Collection 1: The Dutch Blitz Affair Page 2

"We've isolated the bag. It's heavy -- about 120 to 140 pounds, we estimate. As you can see, it measures about two feet, by two feet, by three and a half feet. Our X-ray shows the actual bomb is strapped to an object covered with something resembling Inrhysec. We're getting a sample now."

  Solo glanced at Dunn's puzzled face. "Intumescent Rhytidomic Sequela," he explained. "It is something our researchers came up with last year. It's still experimental and we haven't used it much. It's supposed to be hush-hush." He looked around the room. "This could mean we have a security leak in Research and Development."

  "What does this Inrhysec do?" Dunn asked.

  "For one thing, it reflects back any attempts to X-ray or scan it."

  The Irishman peered skeptically at the sample brought over to him by the Security Chief. "Sort of a super aluminum foil?"

  "I don't have the technical term handy. Illya always took care of --" Solo bit off the rest of his reply. A guard passed a clipboard with the current report. He read it quickly and said, "Paddy, call Waverly and fill him in."

  Dunn took the offered clipboard and sat at Ricker's desk to make the phone call. Solo paced the room, obviously agitated, pausing only to drill Ricker with questions.

  When Dunn had finished the update to Waverly, Bastion introduced him to one of the researchers involved with developing Intumescent Rhytidomic Sequela, Dan Powers. The man was extremely reluctant to part with any information, insisting that only a few U.N.C.L.E. personnel even knew it existed and there were far too many people present for him to go into detail. Mr. Waverly was well aware of the formula. Yes, he answered in almost a whisper, plans for future use included coating the inside of the building with a liquid version of the formula, once perfected, to prevent listening devices or surveillance equipment from penetrating the U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters.

  Powers peered down at the small piece of Inrhysec fabric that had been cut away from the bundle and muttered to himself about how impossible it was for another group to independently come up with the same formula. He left to return to his lab and conduct a complete examination of the fabric, promising to have the results immediately sent up to Waverly.

  Dunn raised his head from the report he was writing to see his partner suddenly stop pacing in mid-stride. Solo stood frozen as the buzz of activity continued around him, then slowly turned to the partition and moved across the room up to the protecting barrier until he leaned against the superglass, his hands pressed flat on the unyielding surface. His sharp eyes were fastened on the bulging mailbag.

  "Napoleon?"

  Solo didn't answer. His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed as if he was unable to believe his own thoughts.

  "Napoleon, what's up? What are you thinking?" Dunn glanced to Bastion and back to Solo. "Nap, I can't read your mind yet. Talk to me."

  "Quiet!" The word fogged the glass for an instant. Solo shifted his weight but maintained his fixed stare. "Move the microphone closer! Volume at maximum."

  Bastion leapt to adjust the mechanical arm holding the sensitive microphone, gently maneuvering it closer to the bag until it was barely an inch away. Solo joined him at the console and impatiently twisted the volume lever. The bomb's ticking reverberated throughout the room, but voices died to silence as the agents and staff listened in shock to raspy, shallow breathing. "Impossible," Bastion whispered.

  Paddy flew at the controls. "Is that live or taped?"

  The security agent pressed a few buttons and then nodded, dumbfounded. "Someone's in there, all right."

  "My God."

  The room turned as the Chief Enforcement Officer moved stiffly back to the heavy, glass partition.

  "Illya."

  Chapter Two: "What do you mean, he's not here?"

  9:45 a.m.

  Dunn entered Waverly's office as Bastion's voice reported over the loudspeaker. The Dutch agents still sat quietly in the office, but they had judiciously moved away from the conference table to a couch and armchairs, trying to stay out of the way.

  "--so that's where we stand right now, sir. A live human body seems to be tied up in the mailbag. Dr. Lawrence is monitoring the heartbeat, but because of the Inrhysec the body is wrapped in, we can't pick up more than a trace. We only heard it when a small piece of the fabric was cut away to examine it. Dr. Lawrence believes that whoever is in there is not conscious, and is having difficulty breathing. If there isn't some kind of oxygen being fed in -- and it's impossible for us to tell without an X-ray -- the breathable air must be almost nonexistent."

  "Understood, Mr. Bastion. What actions do you plan to take?"

