The Genghis Khan Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  “Soviet missiles in China and going to Hanoi?” Solo said, his voice surprised. “That doesn’t sound logical.”

  “No, Mr. Solo, it does not sound logical. I cannot see what interest THRUSH would have in such a matter, in any event. It is now urgent that you reach Peking quickly. We must find out what is really behind those missiles!”

  “Roger,” Solo said. “I’m leaving in ten minutes.”

  “Very good. You will be met in Tirana, the usual recognition signals plus the code for the day: The Red Guard is active, and the reply. It’s a full moon.”

  “Roger,” Solo said.

  His pencil radio went silent. The boyish agent frowned for a moment. Waverly was right, there was something more behind this than missiles for Hanoi, some scheme of THRUSH that would be more deadly than any missiles in Hanoi.

  He looked at his watch. It was time. His pistol in place, the thermite foil and the smoke bombs concealed, Solo left the room a different man than the agent who entered. In his red fez and disguise he rode down in the elevator and checked out.

  He saw them as he crossed the lobby.

  Three men, Europeans, casually blocking the door. The bulge of a weapon was clear beneath the tropical suit coat of the tallest. Without breaking stride, Solo turned to the left and entered the hotel bar. Solo laid money on the bar and left the suitcase. He walked to the men’s room. Once in the men’s room he unlocked the second door he knew was there and went out, into the alley.

  He walked casually up the alley.

  Two more men stood at the exit from the alley. Solo turned back before they saw him. Now it was clear that they had all exits covered, the other end of the alley would be blocked also. Midway along the alley he spotted a door into the next building. It was locked.

  He used his concealed picklock and went inside.

  He stood in a corridor of some kind. He could hear the sound of office machines and typewriters. He concentrated and remembered that the ground floor of the building was occupied by a travel agency.

  He was apparently in a storage area.

  Cautiously he moved along the dim corridor until he came to where it opened, without a door, into a large office, where pretty girls typed or talked to customers at a long counter. As he was about to step out he saw the three men come into the travel agency.

  He flattened against the wall of the corridor. He tried to recall the layout of the building. There should be another exit at the street side on the street behind the Peninsula Hotel. He turned and went back along the corridor until he came to a cross corridor.

  He was halfway along this cross corridor toward what he was sure was a fire door that could only be opened from the inside, when a door suddenly opened beside him.

  Napoleon Solo whirled, his U.N.C.L.E. Special in his hand.

  Something stung his neck.

  Solo froze with his pistol in his hand, and then there was nothing at all. A black void into which Solo seemed to fall down and down with faces grinning at him.

  ACT II

  THE HAWK OR THE PIGEON?

  Napoleon Solo came awake slowly. First the black void seemed to grow lighter, turn grey and then a pale white. He did not open his eyes.

  He tested his muscles, moved his arms and then his feet. He was not paralyzed or bound. He seemed to be seated on some hard surface. A metal chair of some kind.

  Ready, Solo opened his eyes.

  He was in a bright room with flat grey walls. There were no doors or windows. There seemed to be no ceiling. He saw two men across the room with their backs to him. To their left he saw a man and a woman. No one was watching him!

  He gathered his muscles and leaped sideways out of the metal chair.

  Only he did not leap.

  A horrible pain struck his back and his legs and he sprawled in a heap on the floor. He ground his teeth against the pain. Slowly it eased, and Solo opened his eyes again and looked up. They were all standing over him with guns in their hands. The woman laughed. “How do you like our new chair, Napoleon?”

  “Very nice,” Solo said from the floor.

  He looked up at the woman. “Hello, Maxine. We do seem to run into each other.”

  “You’re my favorite assignment, Napoleon dear,” Maxine Trent said. She waved her pistol to the three men with her. “Put him back into the chair.”

  Solo was lifted and placed back into the chair. He looked at it with interest. It did not appear to have any wires. Maxine smiled. The tall, beautiful THRUSH agent waved her pistol at the chair.

  “One of our little toys, Napoleon,” Maxine said. “No wires, no ropes, no messy drugs. But if you try to get up it knocks you down. I can also control it, see?”

