Rand nodded. "Good, that is the way I like to do business. What figure did you have in mind? Perhaps we can have a bidding session right now."
"Fine," Solo said. "Of course, I'll have to contact my headquarters to get the authorization. A mere formality, you understand. I imagine Danton will have to do the same."
Rand turned to Danton. "Will you?"
"Of course not," Danton snapped. "And can't you see what they're doing?"
"How will you contact your office?" Rand said.
"By radio," Solo said.
"I see," Rand said, and suddenly smiled again. "That is all I had to know, gentlemen. It seems that Mr. Danton is right. You have the minds of policemen. Too bad. An offer from U.N.C.L.E. would have been most interesting. But it is clear that all you want to do is contact your people and bring them here. Alas, I really thought that you were more clever."
"We would buy the machine," Illya said.
"Perhaps," Rand said, "but I cannot risk it, can I? No, I think U.N.C.L.E. is not a good organization to deal with. You are do-gooders, not businessmen. You wish to save the world, not to make money. I do not like people who think of others rather than their own interests."
Rand turned to Danton, "Now I think the THRUSH offer is legitimate and interesting. Of course, I have other offers already, and there are other factors. But I think we can talk, Mr. Danton."
"We can talk," Danton said. "What about them?"
The elegant THRUSH leader indicated Illya and Solo.
Rand shrugged. "We will probably have to kill them. But for now I think we will simply hold them. Who knows, Mr. Danton? I might just throw them into a deal and hand them to you as a sort of bonus."
"That would be most useful," Danton said.
Rand laughed. "Take them out and lock them up downstairs."
The armed men prodded Illya and Solo to their feet. Moments later they were marched out of the warehouse through an interior door and behind them they heard Danton laughing with Rand.
The machine itself stood silent in the vast warehouse.
ACT IV
WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW CAN KILL YOU
FOR THE FOURTH time in twenty-four hours or less, Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo were marched away under guard. The four white-smocked armed men herded them along a narrow and dark corridor that slanted down beneath the electronics factory.
After a few minutes the corridor flattened out and rows of heavy doors began to appear along the walls. Some of the doors were open, and the two agents saw men busy in laboratories. Soon they passed a series of doors that all opened into one room—a small factory inside the room, where men worked feverishly assembling parts into what looked like other models of the deadly Mind- Sweeper.
"A secret factory under the regular plant," Solo said.
"It had to be something like that, Napoleon," Illya said.
One of the armed men hissed, "Shut up! No talking, you two!"
They marched on. The four guards walked behind, two abreast in the narrow corridor. They reached a darker section where all the doors were closed. Ramps led up alongside passages to what were obviously loading areas. They were clearly now in a storage area.
"Do you think we have one chance?" Illya said. "Or five?"
"Two-out-of-six," Solo said.
"I said shut up!" the white smocked guard cried.
But Illya and Solo had given their signals. The guards, uneasy at the calm talk of their prisoners, moved closer. Illya and Solo waited.
"Stop," the chief of the guards said.
They stopped.
"Open the door," the head guard said to two of his men.
Two of the guards stepped to the massive steel door and opened it. The two went into the room and turned with their guns ready.
"Inside," the head guard said to Illya and Solo.
Illya stepped in first. Solo followed behind. Suddenly Illya gave a hoarse cry.
"Why wait! We'll never get out! I can't stand it!"
With a quick motion of his hand the small Russian seemed to pick a button off his suit and thrust it into his mouth, biting down hard.
Illya screamed, choked, and pitched forward to the floor, exactly in the doorway.
"Poison!" a guard shouted.
"Stand back!" the head guard snapped to Solo.
Solo backed out into the corridor. Two of the guards bent over Illya. The other two guards stared at the fallen figure of the Russian. They all talked at once.
"He's dead!"
"One of his buttons! Who searched him?"
"Rand'll be mad as hell."
"Open his collar!"
