“Now!”
Solo pulled the ejection lever. His head snapped back and he felt the force press him against the seat. Then he was falling.
He began to count. He fell through the night attached to the seat and counted as the cold air rushed freezing around him. Then he began to see lights below.
The lights seemed to stand still for a long time.
Suddenly they were close---the many lights of the northern capital off to his left, the sparser lights directly below, and then no lights at all directly below.
The lights seemed to move away to the south, but actually it was only himself falling closer and closer to the ground and the open fields north of the city.
He could almost see trees below.
He pulled his ripcord.
The sudden jerk almost tore his shoulders off.
Then he was swinging in the air.
The ground that had seemed so close as he fell, was now much farther away. He estimated that he had pulled at about 4500 feet. That should make his detection very difficult.
He threw off his oxygen mask and loosened the straps of the ejection seat. He drew his U.N.C.L.E Special and held the shrouds of the chute with his other hand.
Then the ground came up. Clear, an open field.
He hit, rolled, and was out of the seat. He collapsed the black chute and crouched, pistol ready for a count of sixty. Nothing happened. The only light he could see was a single light far off to the west. Nothing moved in the field. There was no sound in the night.
Solo got out of the chute. He picked up the chute and the ejection seat and dragged them to a thick grove of trees at the edge of the field. There he stripped off his flight suit, and buried everything in the center of the grove of trees. Then he brushed off his Moscow-made suit, checked his credentials, and began to walk off to the south and west where the road from the city should not be far.
When he reached the road he turned south. The lights of the city were some ten miles ahead. Solo walked and trotted in a steady pace along the road. He wanted to reach the city as soon as possible, but he could not risk stealing a car and attracting attention. It would also be too dangerous to try to hitchhike, even if a car came past. A Soviet expert should not have to solicit rides.
Then he passed a small cluster of dark buildings and had some luck. A bicycle leaned against a barn wall. He was on the bicycle and away in a matter of seconds. On the bicycle he made much better time and reached the city an hour or so later. He rode the bicycle until the houses and factories of the suburbs showed clearly that he was nearing the heart of the city itself.
He left the bicycle and resumed his walking. He reached the old Legation quarter and boldly entered a hotel known to cater to the Soviet experts, journalists and diplomats in Peking. He registered and his papers were examined. The Chinese clerk bowed to him, if a bit stiffly now that Sino-Soviet relations were not as cordial as they once had been.
He went up to his room, closed and locked the door, after listening for a time to be sure that he was not being watched. Then he checked the room for microphones. There were none.
Solo sat on the bed and touched his ring radio.
“Bubba, this is Sonny. Come in, Bubba.”
He spoke low into the tiny sending set. There was no answer. Illya Kuryakin would have his radio on visual and heat alarm only.
“Come in Bubba.”
There was no answer.
Solo pressed his ring again and stood up. He took off his left shoe, removed his heel, and brought out a small, flat box. The box contained a miniature dial and a tiny bulb. The bulb showed no response. Solo pressed a minute lever. Then he held the box flat and began to slowly circle the room. The dial of the tiny box swung and pointed in a steady southwesterly direction.
It was responding to the sensor implanted in Illya Kuryakin’s brain. The sensor, the same that had saved Napoleon in Hong Kong, had not been activated by a drug, but the small electronic waves it sent out were being picked up by the small box.
The dial showed the direction of Illya Kuryakin.
Solo checked his pistol again, and went out of the room.
In the street he began to walk in the direction shown by the tiny dial. He hoped that he was in time---the brain sensor would work even if Illya were already dead.
The dial in Solo’s hand could be leading him to a grave.
ACT III
WHICH WAY DOES A THRUSH FLY?
The dank and dim stone room was far below the street level of the Chinese capital. Water dripped in slow, tortuous drops in a far corner. The stone floor was worn smooth by countless centuries of feet, for this was a room from the far past of the ancient civilization of Imperial China. It had echoed to the screams of uncounted prisoners, and had felt the cold eyes of a legion of inquisitors.
