The Mind-Twisters Affair

by Thomas. Stratton

  Napoleon made a short U-turn at the end of the street and pulled up behind a dark green Sprite with a racing stripe running along the hood. As they got out, Napoleon eyed the stripe for a second and glanced at the unmarked gray surface of the U.N.C.L.E. car.

  "I suppose using the computer in a rally would be unsporting," he said regretfully.

  "Very," Illya agreed as he rang the front door bell. A few seconds later, the door opened cautiously. A small woman, apparently in her late forties, peered out, squinting against the setting sun.

  "What can I do for you?" she inquired.

  "I'm Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin," Napoleon began, holding out his identity card.

  Before he had a chance to say more, the woman darted out onto the porch, closing the door softly behind her. "From U.N.C.L.E.?" she asked. "You're the ones who've been writing to Richard?"

  "Mrs. Armden?" Illya inquired. Receiving a nod, he continued. "It was actually our superior, Mr. Waverly, who wrote your husband; he and Dr. Morthley. But we represent U.N.C.L.E. and…"

  "I'm very glad to meet you," she said, "but I don't think it would be advisable for you to come in right now. There are two of Richard's associates with him, and the conversation just turned to Dr. Morthley and U.N.C.L.E. They seem quite bitter."

  "Speak of the devil," Napoleon said. "You mean it's not just your husband who has suddenly decided that U.N.C.L.E. is basically evil?"

  "Oh, no. Sometimes I think it's the whole town. Yesterday I even heard Richard talking to the boy who delivers our groceries. Maybe the boy was just being polite, but it didn't sound that way."

  "Do you have any idea what happened to change them?" Napoleon asked. "Your husband worked for us several times before."

  "I know," she said. "When we got the first letter about a month ago, I assumed he would work for you this time. Now that I think back, he'd been acting strangely for a short time previously, but I hadn't paid any attention. This time he just ignored the letter, but the next one seemed to annoy him. Finally, when Willard phoned last week, he seemed to go off the deep end. Since then he's been ranting about U.N.C.L.E. to everyone he meets."

  "But do you know what changed him?" Napoleon persisted. "You obviously don't feel this way yourself."

  "No, I can't imagine what could have changed him. Of course, I was sick for some time; I wasn't noticing much. I'm over it now, except for a strict diet and avoiding exercise. The doctor said I'm as good as new. But apparently the change came while I was still in bed."

  "He's never mentioned anything specific to you?" Napoleon asked.

  "Nothing. I'm not even sure what he dislikes about U.N.C.L.E. He never says anything specific."

  "Could we see him?" Illya asked, moving toward the door. "Perhaps he'd tell us what's troubling him."

  Mrs. Armden shook her head. "I'm afraid you'd just make him worse."

  "We'll have to see him some time, Mrs. Armden," Napoleon said politely. "We've driven almost a thousand miles. Mr. Waverly and Dr. Morthley are very concerned about him."

  She silently debated with herself before answering. "Very well, I suppose you must. But try not to..." Her voice trailed off for a moment before she continued. "I hope you can help."

  "We'll do our best," Napoleon assured her.

  Mrs. Armden gave the impression of squaring her shoulders as she turned to open the door and lead the two agents into the house. They stopped in an archway leading to a comfortable-looking living room. A small, wiry man with a bristling gray crewcut rose from an armchair to greet them. Two other men, both younger, remained seated on a couch.

  "Richard," Mrs. Armden said to the older man, "these are friends of Willard. They've come all the way from New York to…"

  "From U.N.C.L.E., you mean?" Armden said shortly. "Some people just won't take no for an answer."

  "We do work for U.N.C.L.E.," Napoleon admitted, "but we are here because we're friends of Dr. Morthley."

  "Who also works for U.N.C.L.E.," Armden said, unimpressed. "I used to be a friend of his, until he was subverted by his other alleged friends." He laughed shortly. "I always thought he would have better sense than to be taken in by your kind."

  "But you also used to work for us," Napoleon pointed out. "You seem to be the one who has changed, not Dr. Morthley."

