David McDaniel - The Final Affair

"It's called Fapa Tui," said Larry, "and it's at 122°48' East and 7°31' South. What exactly do you expect to find on this island, anyway? Somebody's secret laboratory or the headquarters of a subversive international organisation?"

"All that and more," said Mr. Waverly. "I presume you heard that Thrush had been destroyed?"

"Yah," said Larry. "I didn't believe it."

"You were right. Only most of Thrush has been destroyed. Fapa Tui may be their major hard base, and if it is left in operation they could restore their entire network within three months."

"I see. What do you plan to do?"

"Invade," said Mr. Waverly succinctly.

"Far out! How soon?"

"As soon as a satellite photograph verifies that this island is indeed our target, a force of five hundred men under my command will go ashore and secure that island."

"Just like that?"

"We sincerely hope so, Dr. Kaja. It will not be as simple as it sounds, but two weeks should see the end of Thrush – as we know it – with the help of our handsome and intelligent friend Ladju."

The object of this flattery twisted with delight and chirped like a soprano duck. "You Misster Hwaver'y – you p'ay tchehkerzz?"

"Checkers? Heh – as a matter of fact I used to be considered rather good at the game." Waverly's jowls corrugated as an amazed smile stretched his leathery features. "Would you care for a game?"

"Sshure. I can bea' Larry. "

"Two out of three," said Dr. Kaja. "But I'm improving with practice."

Ladju's sputtering cackle sounded again and he rolled over onto his back, kicking delightedly amid sheets of water, as Napoleon and Illya stared speechless at him and their commander-in-chief.

Alexander Waverly's communicator chirped discreetly shortly before midnight. He awakened instantly and slipped a hand under his pillow to answer it.

"Waverly here."

"Good morning, sir," said Miss Cramer's voice. "I thought you should know at once that the NASA photograph of the island you specified checks against the map- the buildings area all in the right places, except for three extra quonset huts. I've also had Section Four prepare a preliminary report on it, and they are working on a detailed study which may include a hydrographic report from soundings made in 1886; Thrush has owned the island since 1904. Would you like to hear the preliminary report or shall I send you a hardcopy?"

"Fax it to Djakarta. They can ship it on the jet which will bring the rest of our equipment here. What did you find out about submarine forces available? Did Tadashi Miruko agree?"

"He offered two hundred fifty troops, but his sub fleet is in Manila, thirteen hundred nautical miles from Thrush Island. I took the liberty of calling the naval base at Darwin, which is only about seven hundred. Under the circumstances they were willing to give us four landing subs and two hundred men. With an U.N.C.L.E. Battalion Command Module, you'll have almost five hundred troops."

"That's not too many. Have you arranged to fly Miruko's army to Darwin? And have you heard from Mike Hoar?"

"Colonel Hoar requires two weeks' notice, but as a personal favor he's offered seventy experienced troops if you'll cover their transportation and the usual per-diem. How soon will you want to strike? I haven't tied anything to a schedule, pending your decision."

"I will want to strike as soon as all the troops can be brought to bear. How long will that take?"

"Forces can be joined in Darwin within-thirty-six hours, and the subs will take three days to Uffa."

"To where? We're attacking Fapa Tui."

"I beg your pardon? At 122°48' by 7°31'? Just a moment… Apparently the Indonesian government gave it a native name in '62. It was Dutch in the earliest records – used as a major transfer point in the slave trade between 1830 and 1865. It was called Uffa then. An English group was there for a few years before it was abandoned in 1887, and Thrush apparently set up there about twenty years later. All this is covered in that preliminary report, along with a blow-up from the recon photo."

"Hm. I see."

"The new construction on the island had been tentatively identified by Military Intelligence as a top-secret Indonesian military installation, but they didn't have anything definite, and the Indonesian government denied it. They have refused to participate in this operation, by the way, but the U.N. Security Council convinced them not to interfere as long as you don't carry the battle off the island or bring any forces near the mainland."

"Satisfactory. I see no reason to delay – mobilise at once. Effect armaments and security preparations according to the memorandum I left you. Put all this in motion in my name, and call me back in ten hours."

In the next few days, mighty forces shifted silently, focussing on an obscure, almost forgotten speck of land lost in the southern ocean, while Illya, Napoleon and Joan cleaned their guns and did roadwork along the wide dark beach at low tide, alternately running a mile and jogging a mile each way every afternoon. Mr. Waverly reclined beneath a wide sunshade shared with Ladju, Dr. Kaja kibitzing, across a four foot checkerboard, just awash at the edge of the pool. Evenings were spent over maps and charts of Thrush Island or working out in an improvised gym. Terse conferences were held over a jury-rigged radio link through Djakarta to Ambon with the commanders of the attack forces; coded co-ordinate systems pinpointed locations on their copies of the charts. The full plan of attack was worked out during these final days.

A heavy cargo jet, unable to land at the small Makasar field, parachuted the Squid II minisub into the ocean half a mile offshore from Dr. Kaja 1 s lab on Thursday afternoon. Ladju gave Napoleon and Illya a tandem ride out to where it bobbed low in the water, and exhibited tremendous curiosity about the sub, especially its finless propulsion and steering system. More than twice the size of Mr… Simpson's first model, which they had employed in a similar but smaller operation against an insular Thrush base, it was nearly identical in design: a fat grey teardrop with a ring of Coanda jets pointing out at right angles to its longitudinal axis just ahead of the bulge. Silent, invisible to sonar while in motion, capable of forty-five knots submerged, it would carry the four of them to rendezvous with the main assault force, covering the three hundred miles in under eight hours with no effective limit on functioning depth; the ocean was not deep enough to crush the pressure hull.

Ladju was impressed by its speed and range, having often swum circles around conventional submarines; he discussed it with Napoleon and Illya as they checked it out until the ruddy equatorial sunset faded into the sea.

Ladju's part in the operation would be simple but essential – only a dolphin could approach the silent detectors without alerting the island's defenses, and after the transfers of personnel from one craft to another had been accomplished eighty miles beyond the ring of listening devices, Ladju would lead two or three of his friends towards the island, accompanying the Squid II as far as the outer defense Tine, closely followed by the troop subs…

The modern calendar-clock on the stone wall had an anachronistic look like a wristwatch on a knight. It showed 1830, 22 August, when two alarm lights went on almost simultaneously and a previously silent loudspeaker clattered to life. Two reclining Thrush guards snapped to alert as the Duty Tech hurried to check an illuminated diagram.

"What's that?" one of them asked. "Some kind of fish?"

"Uh-huh," said the Tech. "Couple of dolphins, I'd say. But there's more – or something. Just a minute… They're on two adjacent stations. That's funny."

"More than one of 'em?"