The Sheik of Araby Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  When Adana brought out April's clothing, Karsh insisted on examining it himself. Handing Ranjit his gun to cover Mark Slate, he went over each piece with microscopic thoroughness, laying it on the burlap-upholstered box as he finished with it.

  Finally satisfied that the clothing contained no implements April might use to again cut herself free, he told Adana in Arabic to go back behind the pile of plates and search the girl's body.

  "Don't miss a thing," he said. "I even want every hairpin she is wearing."

  In a few minutes Adana returned with a pair of earrings, a charm bracelet and several bobby pins. The bobby pins were all ordinary ones. Karsh examined the charm bracelet and found nothing unusual about it, failing to recognize that the various ornaments hanging from it were all bugging devices. He did grasp the significance of the diamond earrings, however.

  "Glass cutters," he explained to the sheik. ''The woman carries a machine shop as well as an arsenal around with her."

  Stowing all the items in his shirt pocket, he pointed to the pile of clothing on the box.

  "Give it back to her," he told Adana. "Then bring her back out here."

  When April was led from behind the stack of steel plates, again fully clothed, the sheik dismissed the women. Karsh instructed Slate and April to lie on the floor on their backs. Going over to the work bench, he probed in a drawer and returned with a roll of heavy insulated wire.

  "Let's see if you can cut this," he said, stooping over Mark Slate first.

  Instead of tying knots in the wire, Karsh crimped small metal clamps around it with a pair of pliers. In addition to binding their wrists and ankles, he wrapped wire completely around their bodies and across their forearms between the elbows and wrists, so that their arms were tied down immovably.

  It was just three when the pair was shoved abruptly back into the press. The gap had now closed to three and a half feet.

  Meantime Karsh had decided that Fritz was still too groggy from the judo chop to resume guard duty. He sent the big blond to get the man named Sven to take over.

  Maxim Karsh's instructions to Sven were explicit. The man was to keep his eyes on Mark Slate and April Dancer at all times, was to hold his gun in his hand and was not to go near the press no matter what happened.

  "If either of them do anything to excite your suspicion that they might be working themselves free, shoot first and investigate later," he concluded. "Understand?"

  Sven said he understood.

  Karsh went over to the press and looked in. "You people want to be sensible?" he asked. "The only way you're ever going to get out of there is by answering questions. In another three hours you'll be wanting to. Why don't you save yourself all that discomfort and talk now?"

  Neither made any reply.

  Ranjit came over to the press and his gaze burned at April.

  "They're not going to talk, ever," he told Karsh. "Why don't you just push the lever all the way forward?"

  "We'll handle it my way," Karsh replied. He turned back to the pair in the press. "I'm going to give you plenty of time to make up your minds. I won't come back until a few minutes before seven. By then the press will have closed to a foot and a half, and you'll have about fifteen minutes before it closes another inch and a half and clamps you in so that we couldn't get you out even if we wanted to.

  "It won't start to crush you at that point. You shouldn't be in even the slightest pain. But you'll be inextricably wedged in. The next upward movement, fifteen minutes later, will start to break bones. It won't kill you, though. You'll have at least another fifteen minutes of agony before the jaws close enough to put you out of your misery."

  "You paint a delightful picture," Slate said calmly.

  "I'm trying to. I want to impress on you that you had better start talking rapidly the moment I walk in next time. Because if you haven't finished within fifteen minutes, you'll be beyond help."

  He gestured to Ranjit and the two left together. Sven seated himself on the box, a pistol balanced on his knee, and fixed his gaze on the tightly bound pair lying in the press.

  Time stole by. It was easy to measure, because every fifteen minutes the floor of the press lurched upward another inch and a half. April Dancer shuddered every time it happened.

  She knew when it was six by counting the number of times the floor of the press moved upward. The upper part of the die was now only a little more than a foot from her face and about six inches from the tips of her breasts.

  There was the sound of a door opening and closing; then Sven said in a tone of surprise, "Morning, Sheik. What are you doing up so early?"