  Armden's face froze for a second, then, as if something had clicked in his mind, he began speaking rapidly. "That was before I knew the truth about you. Now that I know, I'm through. You'll never get me back into that den of murderers!"

  "Interesting," Napoleon commented, watching Armden. "How did you find out the truth?"

  "I'm sure you'd like to know," Armden said. "Then you could stop other people from learning about you. But you're too late; it's becoming common knowledge. Now then, I have better things to do with my time than waste it on you. If you will leave, I can get back to my real friends."

  Armden turned his back on them and sat down with finality. The other two men smiled approvingly at him. "Don't waste our time," one of them said. "Run back to Mr. Waverly and tell him that U.N.C.L.E. doesn't fool us out here."

  The two agents glanced at one another. Mrs. Armden stood behind them, looking nervous.

  "That would seem to be that," Illya remarked.

  Napoleon nodded agreement and turned to go. Mrs. Armden scurried along the hallway and opened the door. Back on the porch, Napoleon asked, "How long has this been going on? You said something about his acting strangely before he received our letters."

  "I can't say when it began; I was sick and he was worried, and neither of us was behaving normally. I noticed some – oddities - in his actions. Whatever it was, I just assumed that he had a problem at work. There wasn't anything really definite until the letters arrived. Since then, it seems to have been getting steadily worse."

  "And he's never been any more specific than he was tonight?"

  "Never." She laughed nervously.

  Napoleon looked thoughtful. "If we're going to find out anything useful, it's going to take more than this evening. Can you recommend a good hotel, Mrs. Armden?"

  "There's only one hotel in town. It's just north of the square." She pointed vaguely northeast.

  "Thank you," Napoleon said. "We'll be in touch with you again before the weekend is over."

  She didn't seem overjoyed at the prospect, but she managed a weak smile as they walked to the car. Napoleon motioned Illya into the driver's seat and pulled out his communicator as he slid into the passenger's side.

  "Yes, Mr. Solo?" Waverly's voice came to them as the car pulled away from the curb. "I've been waiting to hear from you. Have you communicated with Dr. Armden?"

  "I don't think that's quite the right term. We talked with him briefly, but I don't think we communicated with him."

  "That's hardly unusual in the world today, Mr. Solo. I sometimes think that's one of our biggest problems; great amounts of talk but no communication. But that's neither here nor there, is it? What seems to be the matter with Dr. Armden?"

  "It's hard to say," Napoleon began. "It was a little like talking to a politician who has a set of platitudes but no real knowledge. We couldn't get him to give a direct answer." He recounted their meeting with Armden and his friends.

  "So the unfriendliness isn't restricted to Dr. Armden," Waverly mused. "I was afraid of that. Do you know if these other people have influenced him, or have they, too, been acted on by some mysterious force?

  "Mrs. Armden gave the impression that no one individual was responsible for influencing her husband. We plan to stay here overnight and investigate further. Tomorrow will be Saturday, and we can reach most of the people we want to see. Perhaps we'll have more definite information for you then."

  "Very well, Mr. Solo. There is one other person you might particularly want to speak to. Dr. Arnold Bennett is also employed by Falco, and he also once did some work for us." Waverly paused for a second before continuing. "Approach Dr. Bennett with caution, and keep me informed of the results. This be
gins to look a trifle sinister."

  "Thrush, sir?" Napoleon speculated.

  "Perhaps. It wouldn't do any harm to find if Dr. Armden's dislike for U.N.C.L.E. is accompanied by a corresponding fondness for Thrush. However, I don't want my agents to work on the assumption that Thrush is at the root of every problem. There are other inimical forces in the world. Remember to keep an open mind, Mr. Solo."

  "Are there any local agents we could contact for information?" Napoleon asked.

  Waverly thought for a moment. "The nearest major office would be Chicago, I believe. We have an office in Fort Wayne, but it's quite small; only one full-time agent. I seem to recall one or two part-time agents near Midford; we have several scattered throughout northern Indiana. Their duty is primarily information gathering, but they might be able to render you some assistance, particularly since information is precisely what we are after here. I'll have a check made, and give you a list of names and addresses the next time you check in."

