Pulp Fiction | The Cat and Mouse Affair (August 1966)

by Unknown

Along the familiar fence, the two agents watched the soldiers in Tidworth Barracks. It was night now, the trip across the island toward San Pablo having taken many hours. There was singing in the barracks, a great many soldiers wandering across the parade ground and the quadrangle, and no sign of guards anywhere.

  "Well, there it is," Solo said.

  "No evidence that the regiment has been affected at all," Illya said. "We found no units or any other regiment anywhere near here."

  "No roadblocks, no change from ordinary barrack life," Solo said.

  "In short, no one has been arrested except Colonel Brown!" Illya said.

  "A loyal man and good soldier," Solo said.

  "I think, Napoleon, we should have a talk with the good colonel."

  "I think we should," Solo said.

  The two agents faded into the night. A few moments later they reached the small, black car they had stolen earlier, and drove off toward San Pablo.

  There was no sign in the calm night of the usual effects of martial law. All seemed peaceful in Zambala.

  An ominous peace.

  The prison was as silent as ever, set into the hill outside San Pablo. Illya and Solo found many more guards this time.

  There were two at the door; the two agents shot one each with the sleep darts from their U.N.C.L.E. Specials.

  Quickly they changed clothes with the sleeping guards, and dragged the guards into a nearby empty office. Then they went up the stairs and began their search. They found the cells of Colonel Julio Brown and Jemi Zamyatta at the very top of one of the new wings.

  "They don't want any escape this time," Solo said. "I always thought that Stengali escaped too easily."

  "They don't want any escape yet. I imagine it might be arranged later," Illya said.

  There were two guards in the jail corridor outside the barred door into the top cellblock. There was another guard inside the cellblock near the actual cells. There were alarm boxes on the wall both inside the cellblock and outside. It would be necessary to silence the three guards quickly.

  They shot the two outside guards with sleep darts and ran fast toward the cellblock. The guard inside whirled at the sounds. Illya shot him on the dead run and the guard slumped to the floor inches from the alarm box. Solo bent and took the keys from the fallen guard.

  Solo opened the outer barred door and the two agents went down the line of cells. All the cells were empty until they reached the last two. In these last cells Jemi Zamyatta, and Colonel Julio Brown, stood watching the agents.

  "Good evening, gentlemen," Solo said.

  Zamyatta watched them, looked at their guns. Colonel Brown looked at their guns, and then at their faces.

  "You two! You work for the premier?"

  "Never mind who we work for," Illya said. "The question is what work are we going to have to do."

  Zamyatta was puzzled. "What work?"

  "My blond friend means do we see that you two are put away, or do we turn you loose?" Solo said.

  The two prisoners stared at the agents.

  TWO

  The hulking shape of Jemi Zamyatta sat on the bunk in the cell and listened to the story of the two U.N.C.L.E. agents. Colonel Brown was a more nervous type. The colonel paced the floor of the cell. When Illya and Solo had finished, Zamyatta spoke. The bull-like opposition leader spread his powerful hands.

  "I swear, gentlemen, there was no coup!"

  Colonel Brown swore. "None at all! There was no threat to the premier."

  "Except, perhaps, a change in Zambala," Jemi Zamyatta said. "We are becoming a country. The days of chaos are over, or they were. If I were to be elected, I was ready to amnesty Max Steng and his men. No, the danger was that the great Lion of Zambala might not win a next election!"

  "Was it generally known that you planned to pardon the Stengali?" Illya asked.

  "No, not generally—but Roy knew!" Zamyatta said.

  Colonel Brown said, "And he knew that I favored such a move! Any such move. The army has been too important too long here. There is too much of Zambala still in the hands of the rich and the foreign companies."

  Illya Kuryakin frowned. "Just to stay in power is not enough for all this. I mean, no election had to be held for four years."

  "The pressure on the government to spend more money on peaceful development might have caused Roy worry," Zamyatta said,

  Illya shook his head. "No, there is more behind this."

  Zamyatta looked at the two agents. "Let me say again, there was no planned coup. I know nothing of the attacks on Roy or Mura Khan. I had no dealing with Max Steng, or with the Colonel here."

