David McDaniel - The Final Affair

"And I suppose the Ultimate Computer would be the ultimate idiot," said Napoleon.

"We hope so, Mr. Solo. We sincerely hope so."

Nobody heard from Harry all that day. Napoleon and Illya were called into Mr. Waverly's office late that evening to meet Mr. Simpson again and view some ninety feet of Super-8 film shot by an agent near Gilroy.

"Miss Fletcher's camera was over a mile from the Thrush test site," said Mr. Waverly, "and. a lens of some magnitude was. used. You will notice interference from atmospheric haze and several intervening trees; also the image is not as steady as we might wish. Several sequences have been analysed frame by frame for computer study, but I thought you might like to see the KugleBlitzGewehr in action."

He dimmed the lights with a finger-touch, and the opposite wall lit up to display a block-lettered title with a long code number. It was replaced by a vertical white line which took exactly a second to cross the screen. Then, through blurred foliage, a group of men could be seen clustered around a lean deadly-looking device mounted on a tripod on a small concrete slab. A husky backpack with cables running to the stock hung by its straps between the legs of the tripod, and another single line ran through a coil to a control box.

The image jumped and the figures vanished. A second later some thing which was rather like a bubble and rather like the sun burst into existence at the tip of the tapering muzzle and spat away out of the picture in a dazzling blur of flame.

"Gawp," said Napoleon.

"You can see that frame by frame if you'd like," said Mr. Waverly. "Here comes another one."

It seemed to take about a quarter of a second to swell up to the size of a basketball and vanish to the left.

"Yes, I would," said Illya.

The image flickered, and a streak of light appeared at the left and was sucked into the needlepoint at the center of a deep two-foot-dish of clear plastic with wires laced through it; a few seconds later another was drawn after it. The picture flickered again and grain pattern suddenly appeared as a single frame was held. The wall darkened and brightened alternately four times before a spot of intense light could be seen at the tip of the muzzle…

"That would seem to be about half an inch wide," said Mr. Simpson. "The temperature is somewhere over ten thousand Celsius, but I can't tell how far over. It could be twenty thousand."

The screen changed, and a three-inch sphere of brilliance obscured the tip of the discharge point. Dark and light alternated again and the circle of burnt out emulsion on the film doubled its size. On the fourth frame a globe a foot or so in diameter was only inches from the point and slightly elongated. On the fifth frame a streak of light ten feet long blazed beyond some bushes, flaring among the frozen leaves.

"It's not really very fast," said Mr. Simpson. "The plasmoid has a peak velocity in the neighborhood of five hundred feet per second."

"That's still a little too fast to duck."

"Well, it's not really intended as an anti-personnel weapon. There is more film…

The second fireball was launched again, followed some seconds later by a third. Then the scene cut to an awkward angle of a number of test walls – apparently brick, wood, concrete and stucco. There wasn't much left of the wooden one, and the stucco was distinguished by shiny stubs of fused chicken wire which stuck out from its shattered edges. A piece had been knocked from the brick structure, and as they watched a ball two feet in diameter slapped into it and in a flare which fogged to the edges of the frame it vanished, taking a quarter of the wall with it.

"Could we see…"

"Certainly." Time reversed, and a cloud of rusty fragments leaped together in a flash of fire which shot away to the right. Grain appeared on the screen for a moment, and the familiar light-and-dark alternation brought a fuzzy ball of brilliance into one corner of the frame.

"Notice it's larger and travelling more slowly. Our photographer says the; range was about one hundred yards. Nevertheless, I believe the temperature of the plasmoid is still over ten thousand degrees, though probably not by much."

In the next frame a quarter of the wall was obscured but displacement was clearly visible in the brickwork pattern close to the edge of the burned-out part of the image. The third and fourth frames were both nearly transparent except at the corners, and the fifth was normally exposed with blurred fragments suspended in mid-air. and black slag running shiny as oil over the shattered edges of the wall. In two more frames the bits of brick were gone and froth was beginning to burst and freeze in the slag.

Normal speed was resumed, and with hazy telephoto unsteadiness they were shown four more impacts against the concrete wall; the third cracked enough loose to expose steel rods bracing the structure, and the fourth melted the exposed rods and blasted more cement loose around them. Then the film ran out and the room lights faded up.

A signal was flashing insistently at Waverly's elbow. He touched a button and said, "Yes?"

"Sirrocco just checked in, sir," said a clerk. "Stevens signalled her about six minutes ago."

"That's our call, I believe," said Napoleon. "By the way, where are we going this time? I hope you've picked a better location for the drop."

"Hm. There are perils in picking a site at random from the telephone directory. Yes, we have a meeting place of the highest character. The drop will be handled as before, with two or three minor variations in the floor plan – when you go to his booth after he leaves, the access code will be written on the inside of a matchbook and tucked behind the lamp on the wall just above the table."

"How soon do we start?"

"Shortly. It's only half a mile from here, but Mr. Stevens is programmed to make the drop at 12:36 this time. Still, if you haven't eaten and would like to catch the midnight show, Jack Packard has recommended the Casa del Gato. I'm sorry dinner cannot come under your expense account, but the cover charge and one drink each would be deductable."

"Thank you, sir," said Napoleon. "I've got time to find a clean shirt downstairs. Illya, do you think I need to shave?"

"I think you're beautiful just the way you are. Come on – I just realised I haven't had anything to eat since two o'clock."

Unlighted doorways with heavy gratings across their shuttered windows lined the narrow alley; trash bins stood against the walls with garbage cans here and there among them. A flashing neon sign near the T-cross of another alley threw a wash of red across the building fronts and picked out the rough cobbles underfoot. The crude outline of a mangy-looking cat intermittently shone over an entrance, signalling any customers who might pass, but promising nothing.

Napoleon and Illya in California formal attire, with raincoats, sauntered down the sea-damp alley to pause beneath the blinking beacon. " Casa del Gato ," Napoleon read. "I hope we don't need reservations."

Pungent music welled out around the door as they entered, with the mixed scents of smoke, red wine and searing meat to fill nostrils sharpened by the chill night air. Inside a slender girl spun and stamped to the music of a gitano guitar, and a swarthy man with a gold ring in his left ear led them to a table in the shadows. Biftek Barbados and Paella con Polio were accompanied by a Basque rose and an impressive display of Flamenco talent, and most of an hour passed agreeably.

"Harry should be along in the next few minutes," Napoleon remarked as he stirred a cafe-con-leche. The stage was dark again and an unseen guitarist wandered alone amid esoteric harmonies. "Do you think I'll have time for a dish of flan?"