The World's End Affair (11 page)

Kuryakin, he thought to himself, you are a shameless liar.

Dr. Dargon had reached the blue steel doors. He turned around. Ceiling lights flared off the lenses of his spectacles.

"I can offer no guarantee that the aircraft will be in the hangar, Mr. Kuryakin."

"For your longevity's sake," Illya said, "I hope it is. Please go ahead."

With a bob of his head Dr. Dargon extended his hands in front of him, as if to use his palms to push the door open. His gesture brought instant pandemonium.

Sirens and bells went off. Illya was getting rather used to the racket by now. Sections of cinder block wall pivoted back and the impersonal lenses of television cameras began scanning the corridor. Illya gave Dargon a smack in the back of the head with the captured pistol.

"You filthy double-crosser! I didn't see you touch anything -"

Dr. Dargon giggled. "The detectors concealed in the frame of these steel doors are extremely sensitive. They detect even heat emitted by human bodies. Thus the slightest change in corridor temperature activates the alarms. No physical contact is necessary for -

down here
!
Save me
!" Dargon squealed, glancing past Illya.

THRUSH had appeared at the corridor's far end. Illya dragged Dargon around in front of him to serve as a shield. He squeezed off a shot at the officer in the lead of the pack. It was Major Otako.

Illya's bullet missed. The major flattened against the wall. His S-scar shone with pallid ugliness. Illya said over his shoulder, "Try the door, Mei."

After a moment he heard her say, "It is locked." Panic edged into her voice.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot! It's I, Dargon!" the scientist cried, struggling in Illya's grip.

Major Otako seemed unconcerned that the THRUSH intellectual was currently serving as Illya's shield. Otako wigwagged with his swagger stick. "What are you waiting for, men? Fill the old gas-bag with bullets if necessary. His work is done. I want the U.N.C.L.E. agents."

Savagely Illya tightened the crook of his left arm around Dargon's neck. "Well, Doctor," he snarled, "they have as few scruples as you. So we'll all die together, unless you know how to open this door."

Dargon thought it over only for a second. "The - the middle hinge. It contains a removable section. Inside you will find a small button."

Mei bent over the hinge. Illya squeezed off two more shots. They tore holes in the cinderblocks but missed Otako. The THRUSH soldiers had formed two ranks. The ones in the first were kneeling, aiming their rifles. Illya felt a tug on his robe. He turned and leaped through the door, pulling Dr. Dargon with him as a volley of shots ripped into the wall around the opened door.

Illya and Dargon sprawled on oil-stained concrete. Illya jumped up. He dragged Dargon by the collar. Their shadows sprang out before them in the huge hangar. Behind, Otako screamed frenzied orders.

The fuselage door of the Nova IV fighter-bomber stood open. A mechanic poked his head out. He yelled as the party of three escapees came pelting toward him.

The mechanic tore a pistol from his coverall pocket. Illya shot. The mechanic dropped out of the fuselage door and thudded on the cement.

"Inside, and don't stand on ceremony," Illya said. He shoved the flailing Dargon up to the fuselage door and gave him a kick aft to help him along. Then he spun around and fired a shot which felled a THRUST soldier.

Major Otako was urging his men forward. He had found a submachine gun which he was leveling at Illya as the latter boosted Mei into the plane and scrambled after her.

A second after Illya closed the hatch, bullets began to ping their way along the skin of the aircraft. No holes appeared. Evidently THRUSH had built well, using some armored alloy.

Illya tossed the gun to Mei and indicated Dargon. "As the major put it so eloquently - if he moves, fill the old gas-bag with bullets."

He raced for the cockpit. Bullets spanged and thudded against the cockpit windows as Illya dropped into the bucket, ran his eye down the controls. He hit two of the labeled switches. The wide corrugated steel door of the hangar immediately began to grind aside on a motorized track.

The cockpit windows now displayed several star-marks from the impact of bullets. By peering through these, Illya could make out the THRUSH soldiers ringing the plane, pumping shots at it relentlessly. Major Otako looked irate. He actually trembled. Illya threw switches with desperate haste.