  The agonizing pain shot through Solo’s legs and up into his body. The agent cried out, and twisted in the metal chair. The pain went away, and Solo sat there sweating in the grey-walled room that had no windows, door or furniture other than the metal chair itself.

  “So you know you can’t escape. Right, Napoleon?” Maxine said.

  “I know I can’t escape,” Solo said.

  “Good,” the violet-eyed Maxine said, her six-foot frame, with all the curves exactly where they should be, bending toward Solo. “Then you will tell us all you know about Dr. Li Po Shue.”

  “Doctor who Po what?” Solo said innocently.

  Maxine sighed. “Really Napoleon, give us some credit. We trapped you like a chicken in a net. We know Waverly and Kalil Singh are both here in Hong Kong. They don’t come to an area headquarters unless they know something important is happening. We know that you watched, and followed, Dr. Li as far as the Sham Chun River. So, you know something. Now we want to know what it is.”

  “Waverly and Kalil Singh here?” Solo said. “I really wish people would tell me what’s going on. I---“

  The agonizing pain contorted Solo’s body again. When it ceased he sat shivering with sweat. Then he smiled.

  “You know better than this, Maxine. What will your superiors say if they hear you’re trying such crude methods?”

  Maxine nodded. “Of course, I’m just, shall we say, softening you up. And I have no superiors, Napoleon. This one is all mine.”

  Solo raised an eyebrow. “Yours? Are you on the Council now, Maxie?”

  “Just about, dear Napoleon. They’ve moved me way up, thanks partly to you,” Maxine said proudly.

  “To me? Well I’m glad to be of service,” Solo said.

  “You defeated so many area leaders, killed off so many of our people. They had to move me up, I’m still going. Survival and success, that’s how to get ahead.”

  “In THRUSH?”

  “Anywhere, Napoleon. Now I have my own area, and the Dr. Li project is all mine. But I must know what U.N.C.L.E. knows, or thinks they know. I won’t offer you a chance to join us again, although I could do a lot to start you off high up now, Napoleon.”

  “Don’t offer, Maxine. I’m afraid the way of getting ahead in THRUSH makes it a bit too dangerous as a career,” Solo said.

  “We’re simply realists, Napoleon. You in U.N.C.L.E. tend to be sentimental. That’s why we’ll win in the end.”

  “With Dr. Li and those missiles?” Solo said.

  Maxine nodded. “Yes, with those, miss…“

  The tall beautiful Woman stopped. Behind her three men muttered. Maxine stared at Solo with a coldness now in her violet eyes.

  “Tricks, Napoleon? So, you know that we are concerned with those missiles, but I now know that you at least connected Dr. Li to the missiles. Now you will tell me everything that you know, and Waverly knows.”

  “You know I won’t, Maxine,” Solo said with a grin, but his eyes were as firm as Maxine’s eyes.

  The tall, beautiful woman watched Solo for a moment with those violet eyes Solo had once seen under better conditions. Then she, too, smiled. She waved to her men. As if this was the signal they had been waiting for, the three sprung into action.

  One went behind Napoleon Solo and wheeled out a tape rec
order.

  The other two left the grey room. Solo watched them. He saw a portion of the wall open as if by itself. The men went through and the wall closed. Solo had not seen them touch anything. The exit was apparently operated completely from the outside. Which meant that somewhere in the walls was a one-way window through which the room was under observation.

  “Progress is a wonderful thing, Napoleon. Don’t you agree?” Maxine said.

  “I’m all for it,” Solo said. “I gather you’re trying to tell me something.”

  “I am, Napoleon. You see, I know that your subconscious is programmed to answer only gibberish under a trust serum, and I know, of course, that torture will probably not work. Our Council knows that, too.”

  “So?” Solo said warily.

  “So we’ve come up with an answer. We’ve made progress,” Maxine said.

  The wall opened again and the two men returned. They carried a small bottle and hypodermic. Solo looked at the bottle and hypodermic. The two men began to prepare the syringe.

  Maxine watched them, smiled at Solo. “You see, Napoleon, your programming works because the truth serums short-circuit your conscious mind and bring the subconscious up. You lose conscious control. The problem was to find a way to make you want to tell us, you see?”

