The Volacano Box Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  THE VOLCANO BOX AFFAIR

  THE NEW COMPLETE "U.N.C.L.E." NOVEL

  Deep inside the earth THRUSH had found a molten weapon to enslave mankind, as Solo and Illya, alone and marked for extermination, seek the one man who had discovered how to turn any city in the world into a red death trap.

  by ROBERT HART DAVIS

  ACT I—ISLAND OF THE LOST

  THEY LOOKED LIKE a pair of prehistoric animals as they emerged from the testing room, but the weird beaklike noses and bug eyes were actually the components of ordinary gas masks.

  They removed these and set them down on a table.

  The darker and heftier of the two shook his head in wonder. "I don't see how such a tiny amount of liquid could create so much smoke. You'd think a city block were on fire."

  Illya Kuryakin grinned pontifically. He said: "It's not the liquid so much as the gas it liberates, which reacts with the metals it touches and creates more gas and smoke, which in turn react with the metals they touch and create—"

  "Okay. I get the picture," Napoleon Solo said, gesturing with his thumb and index finger as if to turn off a broken record. "Well, this little capsule ought to come in handy if it doesn't get us arrested for air pollution violations. In fact, I'd say it's a real gasser." He looked at Illya for approval.

  "Is that really what you'd say?" the blond young man said, putting his jacket on over his snug black vest.

  Napoleon's reply was interrupted by the sound of the public address system crackling: there was about to be an announcement. It turned out to be Alexander Waverly's secretary, paging Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin.

  They proceeded through a labyrinth of corridors, up a silent elevator, and through another maze of passages, at each checkpoint flashing their identification, though they were well known by face to the guards. Such was the scope of security precautions in this most important law enforcement agency in the free world.

  Waverly's back was turned on them when they entered his office. His suit fitted somewhat loosely on his broad shoulders. But that hunch of his back was deceptive, for he was an extremely powerful man and as quick on his feet as a man in his business had to be to survive as long as Waverly had survived.

  The head of North American Operations for U.N.C.L.E. was looking at a map of the world which had pins of numerous colors jutting out of a great diversity of locations. The pins were of course coded, each color corresponding to some discernible pattern of crime or trouble around the world—light blue for smuggling, dark blue for white slavery, red for suspected sabotage, and so forth.

  In his left hand he held a sheaf of bulletins, releases, newspaper and magazine clippings and data sheets, and they were color-coded dark green.

  Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin glanced at the map but could not at first see any pinheads corresponding to the color of Waverly's papers. Then they both noticed a lonely pair of green dots thrust into the Indonesian area, almost imperceptible, due to the company they kept—a riot of pins indicating smuggling, dope traffic, murder, espionage, sabotage, political chicanery, kidnapping, and syndicated crime corresponding to every hue in the rainbow.

  Southeast Asia was about the hottest spot on the globe when it came to evil-doing, but the two green pins in the midst of all the others suggested that whatever this new form of evil was, it was only in its incipient stage.

  Waverly was tapping the map with his pipe, unaware that flakes of tobacco were falling out of it and covering his arm and shoulder. Napoleon cleared his throat and Waverly dropped his arm, sending a shower of tobacco down to the carpet. He wrinkled his nose. "What is that smell?"

  "Smoke, sir," Napoleon said, looking a bit sheepish. "We've been experimenting with bithane gas. Most potent teargas I've ever seen."

  "I wish you'd have your clothing deodorized before coming into this office," Waverly said, grinning. "People will think I've been smoking some rotten weed." He dipped an almost black briar pipe into his humidor, and as he tamped tobacco into the bowl he gestured with the pipe in the direction of the map. "I expected you gentlemen know something about geology."

  The agents nodded cautiously.

  "You'll observe two green pins located in the Banda Sea area, southeast of the main Indonesian group. These represent the two volcanoes that have erupted there recently. Both have received ample publicity, so I don't have to fill you in on their havoc. In case you haven't followed the press releases carefully, you'll find complete descriptions in the information I'll provide you with at the end of our briefing."

