Napoleon pushed open his door and looked up. After a second, he spotted a noisy speck well up in the sky. It appeared to be hovering.
"And you didn't tell me? What kind of a friend are you?"
"A considerate one. We've no assurance that it is following us, and even if it is, what do you propose to do about it?"
Napoleon shrugged. "Nothing, I suppose. As long as it stays that high." He closed the door and his eyes almost simultaneously.
Illya drove silently. At the next stop for gas, there was a helicopter hovering overhead. They discussed the possibilities, and decided to stay on the turnpike. The side roads wouldn't hide them from aerial observation, and Napoleon thought they might be able to outrun a conventional helicopter on a straightaway. Also, there were several tunnels ahead.
The traffic had picked up, so neither Napoleon nor Illya immediately noticed the two large sedans that merged smoothly into traffic in front of them. Napoleon, who was driving, was only mildly irritated when the sedans pulled even with one another and blocked both lanes while moving slightly slower than he wanted to travel. After a few minutes of this, both cars began to slow down, still carefully abreast. At the same time, two similar cars appeared in his rear-view mirror, blocking both lanes behind him.
"It would seem," Napoleon said, nodding toward the cars ahead, "that they've called in the ground forces."
Illya put his head out the window and peered up. "The air force is closing in, too."
"This would seem to settle any doubts about Thrush being involved. No one else I know can afford massed ranks of cars and a helicopter to run us down. I hate to say I told you so, but…"
"But you'll make an exception for a friend; I know." Illya interrupted him.
Napoleon was driving carefully, watching the four cars. They were still slowing, and the two in back were drawing closer. Then one of the cars in the rear began to draw ahead of the other. Napoleon promptly swung the U.N.C.L.E. car in front of it, and it dropped back and its companion pulled ahead. By now they could hear the roar of the approaching helicopter.
"We're thoroughly boxed in," Napoleon reported. "Looks like they may try to run us off the road."
Illya looked calmly at the sheer drop a few feet from the right lane of traffic. "If we're going to be run off the road, I'd suggest getting into the left lane. The median strip is steep, but it may not be a total disaster. I wonder if they've given up trying to get Armden back alive?"
Napoleon swung into the left lane, and the following cars reversed their positions. He eyed the dash panel speculatively. "There must be something to use in a situation like this."
"With a dozen ordinary motorists in the line of fire," Illya suggested, "our choices are limited. I can just see the U.N.C.L.E. image after we've wiped a flamethrower across a car full of innocent bystanders."
"And the laser system has the same drawback," Napoleon muttered. "At least the flamethrowers are a relatively short-range weapon. Still, we'd better have something; they're closing in fast."
He studied the road and the surrounding cars, and suddenly brightened. "This won't lose the helicopter," he announced, "but it won't damage the innocent bystanders, either."
A hundred yards ahead, a police crossover was built across the median strip. As they approached it, Napoleon's hand hovered over a button on the dash. Suddenly he stabbed the button, accelerated until he was directly behind the cars ahead, and then bit the brakes and swerved into the crossover. The cars behind disappeared into a thick cloud of smoke ejected from the rear of the U.N.C.L.E. car. Napoleon cut off the smoke screen as they bounced across the median strip and turned into the opposite lanes of the dual highway as angry motorists tooted irritably at them. Behind them, a section of the east bound lanes was blanketed by a dense smoke screen which was already beginning to dissipate. The four Thrush cars were moving slowly eastward, looking for a place to cross the median, while the cars behind honked at them for blocking traffic.
Napoleon had accelerated after crossing the median, but after seeing the success of his maneuver he slowed to keep the U.N.C.L.E. car in the normal traffic flow. A short while later an exit appeared, and Napoleon swung off the turnpike.
There was no sign of the Thrush cars as they pulled up to the toll booth, but the helicopter was an ominous speck in the sky. Rather than try to explain why they were in a westbound lane with an eastbound ticket, Napoleon confessed to losing his ticket, and paid for the entire distance.
