by Unknown
"Heil THRUSH!"
The girl's boot heels clicked loudly. Helene lifted her right hand, though with somewhat less spirit. "Heil."
The girl in the booth eyed Solo like a slab of meat as she ran the ball of her thumb up and down the sharp edge of her knife. Like the others he'd seen, the girl stood well over six feet, and had unnaturally wide shoulders and long arms.
"Isn't that heil THRUSH routine pretty sticky?" Solo asked as he and Helene walked on. "Who is your leader, anyway?"
Helene said thinly, "We have but one leader. The spirit of der Fuhrer."
"How did you manage to hook up with THRUSH?"
"We had no formal, world-wide organization," Helene explained. "Here and there we had isolated cells, pockets of agents such as one in South America directed by General Klaanger. Certain approaches were made by THRUSH, inviting our participation in a joint effort. We accepted because THRUSH possessed the organizational structure by means of which we could return to our rightful place of leadership. We have been promised an elite position in the government which THRUSH will set up as soon as this current operation is successful."
The explanation was interrupted by the pneumatic hissing of another pair of doors at the corridor's end. Beyond, a hodgepodge of weird electronic equipment towered up at least two floors. A number of people were gathered in the vast chamber. Helene made a mock bow to indicate that Solo should go ahead. With considerable reluctance he did.
The conversation of the assembled group came to a halt. Heads turned. Smiles appeared, all of them gloating.
Solo stopped inside the double doors. They promptly shut and locked.
On a low balcony all around the cement-walled room, banks of computers blinked their lights and chattered their printouts, manned by THRUSH technicians in laboratory outfits. The other items of bizarre apparatus were ranged around the stone floor of the chamber, but the centerpiece was a kind of leather-padded operating table.
On each side of it a tapered stainless steel pipe was mounted in a drum-shaped concrete socket raised from the floor. These two pipes shot upward. At the point where they came together, a round stainless steel ball perhaps three feet in diameter hung between them. Something black and cylindrical, resembling a lens mount, protruded from the lower surfaces of the ball, aimed at the leather-padded table below.
Nearby stood several control board consoles bolted to the concrete. All the switches, dials and light-indicators on the board were powered down, dark. The lab-coated THRUSH technicians presumably in charge of this nightmarish conglomeration of equipment formed the group which had fallen silent as Solo and Helene entered the room.
A small man in a rumpled coat broke free from the crowd and scuttled toward them. He was a strange, untidy figure, carrying a clipboard in one hand and an immense liverwurst sandwich on dark rye in the other. His rimless spectacles had quarter-inch lenses. He was as bald as an egg. He must have been well into his sixties, but he walked with a springy, nervous step, his eyes large as brown pingpong balls behind his glasses.
The little man gave Helene a peck on the cheek.
"My liebchen, my little girl! We have been waiting for you all night long!"
"We came as quickly as we could, Papa," Helene responded.
The little bald man scrutinized Solo. "This is the U.N.C.L.E. operative?"
"Yes, Papa. Napoleon Solo. One of their best men."
"He gave you no trouble?"
"Naturally not, Papa. We were far too strong."
"Yes, yes, isn't that the truth?" The little old man emitted a maniacal titter and immediately took an immense bite out of his liverwurst sandwich.
Solo didn't know whether to tremble or laugh. The little old man finished munching his bite of sandwich and threw the rest of the sandwich away carelessly over his shoulder. Then he subjected Solo to a withering gaze. Solo could practically feel his shoulders, chest and biceps being found wanting.
"We have neglected the formalities, Herr Solo. My name is Doktor Klaus Bauer." Dr. Bauer marched back and forth in front of him. "Do you know why you are here, Solo?"
"I expect that it's because U.N.C.L.E. got curious about your little tea party, and I got a bit careless back in Munich."
Herr Doktor Bauer demonstrated how serious and formidable a foe he could be. He drew himself up to full height and cuffed Solo viciously across the cheeks, twice.
