GFU01 - The Global Globules Affair

by Simon Latter

  There was to be no wrecking—that had been a clear order, and a difficult order too; for this meant having to attack personnel only. C.I.A. and F.B.I. boffins must have clued on to this fantastic desert set-up, perhaps not too hard a task, once the area had been hair-lined in their checking sights. Yet it was the sort of thing that could go undetected for a long time until someone broke through to beam the concentrated forces of detection upon it.

  It would be simple then to make a frontal assault—a press of men, a blaze of guns, a few grenades even—and all this pretty-pretty, grimly efficient center would go... kerump!

  Then they would have to piece it all together again to find out how the place ticked and why, and how the hell all this could be assembled and operated under, or nearly under, a lot of noses. Still, Mark sighed, no wrecking; just seal off the area and shut out all the highly efficient communication aids.

  Keep the finger off the button, he thought grimly. Don't call us—we'll call you. And two of them were valiant. Two volunteers—you and you! Heads close, turning, eyes gazing through the mask visors. Clear and steady, a glint of the buccaneer, a flash of the bright high spirit. Ready when you are. A reaction gaze—okay, here we go!

  They went in—guns hissing. Three of the four men inside went staggering out, crumpling cold. Then the gas guns were empty. April and Mark leapt, silent, ruthlessly slashing.

  One—a big man—half gassed, flung out his hand towards along, slim red lever at the right of the console. April swung her body, throat-chopped, then saw the danger. Her supple hands locked on to the reaching fingers, spread them upward and back, tiny bones snapping with a twig-like sound; then the man's arm was whipped up, his shoulder socket wrenched out. As he spun away, a slashing blow across the nape of the neck dropped his head down against the steel of a tubular chair.

  Mark's victim was the man who had come out of the door—short, powerful, with ape arms, thick-chested, a mauler-fighter, his gun half-clear of its holster. He almost went down under Mark's attack, recovered, whirled, and snatched up a metal bar—one of several leaning in a corner, slotted bars which were part of some sort of frame. Mark anticipated a swing, but it didn't come that way. The man hunched and lunged the end of the steel bar into Mark's guts.

  April turned as Mark sagged and the bar was swinging up to crash down upon his skull. She fired almost before she stopped turning. The bullet smashed into the man's wrist. The bar dropped on his shoulder, bounced to the floor.

  Mark, retching, full of pain, rolled to one knee, hand clawing for his gun. He fired upward. The bullet went into the man's open mouth and out the top of his head. He slammed back, to fall on the stack of bars in the corner.

  April saw the danger as Mark's hand tried to free his mask. Urgently, close to his ear, she said: "This way—hold on to me." She helped him past the huddled figures to the door at the far end, opened it, and pulled and pushed him into the lobby, then flung open the front door. Sweet night air flowed in as Mark flopped to the porch, ripping off his mask. He was violently sick. April pulled off her own mask, sucking in the air gratefully.

  Recovering at last, he said huskily: "Thanks."

  "Yes," she said. "Thanks."

  He grinned, white teeth in a white mask of face.

  "No wrecking? Not including us!"

  She smiled. "So the man said."

  "Better shut the door—or that inner one. Light can be seen."

  They went inside for the air had already helped the air-conditioning to clear the gas.

  "Well, well!" said April. "Will you lookee here!"

  "Bonanza! Very grand!" Recovering swiftly now, he went along the console, closely inspecting all its parts. "Luck we've had, me old darling—you see?"

  April nodded. "I just saw. Two cameras—for relaying operators' image to waiting multitude, no doubt—and obligingly switched off. These TV links must have taken years to set up."

  "They can't see us," said Mark. "Can they hear us?" He checked again. "No, all incoming." He flicked tabs on the console. "This is Detroit standing by. This is New York standing by. This is Los Angeles standing by." The voices went on and on.

  April said: "Tapes. An answering service in reverse."

  "Could be. In fact is. Clever girl! While the tapes run they know the circuit is okay and the spray outfits are ready. You read?"

  She nodded. "Near enough. See the screens? All the main business sectors in each town on that colored chart."

  "Remote-control cameras, ranging through forty-five degrees, but—what would you say?—six feet from street level?"