  Ranjit Sighn's voice said, "I couldn't sleep."

  He came over and stared into the press. "Still being nobly silent, are you?"

  Neither answered.

  "You're not going to talk, are you?" he said. "Maxim is wasting his time, isn't he?"

  April said. steadily, "Yes, he's wasting his time."

  "I thought so," the sheik said.

  He turned away. "Isn't someone supposed to relieve you about now, Sven?"

  "Yes, sir. A couple of minute ago. Perez is supposed to come."

  "Go rout him out. I'll take over here until he arrives."

  "Okay, sir. Thanks a lot."

  The sheik waited until the door closed behind Sven, then stooped beside the press and did something to the ticking box on the floor. The press had raised another inch and a half only a couple of minutes before, and April experienced a moment of terror when it suddenly began to rise again. It rose only its usual inch and a half before stopping, however.

  Ranjit grinned in at her. "Just a little practical joke, my dear. I set the clock forward fifteen minutes. Maxim won't be back until just before seven, expecting to have time to pull you two out of there if you agree to talk. But you're not going to talk anyway, so I'm leaving a surprise for him. You'll be wedged in too tightly to pull out by the time he gets here."

  They heard the front door open and close again. A moment later the face of Perez peered in at them.

  "You can take over now, Perez," Ranjit said. "Good-by, April. I'll be back about seven to witness the beginning of the end. Will you scream prettily for me?"

  April closed her eyes and made no reply. She saw him walk away and heard the door open and close.

  The next time the press rose, it put them too high above the floor to see their guard when he was seated on the box. April raised her head until it touched the top part of the die and was barely able to see his black hair.

  Fifteen minutes passed by. With a rumble the press rose another inch and a half. April's bosom was now within an inch and a half of the top die. Again she raised her head, but this time she couldn't see the guard at all.

  She did see something else, though. By now the sun had risen and sunshine was steaming through the machine shop's windows. There were no windows at the rear of the shop, but she caught a momentary flash of sunlight from there as the back door opened and shut.

  She wondered if the guard had noticed it, then decided that if he had, he had recognized whoever had entered as someone authorized to be present, because there was no sound from him.

  Probably a shop maintenance man coming to get tools ready for the day's work, she thought.

  April lay back in suspense and waited for another agonizing fifteen minutes to pass. After a few moments she decided to take one last look at the shop. The next upward movement of the press would raise her just enough to touch her breasts to the top part of the die, and while she still wouldn't be jammed in hopelessly, she wouldn't be able to raise her head for any more scrutiny.

  The captured agent from U.N.C.L.E. wanted one last look at the world outside the press, even if all she could see was machinery and stacks of ugly material.

  April Dancer raised her head slightly and looked out. Several yards behind Perez, whom she could no longer see, a slim figure crept from behind a pile of steel tubing.

  It was Konya and she had a large wrench clutched in her righ
t hand.

  At the same moment April Dancer heard the drone of an approaching plane.

  EIGHTEEN

  IMPORTANT VISITOR

  Ranjit Sighn had just finished breakfast when he heard the sound of the plane. He went outside to peer in the direction of the sound. It was a small jet and it was coming in for a landing on the desert sand.

  It touched down and taxied toward the oasis. As the sheik strode toward it, Maxim Karsh appeared from the administration building and headed hurriedly that way too.

  They simultaneously reached the plane as a set of stairs lowered from the cabin. A lean young Chinese man in a flying suit backed out and held up his hand to assist the other passenger out. The latter was a gray and wizened Chinese with a drooping mandarin mustache resembling two wisps of gray silk. He wore an ankle-length silken robe of jet black with a design of white dragons on it. On his head was a black, buttoned skullcap.

  Assisted by the pilot, he came painfully down the steps. When he reached the ground, he straightened his bent figure and peered nearsightedly at Ranjit and Karsh.