  “A nice trick if you can do it,” Solo said.

  “But we have,” Maxine said. “It’s really quite beautiful. This little drug won’t hurt you at all. It leaves you in perfect control, conscious, sane, fully awake, even cheerful. Your subconscious never even becomes aware of what’s happening, so the programming doesn’t operate, see?”

  And just what is happening?” Solo said.

  “Why, you’re telling us everything we want to know---of your own free will!” Maxine said. “Or, to be accurate, without your will. You see, the drug saps your will, it makes you love us, want to tell us what we ask.”

  “I doubt it,” Solo said.

  “Really? Well, suppose we find out, eh?” Maxine said.

  The tall woman nodded to her men. One turned on the tape recorder. The other two stepped to Solo. The agent felt the needle go in. The other men stepped back. The man on the tape recorder bent over his dials. Maxine watched intently.

  “What does Waverly know about Dr. Li Po Shue?” Maxine said softly.

  Solo opened his mouth to laugh. The laugh did not come. He felt a sudden wave of peace, of quiet. Maxine looked very lovely. He smiled at Maxine. He felt limp, almost jelly, and yet was aware of Maxine and the others. They were pleasant people. “I won’t---“ Solo began.

  He knew that he must not tell. The question was not one that could be answered. But…

  “Waverly knows that Dr. Li Po Shue is dead,” Solo said.

  “Where is the man who says he is Dr. Li?”

  “In Peking,” Solo said, aware that he must not say it.

  “How did you learn that?”

  “Our key man in Peking, he sent a lengthy---“

  Solo talked on. The tape recorder wound slowly taking down all the words of the helpless agent.

  TWO

  Alexander Waverly and Kalil Singh sat in the secret room of the Hong Kong Headquarters of U.N.C.L.E. and continued to plan and analyze the situation of Dr. Li Po Shue.

  “Solo should report in shortly,” Waverly said. “We can give him the latest news on the real Dr. Li.”

  “Yes,” Kalil Singh said. “There is no doubt that the real Dr. Li is dead, and that he was in THRUSH hands before he died. I think---“

  A bell sounded suddenly in the Section-I room, low and urgent. Kalil Singh sat up straight and rigid. Waverly pressed a button.

  “Yes, Waverly here!”

  “Security officer Tanaka,” a voice snapped. “I am receiving a sensor warning signal, Code Six drug alarm.”

  “From which agent?” Waverly snapped.

  “Agent Napoleon Solo,” The security officer replied.

  “Wait there! Kalil!” Waverly said quickly. Kalil Singh was already at the door of the secret Section-I room. The Indian and Waverly walked swiftly along the quiet corridor of the hidden headquarters to a sealed door. They presented their badges to the scanner, and held up their hands. There was a momentary pause. Waverly fumbled for his pipe, nervous. Then the door slid pen, their identification checked and found proper.

  Inside the room a tall Japanese man sat at an intricate console. The Japanese, security officer Tanaka, did not speak but simply pointed to his console where a small red light glowed. There was no other light on the board.

  “How long has it been signaling?” Kalil Singh asked.

  “About two minutes and ten seconds,” Tanaka said. “I may have missed a few seconds. It is the first time we’ve used the device in this---“

  “Very well,” Waverly snapped, his brooding eyes riveted to the little red light. “Send for the communications officer, quickly!”

  Tanaka made the call. Then the tall Japanese turned to look at Waverly.

  “He will be here in ten seconds, sir.”

  Waverly nodded, searching for a match for his pipe, his gaze still fixed on the small red light.

  “Exactly how does it work, sir?” Tanaka said. “As I said, it is new to me.”

  Waverly said nothing. Kalil Singh spoke.

  “It is a small sensor electrode implanted in the brain of the agent. When the agent is administered some drug that makes him talk against his will, or against his programming, the sensor sends out an immediate signal that can be picked up for fifty miles. We are working on a better range,” the Indian said.

  “So this means that Solo is captured and talking?” Tanaka said.

  “I’m afraid it does,” Kalil Singh said.

