Collection 8 - Haunted Nights Read online

  "Give me your luggage claims, and I'll pick up our suitcases if you need to get going," Napoleon said, glancing at his watch. "I'll put them in a locker, then take them with me later to the hotel."

  "Thank you. I'll join you at the Norfolk Hotel later." Illya turned to go, then looked back. "Are we meeting at the hotel or at the U.N.C.L.E. office. I have it in mind that we are to meet at the local office."

  "The hotel is fine. I'll just check in to the Nairobi office by phone and then see about arranging transportation north tomorrow. We could both plan for an early night. I think I need to reset my body for the difference in time."

  "Certainly," Illya nodded, turning to leave.

  "Dinner, perhaps at eight?"

  He turned back yet again, a slight smile on his face as he replaced his sunglasses. "I am fine, Napoleon. I promise to stay clear of grappling hooks."

  "Just inquiring about dinner." Napoleon made a show of checking his wallet. "Did Heather give you enough local currency to get around here? It looks like I have enough here for both of us."

  Illya pulled out his wallet to confirm the amount of Kenyan shillings given him, and shrugged. "Enough for tonight and tomorrow, anyway." He gave a quick nod and headed off toward the group of rather anxious-looking cab drivers lined up by the entrance.

  Keyed lockers were nearby, so Napoleon got one big enough for the two suitcases and put them away, pocketing the key. Next on the agenda was the air cargo customs department.

  It took him almost half an hour to find the building, as no one he asked seemed to know what he was talking about. He ended up finding it by chance, taking a shortcut through it on his way elsewhere. They handed him a series of mimeographed papers outlining the country's policies on importing and exporting, taxation and duties, but there appeared to be no one on duty who could actually answer his more detailed questions. Promising to 'call again in the morning', he ventured back to the main terminal, doubling back on his route, unaccounted by Thrush or anyone else, then reclaimed their luggage.

  Napoleon had secured their two suitcases and had stepped a few yards toward the exit, when a cab driver wrestled them from his hands and offered the services of his taxi. Tucking his U.N.C.L.E. Special back in its holster, Napoleon looked around, seeing the same aggressiveness occurring with other tourists. Still not committing himself to anything, he followed the Kenyan driver to the waiting taxi, watching as his suitcases were tossed in the trunk. The black London cab was huge but looked a lot safer than the others clustered along the street, so Napoleon reluctantly went along with him to the hotel.

  The Norfolk Hotel was one he had stayed at before, a collection of half-timbered, brick and stucco low-rise buildings surrounding a courtyard with aviaries. True to its reputation of being a meeting place for locals, he was immediately hailed from the terrace restaurant as he passed by the hotel's porch on his way inside.

  "Jambo, Mr. Solo. Habari?"

  "I am fine, thank you, Mr. Muliro. Habari?" he asked, leaning over the railing to shake hands with the head of U.N.C.L.E. in Kenya.

  "I am quite well. And how is your Mr. Waverly?" John Muliro asked, not relinquishing the New York agent's hand. The Kenyan was in his sixties, gray-bearded although the close-cropped hair on his head was still black, just beginning to show flecks of white. Dark eyes shone in his expressive face, and his patriarchal presence was not unlike that of President Kenyatta himself.

  "Mr. Waverly is fine, thank you. Let me go register, see to my bags, and I'll be right out."

  "We will be here, Mr. Solo."

  His hand finally released, Napoleon gave a quick wave and headed inside.

  Heather McNabb had already confirmed their rooms from New York, and he was relieved to follow the bellboy into the cool studio suite, one of three suites that U.N.C.L.E. maintained in the hotel. Once alone, he checked both his room and Illya's adjoining room, changed his shirt and joined the Kenyan U.N.C.L.E. chief on the terrace for an impromptu update on the local situation.

  Once the pleasantries were over, and their ice teas had arrived at the table, the U.N.C.L.E. representative in Nairobi had more strange news for him. Two more Kenyan Section Two agents had been found dead fifty miles east from North Horr, a township several hundred miles north of Nairobi, east of Lake Rudolf, and about seventy miles from where the other two agents had been killed. They had been killed by poison darts, apparently shot at them from close distance.