  Illya rubbed his chin. "I saw you two meet."

  "Colonel Brown asked to speak to me," Zamyatta said.

  "I had been told to question Mr. Zamyatta," Colonel Brown said. "There was a report of undue influence among my men by Mr. Zamyatta."

  "Who gave you that report?" Solo asked.

  Colonel Brown looked at Zamyatta. "The premier told me! He said it was a test. He did not want anyone to know he had ordered it. I was to prepare my men for a move, but tell no one why."

  Illya shrugged. "He set it up, Napoleon. All of it. It was all intended to create the threat of a coup."

  "And we fell into it," Solo said.

  "No, we were guided into it," Illya said.

  Solo turned to Colonel Brown. "Why did your men shoot at us on the cliff road, and later when we were with the Stengali?"

  Brown showed surprise. "My men? No, Mr. Solo. My men pursued you in the hills. We had orders to hold anyone who came to Tidworth. But we gave up after you escaped our trap. We did not pursue the Stengali, and we did not shoot at you on the cliff road. None of my men left the camp."

  "The major who was killed," Illya said, and described the dead major to Colonel Brown.

  The colonel shook his head. "I have no major like that, no officer who fits that description."

  "A fake, and a fake unit!" Solo said. "And Bengali was with them!"

  "We've been played like fish on a line," Illya said.

  "Maybe we can be the fishermen," Solo said.

  "It seems like a good idea," Illya said.

  "What do you want us to do?" Colonel Brown said.

  "Be ready," Illya said. "Colonel, do your men trust you? I mean, will they follow your orders against the premier?"

  Brown shook his head. "No, not unless I can prove to them that the premier is a traitor."

  "But they will follow your orders against someone else? If they get proof later?"

  "Yes, I think so. Who else?"

  Illya frowned again. "I'm not ready to say, it's only an idea, but it seems that there are some other armed men on this island we have to deal with."

  "You want me to return to my command?" Brown asked.

  "Yes, and bring them into San Pablo," Illya said. He looked at Zamyatta. "Can you reach the Stengali, Mr. Zamyatta?"

  "I can try," Jemi Zamyatta said. "They must have heard of my arrest. Max Steng and I were long-time friends."

  "Try to reach them and bring them into San Pablo."

  "Where in San Pablo?" both men wanted to know.

  "The presidential palace," Illya said. "Bring all the men you can as soon as you can. Capture anyone you don't know, or anyone who resists. We can apologize to the wrong ones later."

  Without more discussion, the four men left the cells and quickly stripped two of the guards. Zamyatta and Colonel Brown disguised themselves in the guards' clothes. Then the four men went down through the silent prison corridors and out the front door.

  In the prison yard they found police vehicles. Solo went to work and crossed wires to start two of the jeeps. Zamyatta took one and headed off into the mountains toward the tall mountain with the long scar near the summit.

  Colonel Julio Brown took the other jeep and started along the road toward Tidworth Barracks.

  Solo and Illya drove their own small stolen car through a silent and deserted San Pablo toward the presidential palace. T
hey had to drive carefully. The city was silent under the edict of martial law, and patrols of troops walked the streets.

  But there were few patrols. Illya and Solo looked at each other.

  The martial law was another fake—just enough martial law to convince the people of Zambala that a crisis existed. A crisis someone wanted to exist!

  "When we get to the palace," Illya said, "I'll go in. You take the car and go to O'Hara."

  Solo nodded. "Bengali knew who we were, by name. Only O'Hara knew who we were."

  "Unless he told someone," Illya said.

  "When I have the word, I'll call you," Solo said.

  The car drove on carefully through the silent city.

  The wide grounds of the presidential palace were silent and shadowed in the night. Illya Kuryakin glided silently from tree to tree, closer always toward the palace. Men in uniform patrolled the grounds—men not in army uniforms but in black uniforms!