  “Ah,” Waverly said as a small Chinese entered the room. “You are the communications officer?”

  “Dr. Ch’en Wu,” Kalil Singh said.

  “I want an immediate fix on the source of the signal that is lighting that light,” Waverly said.

  The Chinese U.N.C.L.E. agent looked at the light. “A brain sensor beam?”

  “Yes---and hurry, man!” Waverly said.

  “Immediately, sir,” Dr. Ch’en Wu said.

  The Chinese agent turned and left the room at a run. Kalil Singh watched the red light. Waverly smoked. The Indian Section-I leader coughed lightly. Waverly looked up at him.

  “Perhaps we had better alert anyone involved,” Kalil Singh said.

  “Alert?” Waverly said.

  “He is talking, Alexander,” the Indian said. “We must change all security here and in New York. Alert all personnel he has knowledge about. There is no way of knowing just what they will ask. Luckily, he knows little about the operation here.”

  Waverly nodded. “Forgive me, Kalil, I apologize. Of course, we must alert Mr. Kuryakin immediately! Anyone else. Tanaka, you have Mr. Solo’s file. Examine it and put all security measures into effect. But first get the word through to Mr. Kuryakin, he must change his disguise and cover!”

  The door opened again and the small Chinese communications officer came back. “The location of the source is ten miles from here, sir, in a warehouse on the docks on Canton Road. The height appears to indicate the third floor. I have the security agents alerted and ready. There is a truck and a car.”

  “Good,” Waverly said. “Come!”

  The grey-haired Chief moved with amazing speed as he led the forces of U.N.C.L.E. out of their secret headquarters and into the truck and the car. The truck and car moved swiftly through the city. Waverly looked at his watch. Less than four minutes had passed since he had been alerted. A total of some seven minutes in all since the original signal had first come in. They would not have had time to ask all their questions by far.

  Or would they?

  Perhaps they had not wanted more than the few facts U.N.C.L.E. knew about Dr. Li Po Shue. If so, they would have picked Solo’s mind clean by now, and disposed of him by now.

  Waverly’s bushy brows knotted grimly. No. THRUSH, with Napol
eon Solo in their hands and helpless, would not be able to resist learning everything they could.

  A faint smile flickered across the impassive face of the U.N.C.L.E. leader. Waverly had made the study of THRUSH a large part of his life’s work, and he knew the one great weakness of that secret and powerful organization---the violent internal competition and greed for personal position.

  THRUSH believed that this internal struggle was their strength, but it was actually their weakness because it made them lose sight of the true purpose. And Waverly was sure that whoever had Solo would lose sight of the immediate purpose and want to learn all Solo knew in order to have as many of U.N.C.L.E.’s secrets as possible---personally.

  Waverly hoped that this was true---it might be all that would save Napoleon Solo this time.

  “There it is, Alexander,” Kalil Singh said quietly.

  Waverly nodded and looked out at the silent warehouse at the edge of Victoria Harbor. Then, quickly, he gave his calm, precise orders to his men. They listened, nodded, and began to slip along the quiet street toward the warehouse.

  THREE

  Evening had come again to Peking, and Illya Kuryakin stood at rigid attention in the Spartan office inside the grim Government building. To any observer, Kuryakin, in his disguise as a soldier of the People’s Army, was a picture of correct discipline. But his shrewd, quick eyes missed nothing of the meeting in the office.

  Dr. Li Po Shue was seated across the desk from the small, soft-eyed woman who looked like a pleasant Chinese grandmother, but who was, in fact, neither pleasant nor soft. She probably was a grandmother, though, Illya thought. The Communist women leaders made something of a fetish of being normal women, and grandmothers seemed to make excellent second-in-command bureaucrats.

  This one Illya knew only too well---Madame Chu Ting, widow of General Chu Ting, and closest aide to Madame Mao herself. One of the Communists strongest assets---the unknown, quiet non-ambitious second-line leaders who let their chiefs take all the public attention and public risk. Without such second-line leaders, Communism would have drowned in its own turmoil long ago. The strength of Communism was not its Chou en Lai’s or its Stalins, but its Kaganovitches, its Mikoyans, and its Madame Chus.