GFU01 - The Global Globules Affair

by Simon Latter

  "Money! French money?"

  "World money," said Kazan. "They print it on an underground press. Very pretty it is too. If you get me out of this, I will show you."

  "No guards?" said Sama Paru.

  "Not until eight o'clock. About thirty women are inside there. The men do not stay at night." Kazan grinned. "Many young girls, but all controlled by some of the hardest-faced witches you ever saw. With them around you do not need guards. Those have been trained by Sirdar the Turk. They are evil and ruthless—as only truly bad women can be."

  "But you tamed 'em?" said Mark.

  "I gassed the whole flock of little THRUSH birds," said Kazan. "Last night, with my gas gun, I was a busy bee. Then I injected each of the leaders. They will not wake up for many hours yet." He looked at them pleadingly. "Please—my friends—get me out of this before I stifle. The zip has stuck and the lever, she is bust."

  The suit was beautifully made, the metal-like fabric bonded to a fine mesh of the same material. This mesh had a two-way-stretch weave. The only vulnerable part was the side zip which ran from thigh to armpit. The suit thus had to be put on sideways. Kazan had so stuffed the money around his body that the stretch was extended beyond normal use. He'd then forced up the zip so hard that he couldn't shift it. The suit was virtually indestructible and could not be torn.

  They used Mark's lock-breaking tools to open the zip and soon had Kazan freed. The printed notes, each approximately the size of a hundred-dollar bill, were artistic though not fancy. These bore the THRUSH emblem dead centre with a sun-blaze effect of red-gold on a green background. A purple border at first sight looked like circles with filigree tailings of gold. Closer inspection showed these circles to be miniature imprints of a globe of the world. The denominations were from ten to ten thousand esparas.

  "What the hell are esparas?" said Mark. "That's a country I've not heard of."

  "The world," said Count Kazan. "Esparas are to be the new currency of the world of THRUSH."

  Mark whistled softly. "Kid me not, my French comrade—you have proof?"

  "In a file back there is the distribution arrangement for the whole of Europe. I have micro-filmed some."

  "Let's go get the others. You feel better now?"

  Count Kazan drew a deep breath. "Much better."

  "Right. Stow some of this cash in your pockets. Wrap the rest in the suit. Hide that under the bush and let's go blow this thing—fast."

  They ignored the dormitory of sleeping girls and the separate rooms of the unconscious overseer women, although they first checked on these females. But they wasted no time on them.

  Mark said: "Quick and rough. We've no time to tangle if we can help it. H.Q. has to have this stuff as soon as we can rush it to them."

  They were three very experienced wreckers. Files were blown open, contents packed into a few handy-sized boxes which once held banknote paper. They took samples of this and rammed the rest in the basement furnace. Samples of inks and the plates were carefully packed, telephone wires, radar and TV sets and cables wrecked beyond any chance of repair.

  The press was a superb piece of machinery controlled by a small computer. Count Kazan complained:

  "A beautiful sculpture, the sculptured beauty of a woman, and a beautifully created machine—to me they are all God's work, my friends. It makes me sad to have to destroy this. Did you ever see such perfection of design? Swiss, of course. Where else can you get such craftsmanship? And the computer—American, naturally. Who else could produce such an electronic marvel? Now—we place a small explosive charge here, and here, and there. We insert this metal bar and rip apart the frame and carrier. Mark Slate deguts the computer, crushing its tiny contacts underfoot. Soon it will all be gone—pouff!"

  "And pouff to you too!" said Mark. "Set that charge and let's go."

  "I need violence," said Kazan. "I want to crush and kill the men who made this necessary. Let us await the men and smash them too."

  "They'll be smashed," said Mark. "We've no time to stay and be heroes. Maybe your H.Q. will send you in with the clean-up detail. Right?"

  Count Kazan shrugged. "It is right."

  "Charge set," said Sama Paru. "All the boxes are out side. How much time have we got?"

  Kazan checked his watch. "Nearly an hour."

  Mark took the wires they had rigged from cable found in the basement. "Let's go." He thrust a wire through one window, let it trail, put the other through the next window.