  "Dr. Lawrence has volunteered to attempt to remove the body from its casing, but at present, we can't allow that until we discover how the bomb is set up. Certain wires cut out of sequence may set it off."

  "By all means, do not allow Dr. Lawrence near the mailbag until our bomb disposal crew feels it is safe. And I would like to know why nothing further has been done. The bomb was discovered three quarters of an hour ago." Waverly tossed one pipe on the desk and reached for another.

  "We are all assembled now, sir, and the bomb squad is ready to attempt to open the bag."

  "Fine, fine. Keep me informed. Waverly out." The Head of North American Operations lit the second pipe as the trio watched. He accepted another urgent call piped in from Mexico and listened as the agent there gave his report. A third call came from Baton Rouge and he handled it briefly, shifting through the files on his desk and making illegible notes. "Thank you, Miss Ward. Let me know the results of your investigation. He hung up the phone and puffed for a moment on the pipe. "And you, Mr. Dunn? Do you have anything further to add to Mr. Bastion's report?"

  Paddy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Solo thinks Illya Kuryakin is in the mailbag."

  Across the room, Dirk Vandermeer sank back into his chair groaning. "Any chance he is right?"

  Paddy shrugged. "I don't know. It doesn't seem possible that a grown man could be in a parcel that size, but it is definitely an adult's heartbeat. They say Houdini could fit in some pretty small spaces."

  "So could Illya," Vandermeer retorted. "Remember what you told me about the case in Amsterdam, last year?" he asked his colleague. "Illya sewed himself into a sack of grain and stayed hidden for hours until the shipment cleared customs."

  "He also wiggled through the air vent in the warehouse afterwards," De Witt admitted.

  "Well, gentlemen, I'm quite certain Mr. Solo will notify us immediately in the event that it is Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly puffed on the pipe, appearing unaware it was no longer lit. "Mr. Dunn, we will await your case until after the bomb has been deactivated and Mr. Solo rejoins us. Perhaps you could return to the mailroom and escort Mr. Solo here as soon as the... disturbance has been rectified."

  ***

  10:00 a.m.

  Four members of the bomb squad lifted the heavy mailbag and set it delicately on one of the mailroom's long sorting tables. They gave the cord rope around the top a gentle tug and loosened the noose. After a quick examination, they carefully lowered the canvas bag, slitting the sides to reveal the bundle within. Without the bulky covering, the inner package began to take the shape of a tightly bound human. Masking the body was a sheet of cloth, painted with the shiny silver Inrhysec coating. There was a six-inch rip down one side where the bomb crew had cut through the canvas bag to get a sample of the cloth, and the microphone was immediately placed near the opening.

  Solo had remained motionless throughout the preliminary tests and debates, watching the proceedings silently from behind the superglass enclosure. As Dr. Lawrence was cleared to join the crew, Solo followed him around the barrier, only to be stopped by a member of the bomb disposal unit.

  "Let him through," Bastion ordered at once, and tossed a full set of protective gear to the guard, gesturing for him to assist Solo. The Enforcement agent paused long enough to slip into the oversized jumpsuit before joining Dr. Lawrence at the control panel, who was intently listening on his monitors to the heartbeat and respirat
ion of the unseen man.

  "Illya," Solo said, flatly.

  "Pardon? Oh, it's you, Napoleon." The tall, thin doctor looked up from his dials. "Maybe it is Illya, I can't tell from this. We'll find out soon enough -- we have to move quickly or he'll suffocate and all we'll have left is a corpse. The breathing is faltering." The cardiograph screen before him lit up suddenly showing the heart rate as a stethoscope microphone was attached directly to the body.

  Minutes later, the bomb disposal team gingerly sliced through the Inrhysec sheet and the back of the man became visible; rows of tight baling wire circled the bound figure.

  A low growl came from Lawrence's throat as he peered over the dials at the emerging form. "That explains why the breathing is so shallow," he said aloud to Napoleon. "Those wires prohibit the chest from expanding."

  Lawrence left his post and joined the bomb squad as they slowly eased the fabric away, revealing the back of the bent head. The filthy hair was matted and dried blood gave it a rusty hue, but they didn't have to see the face to know Solo was right.

