19 - The Power Cube Affair (5 page)

"Like Captain Barnett?"

"Not at all. Roger is just one of thousands. He happens to be in the services. Many are. Many others are not. All are hand picked to be loyal, reliable, observant. They report. That's all. Anything odd and unusual, out of line, suspicious, it comes back to me. That is all they do. Mary was one such. Her reports went to Roger; his reports to me. Of himself he knows nothing else, so can't give anything away. But I have other people, rather special people, who deal with things. That's why I am upset about Mary. It should not have happened. There will be other people to deal with that side of it."

"Permission to kill?" Solo queried, and the old man snorted gently.

"I deal in information. Sometimes, when necessary, I help. I can pull some very long strings. As a rule we operate to whittle the opposition down to the point where the law can step in. Sometimes we are—more drastic than that."

"So what are you offering?"

"Cooperation. Tell me what you know. Pass the message you had from Mary. Give me time to get some positive lines on the people concerned. Keep in touch with Nan here, and as soon as I have it I will pass it on. Well?"

"I'll make a deal," Solo said carefully. "We want the people who pulled this particular job. That's all. It's personal, nothing to do with the Command this time. You can have the message, and all the data we've got." He took the cassette from his pocket and slid it across the table, went on to explain how it had been garnered. He filled in details of events since, particularly the fracas outside their hotel. "Barnett's beautiful gopher girl could do with a little probing. And that technique for rounding up juvenile delinquents to order!"

"Yes!" The old man sounded thoughtful. "Damnably easy to do, too. In any shiftless mob it only needs one or two persuasive voices to sway the whole thing. I must say Absalom Green is new to me. Mary was especially interested in the drug business, these infernal psychotoxics and hallucinogens. The yacht will be easy enough to watch, but they'll be too smart to use it openly."

"A question," Kuryakin spoke up. "Your special people— do I take it Miss Perrell is a sample?"

"You may take it so, why?"

"She's female. So was Mary Chantry."

"Hah! A dove and a hawk are both birds, but there's a world of difference between them, you must admit. Very well, gentlemen. Nan will take you away again, and I will be in touch with you as soon as there's anything to pass on."

As they followed her out there was something about her footfall that betrayed the mood she was in. In the car she said nothing at all until they were well clear of the rendezvous. Then, pulling into the roadside and canceling the blacked out windows, she half-turned to glare.

"Overblown trollop, eh? Smell, do I?"

"You should be flattered," Kuryakin said innocently. "You were acting a part. You fooled us completely."

"I am not acting any part right now," she said, through very white teeth. "Understand this much. Charles put you in my charge, so you will do as I say. Or you can get out and walk, right now!"

"That's fair," Solo approved. "We'll get out, and you'll have to go back to Charles and tell him exactly how you lost us. Ready, Illya?"

For one moment he thought she was going to scream; then she drew a deep breath and swiveled forward.

"All right!" she muttered. "Yours today. Where do I drop you?"

Smothering a grin, Solo gave her the address and the car stormed away. In a while Kuryakin sighed and leaned forward.

"What are the terms for a truce, Miss Perrell?"

"Overblown trollop!" she repeated savagely. "Talk about pearls before swine! Overblown!"

"I too was acting a part," he said placatingly. "That was merely corroborative detail, intended to lend artistic verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative!"

"Good grief!" The car did an involuntary swerve as she twisted her head to stare back at him. "Where did that come from?"

"The words are W. S. Gilbert, but the sentiment is mine. The pearls were appreciated, but it wasn't the proper time to say so. Not called for."

"Oh!" Her head went forward again but there was uncertainty in the tone and a slight easing of the stiffness of her neck and chin. "I see!"

"We were thinking of other things," Solo endorsed. "Not really the right moment to appreciate the finer things of life."

"Hmmm!" she muttered. "Smart, aren't you. You made Charles lose his temper, which is something I've never seen before, and now you're trying to con me into making an exhibition of myself."

"We admire pearls."

"I'll bet you do. Look, we're almost there. You'd better give me a phone number in case I need to reach you."

Solo gave her the number, noting with appreciation that she made no move to write it down. She gave him one she said was hers, a residence the other side of Norwood.

