13 - The Rainbow Affair (17 page)

Illya made a peephole and looked up as the plane passed high overhead. "It's a
Mystere
. Probably a ranging run, or a threat of one. It's about 8000 feet."

"It's past," said Napoleon as the sound went over them. "Open the curtain. I want to..."

The curtains had already parted in Illya's grasp. Both of them had an unobstructed view as the twin-jet light bomber passed over Donzerly, and neither missed a detail an instant later when the entire rock was lost for an instant in a green flash. In the shocked fractions of a second that followed, stunned eyes registered photographically the smoke and blast that accompanied the flash. The lighthouse leaped skyward like a missile, but crumbled with terrifying slowness in midair as it rose. The rock itself seemed to disintegrate, and great pieces blew into the sea.

"Ulsenite," breathed Illya. "So Thrush got that after all!

"Get down and hang on!" snapped Napoleon. "That shock wave is going to hit us in -" The shock wave hit them before he finished, but it caught both of them prone with fists around anchored lanyards. Their ears were buffeted only a moment before the sea rose up under them and hurled them skyward like an express elevator, then fell from under them like an amusement park ride. The secondary and tertiary shocks followed, and the outboard engine screamed as the propeller clawed at the air a moment. They rode the waves for several seconds before daring to let go and look up.

The island was shattered. Ten or twenty feet of it stood up from the water like a broken tooth in an old skull. Through binoculars, Napoleon could barely make out any remains of the inhabited areas. Smoke rose slowly from the wreckage, and the sea lapped once again over the splintered rocks of Donzerly. Of the light, there was no sign.

From somewhere a seabird appeared, and circled the stump of rock, then dived at a stunned fish. In minutes thousands of seabirds clustered around the corpse of the island, like white vultures tearing at it. And their sound came across the slow-swelled sea, screeching and cawing over the choice morsels, fluttering, lit with the golden light of the newly-risen sun.

Chapter 16

How Napoleon and Illya Made Their Farewells, and The Rainbow Faded for a Time.

SOMEWHERE IN THE winding maze of alleys that is Soho, beneath the night-shrouded streets, in a hidden room hung with silks and reeking with incense, two men sat as they had before.

"Your hospitality does not sway me," said the man in the gray suit as he picked at a plate of chow mein with his fork. "You said you would give me an answer in two weeks, and tonight your time is up. What is your answer? Will you work for us?"

The old Chinese raised a thin hand. "Business over shared food is not proper. Let us speak instead of inconsequential things. Your latest operation, perhaps." He returned to a bowl of something indescribable, and lifted out a piece of the contents with his chopsticks. He toyed with it a moment, enjoying his guest's reaction like a Moslem tucking away a slab of roast beef before the eyes of a devout Hindu.

The Thrush watched him with care. "This is also business. The destruction of Johnnie Rainbow was necessary. It will also serve as an object lesson to those who oppose us. Do you choose now to join us - or to join him?"

"Please, Englishman. You return to business again. I wish only to speak idly of your successes. You are certain this is one of them?"

"Beyond a doubt. The light was utterly destroyed, and Rainbow with it - because he refused to cooperate."

"Practical and efficient, if somewhat ruthless," said the old Chinese. "How did you identify his body?" He took a sip of tea.

The man in the gray suit paused. "The entire island was destroyed. It would be impossible to find, let alone identify, any bodies after the blast."

"I see." The old Chinese nodded slightly, smiling to himself. "There is a saying, ancient among the warlords of my people.
An enemy should not be accounted defeated until his head has stood on a pole at your gate, and you have seen his wife weeping before it
."

The Thrush almost registered an emotion. "Perhaps a valid axiom a thousand years ago, Excellency. But to day's engines of destruction are far more capable than your ancestors could have imagined. Rainbow is dead - this is a certainty."

"I have heard those words many times," said the elder. "They have been pronounced over my own humble person more often than I can count, and yet I sit here talking with you."

"Talking, but always avoiding the main question." The man in the gray suit set his plate neatly on the edge of the desk. "I have finished eating, and we will now discuss business."

"I fear we cannot continue this evening," said the aged Oriental, as he opened an intricately-inlaid box at the side of his desk and brought out an ancient, carved pipe with a tiny bowl. "The stars are not favorable for giving a decision at this time." He set something in the bowl of the pipe and picked up a candle. In seconds, the pungent odor of a Ming-Three began to seep around the incense in the room. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, stroking the marmoset which rested silently on his brocaded shoulder.

Finally he spoke again, distantly. "I will contact you when I am ready. Until then it will do you no good to continue approaching me. The interview is at an end."

The man in the gray suit leaned over the desk and sniffed. "You may force our patience too far. Rainbow's fate could be yours as well."

"I have much that you want, Thrush," came the other's voice, slowly and more faintly. "Destroy me, and you will lose all that I have to offer you. I know what you desire from me, and perhaps someday you may find something for which I would exchange it. I will know when you do."

The man in the gray suit felt a touch on his arm, and turned to find two great, bare-chested, turbaned guards. He accompanied them out, pausing a moment at the door to look back into the hazed interior of that enigmatic room, where an old Chinese with a brow like Shakespeare, a face like Satan, and eyes of the true tiger green, lay dreaming.

The following morning was Friday, and Napoleon and Illya hurried up the steep cobbled street of Baycombe towards Joey's cottage shortly before the clock would strike noon. They knocked, and she answered the door, tiny and quick, looking up at Napoleon under a sweep of coppery hair.