  As the sheet was removed, the next problem became evident. The body was arranged in a seated position, with the knees drawn up to the chest, the head face down on top of them. The man's arms circled his ankles. A hundred yards of thin baling wire kept the figure -- and the bomb strapped to the ankles -- securely in place.

  Dunn stood on top of Ricker's desk, the phone to his ear, passing on the news to Waverly's secretary and staring, over the barrier and the growing crowd of spectators, into the small group frantically working around Illya Kuryakin. Extra wire cutters arrived from Maintenance and Bastion passed them on into the sealed-off area. Holding an oxygen mask and tank loosely in one hand ready, Lawrence paced back and forth, shouting orders to his medical staff who waited beyond the partition.

  Dunn moved his surveillance to Solo. His partner appeared calm, watching the cardiograph screen intently, already detaching himself from his emotions. They would be dealt with later.

  The crew worked quickly, isolating the active wires connected directly to the bomb and tagging them to avoid accidentally cutting through them. They had decided to first attempt to remove the live bomb, then see to detonating it. Lawrence hovered beside them, listening as they conversed, and cursing under his breath as the heartbeat on the screen became more erratic.

  Then a medical technician standing below Dunn yelled, "Blue!"

  In alarm, Dunn stared at the screen as it registered a straight line. No heartbeat. He glanced at the clock, then at the flurry of activity that erupted beyond the partition. He watched in stunned silence as Lawrence and one guard grabbed the wire cutters and began slicing, almost indiscriminately, through the many strands binding the dying figure. Freed of its restraints, the head fell back revealing a scarcely recognizable, swollen face. The oxygen mask was quickly slipped on and the two men continued to sever the wires, heedless of the small cuts and gashes they inflicted on the lifeless body.

  Additional cutters appeared. Solo seized a pair and moved beside Bastion, frantically slicing the bomb away from his friend's body, while avoiding the wires marked by colored tabs. Within fifteen seconds, the upper torso was freed and lowered back to the table. Lawrence stripped off the mask to begin massaging the heart back into action, while another medic came to force air into the starved lungs.

  With a relieved gasp from the spectators, the bomb was detached from Illya's legs, deposited in a special container, and quickly wheeled out to where it could be safely detonated.

  Solo listened numbly as the revived heartbeat resounded through the room and the crowd outside burst into cheers. Not only had the missing Russian been returned to U.N.C.L.E., but he was somehow still alive.

  Dunn glanced at the clock on the wall; in all, the heart had stopped for just over two minutes. The battered, unconscious body was lifted onto a waiting stretcher, Dr. Lawrence readjusted the oxygen mask on his patient, and the medical team wheeled him out from the barrier.

  Dunn appeared at Solo's side and, with a casual grip on his elbow, inconspicuously maneuvered him through the crowd. "Snap out of it, Nap. Waverly wants us in his office immediately." They followed the stretcher into the elevator, the closing door blocking out the curious stares.

  ***

  12:00 P.M.

  Dr. Samuel Lawrence looked up from his paperwork as Solo and Dunn entered his office. "Ah, Napoleon. Paddy. Please sit down." He rustled through the stacks of files on his desk and pulled out one simply labeled KURYAKIN. "The top report is what you'll be needing for Waverly. It lists the injuries, probable cause, treatment, and present condition. The remainder of the file consists of the results of individual tests we've conducted on the subject."

  Solo grimaced as he scanned the report intended for Waverly. "You work fast. It's only been two hours."

  Lawrence smiled. "Napoleon, in my business -- as in yours -- you learn to work quickly and thoroughly, or risk losing a life. In your case, it's your own life you are protecting. In mine, it's a patient's."

  Solo passed the report on to Dunn and hesitated before asking, "How is this particular patient?"

  The doctor stood and walked around the desk, rubbing his forehead. "I'll be honest with you both; Kuryakin has physically been through a great deal in the last few months. To top it off, his heart stopped pumping for over two minutes today and he hasn't regained consciousness yet. We've examined him carefully, and I have the results of a full set of blood tests and X-rays in that file. If you want details now, it's like this: I suspect that around five or six o'clock this morning, he was beaten up and tied in that position. He has several broken or cracked ribs, multiple abrasions and lacerations -- some of which we did when we freed him -- as well as a compound fracture of the skull, his right eye is swollen shut, and his lip split.