  "Between four and six feet. That would be the spray height." She looked more closely at one. "You can't watch all screens at once. See this—see how the camera is lined on certain points of a street? Look—street signs, an awning over a club doorway, a street light."

  "We could expect that," said Mark. He surveyed the room more closely. "But this can't be all. It's the main control, but there are no screens relaying the magic-eye alarm system outside here."

  "No, Mr. Slate," said a familiar voice through a hidden speaker. "You are quite right. Do come in."

  The floor suddenly slid from under them. They fell on their sides and were jostled along a few feet before they plunged down, to bounce jarringly on a wrestling mat eight feet below.

  Dr. Karadin, a large swarthy man and four metal-suited figures were grouped around them.

  "Good evening," said Karadin. "What a terrible nuisance you two are!" He turned to the swarthy man. "Now, Mr. Sirdar, they are all yours. Let us have no more mistakes." He walked away to steps lowered from the roof and climbed up to the control room.

  CHAPTER TWELVE: RESOLVEMENT

  THEY were in an oval room, low-ceilinged, not large, with five doorless openings leading from it. There was a glimpse of several short passages curving away in different directions.

  Sirdar left the four metal-clad men to do the muscle work. All were big and knew their job. If only there had been one each, April and Mark would have taken a chance. As it was, they daren't risk an offensive.

  "To the lay-in." Sirdar strode off. The men hustled their captives into a passage, post two rooms containing bunk beds, ending in a narrow room with coffins stacked around the walls, a plinth in the center.

  Sirdar took a coffin, lifting it like it was a matchbox, measured it against Mark, then laid it on the plinth. He took another to April, measured and placed it next to that. While the men held them captive, Sirdar stripped off belts and packs, and tossed these against the wall. From a shelf he took two rolls of muslin. He worked fast and expertly, winding the muslin tight around their bodies from shoulders to ankles. After he'd fixed the last tie of muslin he gave a signal. The men stepped back.

  April and Mark began to sway, off-balance, unable to move their feet. Sirdar laughed as he put one massive hand around each of their throats. He rocked them back and forth like mummified dolls.

  "Ah no! No mistakes this time, eh?" He looked at April. "Sirdar is patient. Sirdar waits for his time. Now it comes. Once, you defect Sirdar because he does not believe any woman could be so quick and strong. So this time I make no mistake." He shrugged. "Is a pity. With you I could have had fun. My men also. But—what is one woman?" He held Mark at arm's length, drew April close to him, kissed her full on the lips. Then he jerked back with a howl of pain, thrusting her away. She fell against one of the men, who caught and held her.

  She had bitten clean through Sirdar's lower lip. Blood spouted over his chin, reddening his shirt. He rushed at her, fists clenched. Released from the throat-hold and now mastering the trick of balancing, Mark raised himself to his toes and launched forward, inclining his head so that it struck Sirdar's temple with all the force he could achieve.

  In fact, Sirdar ran into the blow, thus making the impact more severe. Lights exploded behind Mark's eyes. Blackness swam in front of them. His last thought was: "Ye gods—I've knocked myself cold!" He couldn't see, and didn't know, that Sirdar went down like a pole-axed bull
ock, also out cold. The next Mark saw as he came to was the ceiling, rough-plastered, mauve in the fluorescent lighting, and wooden walls on each side of him.

  A man's face peered down at him.

  "You awake, eh? Man, you got plenty trouble! Before this you die quick. Now you die real slow. You make Sirdar one sick man. You split his head open and the she-cat split his lip open. Man, you better pray because when Sirdar recovers, you are for a little grave under the hot sun in an open coffin for the ants to eat you and the birds to peck at your eyes!"

  Mark's head felt it was splitting under the hammer blows of a throbbing ache. The light was painful. He closed his eyes and felt better.

  "You would not have the stomach to watch me die," he said, having glimpsed the half-fear, half-arrogance in the man's eyes.

  The voice laughed jerkily. "Me? No, I admit it. But I will not have to. Soon I will be gone from here. It is your stomach that will have the fear."

  April's voice said: "Thanks, darling. You gave the temporal blow almost to perfection. A half an inch to the right and you'd have killed the big swine. They had to carry him out, though. Are you okay?"

  "Your voice is an alka-seltzer, me old darling."