"I can see you trying to explain that on your expense account," Illya commented.
"My expense account? It was your neck, too!"
"But you were driving," Illya pointed out. He looked up. "They're still with us."
"The copter must have spotted us and radioed ahead to set up the ambush," Napoleon said. "They can do the same thing again, though we'll have more boltholes on this sort of a road." He paused thoughtfully. "How does one lose a helicopter?"
"With great difficulty, I suspect," Illya said. He struggled to get turned around in the crowded quarters. "Open the weapons compartment, will you? I want to see what we have."
Napoleon pressed another button on the dash and a panel slid up, revealing a compartment behind it. Illya reached back into it, fished around for awhile, and brought out something that looked like the results of a violent collision between a target revolver and a small air gun.
Napoleon gave it a sidelong glance. "You've been playing with the new ordnance again," he accused. "That's one I haven't even seen."
"You should spend more time in the labs. This is a Mercox dart projectile gun."
"Dart?" Napoleon exclaimed. "I read about that fellow in the Congo who shot down a helicopter with a bow and arrow, but I didn't realize he'd made such an impression on our technical staff."
"Patience, Napoleon," Illya soothed. "This uses the gas from a blank cartridge to fire various projectiles: tear gas, dye marker, hypodermic darts, shaped charges - just about anything you want. The original gun is extremely versatile, and this one has been worked over somewhat by our lab boys." He rummaged through the weapons compartment again and triumphantly held up a handful of cartridges that looked like small rockets.
"Our HE-37 explosive, in a shaped charge that projects almost the entire force forward. It can do almost as much damage as a light field piece, if the opposition comes within range."
"I knew there was a catch to it," Napoleon commented. "What's the effective range?"
"About eighty yards, which is a bit more than the original version would do."
"Oh, fine. Don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes. What about the rockets in the car doors?"
Illya considered. "Since they're fixed to fire horizontally, I don't think I'd want to try them against a helicopter unless we stop and take the door off. I know they have a heat-seeking device, but I'm afraid if we launched one here, it would be more likely to destroy a herd of cows than the helicopter."
"All right, then; the problem is to lure the copter close enough for you to use your hybrid there." Napoleon began to watch the roadside for an opportunity. The helicopter had descended to perhaps five hundred feet, where it remained.
In the next half hour, no opportunity presented it self. Then, just as both agents were beginning to wonder when the next covey of Thrushes would appear, the helicopter suddenly abandoned its cautious stalking and began to descend.
"Here they come," Illya said. "And unless I'm mistaken, they mean business."
As if to confirm Illya's suspicions, there was a rattling sound and a line of tiny pits appeared in the highway ahead of them. Napoleon swerved into the other lane and floored the accelerator. The firing stopped as the car pulled away. The car had more acceleration than the helicopter and on a straight road it would have had more speed. But they weren't on a straight road; in a few minutes, the helicopter pulled even with them again.
"Hang on!" Napoleon said as he spotted a side road that looked as though it ran through some fairly thick trees. He applied the
brakes vigorously and skidded into the road.
"We're in luck," he said, eyeing the trees that lined both sides of the road and met in a multi-colored arch over their heads. For at least a few hundred yards, they were invisible from the air. Napoleon pulled off to one side of the road and stopped directly under one of the larger trees. He shut off the motor and climbed out of the car.
"Let's go down a few trees and see what happens when they find out we're not coming out the other end of the woods," he said, pulling his U.N.C.L.E. Special from its shoulder holster.
Illya followed, carrying the Mercox in one hand and stuffing projectiles into a pocket with the other. Judging from the sound, the helicopter was hovering a few hundred yards further down the road.
"Wait a minute," Illya said. "I'll need some help with this; come back and give me a boost."
Napoleon halted and looked around. Illya was standing at the base of a large tree, looking up into the branches. Napoleon walked back to him.