  Solo scanned the report and handed it back to Muliro. "The autopsy says they died from poison that would be consistent with that of multiple spider bites."

  Muliro was no longer smiling. The Oxford-educated historian lifted his head gravely, his face a deadly lion on the prowl, his eyes boring into Solo's. "It is but one of ten attacks in the last two weeks. We have been watching the area between Lake Rudolf and the Marsabit National Reserve, but you must understand, Mr. Solo, that it is a vast area of desert and savanna, and the area has many shifta-armed bandits who roam the lands. We of the United Network Command have a total now of twenty men for all of Eastern Africa. It is not enough. I have spoken with the Myee himself about this, and today met with Mr. Achieng, the Permanent Secretary in the Ministry of Tourism and Wildlife. There is a temporary restriction put on the entire Marsabit area. We do not want a repeat of this." His words ended with a throttle in his throat, a lion's growl.

  Solo met the man's fixed look. "Which is why we are here, Mr. Muliro. I would like to have a look at the area myself. If we see evidence of a Thrush nest, we'll arrange for more agents to be brought in, as many as are necessary. If it is not an international group operating, such as Thrush or some similar organization, you realize we may have our hands tied on the matter. It is difficult to interfere with the normal course of a country's development, no matter how atrocious their actions. We suspect Thrush may be involved, since the warehouse these spiders were shipped from was known to be Thrush-affiliated. If that does not prove to be the case, we will then discuss the matter again with Mr. Waverly and see what can be done. Tomorrow, I plan to go north with my partner and see for myself the situation. And if there is something else you feel we could do, please ask."

  "Asanti sana," Muliro said, passionately. "Thank you." He pulled his chair closer to Solo's, his voice lowering. "While you are in the north, you must keep this in mind, Mr. Solo. When dealing with the police and local government, they have a... reputation for being not only unhelpful, but corrupt and quick to abuse their power—the less you have to do with them, the better. Do not get caught taking pictures of anything to do with the military. You can be arrested for doing so, and there is little I can do to help you. They are stubborn about these things."

  "What is U.N.C.L.E.'s relationship with the current government?"

  "Oh, with the President and top officials, we are old friends. He has stated he wishes to meet with Mr. Waverly in the very near future to discuss Kenya's relationship with U.N.C.L.E. in this new regime. Our country is facing a difficult time ahead. When we became independent from England, non-African Kenyans were given the choice of taking British or Kenyan citizenship. Many chose British, and those, especially those who are of Asian or East Indian descent, are now being pressured by the government from their jobs, their lands, their homes. Many are these people are choosing to immigrate to England before March 1968 when British law curbs Asian and Indian immigration, even for those with British citizenship."

  "Isn't that what is wanted by the majority, though? A return to African government in Kenya?"

  "Of a sort. But there are those rising up through the ranks, put in power because they are native Kenyans, despite their abilities. Many are those who, like Kenyatta, were involved in one way or another with the Mau Mau Rebellion. While some are in agreement with his belief in an orderly, lawful, peaceful changeover, others are more impatient to see changes—and to see themselves in charge of those changes."

  "Has it affected the economy yet?"

  "Again, another source of tension for us. Our country
depends on agriculture; our economy is based on it. The only white man serving as a minister now is Mr. McKenzie, the Minister of Agriculture, and he is trying desperately to protect the interests of those Europeans who own land and are currently providing three out of every five jobs in the country. The government favors expropriation of the land without payment, and that will cause more problems. Realistically, too-rapid Africanization of Kenya will be to our detriment, if we are ill-equipped to handle these vast acreages. Kenyatta's motto is 'Harambee', but this is difficult for many."

  Solo let the world roll on his tongue. "Harambee... What does it mean?" He had seen it written in big block letters on posters at the airport, on billboards as they passed through the city.

  "It is Swahili for 'Let us all pull together.' We are trying, but we cannot do it in one year, or two years, or ten years. But we will do it—that I believe."