"Get a doc—"
The last speaker never finished. One of the guards bending over Illya laid down his pistol. Solo was now behind all four, for a split second forgotten.
With a motion so fast no one saw it, Illya Kuryakin raised up. In the same motion he stabbed the guard with a long, thin steel needle—the needle from beneath the fake scar on his leg.
The man, stabbed to the heart, dropped with a low scream. Illya grabbed the gun of the second guard.
Solo jumped on to the backs of the other two. One of them went down. The other turned to shoot Napoleon Solo. Illya clubbed this one with the butt of the gun he had picked up.
An instant later the two agents stood with guns leveled on the other two guards. Both guards raised their hands in fear as they looked down at their fallen comrades.
"Not a sound!" Illya hissed.
The two terrified guards nodded. Quickly the two agents stripped clothes and belts from all four men and bound and gagged them tightly. Then they put them inside the door and locked it with keys they had found on the leader's belt.
"They'll keep," Solo said.
They listened in the dark corridor. But any sounds that might have been heard had been covered by the noise of machinery in the underground factory. No one had heard anything.
"All right. Now let's see what Rand and Danton are talking about," Solo said. "Put on a white smock. It might help."
"And this time let's try to stay free," Illya said.
"I'm not worried about us," Solo said, "I'm worried about that machine. In THRUSH'S hands?"
"It won't be," Illya said.
Solo nodded and led the silent way back along the underground passages. They reached the area of the large factory room and peered in through the open doors. The men at work were all busy with their tasks. One or two looked up to see the white-smocked men pass by, and returned to their work unconcerned. Laboratory workers were always passing.
They moved faster through the section where the doors stood open into laboratories. Once a man called to them, but they mumbled the name of Rand and passed on. The man, probably some supervisor, did not come after them.
At last they reached the ramp upward. They held their heads down and went up toward the warehouse level. Twice men passed them, but did not stop. They reached the door through which they had been taken, and Illya listened with his ear against the door.
"What do you hear?" Solo said.
"Rand and Danton, quite a way off. I don't hear anything else," Illya said.
"We could walk right into a hornet's nest," Solo said. "This time we've got to get that machine first."
"More than that, Napoleon. We can't just destroy the machine; we've got to find out who has the outer-space defense system data, too."
"That means we've got to get Rand alive," Solo agreed.
Illya suddenly looked along the corridor.
"Someone's coming, Napoleon!"
The two agents looked around for cover. There was no cover. Not even a door or a closet. At the far end of the corridor, in the opposite direction from the ramp that led down to the hidden under ground factory, two men suddenly appeared. They were both wearing the same white laboratory smocks—and each carried a tray.
"Quick, Illya!" Solo whispered, and began to walk openly straight toward the two men with the trays.
Illya followed Solo. They walked
boldly along straight toward the approaching men. As they got closer they saw that there were sandwiches on one tray and a bottle of whisky, water, soda and glasses on the other tray. When they were only a few feet in front of the two men, one of the men suddenly spoke.
"You got Rand's pickle? He got to have a pickle."
"I got it."
The other one nodded, and they brushed past Illya and Solo without looking at them. Solo nodded to Illya; the two men were bringing food and drink to Rand and Danton inside the large ware house room.
As they passed, Illya and Solo wheeled, struck each man on the back of the neck with single karate chops and caught the trays before they could fall, all in a single deft motion.
They placed the trays down and dragged the two men along the silent corridor until at last they found a closet. They bound and gagged these two also, in their own clothes, and ran back to the trays. Trays in hand, they approached the door to the warehouse room.
They tried the door. It was open. They went in, carrying their trays.
TWO
AT A DESK in front of the Mind-Sweeper machine, Kevin Rand and Emil Danton sat and talked. Only three armed men were still in the room with them. The warehouse was very quiet, and the banks of lights had been turned off until the only light was where Danton and Rand were conferring.