"It must be the country air," he said as he approached. "When we were looking for Dr. Morthley in Wisconsin last summer, you were constantly climbing trees. I think your ancestry is showing." He bent over to allow Illya to climb on his shoulders.
"This time you can stay on the ground," Illya assured him. "Just don't shoot at the helicopter through the branches of this particular tree."
"Don't worry; I seldom shoot at things I can't see."
"Precisely why I'm climbing up here," Illya said, as he disappeared into the higher branches.
A minute later, the sound of the helicopter grew louder as it flew directly overhead. It apparently went back to the highway, then started slowly back along the road. The copter was almost over Illya's tree when he heard the loud whiplash crack of the Mercox. There was no following explosion; apparently Illya had missed. There was an answering fire from the helicopter, however. Trying to judge its location from the sound of the motor, he loosed several rounds through the branches of a tree about 20 yards from the one Illya was ensconced in. He ducked behind the trunk of the tree as several bullets rattled through the branches.
Almost simultaneously, there was a loud explosion from a nearby field. Napoleon whirled to stare, then relaxed as he realized that it was merely Illya's first round coming back down. He hoped there were no cows or farmers in the immediate vicinity.
The Mercox cracked a second time, and the sound of the shot was almost drowned out by the following explosion. The sound of the helicopter's engine changed immediately, shifting into a higher pitch as the gunner stopped firing. Then there was the sound of something crashing through the branches of the trees. A moment later, a large tubular piece of metal with a small rotor attached dropped with a clatter to the road. Illya came scrambling down from the tree.
"I shot the stabilizer off," he said, a mixture of smugness and surprise in his voice. "They may not crash right away, but they're going to be too dizzy to pay any attention to us."
Napoleon didn't reply. He hurried back to the car with Illya and looked admiringly at the Mercox as they repacked Armden.
Chapter 6
"What Is All This Stuff Under Here?"
WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN an easy six-hour trip on the turnpikes was on its way to becoming a twelve-hour endurance test on the regular and secondary highways of Pennsylvania. The fact that there were three of them stuffed into a car barely adequate for two made the situation that much worse. Until mid-afternoon, they had the advantage that Armden, jammed between the two agents, remained peacefully unconscious. Before they were through Pennsylvania, however, he woke up. His first words, after blinking and noting the crowded situation, were, predictably, "What happened? Where am I?"
Napoleon, who had been driving for the past fifty miles, slowed the car and prepared for whatever action Armden might be in the mood for. Illya reached in his pocket and closed his hand over the hypospray he had been keeping in readiness.
"You became ill when we were ready to leave for New York," Illya explained. "We decided to make the trip anyway, since it seemed you were in need of some specialized medical attention that we could provide." He watched Armden closely for any reaction.
"Ill?" Armden looked puzzled. "And we were about to leave for New York? But why..." His voice trailed off uncertainly and his brow wrinkled in frowning concentration. The two agents watched him carefully. After a minute his frown deepened. "I remember most of what happened," he said slowly, "but none of it makes any sense. I must have passed out."
"Yes, sir," Napoleon agreed. "What do you remember?"
"You two came last Friday, to find out why I had refused to..." Armden broke off incredulously. "But why should I have refused to help Willard Morthley? He's one of my oldest friends." He thought a moment, and went on. "When you came to the house, I was with Arnold Bennett, and -" He stopped, shaking his head. "Either I've just lost m mind, or I've been out of it for the past several weeks."
"I don't think so, sir," Illya assured him. "There have been other people acting the same way. Somehow, Thrush has been influencing you and a good portion of Midford. Professor Curtis suggested drugs or hypnosis but that's only a guess. I can't imagine how a drug could have been administered to that many people, unless Thrush sprayed the entire town with a crop-dust. And hypnosis seems even more difficult."
"You might have something there," Napoleon broke in. "Thrush does have a fairly extensive air force."
"We hope you'll be able to help us find out how Thrush managed it," Illya continued. "You have no objections to a complete examination?"
Armden shook his head. "Of course not. Anything that would explain the past month is more than welcome."