The eyes of the modern inquisitor who sat behind an incongruous grey metal desk in the ancient room were as cold as any in the long history of the silent stones. He was a small, slender man in the uniform of a full colonel of the Army of The People’s Republic. His face was clean shaven and pale from years without sun.
The colonel toyed with a small riding whip, brushing it lightly back and forth across the metal surface of his desk. On the desk itself there was nothing but a slim file folder, open, a pistol, and an old-fashioned steel pen in a holder. The only light in the room was on a small table to the left of the desk.
Behind this table sat a short, fat man in civilian clothes. This man looked at nothing but the stenotype machine on the table in front of him. His fat fingers were poised over the keys, but his fingers did not yet move. He was waiting.
The other four people in the room also waited. Dr. Li Po Shue stood silently against the wall some distance from the cold-eyed colonel. General Po Soong Teh sat, as befitted his rank, on a small, upholstered chair behind the colonel. The other two were two of the Europeans who had been associated with Dr. Li since his arrival---two men Illya Kuryakin suspected of being agents of THRUSH.
Illya sat alone in the center of the room, bound hand and foot to a chair, the cold eyes of the colonel fixed on him. The small Russian watched the small riding whip in the hand of the colonel.
It was General Po who first broke the silence.
“I fail to understand what you are waiting for, Colonel Hsuieh,” General Po said.
“Dr. Li captured the man; his papers clearly indicate he is an American CIA agent. What else is there to learn?”
The small, slender colonel did not look around at the general. It was clear that while the general outranked him, the colonel was neither particularly intimidated nor friendly. In this room, rank or no rank, it was the colonel who commanded.
“I am not satisfied, General Po,” the colonel said quietly. “Perhaps he is a CIA man, and perhaps not. It is not usual for single CIA men to be operating in Peking in such a disguise. For what purpose, General? The Americans have many better ways to learn of the presence of Soviet missiles here. Such missiles are no secret, really. We have had many such weapons cross China for Viet Nam. Why should the Americans now make such an effort, take such a risk?”
“Who knows how the Americans think?” General Po said.
“I know, General,” the colonel snapped. “That is my job.”
Dr. Li spoke up. “It is not the missiles, Colonel; it is me they have been watching. I think it logical that they risk a great deal to watch me. I have even expected an attempt to take me back. He probably has accomplices.”
The colonel nodded slowly. “That is possible. That makes more sense. Still…” The colonel looked straight at Illya Kuryakin. “Was that your mission, spy?”
Illya shrewd eyes studied the faces and the room. The pattern had emerged some time ago. Dr. Li and the two Europeans knew who he was and what he was. He sensed that General Po knew also. Only the colonel and his one man did not know.
THRUSH had no desire to let the colonel know who Illya Kuryakin was. It was clear that the colonel was a member of the Chinese
secret police, and was a supporter of Mao. Dr. Li and his friends did not want the presence of U.N.C.L.E. known. So they had planted false CIA identification on him, and were attempting to convince the colonel that he was a simple American agent.
The colonel was not convinced and was no fool. There was some kind of power struggle going on. Illya held the balance of power---he could tell who he was, or at least hold the matter open. All he had to do was reveal himself, and Dr. Li and his friends would be in deep trouble.
Except that Illya could not reveal himself. The situation in the room was very clear. There were four men in the camp of Dr. Li, including General Po for some reason, and only two with the official secret police. Even if, and especially if, he were believed, all he would do was get himself and the colonel and his man instantly killed.
THRUSH did not want to be revealed here, even by implication. If they could pass Illya off as a CIA spy, well and good, but if not, they would have to kill the colonel, the man on the stenotype, and Illya. No, if Illya revealed who he really was, it would be instant death for everyone. His only chance was to play along and see what the colonel would do with a CIA man.