  "But these are recent injuries," he continued, "probably done early this morning. Beneath those injuries are others, most half-healed, and I'm more concerned about them. Scars and burn marks on wrists, chest, and back. Several fingers on his left hand have been broken and are almost mended. One of the ribs that cracked this morning had been previously broken in the last few months. He is dehydrated and is suffering from malnutrition. I doubt he has eaten more than a handful of food in the last few weeks. His weight has dropped drastically and in this condition, he is a prime candidate for pneumonia."

  "What did they do to him?"

  "At the risk of sounding melodramatic, what didn't they do to him." Lawrence retrieved his file from Dunn and paged through the documents, pulling one out. "They obviously wanted something from him. We have listed various forms of mistreatment they put him through, some are standard THRUSH methods of interrogation. His blood shows traces of every truth serum known to science. The marks on his wrist and forehead show the possibility of electric shock. It looks like someone used his chest for an ashtray."

  The doctor tossed the file back on the desk. "I was told the Inrhysec formula was designed by Kuryakin and two other of our researchers and is top secret. Since he came to us wrapped in a sheet painted in Inrhysec, whoever is responsible for this wants us to know that they did succeed in breaking him. And that is what really worries me, not the injuries. The injuries will heal; they aren't anything he hasn't faced before. But when Kuryakin recovers, will he be able to handle betraying U.N.C.L.E., regardless of the circumstances involved?"

  Dunn walked silently beside Solo as they left the doctor's office and headed down the hall to the infirmary where Illya was being cleaned and rebandaged. Paddy cast a sideways glance at Solo, but the agent was once again unreadable, smiling pleasantly at passing U.N.CL.E. personnel, his face returning to a neutral glaze after each walked by.

  "Hey, Nap. He'll be okay."

  Solo nodded without turning to him. "Sure."

  "I mean it. He's tough."

  "You don't know him. Lawrence is right. It would kill him." Solo showed his pass to the guard at the door of the ward and moved down the aisle, his eyes darting left and right a
s he walked by the individual cubicles. He stopped at the end of the hall and stared back at Dunn who had just finished showing his security pass to the guard. "He's not here."

  "What do you mean, he's not here? Did they lose him?"

  "He's not here. Illya's not here." Solo came toward him again, pausing outside of each of the eight cubicles to carefully examine the room. When he reached the third one, he groaned and waved for Dunn to join him.

  An U.N.C.L.E. intern lay unconscious on the far side of the medical bed, his white jacket and security badge missing. Solo called Waverly while Dunn summoned the guard and notified security. Alarms rang throughout the floor and the intruder isolation walls fell and slid into place.

  "Yes, sir." Napoleon stood at the medical reception desk, phone to his ear. "There is no sign of forced entry. The receptionist left for lunch and the guard assigned to watch the infirmary arrived a short time later, leaving us with only two minutes unaccounted for."

  "We shall deal with that infraction later. Mr. Solo, have the area flooded with -- one moment, I have an urgent call on another line." Waverly's voice disappeared, returning a few seconds later. "Hold off on the gas, Mr. Solo. Dr. Lawrence advises me that it is doubtful Mr. Kuryakin would survive the effects. You'll have to search the building. Dr. Lawrence also feels that Mr. Kuryakin could not have left on his own. We shall see; he has surprised us before with his recuperative abilities." Waverly broke the connection before Solo could reply.

  Dunn motioned him to the cubicle where the intern was groggily drinking some water. "What's the last you remember, Brilly?" The intern winced as a nurse applied an icebag to the darkening bruise on his temple. "Did Kuryakin do this to you, or did someone else?"

  "Whoever hit me came from behind. It couldn't have been Kuryakin; he was still unconscious."

  "Are you sure he was out?" Dunn waved down Solo's protest. "Could he have been faking it?"

  Brilland Stokly held his throbbing head, trying to remember his last few conscious minutes. "I suppose so. I don't know. Sue -- Miss Johnston -- and I bad just transferred him over to the bed and I told her to go ahead for lunch and I'd watch the desk until the relief guard arrived. All I had to do was give Kuryakin an injection and hook him up to the I.V. It must have happened seconds later."