  We should adopt the saying for U.N.C.L.E., Napoleon thought, smiling to himself, considering the vast number of agents from different cultures and races. "So the Network currently has a good relationship with the President."

  "Yes, the Myee at this time is committed to work with U.N.C.L.E. But this is not so with the local governments, even with those who govern the districts. They view U.N.C.L.E. as being white and non-Kenyan. Their palms are out, waiting to be greased. Thrush is paying them to look the other way, I fear."

  Solo glanced at his watch. Time was moving on, and he had yet to read the reports Muliro had brought for him. "I would like to make reservations for Mr. Kuryakin and myself to fly into Marsabit tomorrow. Can that be arranged?"

  "Certainly. But if you wish to see the area where attacks have been, I suggest flying to Maikona, instead. It is still in the Marsabit area, but it is the closest airport to where you wish to go."

  "Maikona?"

  "It is halfway between Marsabit and North Horr. The attacks have all been in the Huri Hills and west to the North Horr area. Our base at Bondolo is northeast of North Horr. I will arrange for a flight leaving first thing in the morning, and also for a landrover to be ready for you. Would you require a driver as well?"

  "An U.N.C.L.E. agent?"

  Muliro shook his head. "One is not available, I am sorry. We have our compound at Bondolo—shared with a local clinic—and we are taxed to our limit due to our dropping numbers."

  "Of course. Skip the driver. Just make sure I have an accurate set of maps. What are the roads like?"

  Muliro laughed. "Let me tell you about the roads in Kenya. Here in the city, in Nairobi, one is very careful driving at night. There are potholes on the road big enough for an elephant to fall into, and streetlights are almost unheard of. Roads are without curbs or edges. Pedestrians will suddenly wander into traffic without looking. Bus drivers are aggressive to the point of being dangerous to anyone who gets in their way. We actually hired one to drive for us, considering his experience in driving in Nairobi without one fatality or accident, to be excellent credentials."

  "And in Marsabit District?"

  "The roads in Northern Kenya are few and far between. The roads that are there, are not in good condition. As I have mentioned, the area has many shifta-armed bandits who roam the district. Do not travel at night."

  "How long between the airport in Maikona and the Bondolo U.N.C.L.E. compound?"

  "If you stick to the roads, about three hours. I will notify them you are coming. Once there, you will be escorted around by one of our agents."

  "I would like to see where the attacks were first. Maybe talk to anyone who saw what the weapons looked like."

  "We will do anything in our power to assist you, Mr. Solo."

  * * * * *

  Araneiden Research Center

  Nairobi, Kenya

  Illya Kuryakin watched the Kenatco cab pull away from the research center, frowning at the scrawled receipt for only half of what he paid the driver. He turned and walked quickly up the stairs to the Araneiden Research Center, a single-storied building on the northern outskirts of the city, within a few block of a local college.

  The smiles that had greeted him at the research center faded as he explained why he was there, his forged university credentials on the table before him, along with his master's thesis proposal stating he wished to research spider venom and its uses. The head of the facility brought in one of his top researchers, who answered every dull question the Russian could come up with on the nature of the center itself, while Illya wrote everything down in his notebook.

  "I would like to find out more about the actual venom of the spiders," he asked, finally interrupting a lengthy discourse on the financial backers of the institute.

  "Ah, that would be Peter's area, and he has already gone home for the day. He will be back in the morning. You must talk with him." For the first time, the head of the facility stood silently, staring at him.

  "As I am only in Kenya a very few days, is there someone here at this institute who could tell me, then, about the spiders themselves?"

  "Peter is our venomologist, but, yes, any of our researchers are able to instruct you on the spiders themselves and show you the various specimens we have here. But we suggest you speak with Peter tomorrow, as he has taken special interest in the venom, if that is what your research paper is on. He has done considerable work in that area, becoming somewhat of an expert in the field," he said proudly. "From your biology degree, I see you have some background in entomology?"

  "Yes, I have always been interested in arthropods and other pests which attack man." Like Thrush.

