The Goliath Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  Illya flicked off off the stud. The pistol ceased its relentless tick.

  "What does the time have to do with Napoleon Solo being alive or dead?"

  "My father Dr. Bauer is in charge of the scientific project at this station. By means of his enzymatic ray process he is increasing the strength and physical capabilities of a select group of THRUSH shock troops so that—"

  "Yes, yes," Illya said impatiently. "We saw Klaanger. Get to the point. Where is Napoleon?"

  "In my father's laboratory. There."

  Helene indicated the sprawling building. Rapidly she explained the experiment which Dr. Bauer had been intending to perform.

  "Solo went under the reversing ray early this morning when I first brought him from Munich. But just as the equipment was turned on, a transmitter overloaded and blew out. Technicians had to work in the lab all day to make the proper repairs. Your Mr. Solo gained a slight reprieve. He has been locked in a cell all day today. My father re-scheduled the experiment for seven this evening."

  Illya's heart began to slug faster in his chest. "Then we have no time to lose."

  "I can't help it if it's already too late, Kuryakin."

  "For your sake, my dear," Illya replied, "I hope it is not. No quickly. Fall into place beside me. Here, on my left side. We are going to walk side-by-side across the parade ground and into your headquarters. You will take me directly to the laboratory. I will have my pistol pointed at your pretty ribs every second. I will fire at the first outcry. Are you ready?"

  Looking rather scared for a superwoman, Helene Bauer nodded.

  Illya felt perspiration trickling down the back of his neck. The parade ground was huge, giving him a feeling of isolation, of being a clear target. Helene Bauer's sibilant breathing sounded loudly in his left ear.

  It seemed to be taking forever to reach the house.

  "Walk faster," he whispered.

  Helene quickened her stride. They passed a number of dun-gray halftrack vehicles with machine guns mounted on swivels in their rear beds. They reached a concrete walk which led to a rear entrance to the house.

  Under a feeble shielded light a THRUSH soldier snapped to attention.

  Illya's mind raced. Was Solo alive? Or was the hour already too late?

  Illya held the door. They stepped into a foyer walled in stainless steel. His heart hammered in his chest. The first peril was past.

  But how many more lay ahead?

  FOUR

  Napoleon Solo had the eerie feeling that he had been here before. And indeed he had been, for he was again strapped down to Herr Doktor Klaus Bauer's thickly padded table.

  More than twelve hours had passed since Bauer's assistants manhandled him onto the table. He was no closer now to a way of escape from this devil's den of goose-steppers and THRUSH agents than he had been then. If anything, he was further away.

  "Patience, patience, Solo," Bauer said as he came within Solo's range of vision, bustling from one control console to another. "Don't writhe so. It's useless."

  Bauer paused long enough to peer down at Solo. His eyes rolled behind his rimless glasses. His round pate shone like a new egg under the fluorescent glare of the ceiling lights. A thin film of spittle appeared on his up-curled lip as he contemplated his victim.

  Solo was now clad in loose, over-starched gray prison trousers and shirt, black socks and clumsy ankle-high prisoner's boots.

  As Bauer's face swam close, Solo realized again that the man, though brilliant, was certainly unbalanced. He recalled Bauer's almost womanish sobs this morning, when the transmitter had overloaded and blown out, thus granting Solo his brief reprieve.

  "I trust the day-long wait has not aggravated your nerves, Solo?" Bauer clucked.

  "Not much," Solo barked back. Cold perspiration trickled down his right cheek. In truth the day of anticipation had done just that, tightened his nerves almost unbearably.

  After being removed from the table that morning in the smoke and confusion following the power failure, Solo had been stripped, searched—a formality neglected on his arrival, due to Bauer's extreme haste—and then given his prisoner's garb. He was thrown into a cheerless, windowless cement cell. There, without a weapon or, seemingly, a prayer of getting out, he had languished throughout the day until THRUSH soldiers fetched him at ten before seven this evening.

  "We won't have to wait much longer now," Bauer grinned.

  "There's no need to fake a lot of civilized behaviour, Herr Doktor. I know you too well."

  Bauer's eyebrows shot up. "But this is nothing personal, Herr Solo!"

  "Maybe with you it's not."

  "This is all in the cause of science!"

