David McDaniel - The Final Affair

"Captain," he said. "Surface. We must direct our deck gun against the Big House. Aim first into the yard, there, then ease up on the building. Give their gun crews a chance to evacuate. It's more than they'd give us."

The deck shifted slightly as the sub rose, and then the top hatch was swung back to pass the three-man gun crew, scampering up a ladder to the dripping deck and a smell of salt and oil.

Illya balanced Joan's Special in his good right hand while she had a long serious talk with their captive Thrush.. Napoleon took the opportunity to scout the basement area in preference to sitting in on the interview – he started by following the phone wires to the foot of a stygian stairwell, where he stopped and tugged experimentally on them. There was no give; probably a door closed on them somewhere. And it wasn't time to go upstairs yet.

. At least not all the way… Silenced automatic ready, he traced the twisted line up the side of the stairs to a landing and around the corner into total darkness. No, not total. Above him a glass double door shone in ruddy rectangles against which shifting shadows ran back and forth. Rifles chattered nearby and Napoleon hugged the wall as he crept upwards towards the dim light.

Sure enough, the wires were wedged tightly under the door, and the door was locked. He could kick it open, but that would attract undue attention, and he had enough to worry about without adding trigger-happy Thrush Guards.

A slug snapped through the top pane of the left-hand door and dust powdered down on him from the stone ceiling. He severed the phone wire with his commando knife and retreated, dragging the end with him.

He looped it around the railing at the foot of the stairs and went on exploring. He spent a few more minutes familiarising himself with the layout of the cellar, and then returned to base.

Joan looked up as he tapped at the door and entered. "It's in Room 39," she said. "He started to soften shortly after you left. I simply pointed out that if he cooperated convincingly he wouldn't have to be hurt a lot before he died, and if he didn't it'd be interesting to see if he would last until the balloon went up."

"A well-made point," said Napoleon. "How well did you know Ward Baldwin? Never mind. Room 39, huh?"

"I'll take you there," Myron volunteered.

"Don't bother," said Solo. "I found it on my walk. I also got a peek upstairs. It's full of Guards, and they're all shooting out windows. Even our private entrance has almost been secured."

"Almost?"

"They dropped steel shutters behind the door some time after we came in, but the chair I stuck there to hold it closed jammed, them halfway. I think we could squeeze through if we wanted to go out that way."

A brief glare of orange flashed down the hall just as another blast slapped the back of the building. A piece of plaster detached itself from the ceiling and shattered on the floor.

"Personally," he added, "I'd rather wait."

"But not here," said Myron anxiously. "Farther in."

"My friend doesn't have the choice. I'm going to Room 39 to see if something can be done about Little Brother. Maybe there's some wires I can cut or something."

"They're going to set it off by radio. It's all sealed, once it's been armed."

"Not likely, Napoleon," said Illya. "There's got to be some way of disarming it. I could probably work it out in a few minutes…"

"Well, I wish I could bring it in here for you to work on."

"Hey, look," said Myron. "We ought to get out of here."

Without turning around, Napoleon said, "Joan- put him to sleep."

"Check."

"The box they'd dug these field phones out of was stuck here behind the door," Solo continued as Joan dealt efficiently with the Thrush, "and there are three more sets. If I go in there and tell you what I see, can you tell me what to do?"

There was silence for a few seconds. Illya's pale face was almost lost in shadow and Napoleon read little on it before he said, "I suppose I can try. What tools do you have?"

"I've got the commando knife, and a few thermite skeleton keys. And the Special."

"Nothing smaller?" said Joan. "Here." From somewhere she produced a nail file and a hairpin. "You can't use a commando knife inside a circuit board. Take these."

"I'll drag the other end of this wire over to Room 39," he said. "It ran all the way to the next stairwell and up. I cut it just inside the door when I took a look into the upstairs. It's a beautiful old place."

"Remind me someday to tell you about the formal banquets there."

"Tomorrow," said Napoleon. "On our way home."

"Tonight," said Illya. "Just because they won't blow up the place until total defeat is inevitable doesn't mean we can afford to stand around. How much faith do you have in our side, anyway? I expect them to come in that back door any moment."

"I'm gone," said Napoleon, and was.

He returned a moment later. "One thing," he said. "I'm going to have to take the lantern with me for light to work by."

"Napoleon -" said Joan, but he was gone again and darkness filled the room. A moment later another shell burst against the back of the house, throwing Joan against the table. She recovered her balance and sneezed.

More plaster crunched under her feet as she groped for the chair, which had been tipped over. From somewhere she could hear the insistent dripping of water.

"Illya – are you all right?"

"The bed has good springs, but the concussions make my head ache. And ›I find it hard to focus in the dark. Where are you?"

"Over here, near where the chair was. I'm looking for the phone pack. Here it is."

"Where's Myron?"

"Tucked in a corner, fast asleep. He's as safe as we are."

Another shell struck nearby and the room shuddered. A moment later the phone bell clattered.

"U.N.C.L.E. Field Base J for-Joan. Go ahead."

"What would you have done if this hadn't been me?"

"I'd've thought of a good one quick. Where are you?"

"At the door of Room 39. I'm about to blow my way in and thought I'd check the phone first. There's no particular-" The phone cut off.

Joan listened. Silence pressed against her ear, and only the distant sound of intermittent gunfire outside filled the quiet. Something exploded far away towards the front of the house, more felt than heard. "Napoleon? I've lost your signal…"

"What is it?" Illya asked, struggling to raise himself on his good elbow.

"I don't know," said Joan. "He's there, but-

"Hey, are you still there?"

"Where would I go?"

"Sorry for dropping you like that but a couple of Guards were on their way past and wondered what I was doing. And- Hah! There goes the door. Okay… stay with me now…

"What's going on?" Illya insisted.

"He had to shoot a couple of Guards – just blew the door to Room 39.

He's going inside now."

"What does it look like? Any exposed controls at all?"

"What do you see?" Joan prompted.

"Not much. There's a grey metal wall panel which makes this room about half as deep as Illya's."

"Any instruments, controls, signs, etcetera?"

"Nothing. "

"Nothing," Joan relayed. "It fills half the room, though."

"There's a couple of small panels with counter-sunk screws. I didn't see them until I looked closely."

"Ask him if there are any access panels."

"He just found a couple."

"Tell him to open them. They probably aren't booby-trapped – you needn't mention the idea."

"Ask Illya if I should open them.

"He just said you should. Look you two are reading each other's minds anyway. Illya can hold the phone himself."

"Okay. I'll be busy for a while but the round end of your nail file fits these screw heads pretty well. I'll ring you back after I get one off. Hey which one should I takeoff first? One is eye level on the far right and the other is halfway to the left about a foot above the floor. And they're both about a foot on a side."