"I've told you my offer," Danton said. "Ten million dollars, in American dollars and all cash, for the machine, the factory and Heimat. You can throw in Solo and Kuryakin, too. You don't need them."
Rand smoked a cigar and considered. The slender grey-haired business man's eyes were bright and wary as he watched Danton. He waved his cigar, smoke eddying around his head.
"It is attractive. But far too little. Consider how much I could get by leasing the equipment once I have enough units, which will be soon. Why, I'd get ten million a year per machine."
Danton shook his head. "Nowhere near. After all, the machine is only a help, a convenience. I admit it could be a big help, but there are other ways of getting the data."
"Not so safely—and not without anyone ever knowing," Rand said. "That is my major selling point, Danton: the machine takes the information without essentially harming the subject, and without him being aware of a thing. You know yourself that one of the major problems of espionage is that information ceases to be of great value the instant someone knows you have stolen it."
"Granted, of course," Danton said, and frowned. "All right, I think we'll go fifty million for the whole shooting match. Cash."
"Hardly a scratch, Mr. Danton. What do you say to, say, five billion? American dollars, cash."
"Ridiculous!"
Rand shrugged. "I'm sure I could net that in a few years by a lease arrangement."
Danton bit his lip and glanced at the silent machine that stood like some malignant god in the room. "Think of the overhead, Rand. You might gross a billion over a number of years, but you won't come near netting it. You'd have to have a large, very strong, organization. You'd be a marked group. U.N.C.L.E., Interpol, half the police of the world would be after you. You'd need not only an enormous sales and contact staff, but heavy security as well. Then think of the risk? They'd be out to smash you from the start. Now we already have the organization, and the manpower, and we know how to handle the risks."
"I don't know," Rand said with a smile. "Ten million a year per machine will pay for a lot of protection."
"And cost most of the ten million per machine. Besides, you don't have the know-how to be sure everyone will pay. THRUSH has the know-how. They fear us, and fear is all that keeps governments in line, believe me. All right, one billion cold cash—tomorrow."
Rand made a tent of his fingers, contemplated. "One billion, eh? That's quite a jump. I wonder how high you fellows at THRUSH will really go?"
"One billion. That's it," Danton snapped.
Before Rand could answer through his smile, the two men stopped talking as two waiters in white smocks entered. The three guards still in the room stepped to the waiters and took the trays. Rand and Danton did not even glance at the waiters. They were too intent on watching each other in their strange and deadly game with the malignant machine hovering over the whole vast and shadowed warehouse room.
The two guards carried the trays to the desk. Rand glanced at the trays.
"Ah, here is our food and drink. Sandwich?"
"I'm not hungry," Danton snapped. "What about it, Rand? One billion. A fair offer."
"A drink, then?" Rand said.
"Scotch, no ice," Danton said. "I want an answer."
Rand busied himself making the two drinks. The guards went away at a small wave of his hand. The two waiters seemed to have left. Rand handed a drink to Danton, leaned back and began to munch on a sandwich.
"I'm sure you want an answer," Rand said. "But there is much I have to consider. I have other offers, you know."
"None to match ours. I know that, too."
"Perhaps, but there is still the idea of going into the spy business ourselves," Rand said. "You know, the interest you and U.N.C.L.E. and Interpol have shown is most illuminating. I am beginning to think that the greatest rewards of money and power lie in using the machine ourselves."
"We'd break you!" Danton said angrily.
"Would you now?" Rand said. "I suppose you would."
"Don't even think about it, believe me," Danton. said. "Now I've made a firm offer. One billion for it all. Take it or leave it."
Suddenly Rand began to laugh. The slender, grey-haired man shook with laughter, and tears streamed down his cheeks. He reached up and mopped at his eyes. He looked straight at Danton. The THRUSH chief watched Rand with a confused expression on his face.
