20 - The Corfu Affair (7 page)

In the tower-room at the other end of the passage, Katherine Winter put down her pen, lit a cigarette and leaned back to let her mind have its own way with the vexing problem of Mr. Nathan Summers. She was in the middle of her weekly letter to Uncle Otto, a rambling and inane epistle, mostly gossip and trivia, but which contained full descriptive details of everyone who had visited the Argyr Palace that week. It was her report, and Uncle Otto was no relative at all, but an elderly, ruddy-faced military gentleman who would skip all the banalities, but who would be very careful to list all the personalities and arrange to have them investigated. So she had been told.

The gentleman had approached her immediately after she had secured the job with the Countess. He had been very polite and laden with official documents to prove his authority. She believed he was C.I.A. but had not enquired too deeply about this. On his advice, it was better for her to know as little possible, thus making it impossible for her to give anything away, even by accident. All he wanted, and he was careful to stress this, was the name, nationality and time of arrival and departure of any guests. She was to supply these in the weekly letter. And do nothing more. At all.

From which facts Kate had gathered that she was involved in something very dangerous. She had been unwilling to help, but was at last persuaded because of the thrills involved. And the extra income.

But thrills had not come. Instead, the chore had grown dull. Guests came, usually by sea. They were odd, often. Usually they stayed overnight. Always they departed secretly, and she never saw them go. But that was all. And when Madame was in Paris, which could have been a bit more lively, the letter wasn't needed. Seemingly, Uncle Otto had other eyes for that period.

So the task had become dull, until now, with the extraordinary appearance of Mr. Summers, who wasn't a bit like the rest. Kate sighed, reached for her pen again. Mr. Summers was different and, for a while, she had hoped something might come of it. Corfu was a pleasant place, better if you could share it with the right kind of company. But Madame had flaunted her figure, flashed her eyes, turned on the charm, and that was the end of any hope Kate might have of getting to know Mr. Summers any better. Honestly, these French women! No delicacy at all! She sighed again, and began laboriously to write out the details.

Napoleon Solo struggled back to consciousness under the impression that his head was loose. He shook it to make sure, and the instant agony that came made him decide, firmly, not to do anything like that again for a long time. Levering his eyes open and focusing them against a strong glare, he saw he was looking along the top of a polished table littered with glasses and bottles. Beyond them, gradually hardening into outline and detail, he saw Countess Anne-Marie Louise de St. Denis. She watched him in calm appraisal, almost approval.

Easing back gingerly, he realized he was sitting in those stall chairs again, but this one had improvements in the shape of a pair of chrome-steel bands that folded out from the armrests to pinion his wrists. He tried to stir his feet and assured himself there were more fetters on his ankles. He was caught. Moving his head carefully, he saw that Thrush was in full attendance, four pairs of eyes being steadily fixed on him.

He forced his face into a thin smile, looked back to the Countess, and revised his opinion of her. She was still beautiful, but now he saw her beauty as the coiled deadliness of a lethal snake.

"Welcome, M. Solo," she said, with crisp assurance. The use of his name served to shock some of the fog from his mind.

"Some mistake," he muttered, after a false start or two. The inside of his mouth had been scrubbed with a coarse brush or wire wool. It took some effort to make it work. He swallowed. "Mistake. My name is Summers."

"Let us not waste time. I knew you from the first moment I saw you in my telescope. For years I have maintained a comprehensive file, with photographs and descriptions, of all the more active agents of U.N.C.L.E. You are Napoleon Solo,
n'est ce pas
?" She laughed, cast a flashing eye on her uneasy audience. "I am flattered that U.N.C.L.E. should this time send its best man. For me, M. Stanton was old. Easy. I dealt with him. I shall also deal with you, only better this time."

"You will kill him," Morales pronounced, with no question in his tone.

"Oh no, senor. That would be waste. I will use him."

"Good!" Klasser grunted. "That is the better way. Good specimens are not easy to get. May we observe?"