Outside, Otako tossed aside the gun in disgust. Signaling several others to follow him, he disappeared.

The Nova IV fighter-bomber was a huge, sleek craft with an immense V-swept wing. The plane's two powerful jet engines were located at the tail. Illya found the controls for switching these on. He did not do so immediately. Instead he followed the pre-flight check list, a small card hanging above the instrument panel.

Never before, Illya supposed, had the check been done so fast. Slap, slap, snap, snap. He threw switches practically without looking at them. He hoped he was hitting all the right ones. At last he ignited the jet engines and felt the Nova IV strain forward.

He took the controls, swallowing hard. The Nova IV began to roll toward the black field. At last the hangar doors passed out of sight behind.

Illya increased taxiing speed. Mei had come up behind him. Dr. Dargon slumped limply against the cockpit wall. His expression indicated that he had abandoned nearly all hope. Illya sent the plane racing toward the sharp turn onto the main runway, where parallel lines of blue beacon lights along the runway's edge led oil into the darkness and the point of no return.

Abruptly the cockpit was splashed with light. Powerful searchlights from the headquarters buildings crisscrossed the field. Mei shrieked low and pointed behind her.

Out the starboard window Illya saw an open military vehicle rolling alongside the plane, careening and veering to keep pace. The THRUSH driver looked petrified. Legs braced wide apart, Major Otako stood in the vehicle's rear. His fingers were locked on the handgrips of a peculiar weapon on a swivel mount. The weapon resembled a conventional machine gun except for the bright metal coils twisted around the barrel.

Otako's mouth worked. His face was contorted with hatred. Though Illya could not hear the sound above the roar of the jets, he knew Otako was shrieking at the driver, ordering him to keep up with the taxiing jet. Illya measured the distance to the turn onto the runway. Still a good way to go –

From the tip of the coil weapon in the THRUSH vehicle leaped a blood-colored thread of light. It struck the fuselage of the Nova IV and the cockpit glowed scarlet. "Laser cannon," Illya cried to Mei. "Get down!"

The beam of ruby light pierced the fuselage wall inches behind Illya's head. The way the jet was jouncing, he might be jarred back into that destructive beam at any moment.

He knew the Nova IV would never reach the main runway with Otako operating the laser device from the vehicle racing alongside. He said a brief, wordless prayer and hit the controls.

The fighter-bomber's giant tires smoked and squealed as the brakes locked. At the same time Illya swung the plane sharply around to the left, almost heeling it over on its nose. But the effect was achieved.

The heated gasses flowing out of the rear jets with tornadic force were aimed directly across the taxi strip. The THRUSH vehicle could not stop in time. Major Otako shrieked as the vehicle plowed into the streams of heat and fire from the afterburners. There was a sudden, dull explosion that rocked the plane.

Even before the first sound waves hit his ear, Illya was attacking the controls again. Like a drunken bird the Nova IV zigzagged back on course.

Illya wheeled it hard left. The parallel blue lights stretched ahead. He poured on the power and the fighter-bomber picked up speed.

Glancing back, Illya saw a fireball consuming the remains of the THRUSH vehicle and, he trusted, of Major Otako.

Suddenly a sheet of flame gouted skyward from the middle of the runway just ahead. Illya grappled with the controls. He ran the Nova IV off the concrete, around the flame and back again, still maintaining speed. One or two more spectacular booby traps of that type went off before the blue lights blurred into streaks at either side of the cockpit, and the Nova IV lifted into flight.

Illya gulped for air. "Mei? Are you still with me'? I have to watch the controls carefully. Our speed is very fast, and the radar shows the peaks are very high all around here."

Mei's voice came faint, "I am here, Mr. Kuryakin. You - you are a brave man."

In the process of leaning the fighter-bomber into a steep bank to the left, Illya positively glowed.