  "Well, fizz you too—what a compliment!"

  "Crazy, you are," said the man. "In your coffins, yet you can make the jokes."

  "Hey, gorgeous!" April called. "How come these coffins? You expecting a bunch of zombies?"

  "These are from the old days when sick people came here. Sometimes we had to ship their bodies back to their own country. Sometimes we bury them here."

  Mark said: "How would you like ten thousand dollars, friend?"

  The man chuckled. "Me? I have ten thousand dollars. You offer the bribe, yes? Don't be silly. If you have a million dollars you do not bribe me. It is worth nothing. In a few days—nothing at all. Now—if you have ten thousand esparas, that would mean something."

  "And to think I had my hands on hundreds of thousands of them!" said Mark.

  "You did? You have seen our new esparas currency?"

  "Certainly I have. Very pretty too."

  "How do you see them?" The man's face again peered down into Mark's coffin. "We see only pictures of them. How do you see them?"

  "In France—a place where they printed them. We blew it up after we cleaned out the esparas."

  "Ah! Yes, a plant was blown up—this I heard. You still have the esparas?"

  "We still have them. Not here, of course, but we've got 'em right enough."

  "Make it twenty thousand," said April. "All you need to do is to slit this muslin on me, leave me the knife and forget to collect our gear from over by the wall before you leave."

  "It is tempting. It needs thinking about. With twenty thousand esparas I could live like a millionaire. An esparas will be worth fifty dollars." He obviously was pacing around the plinth, for they could hear his feet thumping. "But—how do I get paid?"

  At that moment a repeater alarm began to sound. They could hear its echo, or some other amplifier, relaying its call. The man's face appeared over the coffins.

  "We all must obey that call. It means there are more intruders." He grinned lopsidedly. "Don't go away—I'll be back. My name is Mindano—Josef Mindano. Maybe we work something out."

  "Sure, Jo," said April. "We'll lie around and wait for you.',

  "I like you," said Josef. "You are fun—and so pretty."

  He disappeared. They heard his footsteps pounding away.

  "One of us," said April slowly, "one of us is going to have to think up a good line to feed our Josef, else I'm going to become a dead mummy before I've had a chance to become a live one."

  "Chance, me old darling, is something of which you've had nothing else but," said Mark, equally slowly. "it's taking them that makes mummies."

  "If you live," said April, "they won't retire you––they'll put you out to stud."

  "A horse of my acquaintance tells me it's a wonderful life. All the vitamins you need and a field full of fillies." He paused. "April, darling—you are a lovely, sweet piece."

  A short silence. "And you're a swashbuckling dog."

  Mark sighed. "Heigh-ho! I suppose this is the nearest I'll ever get to being next to you in compromising circumstances."

  "Yes," she said. "It can't be much fun for mummies."

  In the silence which followed they heard the soft swish-pad of slithering footsteps coming towards them. These halted somewhere beyond the coffins. There were rustling movements and a gasp.

  "Hi, Jo!" April called softly. "Is that you?"

  Quick, pattering footsteps; then a face peering down at them.

  "Oh, Jimmy!" said Randy Kovac. "So there you are!"

  "I won't ask it," said April, adding swiftly: "Knife—fast. Come on, Randy—move!"

  Randy moved, slit the lower folds, then up one side. April's hand appeared. "Okay, give it me. Go and unwind Mark. Pull out the underfold around his ankles."

  Mark raised his legs. Randy worked feverishly at unwinding the muslin. April got free and began slitting the muslin from the top. At last they climbed to the floor. Mark swayed a little, head buzzing, but this soon cleared.

  "Gear!" he snapped. "They didn't have time to tamper with it."

  They fitted it on, drew their U.N.C.L.E. guns, gave Randy a small automatic for his own protection, then stood at a vantage point near the opening.

  "Okay, hero!" said April to Randy. "Now talk. How?"

  Randy gulped. "Mr. Waverly told me I could go with some of the C.I.A. men in one of the encirclement cars—just for experience in field work and to see how an incident is escalated into a resolvement…"

  "Oh Gawd!" Mark interrupted. "Spare us the Pentagon prattle. You're here—how?"