  "You will be Sheik Ranjit Sighn, I imagine," he said to the sheik in a reedy voice. He turned to the electronics engineer. "And you are Mr. Karsh?"

  The sheik merely nodded, Maxim Karsh said nervously, "That's right, sir."

  "I am Lin Yang," the old man announced.

  "Yes, we've been expecting you sir," Karsh said.

  Lin Yang indicated his companion. "This is my pilot and bodyguard, Mr. Hop Foo."

  The young man in the flying suit made a graceful bow with his hands clasped together in front of him in the Chinese manner. Karsh bowed with equal formality. The sheik acknowledged the introduction with a bare nod, as befitted royalty when meeting a peasant.

  "How is the project coming?" the aged Chinese asked.

  The squat engineer said uncomfortably, "Well, sir, except for one slight hitch."

  The almond-shaped eyes glittered "Hitch, Mr. Karsh?"

  "A couple of U.N.C.L.E. agents managed to infiltrate."

  When the old man glared at him, Karsh added hurriedly, "They were both apprehended before they could learn anything of value. Everything is under control. It wasn't my fault. I advised the sheik---"

  His voice tapered off at the frigid expression on the old man's face, Lin Yang said in his reedy voice, "Are you or is Sheik Ranjit in charge here, Mr. Karsh?" It wasn't a question; it was an accusation.

  "Well, I am," Karsh said uneasily. "But it's the sheik's oasis, and he insisted on bringing the woman here."

  "The chief of a project doesn't shift blame, Mr. Karsh," the Chinese said ominously. "Since you are in charge, any slip is your fault."

  Karsh gulped."Yes, sir."

  "Where are these people?"

  "In the machine shop, sir." His voice became placating. "In a way it was an advantage that they came here."

  "How's that?"

  "We captured a number of their devices, including two of their communicators. We'll be able to listen in on U.N.C.L.E.'s broadcasts."

  "Hmph. Where are these devices?"

  "In the laboratory, locked in the safe."

  "I will inspect them first before seeing the prisoners," Lin Yang decided. "Give me your arm, Hop Foo."

  The younger Chinese offered his arm and the old man leaned on it heavily as he followed Karsh and Ranjit to the administration building. The latter two walked slowly, so that the old man could keep up.

  In the lab Karsh knelt before the safe and opened it. He drew out April's purse and a manila envelope.

  "The purse is the woman's," he said, emptying it out on the work table. "It contains everything which was in it when we took her, plus the communicator belonging to the man.”

  He explained each item one at a time. Lin Yang examined each, then dropped it back into the purse as he finished with it. He seemed as interested in the chewing gum as he was in the other items.

  "Did you know that chicle was an invention of the Chinese?" he asked Karsh.

  "No, sir," the engineer admitted. "It took the Americans to add flavor," the old man said. "But the Chinese chewed it long before Columbus discovered America."

  He stripped a piece, popped it into his mouth and offered the pack to Hop Foo. The younger man took a stick also. Lin Yang dropped the rest of the package into one of the voluminous pockets of his gown.

  “What is in the envelope?”

  “Items obtained from the agents persons,” Karsh said, opening it and spilling the contents onto the workbench. “There is nothing of great significance here. This bobby pin is a rather clever device, but hardly sensational. One prong seems to be a picklock, the other a cutting edge.

  “These other bobby pins are merely what they look like. The earrings are glass-cutters. The charm bracelet seems to be merely ornamental, however, as does this medallion which the man wore about his neck.”

  Lin Yang examined each item and dropped it into April’s purse when he was finished with it.

  “It is wise to keep everything together,” he said. “This will be turned over to our central research section for thorough investigation. You’ve made a valuable catch, Mr. Karsh. It quite makes up for your breach of security. I shall see that you get proper credit at central headquarters.”

  While Maxim Karsh was beaming with pleasure at this praise, the old man dropped the purse into the other voluminous pocket of his gown.

  "Now, gentlemen," he said, "I wish to see your prisoners."

