Pulp Fiction | The Hollow Crown Affair by David McDaniel

by Unknown

  The five of them sat around a small but comfortably furnished room which filled the front quarter of the converted Quonset hut that housed one of the best-planned chemical research labs of its size the UNCLE visitors had seen; they'd spent the better part of an hour being shown around by its proprietor, designer and chief occupant before he would consent to talk business. It had been Chandra, finally, who had insisted on a cup of tea and refused to drink it standing up.

  With the tea had come the long-awaited conversation. The clear Vermont sun streamed in the door to ease the slight chill, and eventually Illya brought up Topic A. "Well," he said casually, "how are things with Thrush?"

  "Not well, I fear," said Baldwin. "There are twelve other candidates besides myself and King. Since your ill-timed intrusion in Philadelphia, attempts have been made on the lives of eight. For valid reasons every attack has failed, but each has left some indication that either your forces were or I personally was responsible." He paused. "I'm also stung by the assumption that I would repeatedly fail in such a simple task as an assassination."

  "King wouldn't be likely to fail if he didn't want to," Chandra observed. "I think you ought to get right to work with whatever Mr. Waverly can tell you about what they've been doing and figure out what they're likely to do if they find you. After all, if UNCLE knows, the rest of the world soon will."

  Baldwin nodded. "I'd planned to, Chandra." He levered himself up from his chair. "Would you be a good girl and clean up the tea things? We must get over to my office for the case. Perhaps we could make a test run this afternoon. I take it, Mr. Waverly, that you could spare us a few hours—I may be able to offer you some detailed advice later." He took his mortarboard from the end table, balancing himself on an ebony-and-staghorn cane Napoleon thought he recognized. "For that matter, if you could spare us the evening, there will be a dance in connection with the opening of the football season."

  Chandra sparkled at Napoleon and Illya. "Oh, do come! We just got a new shipment from Cape May, and Ed will be cataloguing it until midnight. And I'm just no help at something like that. I'll need someone to be with until he gets there. Napoleon, you will escort me, won't you?"

  Illya gave him a look. "How about me?" he said.

  "Oh, Mr. Kuryakin, I'm sure we'll be able to find someone for you. So many young men are away in the war."

  Illya looked her right in the eye. "Some of us are at war right here," he said.

  Napoleon caught the edge in his tone and said, "As a matter of fact, Dr. Fraser's secretary is cute. Dark hair, good figure..."

  "Miss Stier? You may see her at my office. Good afternoon, Chandra—and thank you."

  Baldwin led the way from the Bomb Shop across stubbly grass to the street. There was a light breeze, and the air was clean enough to flush the last city air from their lungs. Baldwin's black overcoat with the Astrakhan collar stumped along in contrast to Waverly's slightly shorter camelshair as Napoleon and Illya took up a fifty-yard lead after a moment spent saying goodbye to Chandra.

  "What precisely do you have to show us?" Alexander Waverly asked.

  Baldwin's voice was made harsher and less even by the strain of walking, but he answered. "When I left San Francisco, Waverly, I was fleeing for my life. I was able to bring very little with me, so I chose the most valuable items I could lay my hands on at once. They are valueless to you and could never be sold, but they may yet defeat King, even with Central and the Ultimate Computer itself behind him."

  Waverly nodded and pondered Baldwin's words like a riddle. "You carried these with you, I assume."

  "In an attache case. Program tapes copied from limited access areas through my Satrap Satellite, containing data on Strategic Programming, Operational Coding, Basic Field Directives and other topics of practical interest. With the help of the campus computer facility..."

  "... You have a good probability of predicting what direction their future actions will take. Unless they are aware of your possession of the copies."

  "They aren't," said Baldwin simply.

  Napoleon and Illya hurried up beside them, and Napoleon said, "Chandra asked if you'll want your electric cart driven over to Williams or if you'll walk back here. She said if you want it, call her—she's going to stay there and tidy up for a while."

  "Thank you, Mr. Solo. I shall probably want it sent over. The width of the campus is quite a fair walk in one direction."

  "It's nice to see you well, sir," said Illya.