"No deal," Rand laughed. "You don't really think I would trust THRUSH, do you? My dear Danton, you are no better than U.N.C.L.E. You are also playing for time. You have no intention of making a deal. Once I agreed, you would bring your army and take my Mind-Sweeper. I am not a fool!"
Danton protested. "I assure you—"
"Stop it, Danton! I know THRUSH. You would never honor such a deal. But I wanted to see how high you would suggest. It gives me a good estimate of the real power of my little beauty. No, I will not deal with you. I will operate myself. I have the first really big piece of data to sell already, the outer-space defense system of the United States. I believe I know where I can sell that for ten million alone."
"Why, you stupid—" Danton exploded.
Rand waved a peremptory hand toward the three guards. They came running, guns at ready.
"Take Mr. Danton away," Rand snapped.
Danton paled. "You'll regret this, Rand!"
Rand looked at him coldly. "Not as much as you will. Take him to a cell with his friends. We will shoot them later! Perhaps THRUSH will pay for him."
Protesting, Danton was led toward the door. The guards handled him roughly. Two of them took him out. The third guard remained in the room. Rand sat at his desk, lost in thought. His eyes wandered toward the Mind- Sweeper machine, and he began to smile.
In the corridor outside the warehouse there was sudden noise. Men were running. The door burst open and three guards came in. Rand turned abruptly to face them.
"They escaped!" one of the guards cried.
Rand snapped, "Who escaped, you fool? Danton?"
"No, the two U.N.C.L.E. men. They're gone. We went to relieve the guards and we found them, the guards, locked in the room! The U.N.C.L.E. men overpowered them!"
Rand blinked. "Overpowered? Two against four with guns!? Do I have nothing but idiots here?"
The guards reddened. Rand watched them.
"No sign of them?"
"No, sir."
Rand nodded. "All right. They probably went out one of the loading ramps. Find them! They can't have gone far. Search the factory, just in case, and then search the countryside."
"Yes sir."
"Wait!" Rand said as the guards all turned to go. "In case they have escaped, institute Plan F. Imme
diately. We have no more reason to stay here anyway. You understand? Plan F. And notify Dr. Heimat below."
"Yes sir. Plan F. At once."
The guards all turned and ran from the room. Rand sat in the silence that descended and frowned. He looked again at his Mind-Sweeper machine. That made him smile again. He stared at the machine like a father looking at a beautiful daughter.
"So, now we are about ready, my beauty," the slender, grey-haired man said out loud. "We will make history, you and I, eh? Heimat has you almost perfected; you will soon have brothers and sisters." Rand laughed a high, in sane laugh. "Yes, you and I will have power. Power and wealth. Who knows how far we will take each other?"
"Not too far, Rand," a voice said.
Rand whirled, his made eyes searching the shadows of the room.
Then he saw the figure in the white smock. There was a gun in the man's hand, and it was trained on Rand. The man stepped out of the shadows.
"Solo!" Rand breathed.
THREE
NAPOLEON SOLO smiled as he moved slowly and carefully toward the slender, grey-haired electronics man.
Solo and Illya had never left the room, but had blended into the shadows and had overheard the last part of the talk between Rand and Danton. They had lurked, waited, until Rand was alone in the room. Now Solo stepped out with his gun ready.
"Don't try anything, Rand," Solo said quietly.
Rand stared at the gun. "I have no desire to die, Mr. Solo. But what do you think you can do? My men have this place locked up. You can't escape."
"Neither can you," Solo said.
Rand did not flinch. "You plan to kill me?"
"If we have to."
"And destroy the machine?"
Solo nodded grimly. "And destroy the machine."
"You'll never survive," Rand said coldly.
"Maybe not, but you and the machine will go first."
Rand sneered. "What good will that do you? My men will still be here. Dr. Heimat will duplicate the machine. Don't be a fool, Solo. Destroy the machine and me and you throw away a fortune. You throw away the power to rule the world! Think of it!"
The Mind-Sweeper Affair Page 7
