Back up the slope he went, then set his feet once more and with the last of his strength heaved her up and free of the stinking ooze. He saw her safely settled on a ledge and dropped beside her to suck in huge breaths and flex his tortured fingers, looking up at the steep slope ahead and wondering how he was going to get her, and himself, up there.
In a while he stood up on unsteady legs and stared at the mare up at the crest. It was a bare chance. He raised a hand, made a gesture, and called out, “Go, girl, go!”
The mare whinnied, shook her head, and began to back off, hauling on the line. He stooped hurriedly, grunted as he managed to get Bridget over his shoulder, took up the slack on the line, and shouted again, “Go! Go!”
Five awful minutes later, dripping with sweat and soaked with the slime that dripped from her, he tottered over the crest and sank to his knees, spilling her onto the grass. She lay quite still, but he had learned, as he had carried her, that she was still alive. He had felt her heart beating as she had dangled like a limp sack over his shoulder. He stared down at her and wiped the sweat from his face. A black bruise on her forehead showed why she was unconscious. She must have got that in the tumble down the slope with Foden. She was a slimy mess all except her face and one shoulder. She was, he had to admit, a very lovely girl.
He sighed, drew off his soiled gloves, tucked them into a pocket, and slapped her face, gently but firmly. She stirred, gave a muffled groan. On impulse he put his head down, slipped his hand under her neck and put his lips firmly on her red mouth in a firm kiss.
She stirred, stiffened, and began to struggle, but he held her tight until he could hear her snorting. Then he let go and lifted up and away, watching. Her eyes were open, staring. They were a bright and beautiful green.
“What—what was that for?” she gasped.
“Let’s call it the kiss of life, shall we?”
“But—” She came up on an elbow, confused. “That’s for drowning, for someone who—” And then he saw it all come back to her in a rush as she looked down along her body and saw the slime. She wrenched with sudden terror, her eyes. wide, her arms reaching for him, clutching fiercely, shivering with dread. He held her tight.
“Now now, no need for hysterics. It’s all over. It was touch-and-go for a while, and you’re a bit of a mess, but you’re safe now. Completely safe.”
She made little whimpering sounds, clinging to him, and then she began to weep. He held on, patiently, knowing this was a good sign, a discharge of tension. In a while her frantic grip eased and she pushed away from him.
“You pulled me out? Saved my life? Why?”
“You ask a silly question like that and you deserve a silly answer, but let’s just say I hate to see a beautiful girl going to waste.”
“I’m not very beautiful, right now,” she said dismally.
“I’ll tell you better after you’ve had a bath, but from what I can see, I suspect you’ll pass my rather high standards. I’m afraid I tore your dress trying to drag you out. Sorry about that—I don’t usually tear the clothes off women, but this was a rather special case.” She giggled, and he watched intently for signs of hysteria, but she had a grip on herself now. “You’re very kind to me,” she said. “But now you’re going to take me back and turn me over to the law, aren’t you?”
“Well now,” he said gently, “you’ve been a bad girl, you know. You must have known what Uncle Mike was up to, and the Thrush people. And you were on their side.” He moved a hand to touch the metal band on her wrist, with its dangling broken links. “I don’t see what else I can do.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said slowly. “It all seems like a bad dream now, as if it had happened to somebody else. Ever sine I was a little girl I’ve been Uncle Mike’s favorite. I always did what he wanted, and he said I was going to be taken care of, right until last night.”
“Then what happened?” Solo asked, suddenly dropping his mildness.
“He and that Dr. Trilli went off by themselves. They left the garrison and the two—Schichi and Foden—” She glanced up to the crest of the hill, remembered what had happened to Foden and shivered, and went on, “—they were to stop back and take care of things. And me. Uncle’s last words to Foden were, ‘One screeching female has escaped—you see that this one doesn’t do the same. I’ve no further use for her, but I don’t want her running around telling everything she knows!’ That’s what he said about me, after all these years. But I could see what Foden had in mind, and I was ready to run. That’s why I had Molly all saddled up, ready for the first chance I could get!”