  "I'm feeling refreshed by my return to the academic world, Mr. Kuryakin—and the climate here seems to agree with me."

  Napoleon started to say something almost involuntarily, but caught a fierce look from Illya and bit his tongue.

  They wound along concrete walks past the gray-stone fortress of Converse Hall and came into a newer, larger Quad. Williams Hall, along with its neighbors, backed on its west side facing the older square where stately old trees shed their motley leaves on the deep green grass. Here, in contrast, patches of earth were still bare. The young saplings were scarcely free of their supports, and seemed hardly to know what to do with their foliage now that the weather was turning chill.

  It was Illya, ever alert, who first observed the man in the dark suit following them. Sotto voce, he informed the other members of his party.

  "The one in the ill-fitting brown suit?" asked Baldwin without turning round. "Is he wearing a blue-and-gray striped tie?"

  "I can't tell at this distance," said Illya. "Friend of yours?"

  "Hardly. My friends have better taste, as a rule. No, I suspected him of more than scholarly interest in my activities yesterday."

  "I could let the rest of you go on ahead while I go back to talk to him," the Russian agent offered.

  "That shouldn't be necessary, Mr. Kuryakin. Among my reasonable precautions I have established defensive systems about the campus." He scanned the horizon figuratively, then started off towards Williams Hall again. "Since the curious gentleman is still following us, I shall act on my suspicions." He raised his stick and hailed a hulking young man in a bright green-and-gold windbreaker.

  They passed the time of day and exchanged opinions on the football team's chances for success in the impending season, while Illya and Napoleon shifted their weight from one foot to the other and exchanged murmurs with Waverly. Then Baldwin said, "By the way, Mr. Whalen, I have been hearing rumors about football spies from Crawford Academy. Have any of your friends mentioned this possibility?"

  "Well, I did hear something about that..."

  "I would discount those rumors, myself, but for the fact that the gentleman over there was standing near the practice field yesterday afternoon with binoculars and a notepad. I observed at the time that his tie bore Crawford's colors."

  "You mean the guy in the brown?" Whalen glanced suspiciously over Baldwin's shoulder. "He doesn't look like he belongs around here. Wonder what he's looking for. Maybe I ought to go ask him. Thanks, Dr. Fraser."

  Whalen nodded to the three UNCLE representatives and wandered off at a right angle to their path. Illya glanced at Baldwin. "You just launched a self-directing guided muscle from one of your defense systems, didn't you."

  Baldwin looked pained. "Has it occurred to you, Mr. Kuraykin, that the longer Thrush believes we are ignorant of their surveillance, the better? I understand your thirst for physical action, but I beg you do not indulge it at the expense of my security."

  Patiently they strode on towards Williams Hall, Illya watching their tail uneasily from the corner of his eye. They reached and turned the corner of the building just as half a dozen figures strode down another walk into the New Quad some distance away. Just around the corner Illya stopped and turned. The others paused and looked at him.

  "Pardon me, sir," he said with a bit of a smile. "I'd like to watch."

  He peeked around the corner, looking between the edges of the bricks. Surrounded by a fence of green-and-gold windbreakers, the man seemed a good deal smaller than he had alone in the middle of the Quad. H
e was fumbling for his wallet when Baldwin's voice drew Illya back.

  "Mr. Kuryakin...would you care to join us? The bogey has been effectively neutralized."

  Reluctantly, Illya left the view and followed as Baldwin continued. "A secondary reason for withholding your encounter is the problem of time. I have no reason to be hailed as a witness to a charge of unprovoked assault and battery—computer time is valuable, and we will need more than you might think."

  "Frankly, sir, I was concerned for the safety of the campus vigilantes."

  "Mr. Kuryakin, if you expect a low-level Thrush assigned to a simple surveillance task to whip out a gun and start shooting people, you must indeed underestimate us. He will have been supplied with a perfectly valid cover. All I ask is that he be detained long enough for us to move unobserved from my office to the computer facility." He shook his head. "The direct approach, young man, is not always the simplest. If you had confronted him, he might have become desperate."

  "And besides," said Napoleon, "you'd gone to all the trouble of setting up the second string team for your personal swarm of bodyguards."

