13 - The Rainbow Affair (3 page)

"I have a boundless faith in Trans World Airlines, Illya. They told us we were going to London, and since we have arrived somewhere, I can only presume..."

The plane rolled to a stop, and a stewardess came up the aisle to open the forward hatch. The two U.N.C.L.E. agents were among the first out, and were greeted with a freezing drizzle as they stepped onto the top of the wheeled stairs. Napoleon hunched his shoulders and turned up his collar. "Ah, to be in April," he said wryly, "now that England's here."

"Cheer up," said Illya as they hurried towards the warmth of the customs house, "It was probably worse in April."

At three the following afternoon, they entered an outer office at Scotland Yard. A uniformed constable had guided them through the maze of concrete, steel and glass, having to stop twice himself to check wall-mounted directories. He was quite candid in his admission – "We still haven't really gotten settled in, sir. It's a much larger place than the old Yard, and I'm afraid it'll take some getting used to."

Napoleon was frankly lost after the first few minutes. He half suspected Illya might be as well, but the Russian would never have admitted it. The building was beautiful, in a sleek, shiny way, but somehow it seemed to clash with the traditionally uniformed officers who moved about its corridors, looking more like costumed extras on a futuristic movie set than the enforcement arm of one of the world's most highly regarded civilian police forces.

The trim girl in a feminized version of the same uniform sat behind a sleek desk, and looked up as they entered.

"Solo and Kuryakin," Napoleon said as they came in. "Here to see Inspector West."

"He's occupied at the moment," she said. "I'll tell him you're here." She ticked a tab on a shiny intercom unit, and a voice answered faintly. "The men from U.N.C.L.E. are here, sir."

"Excellent," said the other end. "Send them right in. Oh, see that Claude gets the latest additions to the Rollison file, will you?"

"Certainly, sir."

The inner door opened and a stomach walked out, closely followed by a red-faced man carrying a bowler hat. He glanced at them sleepily as he paused by the desk, and as the secretary flipped through a drawer he unpackaged a stick of gum and engulfed it.

Solo and his partner stepped through the still-open door into a crisply furnished office which still smelled slightly of paint. Behind the desk a remarkably handsome man rose to greet them.

"Mr. Solo - Mr. Kuryakin," he said, shaking hands warmly. "I'm honored. Your reputations have preceded you."

Illya smiled as he accepted a chair. "You are well known to us, too, Inspector. Our superiors think highly of you - one reason we were sent here."

The Inspector's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Yes - I'm afraid the subject of your mission has also preceded you. It's about this Rainbow nonsense, isn't it?"

"It is in regard to Johnnie Rainbow, Inspector," said Napoleon. "But, ah, our sources consider it to be quite a bit more than nonsense. Data on Johnnie and his activities have been correlated from several directions."

West shook his head. "We at the Yard are well enough acquainted with the Rainbow story. We haven't traced the source of the rumor yet, but it has been demonstrated to our satisfaction that there is no such individual as this 'Johnnie Rainbow.' He's a sort of legendary idealization the criminal elements have created, much in the manner of the Robin Hood Ballads of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries. Let me put your minds at ease at once - there is no 'Johnnie Rainbow.'"

"How do you account," Illya asked, "for the recent success of large-scale crime all over England? I believe thieves have been netting an average of some three hundred pounds a week for the last few months."

"Highly biased figures, Mr. Kuryakin. Highly biased. They include a few fortunate coups on a large scale. There is no connection among them - except possibly for inspiration. One large haul gets into the newspapers, and some other gang is tempted to try it. That's all."

"But the methods of operation seem so similar," said Napoleon. "From what we'd heard it seemed as if every operation could have been planned by the same man. The organization, the choice of targets, the timing, and especially the lack of violence - all point to the same source."

"By no means," the Inspector stated flatly. "Several robberies have not fallen into these categories. A jewel robbery a few months ago was quite badly bungled, and a shopkeeper shot. It happens with increasing frequency. We caught the killer, of course."

"And of course he had no connection with the Rainbow gang."