Solo could appreciate her feelings at being betrayed, but he was far more concerned by the news of her uncle’s flight. He stirred and rose hastily, hauling her to her feet.
“When did your uncle skip with Trilli? What time?”
“About an hour and a half ago. Not long before you came with the guns and bombs.” She spoke dully, her shoulders sagging, but he had no time to waste on her grief. He groped for his transceiver, thumbed it and spoke:
“Emperor to Volga.”
Kuryakin’s reply came within seconds, the tone telling its own tale.
“Bad news at this end, Napoleon. Our mad scientist is nowhere to be found. We are rounding up the remains of the garrison and combing through all the rooms. Looks as if the Thrush has flown too.”
“I just pulled Bridget out of the bog and she tells me the same thing. Foden won’t bother us again. I’m on my way back. The birds flew about ninety minutes ago, according to her.”
He returned the instrument to his pocket, gestured to her to mount up on Molly, giving her a boost. As soon as he was up after her he set the mare into a steady gallop.
“You could save something for yourself from the shambles,” he suggested, “if you could come across with a clue of some kind as to where your uncle might have run to. If he has a hideout anywhere, you’d know about it.”
She seemed too stunned by her reverses to be very interested. He had to nudge her and ask again. Then she craned her head around to stare.
“Where else would he go except the plant?” she demanded, and he could have cursed himself for being thick-headed. Sarah had said the same thing, long ago, that Uncle Mike preferred to meet people at his laboratory in the brewery. He reached for his transceiver once again.
“Emperor to Volga. Illya, are you reporting to Mr. Waverly?”
“I’ve brought him up to date so far, yes. He’s not very happy.”
“I can imagine. He’s going to like it less when he hears this. One will get you ten Uncle Mike has gone to ground in the brewery!”
“Yes. You’re probably right. That’s not so good, is it?”
Solo grinned fiercely at the gentle understatement. From what he’d seen in the dark, the plant was all of a square mile in area, with a high wire fence. And it was daylight now. He could see the castle ahead glowing redly in the dawn sunshine.
Bridget stirred and turned her lovely woebegone face to him. “Would you give me that kiss-of-life just once more?” she whispered. “I have the feeling I’m going to need it.”
The little pickup stood just away from the castle gates, its engine purring. He slid down from Molly and looked back up at Bridget.
“Go on in there and give yourself up,” he instructed. “You’ll be taken care of. Don’t worry too much; you’ve been a big help so far. You can help a lot more by talking, loud and long, to our experts.” Then he slapped the horse’s rump and sent her cantering into the gates, muddy and weary. He was rather shaken to see that Sarah was in the truck along with Kuryakin.
“Haven’t you had enough danger yet?” he demanded; then, without waiting for her comment, he turned to his colleague. “What’s the situation, Illya?”
“Not very bright, Napoleon. Stephens is able to walk, and Haycraft is unhurt, so the prisoners will he taken care of. But that leaves just the three of us to take that brewery.”
“Three?” Solo shifted his glare back to t
he girl. “I don’t want to seem offensive, Sarah, but this is no place for you.”
“You can talk!” she retorted. “You got me into this in the first place, back in New York. You’re not getting me out of it now. Besides, I know that plant like the back of my hand. I can help!”
“She’s right, Napoleon.” Kuryakin had the truck rolling on its way as they argued. “She could start by telling us just how many people we can expect to run into. There surely won’t be a full staff, at this hour of the morning—?”
“No, not until nine. Let’s work it out.” She spread the fingers of one hand and ticked them off with the index finger of the other. “There’s two men on the gate, and two men on fence patrol. Four loaders, but we needn’t count them, because they’ve been eliminated already. And two men in the powerhouse. That’s all. Six men!”
“Plus Uncle Mike and Trilli,” Solo added, “makes eight. Four to one!”
“Since when does three go into eight four times?” she flared, but Kuryakin had a different point of interest.