"Make sport of us at your peril, Herr Solo!" he warned. "At this experimental station we are forging the weapon which will bring U.N.C.L.E. to its knees, whimpering and cringing for mercy. Do you know who I am? Of course you don't! I have been forced to live in secret these past twenty years or face prosecution as a member of the Nazi party. That is a gross insult I will not willingly or lightly forgive—"
"And now that THRUSH has given you a chance to crawl out of the wormwood into the light of day, Herr Doktor—" Solo began.
"Be careful!" Helene said. "He is my papa, remember."
"I don't care if he's the reincarnation of Adolf himself; you're all mad as hoot owls."
Bauer squinted behind his rimless spectacles. "So you believe that. You simply dismiss us?"
Solo shrugged. "That depends on who operates this place. I know the capabilities of THRUSH. But I'm a little doubtful about the capabilities of a bunch of ex-storm troopers—"
"You have seen my capabilities!" Dr. Bauer shrilled. "You have seen General Klaanger, have you not? He was a weakling, a small, twisted weakling until I subjected him to my three-diode enzymatic physio-energizer—there."
With a slightly melodramatic gesture, Bauer indicated the sinister-looking table and the camera-lensed ball suspended above it.
"A mere courier, an errand boy such as you, Herr Solo, could not begin to comprehend the scientific principles behind the apparatus. Sufficient to say that by means of a process known to me alone—a process of ray bombardment which acts upon certain growth enzymes within the body—I am able to literally transform a human being into a superman.
"I can increase strength and size until a man is so powerful, no other human being can stand against him. Why, the process even renders a person less susceptible to death by such things as bullet wounds. Physical resistance to injury, the body's ability to fight off harmful accidents, is increased tremendously.
"Had I had enough money to implement my theories with this kind of equipment during World War II there would have been a different outcome. And, as it is, THRUSH has sought me out, financed my research and the construction of this equipment. In return, we of the Fourth Reich have joined forces with THRUSH to bring a speedy end to those governments which stand against us!"
In the silence which followed his harangue, a silence punctuated only by the deep, murmurous humming of a power plant somwhere beneath the chamber, Solo waited tensely, wondering what would happen next.
The THRUSH technicians had grouped themselves behind Dr. Bauer. They were watching the back of their leader's head with expressions testifying to their loyalty. One even applauded.
Suddenly, from directly behind Solo, a throaty feminine voice boomed out:
"He sounds as mad as a coot, doesn't he, Solo? But he isn't, you know."
Solo whipped around. A door had opened between two of the computers on the low balcony. At the balcony rail stood the woman who had spoken, a tall, splendidly-built girl with stunningly beautiful features and shoulder-length blonde hair.
She wore extremely tight-fitting tan trousers, a hugging sleeveless scarlet jersey and the black boots which seemed to be the hallmark of the shock troops around here.
With one lithe movement she climbed over the balcony rail. She jumped the short distance to the concrete. She walked toward them, swining a riding crop from her scarlet-nailed right hand. At her wide leather belt she wore a pistol in a holster. Her hair glinted with radiant highlights.
Solo would have allowed himself to be momentarily overcome by her truly statuesque beauty had he not gotten a glimpse of her slightly slanting green eyes.
That color tipped him off. He scanned his mental files, remembered.
"Vanessa Robin," he said. "The last time I heard about you, it was Ankara. You were THRUSH enforcement officer there." And an infamous killer, he added by way of a mental note. This did nothing to reassure him.
Vanessa Robin stalked up in front of him and peered down at the top of Solo's head. She stood seven feet tall, a beautiful, cold-eyed giantess.
"My," Solo said, "how little girls grow these days."
Vanessa laughed liltingly. "Then you really do remember."
"You were in the five-foot-six vicinity the last time I looked at your dossier."
"How sweet of you to recall! Even more sweet since we've never met!"
"I gather, dear, that Dr. Bauer has been tinkering with your enzymes?"
Vanessa Robin tickled the tip of his nose with her riding crop. "You have seen Klaanger, haven't you?"
"I've had that unpleasant pleasure."