"I'll ring you tomorrow," she promised. "You need to learn a few things about the way we work. I'll drop you here."

"Here," was the same corner where the two had witnessed the murderous assault earlier that same day. Both men felt a tensing of nerves as they got out and started into the dim lit side road. The premonition was accurate. One lone street light left the corners in shadow. From those shadows came lean, black jacketed youths, all unkempt of hair and grin- fling with feral anticipation. They closed in, and the two agents immediately forgot all about Miss Perrell and her moods.

FOUR

THERE WAS no need for words. With the instant cooperation of long experience, both men moved to get the concrete lamp post base at their backs. They were unarmed, because the law in Britain takes a very poor view of guns, but there are other things than official weapons. As Solo eyed the dozen sneering thugs, their ludicrously long and pomaded hair wisping alongside weakly vicious features, he felt a sudden lifting of spirit at the promise of action.

"Name of Solo, I hope," said one, stepping just a fraction in front of his fellows. "And Kuryakin eh? Wouldn't want to make another mistake. Missed you this morning."

"You won't miss us this time," Solo promised, scanning the group with a hard eye. "Twelve against two. Makes it awkward!"

To his left there came a click and then the glitter of a six inch knifeblade. Its owner sniggered.

"Going to be more than awkward for you. Going to be dreadful!"

"Not for us." Solo corrected, talking off the top of his mind while he and Kuryakin eased themselves into the best position for handling. "For you. You see"—he spoke gently, as if lecturing to a class—"if there had been five, say, or six, we'd be able to handle you gently. But with so many, we won't have the time. We'll have to get rough. Of course, you're only youngsters—"

"Stuff that!" The self-appointed leader abandoned his grin. "You talk too much. Save it for the angels, compliments of Mr. Green!"

As he lunged, Solo muttered. "Let's go, Illya!" and grabbed the lunging wrist, wrenched and twisted, lashed out with a hard driving foot to a knee, let go and whipped a flailing arm up to meet the agonized face that bent down by reflex. Delete one with a shattered kneecap and broken wrist. All in the same movement he spun to meet the lad with the knife, reached for the wrist that held it, yanked it forward and down across his own knee coming up. The knife wielder screamed, the noise snapping off as Solo's open palm came up all the way from down there under his chin to lift him bodily into the air. Delete two. Catching a flicker of movement from the corner of his eyes, he reversed his spin, bringing his arm around like a club but with wide open palm. It met the face and cheek-bone of a gaping blond youth, the impact sounding like a pistol-shot. Delete three.

The coldly detached mechanism in Solo's mind counted them off as he came back to a balanced stance and found himself between two attackers, both charging him together. With right and left hand he reached and grabbed hold of two ornate neckties, hauling the pair inwards, together, head to head, solidly. Cancel two more. He grunted as something hard, flexible and massive slammed down across his neck and shoulder, paralyzing his right arm and beating him down almost to his knees. It hurt like the devil, but he surged up and ahead, grappled the weapon wielder with his one good arm and ran him full tilt backward against the solid stone wall. The crunch was solid enough to be convincing.

Just for one breath he stooped to investigate the damaging weapon. A bicycle chain! Then he wheeled, back to the wall, in time to see Kuryakin enjoying himself. Gripping luxuriant locks in either hand, the Russian agent heaved himself backward, brought the two heads together with a very satisfying dull thud.

From the dark came another with a leap, full on to Kuryakin's back. Solo started forward but there was no need. Kuryakin reached back and with both hands, took a f grip of hair and head, then spun and heaved violently. The attacker hung on as long as he could, but at last came free and yelled with fright as he flew through the night air. The flight ended as he met the concrete lamp post, curled around it, hung a moment, then slid limply to the ground. Solo winced as he moved his shoulder, then spared a moment to count up the scattered bodies.

"Eleven—twelve! That's the lot, Illya!" he announced in credulously.

"A pity. I was just beginning to enjoy myself. What—?"

He broke off, and both men whirled tensely as they heard a soft whistle from the roadway. They saw Nan Perrell, sitting at the wheel of her car, but with the door open, watching. She waved them, urgently.