  He dropped a green manila folder marked Newspaper Clippings on his desk.

  "A volcano can occur anywhere on earth. It is the result of molten lava, which presumably occupies the core of our planet, rushing to fill faults in the earth and, if that fault extends to the surface as frequently happens during an earthquake, overflowing. Because such faults exist in greater concentrations in some places on the globe than in others, we can expect more activity in those places.

  "The islands around the Pacific Ocean are the most vulnerable earthquake and volcano zones, and from Hawaii to Japan such subsurface disturbances are common. Therefore it should ordinarily be of no concern to a law agency that a volcano or two erupt somewhere on earth, as obviously the only laws we cannot try to enforce are those of nature."

  He patted his pockets as if looking for a match, then rummaged around the notes and papers on his desk while his pipe hung unfit from his mouth. Apparently he forgot what he was looking for a moment later, and removed the pipe from his mouth to use it simply as a visual aid in emphasizing his lecture.

  "However," Waverly went on, "U.N.C.L.E. has some grounds to suspect that the two recent volcanoes, the first on an uninhabited island numbered L four hundred and six on navigation charts, the second, quite tragically, on a fairly well-populated island called Tapwana, are not acts of God, but rather acts of man. Let me modify that. The first of the two eruptions could have been natural, but the second is most suspect."

  Napoleon Solo had begun frowning and looking off to an indeterminate spot in mid-air as if his mind was groping for an idea. Then his eyes seemed to catch fire, and he said "Tapwana. Isn't that the island that was making all that trouble for the Boruvian Federation?" He turned to Illya for support.

  Illya Kuryakin picked up the thread immediately. "Right. That dictator of Borua––what's his name?—Sarabando––lined up all the islands in his area into a federation, but this Tapwana refused to join. A month later it was immaterial, because Tapwana was melted down into volcano-fodder. But sir, you don't think that a volcano—"

  Waverly cleared his throat, as if reprimanding his agent for drawing hasty conclusions. "Sarabando, the dictator of the Boruvian Federation, is a known puppet of THRUSH, Mr. Solo. And although that still leaves considerable room for coincidence, there is one more circumstance which pushes this matter very solidly into U.N.C.L.E.'S sphere of influence."

  Alexander Waverly, enjoying his moment, lingered over it by fiddling with the mouthpiece of his pipe.

  "Who is Edward Dacian?" he asked, like a teacher trying to catch his pupils unprepared with a surprise test.

  TWO

  NAPOLEON AND ILLYA pursed their lips and for a second or two appeared to be stumped. But they were only vacating the room mentally, as it were, and sending their minds into a vast filing system of data in order to retrieve a full dossier on the man their commanding officer had mentioned.

  Illya's face showed he had come back with the facts first, but Napoleon spoke. "Dr. Edward Dacian. Scientist, working at some laboratory in Texas. Oh yes, I remember. He was experimenting with the application of laser technology to mining operations." Napoleon turned to Illya for a hand. What one didn't know, the othe
r usually did.

  "It wasn't only mining," the slim blond Russian said. "It was drilling as well. He was using lasers to penetrate the earth's surface. I think an oil concern had him under contract."

  Although Waverly had the information at his fingertips, he usually refrained from coaching his agents during briefing sessions. On the grounds that an agent learns to swim if the alternative is sinking, he always let his people flounder and thrash, using their memory and wits to get them out of trouble. If he gave them too many cues he would only injure them in the long run, for they would come to rely more on him than on their own resources. Thus he held his tongue as his two star agents batted Dacian's life back and forth until they got the facts straight.

  "No," Napoleon Solo contradicted his companion, "it wasn't oil. I think it was—yes, it definitely was an electric power company."