  "Or the cause of a little Bavarian madman who butchered women and children?"

  Dr. Bauer's face lost its comic-opera look. He leaned down and very nearly spat in Napoleon Solo's face.

  "For that filthy remark, I hope the process reduces you to a boneless, witless lump of—" He lapsed into a stream of vile German words.

  One of his assistants tugged his sleeve, nervously indicating the clock high up on the wall. Bauer flushed and recovered himself. With a last hateful glance at Solo he rushed off.

  Click-click.

  Snap-snick.

  The deep hummings began.

  Overhead, the black lens in the center of the stainless steel ball glowed and pulsed, glowed and pulsed -

  "Power drain, Hermann?" Bauer called somewhere.

  "Normal, Herr Doktor."

  "Splendid, splendid! Throw the lever. Increase to the third increment—"

  A low metal spang indicated that the lever had been thrown over. Solo's extremities began to tingle oddly. The pulsing blue halation which surrounded the steel ball hurt his eyes. This was unforgivable! He shouldn't be trapped this way, giving up his life without even having had the chance to notify U.N.C.L.E.. If only Illya had somehow gotten through—

  "Increase to the fifth increment!" Dr. Bauer called above the rising dynamo hum.

  The bluish light began to make Solo's eyes dance with painful colored dots. His entire body gave a violent spasm, as though some strange transformation were taking place within his cellular structure. A second spasm followed. He would have fallen off the table and been injured had not the restraining straps been so tight.

  Solo clenched his teeth. Another peculiar pain started, this one seeming to come from the deepest marrow of his bones. He bit down on his lower lip to choke back a cry of agony as the bluish light blazed, blazed—

  Sensations smacked against his eyes and ears in confusing, overlapping sequence:

  A heavy metal door hissed and rocked open with a clang.

  At the same time a girl squeaked out a frightened yell which ended with a sudden gasp of breath, as though her warning cry had been aborted by a quick, ungentlemanly punch in the ribs.

  Then, through a chorus of German cursing, Solo heard a voice he recognized:

  "Napoleon? Napoleon—"

  "Illya!" Solo was unable to twist his head and see his friend.

  "I will kill anyone in this chamber who moves," Illya called.

  The bluish light blinded Solo. Even the stainless steel ball directly above him was hidden. The ache in the marrow of his bones intensified to a point of near-unbearable agony. Somehow he managed to summon strength to yell in a croaking voice:

  "Illya? Make them—turn the machine off."

  "Turn it off," Illya ordered.

  "Nein, nein!" Bauer exclaimed hoarsely. "Manfred, throw the alarm switch—"

  Footsteps hammered. Illya shouted another warning. Evidently it was disobeyed. Illya's pistol cracked flatly once. A man screamed.

  As Solo remembered, there were no THRUSH soldiers stationed in the laboratory chamber, only research men. Evidently Illya had them under the gun and they were not of a mind to disobey his orders. Silence fell.

  But Bauer wasn't happy with the situation.

  "Do not touch the power-down control, Wolfgang! If you value your life, do not
—"

  "Wolfgang—" Illya said harshly.

  Wolfgang apparently had a different view of his life's worth. There came the solid ka-thunk of a large control being slammed home. At once the power hum of the dynamo receded. The bluish light began to fade.

  The marrow-hurting pain in Solo's bones waned. In a moment, after a flurry of footfalls, Illya's face appeared just above his, white, anxious. A knife blade flickered. Illya slashed at the straps. Seconds later Solo sat up and stretched his creaking muscles.

  He wasted no words of thanks. They were in a serious situation and he had to move fast. Solo's eyes swept the chamber.

  Dr. Bauer and his technicians were grouped around the control-board consoles, tense with fear. On the low balcony other THRUSH lab men had frozen by their instruments.

  Near wide open double doors leading to a stainless steel corridor, Helene Bauer was just picking herself up. She shook her head groggily.

  "I am not quite certain as to what is happening here, Napoleon," Illya whispered.

  Dr. Bauer stared hatefully at the pistol in Illya's fist. "You can't escape."

  "That remains to be seen, sir." From the corner of his mouth, Illya hissed at his friend, "I had to hit the girl when she screamed. If we reach her before she recovers, we can use her as I used her to get in here—for cover."