  "Right, sir," Napoleon said. "I'll report in as soon as we've talked with Dr. Bennett. Solo out.

  Napoleon replaced the communicator in his pocket and settled back in the seat. Another typical U.N.C.L.E. vacation, he thought. Relax and enjoy yourself, and keep your eyes open for any Thrushes who happen to be vacationing in your vicinity.

  Chapter 2

  "The Hardest Part Is Finding A Rose With Hips"

  DR. BENNETT LIVED ON a street bordering the Midford University campus. Illya insisted that they walk and enjoy the Hoosier autumn. They spotted Bennett's house from a block away, Bennett out on the lawn.

  The man looked up from a lawn mower as they approached. "You still around?" he asked sharply. "What are you after now?"

  "You're Dr. Arnold Bennett?" Napoleon asked.

  "Yes, if it's any of your business."

  "We understand you've done work for U.N.C.L.E. in the past, Dr. Bennett. We wondered why your attitude is so different now."

  "I've come to my senses, is all," Bennett said impatiently.

  "What's your opinion of Thrush?" Illya put in quickly.

  "Thrush?" Bennett looked at them uncomprehendingly. "I'm a chemist, not a birdwatcher. Good day!" He gave the mower a vicious shove that almost ran it over Illya's foot, then turned and moved away across the lawn.

  "I'm glad he doesn't have a power mower," Illya remarked as he watched Bennett disappear around the house into the back yard.

  Napoleon was looking across the street at the campus. "Remember what Mrs. Armden said last night, about sometimes thinking the whole town had changed? Let's check someone from out of town."

  "And let's hope Armden and friends haven't been broadcasting our description," Illya said as they started across the street.

  In the middle of a small area of trees and carefully mowed grass stood a middle aged, portly gentleman, peering about with a distracted air. He looked up as the two agents approached.

  "Have either of you gentlemen chanced to see a stray wombat this morning?" he asked, smiling uncertainly.

  Napoleon looked startled. "I don't think so; what does a wombat look like?"

  "Like a groundhog with delusions of grandeur," Illya explained and turned to their new acquaintance. "No, we haven't seen one. Is one missing?" Napoleon remained silent and made believe he knew what a groundhog looked like.

  "Yes, Eyre seems to have vanished again," the portly man replied. "We named him Eyre because he's a long distance traveler; he's gotten loose before. He always comes back, of course, but he can cause rather expensive damage if we don't find him in time."

  "Damage?" Napoleon asked.

  "Wombats dig," Illya informed him.

  Their portly acquaintance chuckled. "That's rather like saying that Hitler was a troublemaker, you know," he said. "A bit of an understatement, that is. Yes, they dig. They tend to undermine things." He glanced at the building near them. "Does the science building look a trifle tilted to you? No, that's ridiculous. But he must be around here somewhere."

  "I'm afraid we wouldn't be of much help in a wombat hunt," Napoleon explained.

  "Oh, yes, of course. You didn't come over here to help me hunt Eyre, so you must have come for some other reason. Deductive reasoning, you know. Now then, my name is Epaminondas T. Dodd; I'm head of the biology department here at Midford. Can I help you in any way?"

  "Why, yes," Napoleon replied glibly, "I'm looking for a good, solid university for my nephew."

  "Oh, I'm sure that Midford can fulfill any expectations," Dodd said. "You really should see President McLaughlin, but he's gone today. I suppose I could show you the science building."

  "That seems fair enough," Napoleon said. "I'm merely making a preliminary report."

  "Very well; come along. Since Eyre isn't about the grounds, we'll have to notify the Midford police department to be on the lookout for him. Sometimes I wonder if the prestige of being one of the few American universities to own a live wombat is really worth the trouble he causes."

  They walked toward the building. "University life these days is so disruptive," said Napoleon. "Respect for authority is becoming a thing of the past. I hope that here at least it might be different. My brother is quite insistent on a good conservative college for his son.