The colonel repeated his question. “Was Dr. Li your mission in Peking, spy?”
Illya Kuryakin shrugged in his best American-bravado style. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, chum.”
The colonel stared, swore. “The man is not even an American! Am I a fool? This man is English-trained! I detect a trace of native Russian. Who are you, spy?”
“Didn’t Dr. Li tell you?” Illya said. “I guess you just never know who anyone is these days.”
There was a faint movement in the room. Illya glanced and saw Dr. Li stand away from the wall, his hands in his pockets. The two Europeans were watching Illya. Behind the colonel, General Po shifted forward in his chair.
“The Americans recruit other nationals, Colonel,” Dr. Li said, “Who knows that better than myself? They will fight to the last drop of Oriental blood! That is one of the reasons I became sure that the Formosan regime was bankrupt. Few Americans could be spies in China.”
The colonel nodded slowly. His cold eyes stared hard at Illya. His hand continued to slowly swing his small whip.
“You are going to die, spy,” the colonel said. “If you are an American spy, you will die. If you are not, there might be a difference in your sentence.”
Illya Kuryakin shrugged, looked at the colonel. “I am what I am, Colonel.”
“So?” the colonel said.
General Po swore. “I suggest you get it over, Colonel. We have better things to do!”
The colonel still did not look at the general. “Do not tell me how to do my work, General Po. A dead spy is of little use to anyone. It is good to know what the spy was doing. Don’t you agree?”
“In most cases, of course,” General Po snapped. “But in this case it is imperative that Dr. Li go forward with his work, and it is clear what the spy was doing. There was no other reason for this man to be where he was. He has done nothing but follow Dr. Li since his arrival.”
The colonel seemed to think. Then he nodded.
“Yes, you are right,” and he touched his whip to a small button.
The outer door opened and three guards came in. The colonel waved his whip at Illya Kuryakin.
“Take him out and shoot him.”
The guards swiftly untied Illya and hauled him to his feet. Dr. Li watched, a small smile on his thin face. The colonel did not look at Illya Kuryakin again. The small Russian U.N.C.L.E. agent was hustled out of the room.
In the dank stone corridor outside the interrogation room, the guards pushed Illya before them to the left along the dark passageway. They seemed to go down at a sharp angle for some time. The passageway turned and re-turned on itself, until Illya felt that he was descending into the bowels of the Earth itself.
Then he was stopped, an iron door was opened, and the guards shoved him into a smaller, darker room than the interrogation room. Illya looked around. It was a grim, bare stone room with dark stains of blood all over the floor. In the center was a yawning pit of blackness. Beside the pit was a large steel drum of some chemical.
It was an execution room.
Illya turned to face the three guards.
One of them had a pistol in his hand now
Then Illya heard a noise behind him. He whirled.
The small, slender colonel stood there. The colonel had come out of a hidden door in the walls. The colonel looked at Illya.
“Very well. Now tell me who you really are!”
TWO
Illya Kuryakin sat on a hard wooden chair that seemed to appear from nowhere. The colonel sat on another chair. The indolent manner was gone, but the small whip was still in the hand of the colonel.
“Let us be clear, whoever you are,” the colonel said carefully. “I am not a fool. There was something going on in the interrogation room, something more than there seemed to be. And it is something you know, my friend. I have not been a policeman all my life to be fooled so easily.”
Illya watched as the colonel took out a long Russian cigarette. The colonel lit it carefully, blew smoke.
“It was clear that Dr. Li, his two companions, and General Po were very nervous and alert,” the colonel went on as he smoked. “It was also clear that you knew they were nervous, and I think you know why. The way you spoke it was clear that you were telling me something---something you could not come out and say because you knew that Dr. Li and General Po would not want me to know it.”
Illya watched the colonel. It was plain that the man was no fool. In fact, it was clear that the colonel was very clever, perhaps too clever. If Illya told the truth, what would his fate be then? No, he had to be very careful. He sat and watched the small colonel, who blew intricate smoke rings.