  Solo nodded. He pointed overhead at the stainless steel ball. "First we've got to wreck that thing. It's Bauer's ray for making supermen—"

  Illya grasped the situation instantly. He raised the pistol over his head. "Watch them, Napoleon. Here's my knife. Take it." With his gun turned toward the stainless steel ball he squinted up the muzzle over the sight—

  Klaus Bauer let out another hysterical scream of rage and flung himself forward. Solo darted in to block the man's charge with his body so that Illya could get off his shot.

  The shot never came.

  Something flickered in the corner of Solo's eye. Bauer crashed into him, flailing and digging at Solo's face with savage fingernails. Illya heard noises, whirled around, precisely at the instant when an entire section of concrete block wall on the balcony shot upward to reveal Vanessa Robin and Felix Klaanger charging down a slanting corridor into the chamber with THRUSH troops pounding at their heels.

  ACT FOUR — Pick a Rock, Any Rock—Or Die

  ONE

  Vanessa Robin's slanted green eyes were raging as she flung up a rapid-fire pistol and began to blaze away. Solo and Illya threw themselves to the concrete. Streaks of white fire ate towards them, chewing holes in the padding of the big table.

  "Crawl toward the right," Solo said. "They'll fan out all around us in a couple of seconds. We'll be caught if we don't reach that door soon—"

  Illya nodded, cheeks chalk-white as he took aim and fired. A THRUSH soldier climbing down over the balcony rail jerked his arms straight up in the air and toppled. Blood sprouted from a bullet hole in the side of his neck.

  "Deploy, deploy!" Felix Klaanger bawled, gesturing with a rifle. "Encircle them, you idiots!"

  Klaanger was crouching behind a concrete support post at the balcony's edge. Vanessa was right beside him. Her face was vengeful, but Klaanger's was even worse, a nightmare face with its gigantic wreck of a nose. Illya scrambled to his feet alongside Solo and tried a shot. Klaanger's bulbous, lemon-shaped head disappeared, unscathed.

  The entire laboratory was now a pandemonium of shots, curses in German, shrieked orders and counter-orders. Solo and Illya raced full-tilt for the doors through which Helene Bauer had led Illya only moments ago. Helene too was crouching on the balcony, seeking cover from the deadly crossfire. The U.N.C.L.E. agents zigzagged through the maze of control consoles, ducking, bending, twisting—

  Solo felt a slug pluck his left sleeve. Another chunked against Illya's flying left heel, dug out a section and spent itself on the concrete floor. They were five yards from the balcony and the doors.

  Three yards.

  Two -

  Just ahead, Dr. Klaus Bauer loomed up. Somehow he had gotten around in front of them. Shrieking wildly, he launched himself from the balcony rail and landed on top of Napoleon, knocking him to the ground.

  Over and over they tumbled. The scientist had gone berserk. His nails dug and clawed at Solo's neck. His knee slammed violently into Solo's groin, bringing intense pain. Solo lost all his scruples about hurting an older man and gave Bauer a wild bashing elbow in the mid-section.

  Bauer's glasses slipped off and he groaned. But he managed to hang on to Solo's throat as Solo staggered to his feet, literally dragging Bauer along with him.

  Illya had leaped up to the balcony rail, was hanging there by one hand. He sniped at the THRUSH soldiers who were creeping forward behind cover of the various consoles.

  Violently Solo twisted, trying to shake Bauer off. For brief seconds, the white-coated back of Dr. Klaus Bauer was turned toward the center of the chamber. A rapid-fire pistol stuttered.

  Dr. Bauer began to jiggle and sway like a marionette. Inches from Solo's face, his mouth sagged open. The light of life dimmed in his eyes. His hands slipped free of Solo's throat. Slowly, he corkscrewed to the floor. The back of the little man's lab coat was singed black, and stitched back and forth with a pattern of holes left by high-powered bullets.

  On the far side of the chamber Vanessa Robin leaned on the top of the concrete support post. Smoke curled from the barrel of the rapid-fire pistol in her right hand.

  Solo quickly became conscious of two things: the totally callous and inhuman way Vanessa Robin had murdered Bauer to get at him, and a sound behind and to his left—low feminine sobbing.

  And then a hysterical scream tore out:

  "Papa! Dear God—Papa!"