“Powerhouse? You generate your own electricity?”
“That’s right. Two one hundred kilowatt turbines, one running, one in hand. Almost all our staff is process control and a power breakdown would be a disaster. What are you thinking of?”
“I got a brief look at the laboratory in the castle cellar, md it was obvious what a lot of electrical equipment your uncle uses. He will have his own private laboratory at the plant, naturally?”
“Oh yes,” she nodded, and her face tightened as she thought. “If Uncle has locked himself away in there, we’ll have a terrible job to get at him!”
“That’s what I thought. He’s a man who guards his privacy well.”
“So?” Solo prompted.
“If we can clobber the powerplant and stop all the machinery, that will bring him out of his shell faster than anything.” He eased the pickup to a crawl at the top of the gentle rise that enabled them to look down on the laid-out orderliness of the brewery. There was no sign of life or movement. Sarah extended her arm to point, as if the plume of smoke from the tall chimney had not been guide enough.
“That’s the powerhouse. And that building there, that’s Uncle’s lab.” They went roaring down the road they had traveled once before, and this time they kept on going straight past the main gate, along the ruler-straight road by the fence and to the corner into a right-hand turn. Solo expected his colleague to slow up as they approached the powerhouse area, but Kuryakin drove on past and then halted.
Casting an eye at the high wire fence, he said, “You want to bet the telephone has been busy again?”
“The four boys we met down the road, you mean?” Solo wondered. “I’d be prepared to believe they’ve had an interesting story to tell, but I can’t see anybody on guard here. Why have we stopped right at this spot?”
“I was looking for a suitably damp patch of ground.”
“Oh!” Solo nodded as if that made sense to him. “We’re going to pelt them with mud pies?”
“No.”’ Kuryakin was gravely serious as he slid out from under the wheel. “We’re going to take out their powerplant. Keep your eyes peeled for possible interference, Napoleon; and while you’re doing that, have a good look at that fence. Don’t touch it, just look. Note particularly the insulators!”
Solo blinked, watched his colleague hurry around to the back of the pickup, cast a sharp glance up and down the deserted road, and then stared at the high wire fence. Insulators? Given the clue, he noted that the top, second, third and fourth wires were slung from the heavy-angle fence-posts on ceramic holders, and that the wires themselves made unbroken half-loops around each post. Kuryakin came back heavy-footed under a ten-foot length of steel chain that had been used to anchor the generator. Solo scowled at him.
“Electrified fence?”
Sarah made a squeak as she realized the truth for herself. “I never noticed that before. Now how will we get in?”
Kuryakin dropped the chain and began stamping the shackle-end into a soft muddy patch. “Your uncle is quite a planner,” he said, “but this time, I think, he must have been reading too many lurid novels. It’s always been surprising to me that in stories and movies, when people come face to face with an electrified fence, they get worried. In actual fact, such a fence is a very delicate thing.”
“Delicate?” Solo echoed. “With several thousand volts streaming through those wires, I’m the one who feels delicate. I’m allergic to the stuff.”
Kuryakin ignored him, pointed a question at Sarah: “Why have insulators?”
She frowned prettily and said, “That’s to stop the current leaking to earth, of course, through the posts.”
“Exactly. The electricity will run away, given half a chance. I’m going to give it a chance and a half. Keep the engine running, Napoleon; this won’t take very long.” The shackle-end was safely bedded now. He lifted the slack length of the chain and stopped close to the fence, formed loops, made a trial swing, then cast the spare length up and over, and stepped back quickly.
The end of the chain cleared the top wire and curled over, flicked back, and for a few exciting seconds even the bright morning sunshine was eclipsed by the corona of coruscating flashes and sparks that spat and crackled where the links met the loaded wires. In the distance, and over the spitting of discharge, they heard the powerful and quiet hum of the turbo-dynamo lift suddenly into a howl, and then a protesting whine. Then abused circuit-breakers tripped out, the pyrotechnics ceased, and the distant dynamo lost its howl—but by that time Kuryakin was back in the cab of the truck and it was whirling swiftly away from the dead fence in a tight arc, to circle around and drive, full-tilt, where the two leaves of the fuel-loading gate met.