  In the compound he gathered one in each hand. They crouched below window level. Mark touched the wires together.

  The blast blew out the window with such force that the shattered pieces went clear beyond them.

  Mark stood up and peered inside.

  Count Kazan said: "An efficient wrecking job."

  Mark nodded. "Well judged. Hasn't brought even a spot of plaster off the ceiling. The ladies sleep undisturbed."

  Sama Paru said: "I have my choice of sleeping beauties and all I do is run away. This is a hard life!"

  Mark pulled out his U.N.C.L.E. communicator. "This is Mark Slate. Channel D. Hear me! Mark Slate from France. Hear this!"

  When he had concluded his report, they gathered up the boxes, collected Count Kazan's suit from the bush, and were surprised to see the donkey waiting for them as they came hurrying from the trees.

  "Oh, no!" Kazan wailed. "This is too much! I will never live it down!" He refused to ride on the beast although Sama offered to walk. Instead, he ran with the donkey all the way to the farm.

  "A man's dignity," said Count Kazan, "is like a woman's virginity—you either have it or you don't. There is no compromise."

  CHAPTER NINE: OPERATION PHAGOCYTE

  "GIBBERISH," said Mr. Waverly in his office at New York headquarters, "is for the gibberers. A report containing enough figures of formula construction to fill three text books is extraordinary clever and I hope somebody receives a great deal of money for it." He tapped his pipe-stem on a folder in front of him. "Our French-based scientists excelled themselves. So have their American colleagues who, in words we not only can understand but act upon, have translated, condensed, extracted, collated the French and English reports and come up with the following."

  He peered across the console at April Dancer and Mark Slate.

  "Pardon me for overlooking the courtesy, but did you both enjoy your holiday in England?"

  April and Mark exchanged glances. April sighed gently.

  "Delightful, thank you, Mr. Waverly."

  Mark murmured: "How kind of you to ask! We had a wonderful two hours!"

  "So glad, so glad. Now..." He began filling another pipe. "Salient facts: K.S.R.6 is undoubtedly a fluid designed to attack all known banknote paper and has an affinity with the dyes and inks used in such printing processes. It will penetrate all clothing, leather, etcetera, and, as an invisible vapor, will or can enter bank vaults, locked safes, cash boxes—and junior's piggy bank.

  "This chemical has been isolated." He glanced across at them. "A delightfully ambiguous phrase, is it not? It is the experts' way of saying, 'We have an idea what it may be, but not one hope in the hereafter of saying exactly what it is, although we know the group to which it belongs'. In other words—somebody is a lot cleverer than we are, so please catch him before he makes monkeys out of us.

  "I think they took fourteen pages to say that. But the results of their dispersal tests are more to the point. After all, our concern is: how, when and where. We know why. Globules of K.S.R.6, when fired into natural rainfall, or under misty or foggy conditions, become suspended in the water. They are not washed away. The actual K.S.R.6 becomes activated when the water dries out. This activation takes the form of an invisible vapor against which only a metal-like material is effective.

  "This material is a mixture of fiberglass, exploded chrome dust and a bonding agent. The dresses and suits bear no stitching. They are hot to wear although very light, but a gadget for conditioning the apparel is used when it is to be worn for any
length of time. It is not possible to make this material within the foreseeable future unless the original formula is discovered. As in the formula for K.S.R.6, it is not the ingredients which confuse us but the method of manufacture.

  "A later report after further tests shows that K.S.R.6 can be dispersed in chain-reaction globules in dry conditions. These will dowse a given area with concentrated spray as they burst. In these conditions, the K.S.R must be dispersed under pressure not less than six feet, not more than forty feet from ground level. Fast-moving machines, such as small motor bikes, would be ideal because pressure of air against the globules as they are released from the nozzle of a pressurized container would give maximum effect."

  "More so with cars?" Mark asked.

  "I thought that, but it appears not to be so. There is an aerodynamic effect caused by a car's shape which would possibly sweep them upward, thus causing much wastage of the globules. It would be most helpful if this brilliant invention could be used only by massive equipment, or even large pop-guns—anything that is different.