  Illya crept and crawled until he reached the cover of the thick bushes that surrounded the palace. He moved through the bushes around the palace, sinking out of sight from time to time as soldiers passed in groups of two. He reached the kitchen door he had noticed earlier. It was locked. With one of his picklocks he opened the door and slid inside.

  Illya moved along the dark halls. There were voices. He entered the enormous entry hall of the palace. The voices came from the room where the tribunal met. Illya cat-footed to the door and looked in. Chairman Ramirez was there with most of the other members.

  But both O'Hara and Boya, the labor leader, were not there.

  Illya turned away and moved silently through the other downstairs rooms. He did not find what he was searching for. From the rear of the house he went up the service stairs to the second floor. He saw a line of light far off at the end of the long upstairs corridor that was as wide as the corridor of a grand hotel, and carpeted with deep carpet.

  The light came from a room at the opposite end of the palace from the room where the tribunal met below, a room that showed no light from the outside or Illya would have seen it. He started along the hall and saw the guard.

  The man in the black uniform was seated in a chair between Illya and the room that showed light. He held a submachine gun across his lap, and was tilted back in the chair, cleaning his nails with a long trench knife.

  At his feet was a small black box that had to be a radio.

  There was no way past the guard, and no way to creep up on him silently enough. If Illya shot the man with a sleep dart, the chair would go out and there would be noise. In addition, his ears told him that the radio was switched on! It was a transmitter, and any sound would be heard at the other end, wherever that was.

  Illya looked around. He was near the door of a room that showed no light beneath it. He went into the room and crossed it to the window. As he remembered, a narrow ledge of decoration ran around the palace at this height. He opened the window and climbed out onto the ledge.

  Flat against the building in the dark, he inched like a fly on the wall toward the window of the room where the guard sat—he had noticed that the guard was practically against the door of the room. As he inched his way he saw the soldiers pass below, but they did not look up, and, luckily, this night clouds covered the moon.

  Illya reached the room he wanted and went in through the window. He crossed the room to the door. His move had to be fast and soundless. He took another small capsule from his pocket, took a deep breath, and jerked the door open. He was through the door and on the man in a second.

  The guard leaped up. There was no sound on the deep pile carpet. The chair came away from the wall. The man half-turned toward him. Illya squeezed the capsule, caught the man, and dragged him into the room. He came back out, closed the door, and listened.

  There had been no sound at all.

  The radio transmitter still hummed faintly under the chair. Illya stepped past and went to the door that showed light. There were voices inside and a large keyhole. Illya bent down to look. He saw them through the keyhole. Two men and a woman, laughing and drinking champagne from a row of bottles in ice buckets. He could see no one else.

  One of the men was the tall Premier M.M. Roy, the Lion of Zambala. The woman seemed vaguely familiar. Then she turned and he saw her face. For a moment he did not recognize the beautiful face. Then Solo's description came to him -Jezzi Mahal!

  The woman laughing now, drinking champagne with Premier M.M. Roy, was Jezzi Mahal. The woman who had killed Inspector Tembo! The woman who was Colonel Brown's girl-friend! The woman who had been so deeply involved in the plot against the premier! The woman who now leaned on the tall, laughing premier, who turned up her beautiful face and kissed M.M. Roy!

  And the third man, who raised his glass in a toast inside the guarded room, was Ahmed Bengali! All three of them laughed together—and Illya knew what they laughed at.

  THREE

  Illya kicked in the door, and stood there with his U.NC.L.E. Special covering all three of them. For a minute they stood with their champagne glasses raised, laughter still on their lips.

  "Let me in on the joke," Illya said. "I enjoy a good laugh."

  Premier M.M. Roy was a very well-trained diplomat. Shocked as he must have been, as much as the gaping mouths of the woman and Bengali showed they were, the tall premier managed a cool smile.

  "Ah, Mr. Kuryakin. What a pleasant surprise. I thought you were on your way home."

  "You were supposed to think that, Your Excellency," Illya said.

  "So I gather," Roy said. "May I ask why? And just what you are doing in my private rooms with that weapon? The guard—"

  "Is asleep," Illya said bluntly. "I'm afraid it was necessary to make you think you had fooled us."

