The Sheik of Araby Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  The plates were resting on two two-by-fours, leaving a two-inch space between the bottom one and the floor. Slate bent to peer into the space, then started to reach his hand into it.

  "We'd better get out of here," April said. "Karsh said he'd be back a few minutes to seven and it must be past seven now."

  At that moment the front door started to open.

  NINETEEN

  “ESCAPE ME NEVER”

  From the corners of his eyes Mark Slate saw the door opening too. He quit groping for the gun and bounced to his feet.

  "Run!" he said to April, grabbed Konya's hand and headed for the protection of a nearby steel pipe which had a diameter of about five feet and stretched along the floor for a distance of a dozen feet.

  April darted after them. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw four men entering the door. Maxim Karsh and Ranjit Sighn were first. Behind them came an ancient Chinese leaning on the arm of a younger Chinese man.

  Slate and Konya reached the near end of the pipe and ducked inside as guns came out and were leveled. She wasn't going to make it in time, April thought, tensing her body in anticipation of the impact of bullets as she made a desperate dive for the pipe.

  Only a single shot sounded, and it went wild.

  April was sliding along the inside of the pipe on her stomach by then, and hadn't seen what caused the delay in effective fire. The younger Chinese had jumped in front of Ranjit Sighn, blocking his aim, then had fired so quickly his bullet went high.

  The older man, suddenly losing the support of the younger's arm, had floundered against Maxim Karsh and had thrown his arms around him in a desperate attempt to regain balance. Instead he had knocked the squat man off balance too, and they both tumbled to the floor tangled together.

  Slate dragged Konya from the other end of the pipe and headed for the protection of a drill press. Scrambling to her feet, April scurried after them.

  She saw the sheik running their way with his gun leveled. She ducked behind the drill press. Karsh, looking annoyed, was just getting to his feet.

  Ranjit fired, but by then the three were running for the cover of a pile of steel rods, keeping the drill press between them and their pursuers. From there they darted behind an enormous steel lathe, and finally across an open space toward the rear door.

  Fortunately the door opened outward. Mark Slate, still dragging Konya by the hand, hit it with his shoulder and lifted the latch at the same time. As April sped through the door behind them, bullets smacked into the door frame on either side.

  Hand in hand, Slate and Konya headed for the rear of the administration building at a dead run, with April right behind them. An Arab sentry between the two buildings, but at the front end of them, turned to stare their way.

  Slate and Konya disappeared around the corner of the administration building. Another two bullets slammed into the edge of the building as April rounded the corner after them.

  Mark Slate had dropped to hands and knees and was frantically digging in the sand. Konya had flattened herself against the building next to the rear door. Gasping for breath, April flattened herself next Konya.

  Slate's hand dosed over the buried U.N.C.L.E. gun and brought it up just as Maxim Karsh raced around the corner. Karsh screeched as he came to a halt. His finger was whitening on the gun trigger when the U.N.C.L.E. gun flashed.

  The squat engineer was blasted over on his back and lay still.

  Slate peered around the corner, then hurriedly drew back as three shots winged his way.

  "Ranjit and a couple of Arab guards," he said. "Is that door unlocked?"

  April, who had already tried it, shook her head.

  Slate blew it open with his U.N.C.L.E. gun and led the way inside.

  Slamming the door behind them, he said rapidly "It's just about time to start work, so the building should be empty. We'll make a break from the other end and try to get to the corral before they realize what we're doing. Let's go."

  The building wasn't quite empty, though. Fritz and Sven, because of their night guard duty, were sleeping in, and had been awakened by the shots. In pajamas and with guns in their hands, they both suddenly appeared from the barracks room.

  The U.N.C.L.E. gun flashed twice and both men dropped.

  Hardly slowing stride, Slate rushed by the prone bodies with Konya scurrying after him and April Dancer bringing up the rear. As she passed the two fallen men, April slowed enough to scoop up both their guns.

  At the far end of the hall Mark Slate flung open the mess hall door, gave the room a sweeping glance, then ran across to the door leading outside when he saw the room was empty. He paused to peer through the curtains of the door's upper pane.

  Konya and April crouched on their knees at the window alongside the door in order to peer out.

  Led by Orkhim, a half dozen Arab guards with rifles were running their way from the oasis. From the other direction three THRUSH technicians with drawn pistols were moving in.

  "Don't shoot my father!" Konya, said pleadingly.

  Slate looked at her, then glanced toward the windows at the side of the room toward the machine shop. Following his gaze, April saw Ranjit and two Arab guards between the two buildings, moving cautiously toward the rear of the administration building.

  "Looks like we're hemmed in," Slate said grimly. "We'd never shoot our way through that mob."

  April hefted the two guns she had picked up. "We have three guns."

  Slate cocked an eyebrow at her.

  "Two-gun April from the wild west. We'd still never make it."

  "You won't shoot my father, will you?" Konya said.

  Slate started to give her an irritated look when the building was rocked by a nearby explosion so loud, it sounded as though a bomb had been dropped from an airplane. All three instinctively fell flat.

  Mark Slate was first to his feet again, and April was only a micro-second behind him.

  Konya was still cowering on the floor when they reached the side windows.

  The roof of the machine shop they had just left had collapsed and the building was enveloped in flames.

  A second terrific explosion sounded and the building beyond the machine shop spurted flames skyward.