"But of course. That is my purpose, as you shall see." She turned her burning stare on Solo again. "You have been disarmed, and all your toys removed. If you try anything foolish one of my friends will kill you, and that would be unfortunate. But, if you are prepared to be sensible, I will free one of your hands, so that you may join us in a glass of this wine—and listen while we talk. Choose!"

"I could use a drink," he admitted, and she rose, moved away to a far corner where she must have operated a switch of some kind, for the cuff slid back from his left wrist. Then she came near, filled a glass and put it within his reach. Then she went back to her seat, but remained standing.

Watching her, it took him a moment or two to convince himself that he was not dreaming, that he had not slipped back three thousand years of time. She had caught back her black hair with a white band of silk. Her only clothing was a similar white silk, a simple garment that started from a silver brooch at her right shoulder and hung straight as far as mid-thigh, all in one piece, with just a hole for her arm, on the right side. On the left it swooped away from her shoulder to her left hip, leaving her left shoulder and breast uncovered, and from hip to hem it was loosely laced with a cord that ended in a fringe-tassel. The whole was genuine Ancient Greek, not the modernized compromise, and like the ancients, it was all she wore. Then his eye caught and fixed on the one jarring note, the metal bangle and strange attachments that hung from her right wrist.

"Now!" she said, in the tone of a queen addressing a cabinet. "You will have heard rumors, stories, hints. On the strength of those you are here, believing or not. Now you will hear, and see, the truth. You have heard me talk about health and beauty. You have seen my statues. You think I am, perhaps, something of a fanatic. Perhaps I am, you shall see. But I ask you to think of this. The glorious Greeks said MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO. We say that a healthy body and a healthy mind go together. Perhaps it is true. But what is a healthy body, a healthy mind? How do you define these? Years ago I decided to take a position that no one can argue. A
perfect
body, this can be defined. A perfect body is a body without flaw, yes? And—a perfect mind is a mind without thought!"

If she was looking for a reaction from him, Solo thought, she was disappointed. The Thrush quartet was silent for several seconds. Then Vassi stirred.

"I do not understand. A mind without thought is what? Blank?"

"Exactly. We spoil white paper when we write on it, but alas, we must write. Children write on slates, and then wipe them clean afterwards. If we could do this with a mind, it would remain perfect, you agree?"

"And useless," Morales grunted. "Get to your point, Madame."

"I will. I will show it to you as it came to me. I am a cosmetic surgeon. I spend long hours repairing the deficiencies in people. I know they will go and do the same foolish things again. I despair, sometimes, of humanity. But an idea comes. A question. Why do bodies grow to be imperfect? What is wrong?"

Klasser snorted. "This is obvious, Baroness. We must live as the circumstances allow, and this is not a perfect world."

"Quite so." She gave him a white-toothed smile. "So I decided to try and grow a life in perfect circumstances. Without flaw. Adam!" She lifted a finger and the impassive hercules strode forward to stand by her side. She paused for effect, then said, simply, "Here is my first success. My perfect man. I made him."

Solo stiffened as the idea spread in his mind. Cabari exhaled slowly and said, "You had a good subject for your repair work, Madame."

"Not repair," she corrected. "Do not try to evade what is obvious. I made this man. I grew him, from an original cell-section. Here, in my laboratory. My first one. It was not easy, the first time, but I have learned much since then. A perfect human and a perfectly empty mind!"

"But— Klasser was spluttering to get his words out, "—this is not to be believed! This man moves and acts in an intelligent manner. If without thought he would be a cabbage!"

"So he is, without my thought. Look!" She raised her wrist and let the glittering attachments swing for a moment in the light, then chose one with a red identification spot on it. "This is a miniature transmit-receive device. It is one of a pair. The other? Adam, bow your head!" The man lowered his head forward slowly and she put her fingers into the thick black hair, ruffling, before drawing one fingerful aside. They could all see a small round patch of bare skin less than half an inch in diameter. "It is in there. I will show you. Adam, sit down."

Solo watched in chill horror as the herculean body settled into a chair. The Countess did something to the thing on her wristband and the statuesque shape sagged and became limp and lifeless.