The colonel smiled. “Not that I think that you care very much about my life, but you felt it better to play for time, to risk what I might do rather than what you knew they would do. You are, naturally aware of the difficulties between men like myself, who back Chairman Mao, and men like General Po, who are of different opinions.
The colonel rubbed his chin. “But I think the problem is more than that. You all but said that perhaps Dr. Li is not Dr. Li. The reaction of the good doctor, and the general, to that hint was most noticeable. So, now you will tell me what it is you know, and who you really work for.”
Illya Kuryakin watched the thin secret police officer. He did not trust Colonel Hsuieh for an instant. On the other hand, if he maintained that he was only a CIA man, that there was nothing to tell, then he would certainly be killed about one minute after he convinced the colonel.
All he could do now was play for an opportunity---he was, after all, not bound now. The three guards had already been ordered from the room. They would be outside the door and alert, but that could be handled when the time came. Now he had to somehow make the colonel drop his guard for an instant.
“My name is Illya Kuryakin, and I work for an organization called The United Command for Law and Enforcement.”
The colonel flicked his whip. “So? An agent of U.N.C.L.E.? Is it possible?”
“You are aware of U.N.C.L.E., Colonel?”
The colonel shrugged. “I told you I have been a policeman all my life. Yes, I know of U.N.C.L.E. I know much about your work, although I am not at all sure whether I am in sympathy with that work or opposed to it. We are not too amused by international police organizations in China. Still, I have not heard that U.N.C.L.E. concerns itself with internal affairs of nations.”
“Unless those affairs pose a threat to world peace,” Illya said. “Or unless an agency such as THRUSH seems to becoming involved in those internal affairs.”
The Colonel frowned. “THRUSH? What is THRUSH?”
“An international organization dedicated to eventually controlling the world, Colonel, and for its own power. Their aim is power, total power, and all the profit that would mean.”
�
�And you think they are in China?”
“I have every reason to believe that Dr. Li is a member of THRUSH,” Illya said.
The colonel smoked and his cold eyes studied Illya Kuryakin with close speculation. There was doubt, and yet not complete doubt in the eyes of the small officer.
“You’re suggesting that Dr. LI is an impostor? I find that most difficult.”
“THRUSH is very clever, Colonel. The real Dr. Li is dead, we believe, and the THRUSH impostor has taken his place for a definite purpose---a purpose that I don’t imagine is for the benefit of China.”
“But Dr. Li is well known! He is in the confidence of Chairman Mao himself,” the colonel snapped.
“I said that THRUSH was clever, Colonel,” Illya said, “and Dr. Li seems to be in the confidence of General Po, too.”
“You are suggesting that that THRUSH has some scheme of its own against China, and that it has convinced General Po and his faction, to collaborate?”
“Perhaps,” Illya said. “It is also possible, in fact most likely, that THRUSH is only using General Po and his faction. THRUSH is always and only for THRUSH.”
“You think this THRUSH has somehow convinced the anti-Mao faction in our government that it will aid them to get power away from the chairman?”
Illya nodded. “That’s the way I would guess it is working, yes. I think you better keep a close eye on General Po.”
There was silence in the small and dim execution room. The colonel bit his lip. Illya could see that Colonel Hsuieh was in a quandary. The colonel wanted to believe that General Po and his faction were guilty of subversion, and yet he was afraid to believe that some unknown organization like THRUSH was actively dangerous to China. His police mind was against such a belief. He liked simple facts.
“What specifically, do you think this THRUSH is doing through Dr. Li, if he is an impostor?” the colonel said slowly.
“I don’t know yet,” Illya said evenly. “But my guess is that it has something to do with those Soviet missiles.”
“The missiles for Viet Nam?”
“I’m not at all sure that they’re going to Viet Nam, Colonel,” Illya said.
The Genghis Khan Affair Page 5