  Illya's normally cool facade became animated with the excitement of recognition. "Right! Now I remember. This power and light combine had set Dacian to work to drill deep into the earth's mantle with his laser instrument. As they penetrated it they'd of course approach the hot material in the core. At a certain level the heat would be so intense it would turn water to steam. So if Dr. Dacian were to drill, say, on the ocean floor or through the bed of a big river, the hole would be perpetually filled with water, which in turn would be converted into steam, like those geysers in Yellowstone Park."

  "And the company that hired Dacian saw this steam as a simple and cheap mode of energy," Napoleon added. "All they had to do was harness it to generate all the power they needed."

  Waverly's bloodhound face wrinkled in the semblance of a dim smile of appreciation. "Very good, gentlemen. But there is one major fact you've been withholding."

  Napoleon Solo grinned. "We've saved the best for last."

  "Well, get on with it; I'm a busy man," their chief growled.

  "Dacian disappeared about six months ago," Napoleon said.

  The trio held silence for a few moments as the threads Waverly had been weaving came together to form a distinct and sinister pattern. It fell on Napoleon to summarize the situation.

  "So you believe," he said to Waverly, "that THRUSH abducted Dacian, and somehow coerced him to create for them the device he'd been working on in Texas. And now THRUSH is using that device to blackmail governments. The first one to feel the blow was Tapwana."

  "That's correct. The volcano that preceded Tapwana's, the one on that unpopulated island, was probably experimental. Having proved the device worked, they applied it to Tapwana. I don't believe that Tapwana was that vital to THRUSH politically; rather, THRUSH used the device to warn other governments of its immense power in the form of Dacian's device.

  "I have no doubt that every government in the world can expect soon to hear from THRUSH with a blackmail message. The forces on our planet, as a result of this situation, are distinctly unbalanced, and must be restored as soon as possible. So let me give you your assignments."

  He turned to Napoleon first. "I would like you to proceed to Borua, the island where dictator Sarabando reigns. Fortunately for us April Dancer and Mark Slate just completed an assignment in Hong Kong three days ago. I might add it was eminently successful," Waverly said with a smile of gratification. "Mark left immediately for London, but April, after checking with me, had plans to stay on at the Hong Kong Hilton for a short rest which she highly deserved."

  Waverly's expression changed suddenly. "However, before the poor girl had a chance to relax, we received the shocking news that our U.N.C.L.E. director of operations in Singapore, Harry Gray, had been mysteriously stabbed to death. This is a great loss to us, for as you two know, Gray was a key agent in our Indonesian area. And most important now, Gray had valuable in formation on the Boruvian Federation and the scientist Dr. Dacian. Because of this crisis in the Singapore headquarters, April has been ordered to go there. She's been helping Joe Kingsley, who worked under Harry Gray, and now she's investigating in Borua. She knows enough for you to proceed, I believe, in your usual sagacious manner, Mr. Solo."

  Napoleon Solo gazed at Illya and smiled broadly. "I'll be looking forward to working with one of our best girl agents, April Dancer. Glad she took over for Harry."

  Waverly handed a neat typewritten report to Solo. "She's informed fully about the THRUSH threat in the Boruvian Federation. Study this en route."

  "Yes sir. So we are to try to track down Dr. Dacian and his machine?"

  "Yes. It will be difficult and dangerous. If Dacian has been eliminated by THRUSH, get all copies of his formula, all volcano devices in existence. Concentrate, too, in discovering anyone there who knows the technique of Dr. Dacian's treacherous device. In this end, Mr. Solo, I believe luck may be with us."

  "How so?"

  "I don't believe Dacian has spilled the formula. If he had, we'd have gotten our blackmail notices long ago. He is obviously being coerced to make one machine at a time, and is doing so reluctantly, slowly. But THRUSH will get that formula sooner or later, and you'll have to work fast.

  "Illya," he said, turning to Napoleon's colleague, "you are to proceed to Gulf Coast Power and Light laboratories in Texas. There you are to work with the officers and scientists, both to learn everything you can about the process Dacian was working on, and, if you can, about suspicious persons who might give us some clue as to Dacian's present unknown whereabouts.

