Pulp Fiction | The Hollow Crown Affair by David McDaniel (16 page)

"Ten would probably suffice."

Napoleon rose reluctantly. "Do you think we could get through all that at night?"

"Don't worry, Napoleon. I was a Junior Woodchuck."

"I'm afraid all our sophisticated equipment is built in," said Irene.

"That's all right. We'll settle for a couple of old-fashioned flashlights."

* * *

"Where did you leave the car?" Baldwin asked them shortly before three o'clock the same morning.

"About fifty feet from the transmitter," said Illya.

"Which is on the far side of Debsconeag Lake," Napoleon added. "If Irene hadn't offered to pick us up we would've been home about dawn."

"I presume you neutralized the scouting party?"

"Effectively. We put them to sleep without a murmur, and packed everything they had in the car before we took it away."

"Including their trousers," said Illya.

"Oh!" said Irene. "They'll freeze!"

"Probably not," said Napoleon. "We piled them together so they'd be warm until they woke up. They'll still have to walk to East Pomfret—is there a telephone in East Pomfret?"

"There are five," said Baldwin. "I hope you remembered to turn on the beacon before you left it?"

"Of course, sir," said Illya. "May we go to bed now?"

"By all means. We may yet have work for you tomorrow."

Chapter 15: "I Think He Was Scrooched."

At nine-fifteen Ward Baldwin was seated in a sunny breakfast room listening to his pocket watch. It spoke tinnily of an airplane and a ground controller whose control did not extend to his voice, which grew harsher over a period of time.

"The men who were on the spot say there was no lake in sight. As soon as they have been picked up and treated for exposure they will be sent back. Look for the road."

"I can't see any road, I tell you! Everything is either trees or water or rock. There's just a few cottages and a lodge or two—and I can see the Appalachian Trail..."

"I don't want a travelogue. Find the car, why don't you?"

"I've got the beacon locked in...There's something...Yeah, I think that's the car down by the lake. I think the beacon is right near it."

"You've got the wrong car. You're at least ten miles west of where they called from last night. Fredericton and Bangor triangulated them."

Several seconds silence, then the same voice returned.
"And there wasn't any lake in sight."

"Well, that's our beacon down there, boss. I don't know how it got there, but I'm going to set down on the lake and check out that car."

"Don't waste my time!"

"Field Autonomy, Paragraph Twelve. Baldwin couldn't get out of here without being spotted, so we're not in action at the present time. I'll take the responsibility."

Irene's voice spoke from behind him. "They certainly work well," she said. "Do you suppose they triangulate all communications as a matter of routine?"

"It would seem to be experimental in this area," Baldwin said. "A considered risk."

"Who are you considering risking?" asked Napoleon from the kitchen door.

"You're up early. Did you hear the radio?"

"Huh?"

"Last night's transmissions were triangulated," Baldwin said. "King is ordering a search plane into our immediate vicinity, and we will probably be spotted shortly."

"Will you have time for breakfast?" asked Irene.

"Oh, certainly. King is probably on his way to East Pomfret at the moment, and it will take him some time to get here and set up an attack. He certainly wouldn't want to miss again. In fact, he will probably insist upon dismissing all his support to face us alone."

"I certainly hope so," said Illya following his partner in. "Bacon crisp, eggs scrambled."

"Over easy," said Napoleon, joining Baldwin in the breakfast nook. "Have you considered evacuating?"

"Never seriously. The Lincoln is borrowed, and not remotely bulletproof; the Mercedes is nearly as visible from the air as this lodge, and is not so nearly well defended."

"Or as comfortable."

Breakfast ended before ten-thirty, and Baldwin re-checked all the silent channels of his pocket communicator. "I'm afraid Mr. King has realized we might be able to overhear him," he said, and restored it to his pocket. "Now we have nothing to do but watch the road and wait."

* * *

At precisely eleven forty-three both Napoleon and Illya twitched an instant before a dull explosion at the front door shook the lodge. Seconds later Baldwin's communicator chimed. He picked it out and extended the stem. "Good morning, Mr. King," he said. "You knocked?"

"
Just to let you know I was here, Baldwin. Do you want to give yourself up for trial by the Council, or will I have to come in there and get you?
"

"I refuse to dignify your insane railery with legal recognition. You will be given adequate opportunity to earn the position you desire, undeserved though it may be."

"
I'll deserve it for killing a traitor named Baldwin. And you may tell your Mr. Kuryakin that my power source is now multiply protected against another lucky shot.
"

"A traitor thrice accused is better than a traitor once proven, Mr. King," said Baldwin, and the front door thundered again.

Illya said, "Did you hear something just before it hit?"