  Helene Bauer plunged down off the railing and crawled along until she had her dead father's head in her lap. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She cried to Vanessa, "Why did you murder him? He was on your side!"

  Voice colder than cold, Vanessa called back, "It's Solo and Kuryakin we want. Your father lost his senses. He got in the way. Besides we didn't need him any longer. He had done most of his work, after all."

  Helene Bauer's face filled with hatred for a moment. Then her shoulders convulsed with sobs. She bent over her father's mutilated corpse, swaying back and forth.

  All this took place in a matter of seconds. Napoleon Solo realized abruptly that the THRUSH soldiers were still creeping forward, rifles glinting as they scurried from machine to machine. He had the unpleasant feeling that Vanessa Robin had already issued orders that he and Illya were not to be killed.

  He whirled, jumped, caught the top of the balcony rail, pulled himself up—

  And found himself looking down the barrel of an automatic rifle held in the misshapen hands of a THRUSH soldier.

  While Solo had struggled with Bauer, other THRUSH soldiers had rushed into the stainless steel corridor which had been their hoped-for escape route. These soldiers jammed the balcony now. Two had overpowered Illya from behind. One had a murderous elbow crooked around Illya's throat. The other held a rifle against his side.

  Illya Kuryakin was disarmed, caught, his face a mask of disgust.

  Solo stayed right where he was, breathing sibilantly. His first sudden movement would bring a THRUSH bullet crashing into his body.

  The soldiers fanned out around him as Vanessa Robin broke from cover on the far balcony and raced across the floor of the laboratory. In a moment they were face to face:

  "You very nearly made it, didn't you, Solo?" Her cheeks were mottled red as she towered over him, staring down furiously.

  "Next time we will," Solo said, with considerable false bravado.

  Vanessa shook her head. Her shoulder-length blonde hair glittered with cold highlights. "No next time for you or for Kuryakin. You have caused us quite enough trouble already. As station chief I am authorizing your execution."

  Felix Klaanger, resplendent in a THRUSH officer's uniform with black and red epaulets, had lumbered up behind her. His grotesque fa
ce shone with sadistic joy as he said, "Allow me the pleasure, Fraulein Robin." He cracked the knuckles of his right hand, a loud, popping sound. "Allow me to dispatch them."

  Vanessa pondered. "No, General, I think not."

  Klaanger's face became, if possible, even more ugly. "I demand that you—"

  Vanessa Robin slapped him smartly across the nose. Klaanger howled.

  "That's the trouble with you, Klaanger. You always demand. Every time you want something, you demand. This is not the headquarters of the German High Command. This is a THRUSH station and I am in charge."

  She made a mock-pout, but from the wicked gleam in her green eyes it was clear that she was playing with Klaanger, and disciplining him at the same time:

  "If you spoke to me in polite language—but no. This time I can't grant your request, General. Perhaps you'll learn your lesson."

  Klaanger flushed deep red. The THRUSH soldiers muttered among themselves, obviously pleased at this effective display of authority by their superior. Vanessa tickled Solo's chin with a long scarlet fingernail.

  "Besides, General," she said. "I think they'll have a delightful time in the pit."

  Illya glowered. "Did you say the pit, Miss Robin?"

  "Oh," said Vanessa, "so you know me too?"

  "One doesn't have to see a skunk to recognize it. The smell is—"

  Vanessa smacked Illya with an oversized fist, nearly upsetting his guards as well. Instantly she struggled to compose herself. She took a deep breath, said:

  "We can all benefit from a little relaxation. This has been a most taxing day." Blithe again, she snapped her fingers. Soldiers hustled to seize Solo.

  "You can at least do us the courtesy of telling us what the pit is," he said.

  "Oh, just a place that the baron who once lived here used for rebellious subjects."

  "What kind of place?" Illya inquired.

  Vanessa's white teeth sparkled as she smiled. "A lovely place with an observation window we've built in. A place where my associates and I can relax and have a highball and watch the two of you put on an amusing show while you die. Bring them along, both of them. And quickly!"

  TWO

  The pit, as Napoleon Solo and Illya sound found out to their dismay, had absolutely sheer sides. It was a perfect cylinder, illuminated by a single light high up in the solid stone ceiling.