The Burning Air Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  She still had not given up the idea of fighting back. But for the moment, April abandoned her rapid-fire evaluation of escape methods to listen to Royce's phone conversation.

  What she heard sent a stab of fear shooting through her aching body. But it was fear for Mark Slate rather than herself.

  TWELVE

  DEATH TRAP

  There was no doubt about it. Royce was leading Mark Slate directly into a death trap.

  April heard the embittered scientist say, "Dr. Clermont? Are you at the Golden Cock? Excellent! Make sure that this man Mark Slate follows you. I know he is there. The receptionist is in my pay. She called me. Get her to point him out to you."

  He listened and then said impatiently: "Do it any way you can? Must I write a formula for every movement you make? If nothing better comes to mind, stop a waiter where he can hear you. Ask if anyone has come inquiring about a woman named April Dancer. That will bait him."

  He listened again and a look of extreme satisfaction crossed his face.

  "Yes!" he said eagerly. "Now here is what you do: Come directly here. It is that former movie star's estate. A high wall surrounds the place. Come to the gate. Don't try to shake your shadow. The gate is open, but get out and dose it behind you.

  "This is just to slow your pursuers for a moment. Park in the lot just inside the gate. Make sure you are not observed. There is an entrance behind a terrace of pyro-canthia climbing the inside of the wall. This will take you inside the wall and down a narrow set of stairs. This leads you here.

  "If Slate does not see you enter, he will assume that you went up the curving path to the house. Now here is the gimmick. There is a closed circuit TV monitor installed in a tree just beyond the curve. I had it put there when the house was remodeled. In addition to a laboratory for me, it was intended to be THRUSH'S West Coast headquarters.

  "Slate will walk right into a THRUSH trap!"

  He put down the phone and smiled satanically at April.

  "M-Mister Royce!" April tried to put a shake of fear into her voice. It sounded forced, even to her ears. "I'm ready to make a deal!"

  He gave her a contemptuous look. "You are the worst kind of a fool!" he snapped. "You are trying to trick me. I've tried to bribe men from U.N.C.L.E. before. It's impossible. Waverly has all of you too badly brainwashed!"

  "Try me and see," April Dancer replied.

  "Dr. Clermont is bringing a truth serum, Miss Dancer. I will obtain everything I need from you without any risk. You see, I am too clever for your little tricks!"

  "Are you?" April suddenly shifted to new tactics. Her voice was as contemptuous as his. "Are you, Mr. Royce? Did you know that an U.N.C.L.E. scientist has developed an antidote for sodium pentothal? We have an inoculation against the truth serum and all of us have taken it. If you doubt me---"

  "I do not doubt you," Royce broke in. "I know about it."

  "Then you should know there is no way you can get anything from me unless I want to give it to you! I'm willing to make a deal with you. Not for my life, but for Mark Slate's. Stop him from walking in on that THRUSH trap upstairs and I'll tell you where I hid the bomb."

  "And if you told me you hid it in---say, a potted plant in the lounge, I'd exclaim with surprise!" The heavy sarcasm turned to rage. "Do you take me for a fool? Me? I have personally had that place shaken down. Men from U.N.C.L.E. searched it. None of us found a thing. Do you know what that means, Miss Dancer?"

  "No," April replied firmly …

  "It means that you are trying to outwit THRUSH, U.N.C.L.E. and me."

  "A girl can't have everything," April said quickly. "I'll settle for outwitting THRUSH and U.N.C.L.E. I am still willing to deal with you."

  "I'm sorry. I don't need you," he said. "I have about me the few people I do need. And as for your puny inoculation against sodium pentothal, the serum Dr. Clermont is bringing is not SP. It is a new and more powerful means of chemically inducing truthful answers.

  "Your inoculation is worthless. This drug is so powerful you'll answer every question I ask. Unfortunately, for its general use, it sets up reactions in the body which lead to blood cancer. Those unfortunate enemies it is used on always die. Nothing can save them."

  April stared at the disturbed man. It seemed ironic that this one man could succeed single-handed in doing what a powerful international organization like THRUSH had failed to do: Bring the world to its knees.