"Come on in," she said eagerly. "Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Aunt Jane's just starting the rolls."

They had just time to recover from their trip and refresh themselves before dinner was laid. Conversation was minimal until the fish came, and then Illya said, "By the way, Napoleon, have you looked at that envelope yet?" He explained to the others, "It was handed us at our hotel just as we left in a hurry to catch the train,"

"In the rush I put it in my pocket," said Napoleon. "Probably just a note from the manager wondering if we want to keep the room since we use it so little." A clean knife slipped into one corner and the envelope surrendered its contents - a small sheet of paper, folded twice. Napoleon opened it up and looked at it.

After several seconds he passed it over to Illya, who studied it in equal silence, then looked at his partner and said, "Wordsworth." Napoleon took it back and extended it across the table to their companions.

It bore four typed lines, and across the bottom of the page a polychromatic smear of watercolor described an arc. The message read simply,

"The Rainbow comes and goes,

"And lovely is the rose

"Waters on a starry night

"Are beautiful and fair."

Aunt Jane read it twice slowly, and nodded. Illya said, "I believe the quotation is from
Intimations of Immortality
. Johnnie seems to have escaped the destruction of his castle, at any rate."

"Yes, I believe he has," said the old lady. "But I was thinking there was a far, far truer line in the same stanza which he did not quote. Stanza two." Her darting eyes looked up like those of a little girl who is called upon to recite, but she seemed to be looking at something else - something which no one could see and which none but she and a few others could remember. And she said, "
'But yet I know, where'er I go, that there hath passed away a glory from the earth.'
"

Sunlight poured into the silent dining room through a bank of lace-curtained windows facing the calm sea. A gull wheeled and screamed somewhere.

"You don't mean Johnnie Rainbow," said Illya softly.

"No, I don't," said Aunt Jane. "He is one of the last."

Napoleon looked from one to the other of them, and gradually the meal resumed. "He'll start over," said the American agent. "And next time I'll bet he gets his elevator."

"Napoleon!" said Illya, scandalized. "Surely you aren't wishing success to him. After all, he is a criminal."

Solo quickly and emphatically denied any partisanship, and good cheer was restored. Dinner was leisurely paced, and small glasses of brandy were circulated in the neighborhood of one-thirty.

Just as the mantle-clock chimed, Napoleon's pocket communicator demanded his attention. He answered it, and Waverly's distinctive voice filled his ear.

"Mr. Solo? What are you up to now? It has taken an hour and a half to locate you. I will want a complete report on the Rainbow affair filed with the London office in twenty-four hours. Two reports have come in, both alarming, one immediate."

"We'll have the report in on time, sir," said Napoleon. "Itt's more than half finished. What are the problems?"

"Thrush has formed something called a 'Public Relations' division, and they are quite openly coming to the surface, proclaiming their connection with the parent organization. They simply appear at public functions - theatrical openings, political speeches, and the like - and do nothing. People are gradually becoming used to them. They may help an old lady across a street, and leave her thinking kindly of Thrush. And they have no apparent legal connection with Thrush. All they do is wear the badges and talk to people. This display of confidence indicates some impending coup, I feel sure, probably centered in the southwestern United States."

"And what exactly is our assignment, sir?"

"Something else entirely. Mr. Kuryakin and you will separate for a while. There are signs of imminent war in the Middle East again, and our African continental office in Addis Ababa is quite overwhelmed. They're severely understaffed there, as you may recall, and with the constant problems in Nigeria, Congo, Sudan and Rhodesia they are unable to handle the sudden strain between Egypt and Israel. Mr. Solo, you will report to Tel Aviv; Mr. Kuryakin to Cairo. You will maintain constant contact once you are on station. The situation is extremely serious, and you may be able to alleviate it somewhat."

"How long is this assignment likely to last?" Napoleon asked, glancing at Joey.

Waverly harrumphed. "Due to the severity of the conflict," he said, "you will probably be asked to remain on station until the end of the war." He paused. "This, I believe, is called an incentive."

"Yes it is, sir," said Napoleon. "We'll be ready to leave at noon tomorrow."

"From London," said Waverly.

"Yes, sir," said Napoleon, and the contact was broken.

"Oh, dear," said Joey. "Leaving so soon?"

"I'm afraid so," said Illya.

"But we can still spare the afternoon," said Napoleon. "How would you like another last walk along the cliffs?"

And so they went. Aunt Jane remembered at the last minute that Mr. Escott had sent her three jars of honey to give to them - one was for Alexander Waverly. All three bore the stamp of three heraldic bugle-horns in their wax seals.

Napoleon brought his along, and the four of them broached it for their picnic supper as the sun declined towards the sea, away to their left. The afternoon breeze rippled the grasses and Napoleon was looking thought fully away somewhere. Then he turned to his partner.

"Illya," he said, "didn't Mr. Waverly say it took an hour and a half to contact us?"

"As I recall, he did. Why?"

"No particular reason. I was just thinking again about Baycombe as a spot to retire to."

"Sometime in the indefinite future."

Napoleon laughed. "You make it sound like a verb tense. No, I don't think I could live in absolute solitude forever, but it would be nice for a year or two."

"Or a week or two. That's probably what got the former resident."

"Of the Pillbox?"

"That's what you were thinking about. Perfectly obvious.

"Elementary," said Aunt Jane.

And they laughed and watched the sun drop into the sea one more time, and then made their way home in the light of the late-rising moon.