  Baldwin paused and stared at him for a moment. "Of course. To leave it untested would have been a shame."

  Chapter 7: "Good Is Better Than Evil Because It's Nicer."

  From his office, Baldwin telephoned to another campus extension where he spoke with a Miss Potter. As he did so, Napoleon took the opportunity to introduce Illya to the cute dark-haired secretary, whose name was Lyn Stier. Without going into their shared history, Napoleon got the idea across that they were actually old friends of Dr. Fraser who hade come up to see him as a surprise. She laughed prettily and said, "I'll bet you know a lot about him."

  "Not as much as we'd like," said Illya. "Perhaps we could exchange notes this evening."

  "The dance? Why, I'd love to! Dr. Fraser..."

  Baldwin turned to her as he hung up the telephone. "Miss Stier, I believe those notes can wait transcription a few more days. You may as well take the rest of the day off."

  "Oh, thank you," she said, rising and straightening the piles of pages covered with scrawls and obscure formulae in the distinctive jagged handwriting and green ink. As Baldwin beckoned Waverly over for a muttered moment of conferral, Lyn smiled brightly at Illya. "Why don't you meet me there?" she said.

  "Miss Stier," said Baldwin suddenly, "as long as you're leaving, could you give me a lift to the computer facility? My leg has been acting up since that lamentable occurrence in Philadelphia." He picked up a locked attache case and limped toward the door as Lyn got her coat. "Mr. Waverly, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin," he said, "I shall expect to meet you later." He opened the door for Lyn and followed her out.

  "He means, gentlemen," said Waverly dryly, "that we are to walk to the computer facility and meet him there." He eased himself into Baldwin's chair as Napoleon and Illya started for the door.

  Solo stopped first and tapped his partner as he turned the knob, pointing back at Waverly, who was casually filling his pipe from Baldwin's humidor. Solo looked at him a moment, then glanced at Illya and sank into the seat recently vacated by Lyn. "My dear Watson," he said, "put yourself in Baldwin's place. That bogey won't stay neutralized forever, and he'll probably be sure all four of us went in here. If Baldwin gets out unnoticed and one of us is seen occasionally at the window he'll assume Baldwin is still here and maybe keep watching for hours and hours."

  "Especially if we leave the light on," said Waverly through a cloud of poisonous smoke.

  "So he'll hide in Lyn's car while she gets him past the stake-out," said Illya. "If he keeps ducking down, won't she begin to wonder?"

  Napoleon glanced at Waverly, then back at Illya. "My dear Watson," he repeated, "since his leg is paining him severely, he'll want to stretch it out on the back seat where he can remain out of sight. Right?"

  "Essentially, Mr. Solo," said Waverly. "Besides, we could do nothing at the computer facility until the data is ready to feed. Mr. Kuryakin, why don't you show yourself briefly at the window and see if anyone is watching?"

  * * *

  Miss Potter had brown hair and wore a light yellow suit over a neat plain blouse. As she worked over coding sheets with Baldwin, Napoleon observed that the top button was open. The first set of data had already been run when they arrived, unfollowed; the stake-out had studied them intently as they passed him with the width of the street separating them, and had chosen to remain where he thought his duty lay.

  Napoleon spent his time chatting with Miss Potter, whose name was also Lin but spelled with an i. She said Dr. Fraser claimed to prefer it that way: "He doesn't have to worry about addressing me or his secretary by the wrong name, but anything he writes down will be sure to go where he wants it to." She smiled charmingly. "You'd almost think he'd planned it this way."

  Solo shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past him."

  "Neither would I," said Lin, as a chime sounded. "Oops, there's the second Games Theory program coming off now." She got to her feet and hurried to study the printout.

  "Games Theory?" said Napoleon, coming up behind her to look over her shoulder.

  "Uh-huh. The math department uses it sometimes, but Dr. Fraser is the only person from the chemistry department to utilize this particular capability. He says it has to do with studies of random interactions of molecules...You needn't mention this to him, but I'm afraid he's doing something else."

  Napoleon swallowed. "What could he be doing?"