  "Unfortunately the objects which can be adapted for use as dispersal units for K.S.R.6 are things we see all around us in every street and shop. Miss Dancer's report on the test items she discovered in the house on Dartmoor gives good examples: such as street signs, lamp posts, awning, barbers' pole signs. In fact, almost anything can be adapted, even personal sprays, such as aerosol cans labeled Fly Killer, Hair Lacquer, etcetera.

  "You will see that even though we may cover every street and shop in every town, we cannot hope to trace and destroy dispersal units. And a comparatively small number of people could fix these units. We should need the Army, Navy, Air Force, and every Boy Scout in the Universe to discover them."

  Mr. Waverly paused. "By the time we did so, the whole of the United States' monetary system would be in chaos—as would those of other countries. Financial anarchy will take over. The banknote paper, samples from France and their inks and dyes, are impervious to K.S.R.6. Our scientists are working all-out to break this formula and devise an antidote—either in the paper and printing processes or as a prophylactic solution. But we cannot wait for them. We believe Dr. Karadin took the better part of twenty years to create K.S.R.6. We haven't got much more than twenty hours.

  "Already the reports are becoming more numerous. Security is as tight as a drum-skin. Not one leak to the press. All countries are cooperating—except certain ones whose interests are not ours. But there have been several cases of panic. In two small mid-West towns there was a run on the banks. One had to close its doors. And these areas, we believe, were merely sample areas, trial runs—like London's Carnaby Street, the Rue Rivoli in Paris, a casino in Monte Carlo, supermarkets in a hundred provincial towns.

  "Mr. Kuryakin is in India. He reports five incidents. Mr. Solo is in Australia. He reports four incidents. A pattern is emerging. How many more testing and trial areas are to come? From whence is the major assault to be launched? We believe it is right here in the United States. With this country in financial chaos, the rest of the Western world will follow us into the abyss.

  "Dr. Karadin is in this country—so is his daughter."

  Mark grinned at April "Seems like someone else's Auntie boobed, me old darling."

  "Auntie?" said Mr. Waverly. "Is that a joke, Mr. Slate?"

  "A little-boy one," said April sweetly. "But it does contain a question as to how these two people were allowed into the country."

  Mr. Waverly coughed gently. "Owing to the weakness of certain of my agents to play important international inquiries as they would play cards—close to their respective chests—we did not receive sufficient warning in time to alert all entry points. They did, in fact, enter by a devious route, quite openly, but with their passports stamped as arriving from Brazil. They now have disappeared."

  "I had the feeling..." April began, then: "I'm sorry, sir, you were saying?"

  "If I say I respect your feelings, that would not be what I mean. If on the other hand, your 'feeling' means one of your quite alarming and often accurate hunches—please go on, Miss Dancer."

  She smiled. "Well, I don't have proof, but I do feel that the centers we found in England and France were gearing up, or had actually geared up, to a final phase. Tests and training were nearly complete. The K.S.R.6 solution—processed under a copy-system of the Parsimal Theory—could be produced by any competent junior laboratory assistant. The filling machine is so simple it could be worked by a child. The K.S.R.6 does not require elaborate buildings, nor any large storage capacity. Sizes of the containers vary from the size of a matchbox to a motor-bike oil tank, or a fire-extinguisher refill. In fact, the kitchen or basement of any normal dwelling could be a production unit. So I believe that all preliminary work was done in Europe, because although this country has vast open areas, our authorities are extremely alert to any place being used for any scientific purpose. Our people, generally, also are more alert to anything which might be operated against them. It is coincidence that Mr. Slate and I found these leads to Dartmoor and France—not forgetting our European contact men—at the time when Dr. Karadin and the higher echelons of his organization were almost ready to leave for America. It is here that the major effort will be made. Once under way, then Europe, Australia, India—all other areas—will be triggered off."

  Mr. Waverly nodded. "I would agree with most of that, Miss Dancer. We all know how very difficult it will be to uncover centers which are in normal houses. But there must be some storage capacity beyond any you found in Europe, and surely to cover our big cities will require stockpiling of containers of K.S.R.6?—in warehouses or other large buildings?"