"Thought you'd gone," Solo said, straightening his coat and finger combing his hair. "You saw all that?"

"Blow by blow. Hop in. You need to get away from here, fast!"

Shrugging, the two men climbed in the back and she was gunning her motor before they had the door shut. At a furious pace she took them away, around several corners and turnings, then found a place to pull in to the side, and stopped. "Stay right there!" she commanded. "This won't take a minute."

She strode to a public call box, spent no more than thirty seconds in talk, then returned to the car still urgently and drove off on a winding trail once more until they were safely tucked away in a traffic stream.

"Are we supposed to know what that was all about?" Solo asked.

"Tell me something first. Have you any idea who laid on that little lot for you?"

"One of them was kind enough to say Mr. Absalom Green."

"Good. I guessed right. Now for what I did. I made a nine nine nine call, to inform the police where to collect some interesting debris."

"Let's have the rest of it. Why are we running?"

"It's very simple. I'll draw you a diagram. Say some passerby or beat constable finds them, those that are left, then what? Report, alarm, inquiries, knock up everybody all around. You wouldn't like the publicity at all. And they could, possibly, pin an assault and battery on you. How do you fancy a longish term in clink? Our opponents can buy law, remember."

"Good thinking," Kuryakin approved. "Much obliged, but what do we do now, wait until the heat is off?"

"You'll wait a long time. The coppers will really dig on this one. They've had a bellyful of hooliganism just recently. Something else I should ask. Did either of you stop any thing? Any damage?"

Solo hunched his aching hou1der. "One of them dented me with a chain. Quite a weapon. I've heard of it, never stopped one before."

"I could do with some repairs on my coat sleeve—and my arm," Kuryakin said. "Flick knives are old hat, but still effective."

"That's it, then," she said, decisively. "You can't go home, and you would be asking for trouble to try any hotel. So I'm taking you home with me."

"You're in charge, Miss Perrell," Kuryakin said softly.

"Now you're really getting smart, Illya. Truce? Napoleon?"

"Fair enough. But something needs to be done about the leak from Barnett's office."

"I'll mention it to Charles. He'll fix it."

"What about you. Aren't you in danger now?"

"Hardly. Roger doesn't even know about me. Charles is the only one with that kind of information."

"Top man. And you're right next to him. You must be pretty good!"

"I can stand any number of compliments like that," she laughed. "No false modesty about me, at all. And you two know what it's all about too, don't you? Twelve little rockers with toys, and you really smeared them. I don't think I've seen anything quite as fast as that before. Very nice!"

"Thank you," Solo murmured, and sat back. By his side, Kuryakin seemed uneasy. He leaned forward after a moment or two.

"You saw it all happen. Sat there and watched it, didn't you?"

"That's right!" There was suppressed mischief in her voice. "I did. I enjoyed the whole thing." They were clear of the city traffic now. She eased down, pulled in to the roadside, got out and came to the rear door. "Make room," she ordered, "so I can sit between you. Explanations are called for."

They made room and she slid in, settling on the cushions between them.

"I sat there and watched, didn't I?" she repeated. "I didn't do anything. And that worries you, doesn't it?"

"There wasn't a lot you could do," Solo shrugged. "We didn't need any help. Forget it."

"Stiff necked pair, aren't you? Look, we're in this together." As they started to protest she put up her hand. "All right, I know I'm only a female. Overblown trollop, to you. But I am also, as Charles told you, a hawk. I have weapons." She extended one long and very shapely leg, made a fast sweeping motion with her right hand, and all at once there was a tiny pistol shaped thing in her fist. Then she opened her palm and let the thing show.

"For you," she said to Solo. "And here's its little brother." She repeated the motion, left handed this time. "For you, Illya. And don't let the plastic-toy appearance fool you."

"That's all right." Solo eyed the weapon in her palm as an old and tried friend in need. It did, in fact, resemble a toy, simply because there was no need here for pressure resistance and rifled barrel. The bullets themselves did all the work, were miniature rocket missiles that needed only impact to start them on their lethal way. "We've seen 'em before," he said. "Very useful, and deadly. Thanks for the demonstration. I'm more interested in where you pack them, though."