"Thank you for the compliment, my dear. Now if I can only get the landing gear up and locked away, we'll be off for Hong Kong. Where the devil are the switches? This cockpit is dark as - oh, here we go."

He pressed several studs in succession. The Nova IV continued to climb for a few seconds. It was still banking to the left, giving Illya an excellent view of the ground. He made out the runway lights and the spill from several open doors in the headquarters buildings. Suddenly the jet rocked. Up from the ground boiled balls of green-shot flame.

Illya bent over to peer. "This is very embarrassing."

"What's wrong?" Mei asked.

"Those weren't the landing gear controls. I had no idea this plane would be fully armed with - oh, well. It's one less nuisance for U.N.C.L.E. to worry about. Now we shall -"

Mei shrieked. A white wall loomed dead ahead. "The mountains!"

Illya jerked the controls.

The Nova IV went arrowing almost straight up, clearing the snowy white face of the crag by a slim margin.

"No more conversation," Illya said. "Not until we're safely out of this wilderness."

And with the help of several additional dim lamps which Mei found and switched on, he managed to zigzag a course between the frozen peaks gleaming white and savage under the Himalayan stars.

In about fifteen minutes he had plotted a flight plan to Hong Kong. He hoped the altitude would be sufficient to avoid any Red Chinese interceptors. The jets murmured steadily. Great banks of clouds rolled along in the chill moonlight beneath them.

"We'll never reach Hong Kong in time," he said. "I must radio the authorities."

In the glow from the dash instruments, Illya's face looked wan and weary. "It's no use," he said. "I can't raise anyone."

A noise disturbed him. It was the crazed sound of Dr. Dargon sucking on his tooth.

"General Weng has succeeded! The storm generator is operating in Hong Kong. That is why you cannot contact any regular radio installation. You have failed Mr. Kuryakin; you have failed utterly. Isn't that splendid?"

Illya twisted around and almost hit Dargon on the jaw. The man was so damnably triumphant!

Dargon cringed back against the starboard instrument console to avoid the blow. Illya's face turned red. With a feeling of humiliation he pulled back his fist.

Dargon blinked. His spectacle lenses reflected the cockpit lights so that his eyes seemed to be holes through which tiny, different-colored fireflies could be seen. He tittered.

Illya cursed silently. To strike Dargon would be to admit that the evil organization had succeeded. Dargon realized this. Hence his amusement. Illya silently pummeled his mind for an answer.

In a moment he had one. Carefully he composed his face for the bluff.

"Well, Dargon, I suppose you are correct."

"Yes, it will be impossible for you to establish communication with Hong Kong."

Carefully Illya slid his hand down to the thick folds of his lama robe. His fingers probed until he found what he wanted. In the dark he moved his hand back from his knee.

"So we could not alert the proper authorities as to General Weng's whereabouts even if we wished," he said, trying to sound as dolorous as possible. "Where does he have the unit set up, by the way?"

"On a junk in the harbor. It is a large vessel with a black storm cloud painted on its sail. Quite appropriate."

"In a grisly way," Illya said. "The harbor, eh? Did you select the site?"

"Experimental meteorological studies led us to the conclusion that the harbor basin in the vicinity of Smiling Fish Quay would facilitate the widest sweep for the generator, and afford maximum destruction of the area surrounding the Hotel International."

"I like a man who knows his subject,"' Illya grinned. "Thank you very much, Doctor." He pulled the pocket communicator from his robe, depressing the appropriate stud.

Dargon's eyes seemed to swell behind his lenses. "There is nothing you can do with the information, Kuryakin. Radio contact with Hong Kong is impossible. You said as much. I heard for myself -"

Uncertainty put a catch in Dargon's tone. He licked his lips.

"You're quite correct, Doctor," Illya said. "I cannot establish contact with the Hong Kong authorities by using the radio transmitter in this aircraft. And by the time we land in the Crown Colony, the damage will be done. U.N.C.L.E. however, has thoughtfully provided these little communicators, which your Tibetan cohorts did not discover when they searched me."