  Kuryakin was then taken into the labs, walking by hundreds of dry aquariums filled with spiders of every size and shape. Most he recognized from the studies he had already done prior to leaving New York; only a few were species he hadn't encountered before. Kenya itself had few native species, and none were poisonous. Which lent the question, why had Thrush used this particular area to test their weapons in?

  Unless the answer was one he had often encountered of late... Why not?

  He stopped before a small glass-sided box that read: Latrodectus. Inside was a female black widow spider, the distinctive red hourglass figure clearly seen on the underside of her abdomen as she hung suspended by a thread within her irregular mesh web.

  Illya shivered, flashing back a few days to a moonless night. The black/white shimmer of snow. The dark warehouse. The rush of adrenaline as he had repelled down the side of the building. The crates of thousands of dead spiders. The overwhelming sense of doom that had settled on his shoulders and caused him to be careless with the grappling hook.

  Do I want to be bitten, or do I want to bite? He blinked again banishing the thoughts and the dreams that clung to them.

  * * * * *

  Norfolk Hotel, Nairobi

  7:00 pm

  Muliro finally left the hotel, and Napoleon headed back to his room, an armful of maps, brochures, and safari tourist information from the hotel lobby, as well as the reports and documents from the U.N.C.L.E. Kenyan office.

  Figuring the difference in the time zones, he put a call in to Waverly's office, choosing to use the U.N.C.L.E. communicator rather than the telephone. Among other things, Muliro had warned him about the dubious service of the Kenyan telephone system. It was only mid-morning in New York, and his call was quickly routed directly to the Section One office.

  "Yes, Mr. Solo. Do you have something to report?"

  "Just that we are here and have begun our investigation. I met with Mr. Muliro this evening and have been updated on the current situation here in Kenya." He filled Waverly in on the details, then added, "We have a flight booked to Marsabit District tomorrow morning. The spider cargo has not yet been claimed or even processed, according to Muliro's information, and I would like to have a look at the area of the attacks."

  "Keep me informed. Thrush activity is almost at a standstill at the moment, apart from the activity in Kenya. And how is Mr. Kuryakin coping?" Waverly added, almost as an afterthought.

  "He seems fine, sir. If I
had thought otherwise, he would not be here with me," Solo said, keeping the annoyance from his voice.

  "Certainly. Fine, then. I expect your report once you reach Bondolo."

  "Yes, sir."

  The line terminated and Napoleon reset the signal for that of his partner. It beeped once, and then it was cutoff. Illya must be with someone.

  Five minutes later, the call was returned. "Solo here."

  "It's Kuryakin." His voice sounded quiet and echoed slightly.

  "Where are you?"

  "In the restroom."

  "How are you doing at the center?"

  "I am just embarking on a tour of the research facilities. I will call you when I leave."

  "I'll be here." Napoleon closed the connection and put the miniature transceiver away. He took advantage of the time to repack for the next day and the trip to Marsabit, and, once that was finished, he sat down with the lengthy Nairobi office reports and started reading.

  * * * * *

  Araneiden Research Center

  The researcher tapped on the glass and the spider moved. "This specimen is average. Black body, about 12 mm long and a nearly globular abdomen 7.2 to 9.6 mm in diameter. The overall length, including the legs, is 38 to 43 mm. Latrodectus hesperus has the largest females, bodies ranging up to 15.5 mm in diameter."

  "What happens if one bites a human?" Kuryakin asked.

  "Well, Peter could tell you more about that, but I am familiar with the symptoms. I've been bitten several times, and as you can see, I am still alive." The man smiled, then continued quickly when he saw no trace of humor in his guest. "There is usually a slight local swelling and redness, and two tiny red spots may appear. Pain at the site, going down in a day or two. If it's a bad bite: fever, increased blood pressure, profuse perspiration, nausea."

  "The usual," Kuryakin said, offhandedly. He moved on to the other spiders, listening intently as the researcher described the various symptoms of a single bite from each of the specimens there. When they reached the end of the long row, he could see through the windows ringing the top of the lab that it had grown dark, which probably explained the head of the facility looking impatient standing at the door of the lab.