"Mr. Solo, there is no Rainbow gang. He was completely independent, wanted for questioning on two other jobs, had done penal servitude twice. A typical old lag, far out of his depth. Should have stuck with second-story work."

Illya leaned back in the form-fitting chair. "We do not maintain that Johnnie Rainbow is responsible for every crime committed in the British Isles, Inspector; merely that he is the motivating intelligence behind the most successful ones."

The Scotland Yard man sighed and leaned his elbows on the desk top. "Mr. Kuryakin, admittedly we have little to go on in the Rothschild robbery so far. But we have some of the participants identified, and are expecting to make arrests momentarily."

The Russian scowled. "We aren't reporters, Inspector. You don't have to quote press releases at us. As I recall, you have had the eleven men who robbed the Royal Mail almost four years ago identified for some time, and the last I heard you were still expecting to make arrests momentarily."

"There's no need to be rude, Mr. Kuryakin. Everyone takes our successes for granted, and only our failures receive widespread notice. We have hardly closed the books on the Royal Mail job - one of the robbers was taken only a few months ago."

"And he denies ever having heard of Johnnie Rainbow?

"We didn't feel the question worth asking. Scotland Yard is always bombarded with crackpot theories after every major crime; when you've worked here a while you get so you can smell out the worthless ones. The idea of a secret criminal mastermind went out of vogue even among the pulp writers some two decades ago, but the well-meaning citizens…"

The intercom buzzed, and he answered it.

"Inspector Seagoon on line two, sir."

Nodding a wordless apology to Napoleon and Illya, Inspector West picked up the telephone. "Hello, Neddie. You got my memo? Fine. Look, I'm somewhat occupied at the moment, but could we meet for dinner? Very good. The usual place. See you shortly after seven, then." He disconnected, and turned back to his visitors.

Illya spoke first. "I can't really see calling one of your own Detective Superintendents a crackpot. After all..."

West sighed. "You've read the book."

"Book?" asked Napoleon.

"A retired D.S. has written a book on the robbery. His sources have been feeding him the Rainbow story, and he has accepted it. But of course, being retired, he has no official connection with the Yard, and we have given his theory every reasonable consideration and found it actually quite untenable."

There was a long uncomfortable pause. It was be coming increasingly obvious to Napoleon that they were getting nowhere. Well, Waverly had told them not to expect much cooperation from Scotland Yard - and as usual, he was right.

After several seconds their host stood up. "I'm really sorry we can't help you. But rest assured; Johnnie Rainbow is as imaginary as Robin Hood or King Arthur. Those jobs have all been organized and executed by independent criminals. No mysterious genius hiding in a dingy flat in Brighton - just ordinary small-time crooks who've gotten inspired and lucky at the same time. And their luck is running out."

Napoleon and Illya stood as well, and shook the proffered hand. "Now will you be able to find your way out again, or shall I call a sergeant to guide you?" the Inspector asked, only half joking.

"I think we can find our way back to the street," said Illya, who would never admit to being lost.

"Getting out is much easier than getting in," the Yarder agreed, as he saw them to the door. "Not much like the old place, is it?"

"Hard to imagine anything less like it," Napoleon admitted.

West laughed easily. "Actually, I'm not at all used to it yet. I much preferred the feeling about the old Yard. But we were desperately in need of the space for records and files. We're computerizing, you know: most complete set of fingerprints, mug shots and criminal records in Europe. From a few apparently unconnected pieces of data on a crime, our machines will be able to pick out a list of likely suspects complete with their records and last known addresses in seconds."

Illya smiled coolly. "It doesn't seem to be doing you much good at the moment."

"It's doing its job. But even the best computer is no better than the data fed it. The human equation will never be removed from detection until it is removed from crime as well. Good afternoon, Mr. Solo - Mr. Kuryakin. Please take my advice, and leave the pursuit of criminals to us. Surely the U.N.C.L.E. has more important things to do than run after bank robbers."

Illya looked at him and Napoleon suppressed a grin. "I've had that thought myself," the Russian agent admitted. "But I don't pick our assignments."