"Then you must know that dear Dr. Bauer's process is a complete success. After all, look what it did for Felix. And for me. I was Dr. Bauer's first experiment, I am proud to say."
Vanessa actually sounded as though she was, which distressed Solo no end. Without that terrible fanatic light in her slanting green eyes, she would have been a highly desirable woman. But the power hunger in her eyes repelled him.
"I am equally proud," she continued, "that I was selected to supervise this station for THRUSH."
Solo could stifle a surprised mmm. "You're in charge here?"
"Completely. Here, my dear Mr. Solo, we shall forge the weapons that will destroy the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement and then allow THRUSH to achieve world domination. We have allied ourselves with these dreadfully single-minded Fourth Reich persons for one reason only—to gain Dr. Bauer's allegiance and his secrets."
Helene bristled. "You needn't be so cynical about it."
"Oh do shut up, Helene," Vanessa said. "You'll all get your sadistic little pieces of cake when the time comes. Solo, you'd be astonished to learn what we've had to promise all their people who are working for us. Positively dreadful things—" Vanessa pretended to be shocked.
"They have some ideas about what to do when we take over the leading governments of the world. Well, I can only say that their ideas of torture make the gas ovens of twenty years ago look humane. But we're all cooperating. Our aim is to build a cadre of the toughest fighters that the world has ever seen.
"Very shortly plane-loads of THRUSH soldiers will be flown in and out of here around the clock. Each man in turn will be treated by Dr. Bauer's process.
"And from this dreary old baronial hall will march an army no other force of men in the world will be able to resist! Tireless. Incredibly strong. with positively frightening resistance to the sapping effects of wounds. I'm afraid U.N.C.L.E.'s time—and the world's—has run out at last."
Solo grimaced. "What am I supposed to do? Applaud before you shoot me?"
Vanessa Robin leaned down close. Solo caught a whiff of the raspberry scent of her bright scarlet lipstick.
Her slanting green eyes loomed above him.
"Dr. Bauer has a little experiment he wants to perform on you, Napoleon Solo."
"I don't think I'd make a good superman."
"Oh, not that kind of experiment."
Dr. Bauer clucked. "We have been seeking a special subject, Herr Solo."
"This particular experiment is new," Helene put in.
"And possibly extremely destructive to human tissue," Bauer said. "We are uncertain. Thus when Fraulein Robin informed me that agents of U.N.C.L.E. were in Munich, attempting to locate General Klaanger—"
"—who is here on the station, by the way," Vanessa told Solo. "He's simply dying to meet you face to face again." She tapped his forehead with her riding crop, teasingly. Solo had to fight an urge to seize her throat and throttle her.
"Felix, the dear impetuous boy, wants us to turn you over to him. He's gotten so strong, he simply loves working over a—guest. But Herr Doktor Bauer needs your corpus much more urgently. This experiment is vital to his program. We don't want to risk one of our own people. So what more natural than to kill the proverbial two birds? We'll prevent you from telling your superiors about our hideaway and plan, and we'll do it by utilizing your person for this experiment."
Dr. Klaus Bauer was now almost literally capering from one foot to the other, dry-washing his hands in a frenzy of scientific eagerness:
"Bitte, can't we proceed—"
"I have two more things to tell Mr. Solo," Vanessa said. "One concerns his friend on this little mission."
Black anger blazed on Solo's face. "Illya? Where is he?"
"Be assured, he is under scrutiny and will soon join you here. If he lives long enough."
The situation had lost every last one of its comical overtones. No longer was Solo even faintly amused by the sight of little Dr. Bauer rolling his eyes behind his thick lenses while his palms went whisper-whisper as he dry-washed them rapidly.
Vanessa Robin, for all her grotesque increase in size since Solo had last studied her description in the files, was a top-flight THRUSH organizer, bright, utterly merciless and completely professional. The plan which she was carrying out here could be just the critical factor which would tip the balance against U.N.C.L.E. the final time.