  "Fooled you?" Roy said, for the first time a faint edge of something coming into his voice.

  "With the coup business," Illya said. "It wasn't done badly, but a trifle clumsily, I'm afraid. Especially your friend Bengali, there. He shouldn't have been quite so on-the-spot to be sure that we came back safely with our news of the coup by Colonel Brown."

  Roy placed his champagne glass on a table. "I see."

  "And he really should never have used our names. That was a bad mistake. How could he know our names? Even you did not know our names."

  Roy looked sadly at Bengali, who was now quite pale. The dark security man began to stammer. Roy sighed.

  "Really, Ahmed, you should have been more careful," Roy said.

  The tall premier looked at Illya. "Well, just what do you have in mind?"

  "I think the OAS will be most interested in a premier who fakes a coup so that he can declare a crisis and martial law. I presume you intended to liquidate Zamyatta and Colonel Brown at some convenient time after the heat had cooled," Illya said. "The relation between yourself and Miss Mahal will fascinate them. I imagine Bengali will tell us all."

  The dark security man swore. "Why, you -"

  "Yes, I imagine he would," Roy said. "Just what do you think 'all' may be, Mr. Kuryakin?"

  "You faked attempts on your life, killed your own security chief. I expect Mura Khan was too honest. Bengali here will be more pliable. I assume that Bengali arranged much of the fake assassinations, the bombs, all the rest.

  "I also expect that Nathan Bedford had seen Mr. Bengali, so he had to be killed. Did you do that, too, Bengali?"

  "I'll do better with you, Kuryakin!" Bengali said.

  "The purpose was to convince the world that Zambala was about to experience a coup and perhaps a civil war. You knew that the OAS, and the United States, would never stand for that here. You would expose the coup, prevent it, and be in complete charge for much longer than any election would allow."

  The premier laughed. "But, Mr. Kuryakin, why would I do all that when my government was in no danger?"

  "I think to create a crisis. You would be rid of all threats of an election loss, and you would create a sensitive area in Zambala, a crisis in which you could again be the hero
."

  "Not good enough, Mr. Kuryakin. Not at all," Roy said.

  Illya shrugged. "What does it matter? Perhaps you are just insane. The facts speak for themselves. You did it, and we can prove it now. When we tell the world, I think there will be a new government in Zambala."

  The new voice came not from behind Illya where the door was, but from his right. A fine, cultured voice.

  "Alas, how true, Mr. Kuryakin. A new government, and I could not allow that. You are right, and how unfortunate for you!"

  Illya began to turn.

  "Drop the weapon, please, Mr. Kuryakin."

  Illya dropped his Special and turned toward the voice. There were five men standing in front of a secret passage into the room. Four of them were black-clad soldiers. The fifth smiled at Illya Kuryakin.

  * * *

  Solo entered the mansion of O'Hara as silently as a snake. The boyish agent crossed the large living room to the bookcase. He pressed the secret button. The bookcase opened. Solo went inside and the bookcase closed behind him.

  The girl agent at the desk smiled at him.

  "We thought you had left, Mr. Solo."

  Solo looked around quickly. "Er, yes, I did leave, but I came back. May I have my badge?"

  The girl handed him his badge. Then she tensed as if sensing something.

  "Does Mr. O'Hara expect you?"

  "I doubt it," Solo said pleasantly.

  The girl reached for the pistol in the holster behind her back. It was the correct procedure for a field headquarters—no one entered U.N.C.L.E. Field Headquarters anywhere in the world without the written consent of the agent-in-charge, or without the agent-in-charge having notified the reception desk of the arrival. No one, not even Mr. Waverly or any other member of Section I!

  The girl acted as she had been trained—but she had made the error of not acting at once, lulled by her acquaintance with Napoleon Solo.

  Solo caught her as gently as he could, pressed the spot on her neck, and she slumped in his arms. He returned her to her chair. He hurried down the small corridor. The alarm system passed him, of course, since he was wearing the badge the girl had so carelessly given him. He reached O'Hara's office. The TV camera scanned him—and O'Hara made the same error. The door opened.