"Well, I wish you the best of luck on this one, though I doubt if you'll have any as long as you insist on chasing Rainbows." He chuckled, and closed the door behind them.

Solo looked at it and said softly, "Chasing Rainbows. Bleah."

The secretary looked up. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing - just an involuntary exclamation on my friend's part," said Illya, and they stepped out into the corridor, closing the frosted glass door gently behind them.

He looked at Napoleon as they started off toward the elevator, and said, "Well?"

"Not very. He seemed pretty certain, didn't he?"

The Russian nodded. "Perhaps a little too certain. He stated the official position with great clarity, however, and no little redundancy. Are you convinced?"

"I almost was," said Napoleon as he touched the lift button and the doors sighed open. "Until he said Johnnie Rainbow was as imaginary as Robin Hood and King Arthur. Personally, I've always believed in King Arthur, and the existence of Robin Hood never seemed to be open to doubt."

"The point is well taken," said Illya as they stepped out into the main floor corridor and started toward the daylight. "Perhaps the good Inspector was telling the absolute truth after all when he compared the three of them."

Napoleon paused at the door and looked at his partner. "Arc you starting to believe we might actually have some purpose here after all?"

"I will have to admit the concept has begun to cross my mind. You may remember from a year ago that the greatest advantage a real vampire would have in the modem world is that no one would believe in him.
If
Johnnie Rainbow exists, he is in an enviable position."

"Especially since his existence is not only ignored, but vigorously denied..." said Napoleon thoughtfully, as they reclaimed their rented Lotus and came out of the underground parking area into the bright afternoon sun light.

"Suppose Rainbow does exist," said Illya, leaning back in the bucket seat as Napoleon piloted the little car through the knotted streets and clotted traffic which filled central London at that hour of the afternoon. "None of the men who actually committed the robberies would admit his existence; they'd be well-paid when they'd served their time, or more likely sprung, smuggled abroad, and paid off there. And since they won't bring the subject up, and Scotland Yard won't ask them, it seems highly unlikely that Johnnie will ever be called to account for his crimes unless you and I take a hand in things."

"My thoughts exactly," said his partner. "He may or may not exist, but personally I wouldn't feel comfortable going home until I have proven either possibility to my own satisfaction."

"And Mr. Waverly's."

"Yes. And Mr. Waverly's. We shall start early tomorrow morning - or possibly early tomorrow afternoon. It will be another day or so before my body has readjusted to London time. My stomach, too. What would you say to dinner at this relatively early hour?"

"It sounds most appetizing. I presume you had some place specific in mind?"

"I know an excellent little Italian restaurant, a similar German restaurant, as well as French, Chinese, Armenian, Spanish and Scandinavian restaurants. There's even one specializing in genuine southern-fried chicken."

"And all of them are in the same block in Soho."

"Same three blocks, except for the French one. Let's hit the Chinese one tonight; then we can eat another dinner at nine or ten, and be closer to the local scheduling.

Illya nodded, and the little red car veered east.

Chapter 3

How Napoleon and Illya Toured Soho, and Two Other Gentlemen Debated at Length.

"IF I'D REMEMBED the parking situation was so bad, I'd have left the car back at the hotel and taken the Underground," Napoleon said, as they wandered through the colorful back streets of the Soho district. They'd found a parking area in Ramillies Places, just off Oxford Street, and had followed directions from there to the restaurant. Now, with a pair of full meals inside them, they felt ready for a matching pair of warm beds. Thus it was with honest reluctance that Illya felt constrained lo call to his partner's attention something he had just noticed.

"Napoleon - I truly hate to bring this up, but we are being followed."

Solo sighed deeply and nodded. "Since we left the restaurant. I didn't want to mention it; I was hoping they'd go away. But they made the last two turns right with us, didn't they?"

"Uh-huh. You don't imagine it's anything as simple and commonplace as a pair of muggers, do you?"

"Afraid not."

Neither of them had raised his voice above a murmur during this exchange, nor had they broken stride. Aware of the dangers that could be waiting in the dark doorways of the buildings they passed, they kept their attention divided between the sounds of footfalls behind them and the silent shadows that lurked ahead.