  Randy grinned. "They didn't want me. I didn't want them. I took to the hills. I knew your position." He hesitated. "You weren't really smooching, were you?"

  "Peeping Tom!" April exclaimed. "You were it!"

  "Not peeping—honest."

  "Okay, honest. So?"

  "I saw a woman—back of the ridge. Sneaked up on her hideout. She must have been there for weeks. A cave stocked with stuff. There's a sort of crack in the hills over that side."

  "A fissure," said Mark. "Let's be correct. We know it."

  "It's a way down," said Randy.

  "Dammit, there usually is in a great crack!"

  Randy grew brisk again. "You mean fissure."

  Mark raised a fist. "In your head if you don't get on."

  "Under an overhang—another cave. The other side of the fissure a track wide enough to take a small car. Inside the cave, a doorway into a passage. Very steep, then levels out. Rooms lead off it—rooms like this. Some well furnished. One is a monitoring room. Screens show all the garden, every part of the house. A big room next, with almost empty racks and hangers. A few metal suits and some containers still left."

  "Their stockpile," said April. "And they've distributed it. Anything else?"

  "Passageways to this end. I kept ducking in and out. I think I set off an alarm."

  "He thinks!" said Mark, then grinned. "We thank you. How many men?"

  "Ooh, dozens!"

  "Well, thank you again!"

  "They've gone. They went hours ago by that fissure cave."

  "They'll have been collected by now," said April.

  "There's a big man groaning in a room with four beds. And one or two others roaming about the passages," said Randy. "I hid under one of the bunks until they'd gone. Then I came into this part and heard your voices."

  "Story ends," said Mark. "We now clean up Sirdar and his top boyos, and"—he grinned again—"I think we could escalate this to a resolvement, don't you?"

  "That woman bothers me," said April. "Who? And why? You think she comes in here?"

  "Oh yes," said Randy. "I watched her go in and come out."

  "But she doesn't set off an alarm when she comes in?"

  Randy shrugged. "I needn't have, if I'd been more clever. They're on
ly a few trip wires and a couple of photocells. I ducked under the cells."

  "She may be just a good friend," said Mark. "A sort of electronic camp follower."

  "I doubt it," said April. "Knowing how Karadin feels about women, he wouldn't stand for any female hanging around here. And if she was attached to him, there'd be a room for her—not a cave." She looked at Randy. "Keep back of us, and watch how you use that gun. You can use one?"

  "Oh yes; I'm a pot shot."

  "There ain't no pots," said Mark. "Just people—so watch it, William Tell. Ready, April, me old—hmm—mate?"

  "Yus, mate!" April grinned, mimicking his London accent.

  They moved out of the coffin room. Mark was ahead of them. Sirdar—a cloth pressed to his head but a leveled gun in his hand—lumbered out of a passageway. The bark of his gun was merged with the "spat-spat" of the U.N.C.L.E. gun. Sirdar staggered, hit the wall, the gun lowered as he slid down—his other hand, strangely, still pressed to his wounded head.

  Mark felt warm blood oozing down his neck. He had swayed and fired in a lightning reflex action. Sirdar's bullet had wanged his ear. Another inch... "Messy but marvelous," said Mark. "Press on."

  April dashed ahead. A man in a metal suit loomed out of a doorway. She tangled with him fiercely, dropping him part to his knees. As she gun-butted him, Mark leapt past her. Two men came pounding along a passage to his right. Guns crashed. Stone chippings spattered. The two men, flung back, fell, then lay still.

  As Mark watched them, another man came stealthily from a left-side passage. His gun was leveled. April and Randy saw the danger at the same time, but she couldn't fire, for the awkward angle meant that she might hit Mark. All in this split second, Randy took the most difficult decision of his young life. To be swift to kill? To be cool to cripple? He aimed, squeezing the trigger. The gun leapt out of the man's hand, and spun away. Mark whirled, and his gun butt crashed down. Poor old Jo!

  April said: "Right—this is it. Cover me in case there are any more." She pulled out the U.N.CL.E. communicator. "Channel D. April Dancer. Mark Slate. Hear this! Hear this! Close in. Repeat—close in. We are in basement. Karadin isolated. Am going to trap him. Nothing is wrecked. Keep it that way, huh? Message ends—out."