  And Royce could do it if he regained control of the monstrous trigger bomb. He was so disturbed mentally that he would either rule or destroy everything.

  The terrible danger facing herself did not disturb April Dancer.

  But the fate waiting for all humanity caused the young girl an apprehension beyond anything she had ever known before in her life.

  Mixed with April's fear was an angry bitterness that the solution to the whole problem was so near; yet so far Royce was the key to the whole thing. Kill him and the: menace disappeared. Find the' trigger bomb and dismantle it, was the final step. The girl from U.N. C.L.E. was sure that even THRUSH would never dare to build another model of the terrible weapon. It would all end if she could just cover the ten feet between them and destroy the frustrated egomaniac threatening them all.

  Royce interrupted her furious thinking with an impatient: "What is keeping that fool Clermont? He should have had the serum to me by now."

  "You'll never find what you're looking for," April said. "I told Mr. Waverly where I hid---"

  "Waverly doesn't have it!" Royce snapped. "That I know!"

  "You don't know anything about---"

  "Hush!" he snapped suddenly as a hidden speaker started to crackle. Royce's eyes glowed as he leaned forward to listen. He looked across at April.

  "You will see now how I know so much about U.N.C.L.E.," he said. "You forget that I am considered a very brilliant physicist by those who know the field. But even they underestimate me. What you are hearing, Miss Dancer, is the extension of an U.N.C.L.E. pen-communicator antenna. I have determined the secret broadcast wave length and constructed a decoder. It unscrambles the code which this ingenious U.N.C.L.E. broadcaster automatically converts the voice into before transmitting it."

  April Dancer paled in spite of her almost iron self control. She knew from Royce's dossier that he was a brilliant man. He had a mind capable of breaking the U.N.C.L.E. code if anybody could. Such an instrument would hit U.N.C.L.E. operatives a hard blow. Of more immediate concern, it might well prove the last nail in Mark Slate's coffin.

  The thing she feared most proved true. It was Mark's communicator cast that Royce was tuned in on.

  April heard Mark say, "Mr. Waverly? Come in, sir."

  "This is Waverly," the U.N.C.L.E. chief's voice said.

  Royce looked across and laughed softly at the dismay April could not prevent showing on her face.

  "Sir," Mark said. "I followed a man who apparently has an appointment to see Royce. As I understand it, Royce was smuggled back into the U.S. by THRUSH agents and set up in a private laboratory here in the Los Angeles area. This was before he betrayed the organization by stealing the first working model of the trigger bomb.”

  “You have the location of his laboratory?”

  “Yes sir, but the FBI checked the place earlier on a tip that Royce had reentered the U.S. The laboratory has been taken over by a private group. They seem to be clean. No sign of Royce was found.”

  “Give me the location, if you are going there," Waverly said. "If there is trouble I can dispatch help at once."

  "Yes, sir," Mark said. "I got the lead on this man from hearing him inquire in the Golden Cock about April Dancer."

  "Could this have been a trick to gain your interest?"

  April clinched her fists and leaned forward, fearful of Mark's answer. Royce's face hardened. He seemed scarcely to breathe as he also waited to hear April's partner's reply.

  "I don't think so," Mark said. "I asked the receptionist at the Golden Cock about him."

  April's taut
breath came out in a deep sigh. She knew from Royce's previous statement that the receptionist was in his pay.

  "She told me," Mark went on, "that the man's name is Clermont. He is a nuclear physicist who switched to that field after losing his license to practice medicine. He was formerly associated with Royce."

  "And he is headed for this former laboratory Royce used?"

  "It is located on a large millionaire-type estate," Mark said. "He entered the gate. I am just getting ready to follow him."

  Mark went on to give the exact location.

  "Excellent," Mr. Waverly said.

  "It is possible Royce has a secret hideout on the estate. If so, we can take definite measures. Continue to follow this Dr. Clermont. If you lose him, or if you think there is a possibility of Royce hiding on the estate, I will arrange with Los Angeles officials and utilities companies to cut all power, water and gas lines into the estate."