With U.N.C.L.E. already stretched thin around the world, a sudden onslaught by THRUSH against key U.N.C.L.E. stations could be disastrous. It could remove the last really strong defense which the free world had against the machinations of the supranation.
The road could lie open to complete THRUSH conquest.
Word had to be gotten back to Mr. Waverly somehow. A fleet of bomber planes on a quick sweep could wipe out this viper's nest in an hour, nullify the threat—
But how could that word be gotten back?
From the gleam in the THRUSH woman's green eyes, Napoleon Solo was dismally certain that she was telling the truth about Illya.
"One more thing before we begin," Vanessa whispered. Her lips were fragrant, hovering near his. "I have always heard that you were quite the romantic. I want to find out—"
Vanessa Robin closed her eyes for a kiss.
Before Solo could even respond, a murderous pain erupted in his groin. Vanessa had whipped up her right knee to slam him with agonizing force.
Solo reeled back, flailing and punching. The THRUSH technicians swarmed around him. Vanessa's mocking laughter pealed.
Solo stumbled, got off one powerhouse punch that broke the nose of a squealing technician before the others clambered all over him and bore him to the leather-padded table. They flung him out on his back and strapped him down. Vanessa was still laughing, tears of cruel humor running down her cheeks. Solo cursed, writhed—
Dr. Bauer's face loomed over him, as the scientists checked the bindings.
"What we wish to test, Herr Solo," he said, "is the reversing effects of my ray process. We wish to discover whether the process can also shrink a person's physical stature and reduce his strength. I must warn you that when we conclude this little session, you may be a dwarf with the strength of a two-year old. Or the process may not work at all in reverse. You may simply be dead. Ah, but that's the scientific method, isn't it? Well, I believe everything is in order. Achtung!"
The commands which Dr. Bauer crackled out in German sent the technicians scuttling to the control board consoles. Solo heard switches being flipped, a powerful motorized whining begin somewhere.
A thick head strap cut across his forehead and ran down past his ears. He could not turn his head or move more than a fraction of an inch on the table, so tight were the bindings. All he could see, directly above, was an expanse of concrete and, nearer, the stainless steel ball suspended between the two slender poles.
In the center of the ball, the black lens-like device began to glow a strange metallic blue.
You may be a dwarf with the strength of a two-year old.
&n
bsp; Or the process may not work at all in reverse.
You may simply be dead.
Dr. Bauer continued to call orders to the technicians. Solo heard switch after switch being thrown.
The metallic blue light in the lens far overhead pulsed brighter.
You may be a dwarf—
In dreadful fascination Solo watched the lens glow with a brilliant blue. Sweat poured off his forehead, turned his clothing sodden.
Without warning there was a low roar, a whining, and scarlet sparks shot across his field of vision. Then came smoke, more sparks, another flat explosion. Helene Bauer screamed.
ACT THREE — The Harder U.N.C.L.E. Falls
ONE
The yapping of the mastiffs grew louder and more ferocious behind him.
Illya Kuryakin was running with less and less speed every second. His right leg grew more painful with every step.
But how could he stop? Those nine savage animals were snarling and bounding along behind him, gaining fast.
Illya was growing dizzy from the exertion of the run. Every time his right foot smacked down against the carpet of needles and dead leaves on the forest floor, a burst of pain shot up into his skull and blurred his vision.
He breathed in huge, noisy gulps, heedless of the sound he made. At this critical moment, outrunning the animals was more important than keeping silent.
Outrunning? The idiocy of that approach finally penetrated Illya's mind.
For perhaps seven or eight minutes he had been blundering through the sun-dappled forest, hoping to escape the THRUSH canine pack. He had concentrated every effort, every thought on running at top speed despite the handicap of his leg. Now he was beginning to slow down through no fault of his own; and the mastiffs were catching up. He had to think up some alternate plan and quickly.
He rejected the notion of using the pistol which was still clutched in his right hand. The time required to turn and pick off the mastiffs one by one would be too long. Even if he shot one or two of the dogs, the others would charge the moment they heard the pistol-shots and probably attack him from a different angle within seconds.