The three inside ducked and held on. The gate shivered and burst inwards under the impact. The truck rolled forward. As Solo hauled madly on the wheel to bring them around in the direction of the laboratory, they all heard the full-throated roar of escaping steam as the boiler safety-valves lifted.
“That’ll keep them busy for a while, Napoleon, so we only have to worry about fence-patrol and the gate-porters.”
“And to wait until King Mike comes out,” Solo agreed, treading on the brake and skidding the truck to a halt outside the laboratory. To Sarah he tossed the question, “Is there a back entrance to this establishment?”
“No. This is the only door. Look out, there!”
“I see him!” Even as she yelled and pointed, Solo drew his pistol and fired, half-out of the cab. The large man who had been running urgently along the footpath on the inside of the fence towards them kept right on moving for another six feet or so, but in a face-downwards attitude, and then he lay still, his shotgun skidding away to one side. “That leaves three, Illya. We’re wearing them down.”
The heavy double-doors of the laboratory remained inscrutable. Kuryakin appealed to Sarah: “What’s the layout inside, beyond that door?’
“A straight passage, with offices leading off either side, and process-rooms and things. Are you thinking of going in?”
“Better than waiting out here to be picked off. There’s a couple of rifles in the back, Napoleon. Discourage the opposition a bit while I go in there and call on Uncle Mike.”
Groping in his pocket for one of U.N.C.L.E.’s special door-openers, the Russian cast a quick glance up and down the little roadway, batted at his blond fringe, dashed across the gap and stuffed the little thermite bomb in the keyhole, triggered it and dashed back. As soon as the flare had died he flung himself at the door again, crashing it open with his shoulder and going down headfirst in a skid along the polished floor of the interior, his pistol out and swinging in an arc, his eyes flicking nervously in an attempt to watch all directions at one.
The reaction was totally negative. Seconds later the doors crashed open again to admit Sarah in a similarly headlong dive. As they swung shut after her, he saw she had thought to bring a rifle. They lay still and looked at each other for te
n heartbeats, then he stirred and got up on his knee.
“The place sounds deserted. We’ll have to check, but I have a feeling we’ve missed the boat. Careful how you point that thing!”
With her help, he searched the building rapidly. It was very modem, the equipment bringing nods of approval from him, but it was quite lifeless. If O’Rourke and Trilli had been here, they had gone again without trace. Kuryakin sighed and pointed the way back to the entrance, but before they could reach it they heard the crash-blam of shotguns and the whipcrack answer of rifle fire. Orienting swiftly, Kuryakin shoved open a side door, trotted the length of a massive chemistry bench to the far window and peered cautiously out. The next building was some fifteen yards away, and as he looked he saw a jet of smoke spurt out and whip away in the slight breeze, heard the crash of the shot. As Sarah came to nudge his elbow he pointed, grabbed an earthenware jar from the bench and flung it through the glass.
“Keep your eye on our hosts out there while I talk to Mr. Waverly. Maybe he’ll have some ideas.” She nodded, settled her elbows on the bench and loosed off a warning shot at the brickwork by that corner. He squatted down on the floor by her feet and pulled out his transceiver, getting Waverly’s attention almost immediately. “We’re in the plant laboratory, sir, but I’m afraid the birds have flown—if they were ever here, that is.”
“I see. And we’ve no idea where to look next. A man like O’Rourke might have a thousand hideouts in this country alone, and time is vital.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Illya!” Sarah cried excitedly. “I’ve just thought—Uncle Mike’s yacht!”
“Eh?” He looked up at her, instantly alert. “A yacht?”
“Well, that’s what he calls it, but it’s a thirty-foot cabin cruiser, actually. The Princess, that’s her name.”
“Where does he keep it moored, as a rule?”
Man From U.N.C.L.E. 05 - The Mad Scientist Affair Page 11