  "Yes, sir," Mark said. "This is assuredly an underground hideout, if there is one. Loss of power would stop any ventilation system. Royce would be forced in to the open."

  "Exactly," Waverly said.

  "He has April with him."

  "Do all you can to protect Miss Dancer. But this man's threat to the world is so great that---"

  "I understand, sir," Mark said.

  "And April will too."

  "Very well. Carry on, Mr. Slate.” I will rely on you."

  The communication cut off. "They are going to sacrifice me," April said quickly. "Now you see you can trust me. I'll tell you where I hid the trigger bomb. But I want my price."

  He looked at her uncertainly.

  His indecision and growing alarm was plainly evident.

  "What is this price'?" he asked slowly.

  April hesitated, wondering what she could say that would most impress him.

  "When you form your new world government, you will still have to break the earth into states. I want to head the English state. I want to be Queen of England!"

  He nodded thoughtfully. This was something he could understand. But he did not immediately answer.

  April waited, her tenseness growing, but she managed to maintain an outward calm. Watching him, the girl from U.N.C.L.E. was struck by the complete lack of resemblance between him and the traditional mad scientist concept. He was a handsome man, and except when he triggered one of his rages, normal looking. All the records agreed that he was a brilliant man also. But like Hitler, this brilliance was tainted by two demons that drove him in the wrong direction.

  One was his consuming hunger to be at the top. The other was the eroding complex that his genius was not appreciated. This was triggered, she thought, by his inability to take orders from anyone. He bitterly resented anyone telling him what to do. If he could not control then he would destroy.

  Finally, Royce's face hardened.

  April Dancer knew before he spoke that her bid to trick him had failed again. It did not surprise her. She threw out the suggestion as an act of desperation because there was nothing else she could do right then.

  "No," Royce said slowly and thoughtfully. "I cannot trust anyone who has been brainwashed by Waverly. I think you are playing for time. You would send me off on a wild goose chase to give U.N.C.L.E. time to go through with Waverly's threat to drive me out of here."

  "But---" April began.

  "It is safer my way," he said impatiently. "It is absolutely sure. You will tell me everything I need to know."

  She tried to argue, but he refused to listen. He kept pacing up and down the room while he awaited Dr. Clermont's arrival.

  Time dragged. April knew it could not be long, since Mark's pen-communicator broadcast to Waverly said Clermont had already entered the estate grounds.

  Then suddenly the hidden speaker in Royce's desk crackled again, indicating another pen-communicator broadcast. Royce whirled to listen.

  April's heart felt like a giant hand had reached in her chest and was squeezing as she heard Mark say: "You were right about a hidden layout here, sir. Clermont tried to trick me into thinking he was going into the mansion. Instead he took a hidden doorway set in the estate wall. I am about to follow him."

  Just the suggestion of a smile crossed Royce's face.

  "This pen-communicator decoder is the most important tool I have," he said. "I built it for THRUSH, but when they betrayed by promoting a man without half my ability, I took it with me when I left. It has been worth a hundred agents to me, for it permits me to sit by the side of Waverly himself!"

  He stopped to listen to Waverly's reply.

  "Very good, Mr. Slate," the U.N.C.L.E. chief said. "I am alerting our other operatives to come to your assistance. Keep in touch with me as much as possible."

  "Yes, sir," Mark said. "I will report in whenever I can."

  "Good," Waverly said. "Anytime we do not hear from you within two hours of the last report, we will assume you have failed. Otherwise, we will hold back, waiting for you to do what you can. We cannot afford to alert the enemy by putting in too many men unless we must."

  "That is fine, sir," Mark said.

  "At this stage I can work best alone. I will call for help just as soon as it will do any good."

  "Excellent, Mr. Slate. We will be waiting."

  "And I will be waiting also," Royce said as the communicator cut off. "We have two hours before U.N.C.L.E. will launch its concentrated attack. That is plenty of time for what I need to do. Once I have that weapon back in my hands no one on earth will dare attack me!"

  "Why can't you just skip out and build another one?" April asked, again playing for time.