"Now he is without thought," she said, very softly. "Now you shall see." It was grotesque, stomach turning, to watch her lean fingers probe, and then produce from the top of that immobile head a tiny tube of glittering metal. She held it for them all to see.

"Not to bore you with technicalities," she said, "it is enough to know that this is inserted in contact with the pineal organ. From there it controls the brain from the inside. I discovered this almost by accident. I had grown my perfect form, but it was blank and without mind. How to teach it, to train it in the way I wanted? Like a child, first with words and then on to subtleties? I thought not. That way is to establish exactly the very thing I did not want, patterns and habits like ordinary people's. But if I could reach the brain from the inside—ah! ...And I did. Gentlemen, I will not bore you with all my struggles, my mistakes. Let it stand like this. Adam is now asleep, passive, unconscious—call it what you like. If I replace this command switch, so," she did it deftly and stepped away, "he is unchanged but within my power. I can reach him with this." And she took the bangle-unit in her fingers. "I have trained him to obey certain very simple instructions, enough to make him useful to me. He is, you might say, programmed. By me. Strong, swift, unquestioning and utterly faithful." She touched her switch and the impassive giant sat up and moved away to stand by the wall at her command. Vassi started a strangled comment.

"A moment!" The Countess stopped him imperiously. "No more bush beating. My offer is just this. How would you like such a servant? Think, my friends. To have one person utterly bound to you, absolutely reliable, tot faithful, unquestioning, to be trained in whatever way you choose, to obey you whatever you say. Think now!"

Solo let out a very ragged breath and his hand shook as he drained the last of the wine in his glass. The technicalities were as far beyond him as they were beyond the Thrush quartet, but the facts were undeniable. And the potentials immense. A robot. An android robot. The perfect slave.

"I cannot contradict, Baroness." Klasser was having trouble with his voice. "I must believe that you have achieved this. But I have one question. You say you grow these perfect ones, in your tanks, and that itself is hard to believe. But—I accept it. Still, do you expect us to wait for what?—twenty-five years?—for these creatures to be grown?"

"You are a man of science, Herr Doktor. It is a pleasure to know that your mind is working. But wrongly, in this case. With my techniques for artificial nurture, you see, it is possible to accelerate the process. I could grow you a servant, a slave, to your own order—within six weeks! But I can do better, much better. You have not heard the half, yet. I said that Adam was my first. I have others. Regard now!"

She moved away to another wall, touched a switch that set a concealed light glowing, and Solo leaned forward, struggling at his bonds, as he saw what was on display. In a long niche in the wall stood a row of statues, very like those he had seen in the entrance-hall, but immediately different in that they were flesh-colored. They looked real, like people sleeping. Ten of them, all female, all breathtakingly perfect, superbly beautiful, they stood—then he looked again and saw that they leaned back slightly, all of them, against black velvet supports.

"Female!" Morales said, deep in his throat, swinging his gaze to the Countess. "Why? Why not male, like that one?"

"If you insist, senor, I can grow you a man, certainly. But think. Think how precious a perfect slave will be. Completely trustworthy, reliable, utterly obedient—and so decorative! Someone to wait in patience on your every whim, to look after you. And think, also, that a woman can go where a man cannot, and is unlikely to be suspect. And you may train her just as you wish her to be. Think. In a moment you shall make your choice. If you do not wish one of these, who are guaranteed against defect, then we can come to some other arrangement perhaps. But now I wish to tell you of the most important thing of all. Come and be seated again, and listen."

When she had them seated once more she said: "You saw the unit that I plant in the brain. It matches one other, here. These units are provided for me by the United States Military scientists, although unwillingly. Perfectly matched pairs, powered by body heat, but one is stronger than the other, is in fact master. I have the masters here, in each case." She shook her bangle. "Now, you can control and order your slave by training her to respond to your voice, your words. This works, but it is clumsy. Think, if you—" and she pointed her finger at Klasser, "—for example, had a master unit in your head, contacting the pineal, you would be in full control of your slave at all times, by thought. You could see through her eyes, hear through her ears, speak through her voice, command her mind, at all times."