David McDaniel - The Final Affair

"Napoleon, I'm quite surprised at you. Weren't you and that Korean code clerk rather a pair? And what about Jennifer, down in Translations?"

"Kim was new here and hadn't heard, and Jennifer was just curious because she'd heard so much."

"Heard?"

"It's been – what? Four or five years? since that DAGGER Affair, but every now and then somebody remembers to tell all the new girls about what happened to us. And after that they tend to giggle at me."

"Well, Napoleon, you knew the job was dangerous when you took it. Have you thought of talking Mr. Waverly into allowing you a few hours a day outside on your own? If you went between, say, ten in the evening and four in the morning – and maybe a false moustache and glasses would help…"

They stepped into the elevator and the doors closed behind them.

Napoleon was allowed his first liberty that evening, checked in nearly an hour late, and slept like a boulder until noon. Illya had taped a note on his mirror inviting him downstairs to the terminal test area, but he picked up his extension and called instead. In a few seconds the Russian answered.

"What's going on?" Napoleon asked. "Are they into anything?"

"A lot of confidential bookkeeping records which will probably prove very interesting once they're analysed; they'll all be copied out onto our own tapes while Mr, Gold goes on investigating through another channel. It's like drilling holes in a wine keg."

"I should think the guard would get suspicious if the janitor was drilling holes in the wine kegs when he's supposed to be cleaning out the top secret files."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind. I just got up. Is there anything going on down there interesting, educational or comprehensible?"

"Not, really. I just find the atmosphere intellectually stimulating. Why don't you go back to sleep?"

"Because I'm up and hungry. When your massive intellect has sated itself, bring your body up to the Commissary and join me in a plate of steak and eggs."

"That sounds messy. Fifteen minutes?"

"Closer to five."

"See you there."

Little Sirrocco called on an emergency line about seven that evening. Worried about Harry after his misadventure three days ago, she had telephoned his apartment and gotten no answer. On a hunch she'd phoned his landlady to ask if she'd seen him, and had been told that two friends of his had stopped by with his key, told her he'd been called out of town for a couple of days and had asked them to pick up a few things to send him.

"Do you think they've killed him?" she asked Mr. Waverly bluntly.

"Of course not," said Waverly, "They obviously do not intend to do anything violent to him – it would have been as easy to say he would be away two weeks or a month, and delay any suspicion by a much greater factor. Or simply arrange an accident. Most likely they want to talk to him uninterrupted – or it may even be that he has been called out of town for a few days. We shall check into this at once, Miss Sirrocco, and if he is in any danger of exposure you may be sure we will spare no effort to rescue him. More specifically, Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin will spare no effort."

"I don't know what I think about that. You'll call me if you find out anything,"

"Mr, Solo and Mr. Kuryakin may appear somewhat unconventional, Miss Sirrocco, but I assure you they are among my most competent and consistently successful agents.

"Well, somebody at the office told me about an affair here a few years ago…"

"I'm sure even Joe Namath strikes out occasionally. You understand that Mr Stevens' security is of paramount importance to us for very practical reasons, and as soon as you disconnect I shall personally investigate the situation with every facility at hand. Now if you will permit me…

"Well… okay. Call me if you find anything out?"

"Goodbye, Miss Sirrocco." Mr. Waverly's finger dropped on the cutoff button, lifted, and signalled the terminal test area.

"Mr. Gold? Waverly here. Can you read from local records of Thrush? Good. I need to know as quickly as possible the present location and/or disposition of an employee of the San Francisco satrapy, one Henry Eugene Stevens – Stevens with a V. Thank you."

Again the gnarled finger depressed the cutoff and released it, then switched to the paging channel. He called, "Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin – report to my office at once, please."

Upstairs in a lounge Napoleon looked up from bleak contemplation of some report or another, and the light was suddenly back in his eyes.

"Mr. Stevens was taken into the Medical section about two o'clock this afternoon for 'extensive psychological testing', according to their own confidential records," said Mr. Waverly. "This means he will be checked over this evening, kept under deep sedation overnight, and then tomorrow morning -

"They begin to take his head apart," said Illya.

"We cannot afford this. Dr. Grayson assures me that while her implants are proof against any standard technique short of a really perceptive Rorschach test, deep hypnoprobing could lay the entire substructure bare in a matter of hours. In short, gentlemen, you must recover Mr. Stevens."

"Where is he?"

"Inside Thrush's San Francisco office under Alamo Square."

" Inside -"

"Mr. Gold had acquired the full security layout of the Alamo Square complex, and a full-color printout is being prepared for you at the moment. You will doubtless have some locks to pick and some alarm systems to contend with, but I'm told that every wire, every sensor and every warning signal is indicated along with its parameters and limitations."

"You're kidding!"

"Mr. Solo, I am no such thing. If you are to have any hope of success on this impossible mission you must know every detail of the fortress you must breach."

"But sir," said Illya, "at the very least, kidnapping Harry will tell them we have the gamma laser. And it could make them suspicious of such little coincidences as the loss of Baldwin's old terminal."

"If he talks tomorrow, they will have knowledge instead of suspicion and this project will be aborted in a matter of minutes. We have just begun tapping this store of data on the world-wide operations of Thrush and scarcely a measurable fraction of a percent has been subjected to analysis; already three specific commercial operations as well as several public movements in California alone have been discovered to be directly operated by local Satraps. Beyond a doubt, if we are allowed to continue Thrush will be rooted out and totally destroyed as a functioning entity before the end of the year. We can afford to lose the gamma laser, we can afford to lose individuals* lives if necessary – we can afford to lose a great deal, but we cannot afford to lose the security of this tap into the Ultimate Computer.

"Have you considered that their suspicions of him might extend to their holding him as bait for a rescue attempt?"

"No. Without our terminal, we wouldn't have any idea what had happened to him. Thrush therefore would have left us a trail to follow. Also his Psychfile indicates they are more concerned with his mental condition than suspicious of it. The most recent entry, ten days ago, states that he is 'unusually disturbed and emotionally exhausted by the pressures of his job.

It was on the basis of this report that he was placed under surveillance.

Tomorrow he is scheduled for an intensive probing to find what is interfering with his efficiency."

"And Dr. Grayson thinks they're likely to find it."

"Yes."

Napoleon looked at Illya and Illya looked at Napoleon. "In that case I suppose we'd better get in there tonight and get him out," said Solo resignedly. "Okay, where are those blueprints?"