The agents relaxed; Illya removed his hand from the pocket containing the hypospray.
"How are you feeling?" Napoleon inquired. "You've been out cold for almost a full day. Think some food would do you any good?"
Armden nodded. A few minutes later Napoleon pulled into a drive-in. He spotted a section with picnic style tables and nosed the car up next to one. The three men got out of the car, Armden staggering a bit at first. After stretching their muscles, they all walked up to the self-service window.
A few minutes later, they moved back to the table, having avoided answering most of the inevitable questions about the car that were invariably asked by the other
customers. This sort of thing had happened at every stop, and the agents had by now developed a standard line of patter about cross country mileage tests and an experimental sports car. Illya usually pulled out a note book and asked for the names of anyone who wanted to receive free literature about the car. This usually discouraged most curiosity seekers, who were hesitant about having their names added to still another mailing list, but occasionally he would have to take down some names and addresses.
This looked like one of the times the notebook would be required. There hadn't been many customers, and all but one had quietly gone back to their own cars when the list was brought up. That one, however, was on his way to becoming a problem. A polite description, Illya decided, would be "garrulous old coot"
"Mileage test?" he was saying skeptically as he sat down uninvited across the table from Illya. "Nobody that gives a damn about mileage is gonna buy one of these. Lemme see that notebook; I'll bet you didn't even write my name down." He reached across the table toward Illya, practically dragging his jacket sleeve in Illya s coffee.
Illya irritably flipped the notebook open to show the man his name, Charley Lampton, and his address, meticulously recorded. Lampton turned abruptly to Armden and swung his arm around to point at him. "What about you? You're old enough to be their father. What are they up to, just between us old-timers, hey?"
Armden looked resentful, and avoided answering by taking a large bite from his Deluxe Iglooburger.
"He's a research physicist, and he's not my father," Napoleon said irritably.
Lampton turned his attention to Napoleon, who quickly snatched his coffee out of the path of the old coot's arm as it s
wung around like an erratic compass.
"Hey?" Lampton said.
"I said he's not my father," Napoleon repeated.
"Never said he was. Okay, if you're checking mileage, what is it? Hey?"
"24.7 at the last stop," Napoleon answered quickly. "We hope to do better than that on the way back, on the turnpikes and expressways," Illya added.
"Hey?" said Lampton. They repeated their statements. Lampton cackled. "You're pretty fast; you work together real well." He suddenly poked a finger at Napoleon's tie clip. Napoleon automatically jumped back, slopping a good portion of the coffee out of his cup.
"Real fast," Lampton said. "Sorry about that. I'll buy you another cup, hey?"
"It's all right; I'm already filled up with coffee."
"Hey?"
Gritting his teeth, Napoleon decided it would be easier to let the old coot buy him a cup. The man trotted off to get it, returned with it before the agents could get away, and planked himself down to watch Napoleon drink it.
Napoleon took a sip to be polite, decided that he really was filled up, and got up to leave.
"Don't waste good coffee," Armden said, picking up the cup and draining it hastily.
They walked around a bit for a final limbering-up before crawling back into the cramped car.
One hour and forty miles later, Napoleon shook his head violently. "Filled up or not, I think I should have drunk the coffee. Do you feel like taking it for awhile?" He glanced at Illya, who shook his head sleepily.
"Better not," Illya said slowly. "I don't know what it is, but I feel too tired to move. Maybe we should stop awhile and try to get a little sleep." Napoleon nodded agreement and started looking for a stopping place. On the outskirts of a small town he spotted a large drive-in and pulled in. As he nosed the car into a parking stall, Illya muttered something sleepily without opening his eyes. Armden was also dozing. After-effects of the drug, Napoleon assumed, since the man had had enough sleep for two or three people in the ordinary course of events. He stifled a yawn as he dropped the car keys into his pocket and walked slowly over to the self-service window just around the corner of the building.
The Mind-Twisters Affair Page 5