  Konya disappeared from April's field of vision as she crept closer to the press. Then April caught a glimpse of a small dark hand raising the wrench high. It swung downward out of sight and there was a sickening crunch.

  An instant later a body hit the floor. Then Konya's frightened face peered in at them.

  "Good girl," Mark Slate said.

  "See if you can pull us out of this contraption."

  The Arab girl grasped Slate's feet, but was unable to budge him. She tried to pull April free with no more success. Because the lower part of the die was shaped like a shallow dish, she lacked the strength to pull them up and over the lip.

  For the same reason neither could roll out of the press, because it involved rolling uphill.

  "There's a tool bench over against the wall," Slate said. "Get a knife."

  "A knife won't cut this wire,"

  April objected. "Get a wire cutter, or a bolt cutter, or some tin snips,"

  Konya looked confused.

  "Just find anything that looks like a pair of scissors," Slate said. "Hurry, Konya---you're a good girl."

  Konya's face disappeared and they heard her run toward the tool bench. There was the clatter of tools being tossed around. The noise went on for a while.

  "Hurry it up!" Slate called.

  "I can't find anything that looks like scissors," Konya called back frantically. Then, in triumph, "Wait. Here's a pair"

  The press shuddered and rose slowly another inch and a half. April Dancer felt her bosom push against the top.

  The space between the upper and lower dies was now only a foot and a half. Another upward movement would pin them in inextricably.

  Konya thrust her head and shoulders into the press. Her right hand gripped a large pair of scissors.

  "Those are just plain scissors!"

  Slate said. "But never mind. You haven't time to hunt for anything else. Cut!"

  The girl started to slide the scissor blades over the wire binding his wrists.

  "Not there!" he said; "Cut the wire around my body first."

  Konya moved the blades to the wire circling his body and began sawing it back and forth.

  "It's not cutting," she said in despair.

  "Keep working," Slate said soothingly. "Try both hands."

  Konya wriggled farther into the press and got both hands on the scissors. Frantically she sawed back and forth. April was sure that nearly another fifteen minutes had passed before she heard the wire snap.

  There wouldn't be time to cut her b
onds, she thought despairingly. The press was ready to rise another and fatal inch and a half any second. There wasn't even time to cut Mark's wrist bonds.

  "Get out of the press, Konya," Slate said. "Fast!"

  He knew there was no more time and didn't want Konya to be caught too, April thought. But as the girl drew her head and shoulders from the press, she realized he had simply wanted her to get out of the way.

  Even though his wrists were still bound, Slate's arms were no longer tied immobibly to his sides. Reaching up, he gripped the underside of the upper die and gave a mighty jerk.

  His body shot forward feet first and he slid out of the press as though impelled by a spring.

  Falling to hands and knees, he bounced erect, balanced precariously on his still-bound legs, made a hopping about-face and moved back to the press. The machine started to rumble as he grasped one of April's feet with his bound hands.

  He jerked on the foot mightily, turning his back to the machine as he pulled. April slid from the closing jaws an instant before the floor of the press jolted upward. Slate fell flat on his face with April on top of him.

  She lay there for some seconds, hardly believing she was safe, then gently rolled off of him.

  Slate pushed himself to his feet and hopped over to the workbench. Konya scurried after him. Supporting himself on the edge of the workbench, he looked over the array of tools there.

  "Start pulling open those drawers," he told the girl.

  In the second drawer she opened he spotted a tin-snip. "Use that," he said, holding out his wrists.

  When she had cut the wire, he took the tin-snips from her and used it on the wire binding his ankles. A few moments later he had cut April free.

  April continued to sit on the floor for some moments, rubbing the circulation back into her arms and legs. Slate sat on the box recently occupied by the still unconscious Perez and did the same for himself.

  Finally he stood up and pulled April to her feet. Then he looked down at the floor and glanced around in all directions.

  "What happened to Perez's gun?" he asked Konya.

  "It slid across the floor over that way," she said, pointing to the stack of octagonal steel plates.