  Ranjit and the two Arab guards between the administration building and the machine shop halted their stealthy advance toward the rear of the building and rushed toward the burning machine shop.

  The three THRUSH technicians ran toward the second burning building.

  Third and fourth explosions sounded from the other direction. Slate and April ran across the room to stare out the windows on that side.

  The remaining two large buildings were enveloped in flames.

  This turn of events was too much for Orkhim and the other riflemen who had come from the oasis. They had halted uncertainly at the first two explosions. Now they turned tail and headed back for the oasis at a dead run.

  "Let's go," Slate said.

  Jerking open the door, he stooped to pull Konya to her feet by the hand and ran outside. April was right behind them.

  Slate started toward the corral on the oasis, then spotted the plane the two Chinese had arrived in and changed direction.

  It was a fifty-yard run, and April was sure they must have broken some kind of track record. When they reached the plane, Slate yelled for the girls to climb inside, and ran beneath the wing to kick away the chocks blocking the wheels.

  Konya merely stood there gasping for breath. April grabbed her shoulder, pushed the Arab girl up the steps leading to the cabin and crowded after her.

  There were several seats in the cabin. Konya was in such a daze from all the excitement and exertion; she simply stood there panting until April unceremoniously shoved her into a seat. April herself dropped into the one immediately behind the pilot's seat, then tossed her two guns onto the seat across the aisle from her.

  Through the front cowling April could see that all four of the larger buildings were total losses. As she watched, the walls of the
administration building burst outward and flames shot more than twenty feet into the air.

  She spotted the running figure of Ranjit Sighn. Apparently he had given up hope of saving any of the buildings and was making a last desperate effort to rescue something from the wreckage, because he was running toward the launching pad tower.

  He was nearly there when a mushroom of smoke and flame erupted from the base of the tower. As the steel-grid edifice began to topple, Ranjit turned and ran the other way.

  He never made it. April closed her eyes and clenched her fists an instant before the figure of the running sheik was blotted out by the geyser of sand that spurted upward as the huge tower crashed to the ground directly on top of him.

  Mark Slate came through the cabin door, slid into the pilot's seat and examined the instrument panel.

  Tentatively he pushed a couple of buttons. The jet engine started to fire, then died.

  "Do you know how to fly this thing?" April asked.

  "I have a pilot's license," he said. "I've never flown a jet."

  "Oh, fine," April said, starting to rise from her seat. Let's head for the corral and kidnap some camels."

  "Relax," Slate told her. "I know the basic idea. I'll work it out."

  April glanced toward the burning buildings and spotted two figures racing their way.

  "You'd better figure it out fast," she said dryly. "Or at least figure out how to raise the steps before we're invaded."

  Slate glanced toward the running figures. The one in the lead was the ancient Chinese who had fallen against Maxim Karsh in the machine shop.

  Close behind him was the young Chinese pilot.

  The old man was running with remarkable agility for one who shortly before had required assistance to walk.

  "I think this raises the steps," Slate said, pushing a button.

  The cabin lights went on.

  Slate abandoned trying to raise the steps and fired the engine again. This time it caught. He knew that without a few seconds of warmup they would probably crash on takeoff, though, and the two approaching Chinese were nearly to the plane.

  He drew his U.N.C.L.E. gun as the old man in the mandarin costume started up the steps.

  Then his jaw dropped. He stared. His hand went to his forehead.

  As he came up the steps, the elderly Chinese tucked his thumb under his chin and peeled his whole face upward.

  The rubber mask came off to expose the serenely smiling face of Napoleon Solo.

  Behind him the younger man had ripped off a rubber mask too. It was Illya Kuryakin.

  "You people occupied everyone nicely while Illya and I ran around and tossed plastique explosives," Solo said. "I'm afraid we used up all your chewing gum, April, but here's the rest of your stuff."

  He tossed her purse to her, then sank into the seat next to her.

  Illya Kuryakin jerked his thumb in the direction of the seats behind the pilot's seat.

  "Move to the back of the bus, boy," he said. "And let an expert take over."

  One week later Mark Slate, April, Mr. Waverly, Randy and Konya had lunch together at a New York restaurant. Konya was smartly attired in a Fifth Avenue dress selected by April and had her dark hair done in an attractive modish upsweep.

  "I can hardly believe my freedom here," she said to Alexander Waverly. "And my good luck in being accepted by the U.N.C.L.E. academy. It is all so wonderful. Do you think I can pass all those courses?"

  "I'm sure you can," Waverly said in his usual formal tone. "Your I.Q. tested well above our minimum requirements, and they are quite high."

  "It'll be a breeze," Randy told her. "I could pass most of the tests myself, and I'm just an on-the-job trainee."

  "There's one test you couldn't pass," Slate said dryly. "U.N.C.L.E. agents are supposed to be modest."

  Randy grinned at him, unabashed.

  "You will be assigned to Cairo headquarters, of course, when you finish your training," Waverly said to Konya. "With your background, you'll be more valuable there than anywhere else."

  The girl threw a wistful look at Mark Slate.

  Catching it, Alexander Waverly smiled dourly.

  "I will occasionally give Mr. Slate a middle-east assignment," he assured the girl.

  April Dancer had seen the wistful look too.

  She gave Alexander Waverly a frown of disapproval.