  "In addition, I want you to work with them to develop a device which can detect Dr. Dacian's machine from a distance and destroy it. You have Gulf Coast's promise of full cooperation to say nothing of our government's."

  The agents exchanged glances, then turned their eyes back to Waverly's, who gazed at them sadly. "You're to report to me on any development, large or small, and as soon as we're on the trail of Dacian and his abductors I'll have you join forces to make the kill. Any questions?"

  Waverly's question was answered with silence.

  "Very well, then," he said, turning the files over to them, "be on your way. You haven't a moment to lose. Study this information immediately, then speak to Transportation about the arrangements that have been made for your departure."

  Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin whirled on their heels and retreated from Waverly's office.

  "Volcanoes," Illya muttered laconically.

  "One of our hotter assignments," Napoleon said.

  ACT II

  ISLES OF HELL

  SOUTHEAST of Celebes in the Indonesian Islands is the Banda Sea, a rich blue expanse of water that might be described as a lake within an ocean. It lies, almost like a stupendous crater, in the center of a crescent of volcanic islands to its south and a semi-circle of massive string of isles and atolls to the north.

  Because of its partially protected position the sea escapes the rough handling of open ocean storms, but typhoons sweeping it in the season radiate their havoc from its axis and dash immense destructive waves on the shores of the many islands around its perimeter.

  Inside the Banda a cluster of islands rear their craggy summits towards shrouds of cottony mist. Some of these islands, collectively known as the Lucipara group, are inhabited.

  The gentle but hardy Sino-Polynesian folk, whose presence in this territory dates back to man's first attempts to explore the world beyond his shores, gather fish and fruit without effort and sustain their existence peacefully as they've done since pre-history.

  Other islands here are desolate, however, for all attempts at animal and vegetable life to cling and flourish on their hostile stone precipices have been defeated. Moss, mollusks and sea-birds populate them and practically nothing more. It therefore must have puzzled these primitive denizens to see erected, on one of these forbidding isles, a scaffolding of steel very much resembling an oil rig. The island was nameless, though navigational charts numbered it if for no other reason than to prevent ships from cracking their hulls against its rocky facade.

  But from the activity going on in the vicinity of the rig, the island might have been thought of as a sup
er-civilized one. A handful of helicopters stood parked on the gentle but barren slope to the west of the rig, while on its east stood two strange igloo-like structures. These had been constructed out of aluminum frames covered with light canvas sprayed heavily with foam.

  The foam, upon hardening almost instantly, provided airtight protection against the elements, yet was porous enough to permit ordinary bandsaws to slice doors and windows out of it.

  These had been covered with transparent plastic.

  Closer examination of these huts disclosed banks of highly sophisticated electronic gear, powered by generators and batteries. On slowly-moving charts the needles of half a dozen sensors and recording devices traced straight or jagged lines whose significance was opaque to the rather belligerent Orientals who guarded the machinery jealously, Sten-guns at the ready.

  It was a partially cloudy after noon, but the clouds swept through rather than over the island, creating a miserable mist that caused the knot of men standing around the rig to pull their tropical shirts away from their chests, as if the saturated cloth threatened to shrink on them and crush their rib cages.

  The individuals watching the operation of the drilling gear were for the most part Orientals, grim-faced and furtive. From time to time one or another would look over his shoulder, as if he were doing something wrong and expected pursuers somehow to materialize unannounced.

  Others shifted uneasily from foot to foot, appearing nervous about the safety of the machinery before them. They glanced frequently at the helicopters, reassuring themselves that their choppers were ready to bear them off instantaneously and without a hitch when the right moment came.

  In this crowd of sallow, stolid men the short, redheaded white man stood out almost ludicrously. He was just five-and-a-half feet tall, matching the height of most of his Oriental colleagues. But unlike them, his head bore close-cropped orange-red hair and his skin had the milky white complexion that frequently accompanies hair of that color. He was about fifty, thin almost to emaciation, and wore olive drab Bermuda shorts and shirt.