  "Oh, I'm sure Midford is conservative enough for you," Dodd assured him. "Just a few of the students tend to get out of hand now and then. Argue for student-privileges, write letters to the newspapers, read Henry Miller - that sort of thing. But the majority of our students are solid, hardworking types."

  "I've heard, though," said Illya, "that a member of your faculty has given his services on occasion to some liberal international outfit in New York - U.N.C.L.E., I think it's called."

  Dodd nodded. "I suppose that would be Professor Curtis. He's in the psychology department, and you know they're inclined to be a bit more liberal than we in the sciences. But I really doubt that he will be working with them again."

  "Oh?" Napoleon looked interested. "Why?"

  "Well, I couldn't say about that," Dodd replied. "We don't move in the same circles, you know. But last week there was a memorandum sent around by President McLaughlin, saying that members of the faculty were forbidden to accept outside employment with any organizations whose policies were inconsistent with the goals of the University. There was a list of forbidden organizations, and I'm sure U.N.C.L.E. was one of them." Dodd looked a little puzzled. "Personally I never heard of U.N.C.L.E. - or most of the others on the list. But conservatively speaking, I'm sure you can see that your nephew will be in good hands here."

  Napoleon smiled ingratiatingly. "I'm sure he would, but would it be possible to speak to Professor Curtis?"

  Dodd consulted his watch. "I think so. He's usually in his office on Saturday mornings. I can introduce you, if you can wait a few minutes until I phone about Eyre."

  "No need to trouble yourself," said Napoleon.

  "He doesn't seem familiar with Thrush," Illya remarked as they started across the campus, following his directions. "Either they aren't involved, or they're keeping well under cover."

  When they found Professor Curtis he was grading tests while a girl across the desk from him was making a tabulation of some kind from another stack of papers. Napoleon introduced himself and Illya, then repeated his story about a fictitious nephew. Then he mentioned the memorandum that Dodd had told them about.

  Curtis nodded pleasantly. "I don't understand what Gaspar thinks he's up to. I'm the only faculty member who has ever worked for U.N.C.L.E. or any of the other organizations on his fool list, and he knows that I'm not going to pay any attention to it. I suppose it's all part of a deal to get another donation from someone."

  "You mean if U.N.C.L.E. asked you to help them out, you'd do it, in spite of the memorandum?" Napoleon looked mildly disapproving.

  "Of course I would. In the first place, U.N.C.L.E. pays its research consultants very well."

  Napoleon and Illya exchanged startled glances.

  "In the second plac
e," Curtis continued, oblivious of his visitors' amazement, "what I do with my spare time is my own business." Curtis reached into a desk drawer, pulled out a bottle containing a pale liquid, and took a drink.

  "Rutabaga juice," he explained. "I'd offer you some, but it tastes terrible. Very nourishing, however; I always have some in the middle of the morning. Much healthier than those abominations you get from the soft drink machines on campus."

  "I take it you're an advocate of health foods," Napoleon said. "Yoghurt, wheat germ, that sort of thing?'

  Curtis threw back his head and laughed, a full throated sound that didn't seem to go with his small, wiry frame. "You forgot to mention blackstrap molasses. I've often wondered why the general public picked those particular items as representative of health foods, when there are so many others with less repellent names and superior nutritive value. Some of them even taste good. Take rose hip extract, for example. I'll be making some next week; they hit their peak vitamin content in October, you know."

  Napoleon nodded sagely. "I suppose the hardest part is finding a rose with hips."

  Curtis chuckled politely. "Rose hips are simply the seed pods of the rose. Properly prepared, rose hip extract provides as much vitamin C per glass as you can get from one hundred glasses of orange juice."

  "Fascinating," Illya said, "but…"

  "Of course," Curtis continued, "while I prefer my own preparations, I haven't the time or the raw materials, so to speak, to prepare all my own food. I buy most of it. If you're interested, I have some literature. This rutabaga juice," he eyed the bottle critically, "comes from Irwin Vita-Glo, and seems decidedly inferior."

  "This is all very interesting," Napoleon said desperately, "but it's not really why we came." He noted that the girl was fighting a losing battle to keep from laughing.