  "April is right," said Mark. "There may be large numbers of operators engaged in the whole project, but small groups on fast little machines could zip through New York almost in a day, This K.S.R.6 stuff doesn't need to be pumped out by the gallon, does it?"

  "No," said April "On a rainy day they would require surprisingly little. And we must remember that in many towns they may not need to be mobile. In fact, their agents may already be working on street signs, traffic lights, lamp posts—a whole host of ordinary dispersal points. These attachments—or even street signs containing them—can be put up by people who'd attract no attention, such as window cleaners, street-lighting maintenance men, sign erectors, painters."

  "Whilst we are looking only for dollies in tin dresses?' said Mr. Waverly. "Or even men in metal suits?"

  "They bother me," said Mark. "The rest of the K.S.R.6 plot is terrifyingly simple. Why complicate it by using such costumes? They're a dead give-away. We can surely round up every person wearing such clothes?"

  "I think there are two good reasons," said April. "The first is technical. Continual exposure to the globules of K.S.R.6 at the time of dispersal—that is, before they vaporize—will cause severe dermatitis. A concentration of vapor will cause irritation and some peeling similar to sunburn. The second is that these suits protect all paper money."

  "So do their wallets and purses," said Mark. "Why not use only those?"

  "I think the third reason is largely psychological." April smiled. "In all massive demonstrations by power-seekers—as in justice—it must not only be done but be seen to be done. They expect us to react, and it will be difficult to avoid publicity. The witch hunt will be on. Every person in a metal suit will be grabbed off the street. But everyone's money will melt just as fast. You'll never stop the panic."

  Mark nodded. "Because the stuff will be spraying all over them from street signs and other points. They'll carry it into the banks, shops, offices—their homes—and not know it."

  Mr. Waverly said: "Part of the reports stress that areas with high rainfall—especially those subject to heavy mists and fogs—are ideal places for testing K.S.R.6. The atmospheric tolerance is an important factor."

  "Yes," said April. "Part of that was in my report. Mist, fog and air moisture was the plus factor at Dartmoor. But they now have perfected K.S.R.6. Those conditions may no
t be so vital."

  Mr. Waverly rose from his chair. "Let us go into the map room. Mr. Kovac has been given a small assignment. We will see what he can surprise us with." He rippled his pipe stem up the edges of the stacked files. "Nobody else has done so. We really must get rid of this mountain of paper work." He looked at Mark "Oh, by the way, Mr. Slate—isn't ten thousand francs a trifle excessive for local produce in France?"

  "Well, sir, they produce banknote paper and—er—sleeping models in that part of the world."

  "Ah! Quite so. We also have a claim for fifteen gallons of petrol, plus car hire from our British friends. I gather the mileage was something under a hundred. But perhaps we don't use the same route maps?"

  "High-speed running," said April. "A very powerful car. My fault, I'm afraid. I ran the tank dry."

  Mr. Waverly nodded sympathetically. "Yes, fast driving does run away with the gas. And Dr. Karadin wasn't courteous enough to pay for your lunch in the Post Office Tower restaurant?"

  Mark flickered a grin at her. He said to Mr. Waverly:

  "You wouldn't expect her to be false to her career-woman image, would you? You don't take the little woman out to lunch today, y'know. In this shining new world it's the woman who always pays—or was that what Gladstone said in 1886?"

  "I wouldn't know, Mr. Slate," said Mr. Waverly dryly. "I hope that when Miss Dancer receives her expenses voucher she will duly compensate you for your support."

  "I doubt it," said Mark. "She never has."

  "In my young days," said Mr. Waverly as they entered the map room, "we had a sense of honor about such things."

  "Ouch!" said April, then smiled brightly. "Hullo, Randy!"

  "Hullo, old son!" said Mark. "Rescued any good agents lately?"

  Randy grinned hugely. He had been bubbling ever since he had known they were on their way back, clock-watching at home, wondering what excuse he could make for calling in at H.Q. when it wasn't really his period for reporting, saying to himself: "They're just about boarding the aircraft. Now they're in mid-Atlantic."