David McDaniel - The Final Affair

Illya dropped his arm and started forward toward the distant door just as the second Guard turned away. He knew without looking back his team was with him; the three slipped into the lighted interior, crouching below the level of the glass pane in the door as it sighed slowly closed. They moved quickly out of view and looked around. Stairs ahead, descending to a deep hum and a smell of power. Six minutes to go.

Napoleon surveyed the wide yard, not to mention all but the rear of the Big House, from which they would be clearly visible, and wondered how to break unobserved across a moonlit stage. He leaned his head close to huddle with his team.

"All right, gang," he said. "There's no reason to expect a total curfew, is there, Joan?"

"Not unless whatever's left of Central declares an official state of siege, and they wouldn't likely do that if they've had no warning at all we know of their existence."

"Could we have gotten this far if there had been a state of siege declared?" asked Bob Short.

"No," Joan admitted. "We probably would have been machine-gunned about the time we hit the beach."

"How did you know there wouldn't be?" asked Bill Mills, the fourth agent.

"I just didn't think there was," said Joan. "I was right."

"I'm glad," said Mills.

"So am I, said Napoleon. "Therefore, since we won't be shot on sight unless somebody gets the idea we're up to something – or recognises us, which would amount to the same thing – I suggest we simply saunter across the lawn as if we knew what we were doing and go through that door just as though we had every right to be there."

"Toujours l'audaice , Napoleon," said Joan, and he stared at her for a moment.

"That's right," he said. "That's one thing I never forgot about you."

Their eyes held for a moment like a kiss, and then he looked down at his watch. "Five minutes, gang. Okay- by the numbers… saunter!"

They walked easily along a hundred feet of gravel path to the middle Long Building and through the door. Stairs were on the left, as described, and the four cat footed up them to a quiet tiled hall on the second floor.

The lower level beneath the Barn was deep. Illya and his team crept down steel steps towards a blue blaze of fluorescent lights beyond the next door panel, which opened into the tension of power, the tang of ozone and the hissing roar of working generators. Four minutes left to find the master control point and plant their charges. They moved purposefully down the short aisle between six squat pyramids towards a board full of meter faces. Good. Plenty of time to work in.

Behind a door marked INTERCOM in three scripts Solo's team found their first action. Two startled operators turned from their switchboards to inhale a stunning breath of knockout gas and slumped from their form-fitting chairs to the floor. Mr. Short applied his attention to the lock on an unmarked door and it gave way to a dark cool closet-like room filled with racks and a sound like tiny metallic insects. Napoleon found a switch on the wall which brought shadowed light to the rack-packed room.

"There's nothing like this place anyplace near this place," he said, "so this must be the place. Let's keep it small; one pound in the middle of each rack should do it. Give the timers a synchronised start for three minutes when I give you the signal. Ready -"

The lights went out and there was a very soft thump under the floor.

"Oboy," said Napoleon. "I think something's gone wrong. Set the timers for fifteen seconds and let's get the hell out of here!"

He pulled the antenna on the jammer, dropped it into a wooden desk drawer and slammed it closed. They made it into the corridor just as the inner door was belched across the room and a cloud of cement dust billowed out after it with a sprinkling of resistors and relays.

The moonlight had vanished in the merciless arc-white illumination of parachute flares over the two main assault points, bracketing the center of the island. Solo stopped just inside the doors, squinting into the naked glare, as the patter of small arms fire was heard in the distance, punctuated by the thump! of a grenade.

They flinched back into the shadows as running footsteps skidded up the walk. The door was flung open, and they leaped upon the individual who burst in before they recognised Mr. Goldin, covered with dust and blood. "What happened?" Where's Illya?"

"They got him – he's wounded. An alarm got tripped in the power house and there was a Guard handy." Sanders got into the generator control room ten feet ahead of him, and I guess he set it to Manual/Zero Delay. The Guard kicking in the door was the last thing I saw." He shuddered violently and sat down on the bottom step. "I'll be okay in a minute."

"Are you hurt?" said Joan, kneeling beside him. "You look a bloody mess."

"Cut scalp – no damage. I tucked a piece of my shirt that tore off – under my cap to keep the blood out of my eyes." He shivered again. "Just shock. Besides, I think some of this was the Guard."

"What about Illya?" Napoleon insisted.

"The Guard's first shot hit him – I couldn't tell how bad. He was thirty feet away from me, and I could just see his legs sticking out from behind a desk. I was pinned down behind a generator, covering Sanders, who was out in front with most of the explosives. By then there were two or three Guards, because I got: one who came- after Kuryakin, but another came in from the protected side and dragged him off. And just about that time Sanders yelled something and took off for the control room door. The first Guard that shot at us came running in from the other side, and another one was shooting over my head, so I didn't see much, but I saw Sanders get into the control room and slam the door behind him, and I saw the Guard smashing in the door just before it all blew up. That was about the last thing I saw. But Kuryakin was dragged off the other way."

Solo turned to Joan. "Where would they take him?"

"Not the Infirmary, under the circumstances… Probably one of the Interview Rooms in the basement of the Big House."

Something they couldn't see lit up the sky beyond the Big House like a flash of lightning, and the concussion of heavy artillery shook the glass doors.

"They're going to be concentrating more out towards the ends of the island," Solo said. "Think you could get me there from here?"

"I can do it underground," said Joan. "No, wait – they'll have full internal security on now. We'll have to go outside. But yes, anyway."

"All right. Short, Mills – Goldin, are you functioning?"

He nodded and stood up with a deep breath. "Can you spare me some ammunition?"

"Take mine," said Joan. "I'll be with Mr. Solo."

"Right. You three are now detached. You've still got fifteen pounds of plastique and most of a pack of fuses. Do your best with them and link up with our side whenever you can."

"But sir -" said Short.

"I can't lead a parade in there," said Solo. "And remember: don't damage anything we can use if you can help it. Now, go get 'em!"

All five flitted like deadly shadows into the twilight of the falling flares. Again the moon was the brightest illumination, and Joan and Napoleon raced across the wide grassy lawn bathed in its tender light.

She led him directly into a clump of decorative shrubbery close against the sturdy stone foundation of the Big House, and together they crouched in darkness, breathing quickly, scarcely touching. Intense and nearly continuous gunfire rattled not far away, and flashes danced beyond the Long Buildings. The tang of smokeless powder perfumed the soft tropical breeze that stirred the leaves of their hiding place.

Joan touched his shoulder and beckoned him to follow as she ducked into the narrow sheltered space between the stumps of the bushes and the wall.