  She did not know why the idea had not occurred to Royce before, but if he could be persuaded, it would delay his threat to the world by months. That would give time for someone to find and destroy him. At the moment he was being pursued by the FBI on a charge of treason to the U.S., by the Russians for defecting from their employ, by THRUSH, and by the agents from U.N.C.L.E. It would be impossible for Royce to evade such a determined and efficient group of men for long.

  An expression of frustrated regret crossed Royce's face.

  "I did not develop the bomb myself," he said shortly. "It was theorized by a renegade Red Chinese scientist who sold the secret to THRUSH. It was supposed to set up a nuclear reaction in steel. But fortunately just before it was test fired--- and maybe it was unfortunate---a computerized review of the basic formulae showed that it would also set the air on fire, consuming all the air in the world.

  "They gave me the formulae for review. I immediately realized the possibilities," Royce went on. "I saw the opportunity to force those fools and the rest of the world with them to give me the appreciation I deserve!"

  He opened the desk drawer and took one of the three-way THRUSH guns. He snapped the catch from bullets to the paralysis pellets.

  "Now," he said with satisfaction, "I am ready for this Mark Slate!"

  THIRTEEN

  FINAL FURY

  Mark Slate closed the antenna on his pen communicator and steps leading to Franklyn Royce's underground retreat.

  His soft crepe rubber soles made no noise, but he could hear the shuffle of Dr. Clermont's shoes ahead of him. He had his U.N.C.L.E. gun in his hand. Then, uncertain of the immediate future, he extended the antenna of his pen-communicator. He left the transmitting unit in his pocket, however. He only wanted to insure that Waverly was tuned in on what happened if something went wrong as he tried to rush his way into Royce's hiding place.

  After a short distance, the narrow corridor widened into a room. Mark suspected that this was an anteroom which opened into the secret laboratory.

  To reassure Waverly at the other end of the pen-communicator circuit, Mark Slate slipped one hand into the pocket with the transmitter. Gently he tapped his thumbnail on the speaker cover, spelling out Okay in Morse code.

  Mark could now hear Clermont stumbling across the room in total darkness, but he did not try to follow. He expected light to flash out when the inner door
was open. He pushed his way along the opposite wall. He kept straining his ears to keep Clermont's position pinpointed. His gun was trained at the spot where he thought the renegade scientist's back would be. When the door opened Mark hoped to get a shot past Clermont and into Royce. Clermont was a minor danger compared to the world wrecker.

  He heard the former medical practitioner say, "Royce? Royce! It is I, Clermont. Open up."

  Mark stiffened. He knew the man's call had been picked up by the sensitive speaker of the pen-communicator. He tapped a Morse okay on the case again and waited tensely for something to happen.

  What came was totally unexpected. Brilliant lights flashed beams from each of the four walls. It was as if he had been dropped into the sun. There was light everywhere, totally blinding. Mark Slate could see nothing and the brilliance sent stabs of pain through his tortured eyeballs.

  He heard Clermont squall in fear. "Royce! Royce! "What are you doing! You're blinding me."

  "You are no longer necessary to my success," Royce replied in a calm voice.

  Mark fired blindly at the sound of the embittered scientist's voice. He swept the gun in an arc, spraying explosive bullets over a wide area to make up for having to shoot blindly.

  He heard Clermont scream above the din in the closed room. He stopped shooting. The blinding light still blotted out all sight for him. He could not determine its sources so he could shoot them out. The light seemed to come from everywhere.

  Mark Slate stood there, his head and eyes throbbing from the piercing pain.

  He thought he heard a noise and shot at it.

  Then Mark thought he heard a sound behind him. He whirled. Abruptly there seemed another noise to the side. He jerked around again. He kept turning until he lost all sense of direction in the room.

  Bewildered, he continued to turn. He couldn't see the floor anymore. Mark Slate felt suspended in a ball of light.

  But only for a moment. Suddenly the light went out---for him alone. He pitched forward on his face. Franklyn Royce, his eyes protected by extra heavy welder's goggles, stooped over his stunned body and dragged Mark Slate into the lab-oratory. He took the precaution of clapping handcuffs on the U.N.C.L.E. agent's legs and wrists as he had April.