Dr. Conrad and a man she had never seen before, were seated around a table. Her first thought was that the same plastic surgeon must have done the work on both Krause and the newcomer. The features were not identical, but the two men could have been brothers.

  The conference had started a few moments previously, and April Dancer hoped she had not missed too much. The newcomer was speaking. ". . . have done well, gentlemen. Everything here shows the mark of splendid organization. I am wondering, though, if we are not placing too much confidence in Dr. Conrad's mesmerizing mist. I witnessed your experiments in New Guinea. They were a spectacular success, but the bushmen have a very limited intelligence."

  As Conrad started to speak, the director frowned and held up an imperious hand. His voice rose an octave.

  "Please! I have not finished. You gentlemen have proved to me that the mesmerizing mist is mental control on a massive scale. You also have said you cannot force a person in a trance to perform an act contrary to his natural inclinations. Yet, we are expecting military and civilian personnel under mental suggestion control to follow surrender orders broadcast by an enemy-invader. This is something entirely alien to their natural inclinations. Do we not have a direct contradiction here?"

  Krause waited until he was sure his superior did not intend to continue. "With your permission, Excellency, I will explain. After the mist immobilizes the targets, men from low-flying planes will broadcast only one message. The people will be told to stay in their homes, their clubs, their offices, or their barracks, if they are soldiers. In other words, they are to remain wherever they may be at the time they are immobilized by the mist. They will be warned that any action at all may result in death and they must remain in that inactive state until they hear the voice of the President of the United States."

  Krause paused for dramatic effect. "We will have with us, on the THRUSH space-ship, an actor who is famed throughout the United States for his impersonations of the President. As you are aware, we will have placed the entire country in darkness. All power will remain shut off until we are ready to unscramble the cables. During the blackout, our ground crews will take over all radio and television stations. When we reactivate the stations, the voice of the Commander-in-Chief of the United States forces will instruct the populace over television and radio, through our ship's broadcasting facilities, to follow the orders of his officials.

  "By that time, our mercenaries will have flown over the borders of neighboring countries, where they are now deployed. When key men give orders to military and civilian personnel, they will respond. There will be no reason for Americans not to follow the direct orders given them by the President of the United States."

  The director's eyes blazed. "Magnificent! We cannot fail. When will you be ready for the initial move?"

  "Our men will have loaded the space ship, including the firing tubes with our first cargo of mist, by now. We plan to wait until it is completely dark before blasting off. We will make ten trips. With the phenomenal speed of the space-ship this will be enough to place the mist-tanks at every strategic airfield in the United States.

  "After we scramble the country's power-lines, the space-ship will be the first to begin spreading the mist. Washington will be our target. The conventional planes will handle the other key cities and
military installations. As you are aware, the disciples are giving orders to their personnel to turn over all equipment to us, at this moment."

  The director leaped to his feet. His subordinates were standing when he spoke. "Return immediately to the laboratory. I will remain here until you have everything in readiness." He placed an arm about Krause's shoulders. "My faithful friend, we have waited a long time for this."

  April Dancer was halfway down the shaft before Dr. Conrad and Krause reached the door. Mark Slate looked surprised as she slipped into the butler's pantry.

  "That was fast," he said. "What's up?"

  "No time for a report, now," she said. "I've got to get over to the pavilion and semaphore our men before that confounded gong rings again. How do I get out of here without attracting everyone's attention?"

  Slate guided her to another stairway and threw a coat over her shoulders. "Right through the basement and out the door in the back. Good luck!"

  April Dancer slowed down to a fast walk, when she reached the garden. It seemed ages, but was only a few minutes before she was flashing her infra-red message toward the knot of sailing boats in the center of the lake. She donned her receiving glasses hurriedly.

  The girl from U.N.C.L.E. was delighted. "Received your message," the return flashes read. "We will be on the dock, ready for action within two minutes of your go-ahead signal. All gas masks at the ready. We have enough men to overpower the garrison down here and take over the cable-car, if necessary. Ready and waiting for further orders."

  A few minutes later she was with Mark Slate in the butler's pantry. "That was close," she panted, as the second gong signaled the termination of the conclave. "I'll brief you the first chance I get. Mrs. Pine gets furious if I'm not in her suite when she arrives. I'd better be there now. Don't go away, Mark. I don't believe I'll be too long."

  April was back in five minutes. "The old girl was like a zombie when she walked in. She said she wanted to commune with the great spirit in solitude and waved me out the door. I'll give you a rundown, first, then we've got to do some lightning calculating. Time is running out on us."