  Lin lowered her voice as the machine-gun clatter stopped and the paper shot up to clear the tear-bar. "Several of the faculty have gotten involved in a complex kind of war game called Super-Diplomacy. I wouldn't be surprised if Dr. Fraser were playing in one, with the computer as his general staff."

  "There is a large element of truth in what you say." Illya's soft Russian accents spoke from behind them as Miss Potter tore the wide sheet of paper from the machine. "What's the latest news from the front?"

  "I'm afraid you'll have to ask Dr. Fraser. The coding language is one I'm not familiar with. I can pick out bits and pieces, but the overall direction is just a little beyond me. All I do is help him set it up."

  Baldwin and Waverly entered together and joined the others at the large worktable. Baldwin studied the cryptic typed lines and made a few notes, while Napoleon looked over his shoulder and wondered about something.

  "Ah, Dr. Fraser...it certainly is a lucky coincidence that your tapes happened to be in a format this machine could handle."

  Baldwin smiled deep in his beard. "Yes. Isn't it."

  "What language is it, anyway?" asked Illya idly.

  "THROTL," said Baldwin succinctly. "THRush Operational Translating Language. It is distantly derived from Cobol, Fortran, Loglan and Berneckytran, among others, adapted for versatility. I regret I cannot share a direct translation of this sheet with you, but much of the material here is classified and I hope to return to my proper position shortly. Give me an hour alone with it and I will have our next move planned out."

  Lin glanced at Napoleon significantly.

  * * *

  The dance had already begun when Illya poked Napoleon and pointed. Across the gymnasium, on one of a row of folding chairs, sat Irene Baldwin in a perfectly proper and fetching outfit. "She's here to tell Ward something," said the Russian. "And there are entirely too many secrets being kept around here these days. Let's see if we can intercept anything of general interest."

  Solo nodded. Chandra and Lyn had drifted off together for a few minutes, and Alexander Waverly had drifted into contemplative silence. Lin Potter had bounced by with a short young man with tangled blond hair and black framed glasses, waved to them and called them to join, but Chandra had something important to tell Lyn and begged their patience for just five more minutes.

  They had left Napoleon and Illya standing at the edge of the dance floor, hands clasped behind them, rocking forward occasionally, and conversing in tones just audible above the energetic but uninspired combo. Now they had stoppe
d rocking, and were watching, with the utmost unconcern, the quietly smiling and nearly anonymous woman across the hall.

  Finally Illya spoke. "Napoleon," he said, "I think I'll go and ask her for a dance."

  Napoleon said nothing for a minute. "Sounds like a good idea," he said at last. "See what you can find out."

  The next number was slower with a more definite rhythm, and Illya materialized beside Irene's chair, clicked his heels slightly and offered her his hand. Her eyes were warm as she accepted it and rose, and they turned out onto the floor.

  Illya opened the conversation. "I must thank you for the bouquet," he said. "Chandra told us you were on our side."

  "Chandra oversimplifies, I'm afraid. I just didn't want Ward to let things get worse. When the situation deteriorates, change it. As for the bouquet, I carried it with me when I went down to the City." She laughed lightly. "Ward always said you wouldn't recognize a clue if it was handed to you on a tray—I'm really pleased to find he was wrong."

  Before Illya could think of an answer, she changed the subject and was asking him if he had seen any of Burlington since he'd been here.

  "No—we came straight here from the airport."

  "What a pity. If you have time, you should ask Ward to give you his ten-cent tour of the city."

  "I remember how your fifty-cent tour of San Francisco ended."

  "With poor Mr. Horne riding the California Street cable. Yes, that was an enjoyable evening. But I won't be able to come with you this time—Ward and I have agreed not to know each other at all while conditions are so unstable; I should actually be in hiding at the moment."

  "Why did you come to the dance, then?"

  She sighed. "Sentimental weakness, I suppose. And I did want to see Ward, if only from a distance. Chandra told me how well he looked at Convocation."

  "I don't suppose you know what we can expect, where King is, or anything like that."

  She shook her head. "Oh no. I just stay close enough that I can come help Ward if he needs me."