"That's part of his oscillator circuitry," said Irene. "I believe it's a 50-millisecond burst at 14 kiloHz, which is beyond my range. By what I've been told, it can nearly be heard over a quarter of a mile away. It can also be nearly heard from just beside the gun."

"Very interesting," said Baldwin, closing his pocket watch. "What else do we know about the Particle Accelerator Rifle?"

"It's likely to come in the front door at any moment," Solo said. "You can ask its inventor."

"Come, Mr. Solo—we may indeed be unable to defeat it, but it would surely be the height of folly to concede the game without conclusively proving this. Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Were the sound detectors and all left on overnight?"

"Of course," said Irene.

"How did he sneak in here? Carrying that Scrooch Gun on his back?"

The sound detectors went off and the speakers came on. An engine was starting. "Sounds like a jeep," said Irene. The sound was coming from the middle channel. The motor revved down as the clutch was let in, and then faded, moving off. It didn't pick up on either side channel.

"Among many other possible methods, Mr. Kuryakin, he could have landed a large glider on Lake Milinocket and avoided the road entirely. Now about the PAR..."

* * *

It was not quite five minutes before Napoleon and Illya nearly heard something, and a window on the east end of the lodge was heard by all to blow in. Irene cocked an eyebrow. "The windows are made of the same glass as the windows in the Mercedes," she commented.

"He's going to keep that up indefinitely, isn't he?" said Illya.

"Unless we stop him," said Baldwin. "Mr. Kuryakin, you were just saying that the apparent cause of failure in the 1965 test was stray RF?"

"Right. It triggered what they called an
avalanche oscillation
and he was caught in it. Supposedly."

"Something started it going," said Napoleon. "A resonant frequency, right?"

"Uh, right..."

"Like the resonant sonic Thrush used on us when they attacked New York headquarters. If that had kept up we would have gone to pieces. You suppose we could..."

"... induce a resonant RF from here?" said Irene. "It's not impossible. We have a reasonably powerful transmitter here—and he
is
close by."

"All you have to do is find the right frequency, hoping he hasn't cured the Scrooch Gun of its need for extensive shielding, and lean on it till he blows up!"

"An adequate oversimplification of our intended procedure, Mr. Solo," said Baldwin, as the ceiling shook and their ears stung under the impact. "We had best get to work on it directly. Irene?"

"It may be a long job, dear—I'll have to make some modifications before we can start."

"How can we help?" asked Illya.

"By staying out of the way," said Baldwin.

Napoleon and Illya looked at each other until another round slammed into the rear wall. "When I was in old-style wars," said the Russian, "the part I hated the worst was the shelling. I think it was the feeling of helplessness when all you could do was hang on and wait for it to stop. Do you know what I mean?"

"Perfectly," said the American. "Do you think we might be able to do something else this time?"

"If there's only one of him, maybe we could get to him. And Baldwin says there's only one."

"But he's got an awfully accurate Scrooch Gun all around the house. Now you tell me he can't get both of us between the door and the trees, and I'll let you go first."

"He can't see all four sides of the house at the same time unless he's in a balloon," said Illya. "All we have to do is figure out what side he can't see and go out that way. Dig?" He turned to Baldwin. "Irene checked me out on the TV remote units—may I?"

"Go ahead, Mr. Kuryakin. I have no objection to you doing your part."

Illya fired up the TV screen and switched to the camera monitoring the rear of the building. He extended the zoom to its greatest focal length and scanned slowly along the ridge, peering among the trees. Several seconds passed.

"Uh...nice gear," said Napoleon, conversationally.

"Thank you," said Irene, passing through from the workroom towards the kitchen. "I built most of it."

"You built it?" said Illya, not taking his eyes from the screen as she left the room.

The sound of rummaging came from the kitchen, and in a moment she returned, drawing on a pair of heavy rubber gloves. "Well, not the television set, of course, nor the cameras or their remote controls, but I wired everything together and built the image-multiplier from a kit."

"That's amazing," said Napoleon.

"Just a hobby, really—after all, Ward has his needlepoint..."

"There he is," said Illya suddenly. "Look! Up on the ridge!"

Among the trees they could discern a flat, narrow, jeep-like vehicle. Its profile and the disconcerting camber of its wheels identified it as the 'Mule' configuration. A man was standing on the rear section beside a heavily braced fat-barreled monstrosity with a glittering lens just above it.

"That looks like him," said Illya, and the rear of the lodge endorsed his opinion with a thunderclap. King quickly secured something and clambered into the single seat of the Mule; a few seconds later they wheeled away and out of sight to the left.

"Mobility," Napoleon quoted, "is the keynote of Thrush. Do we have another camera around to the side?"

"No—I can swing the front and rear cameras to catch him coming or going, but why bother? He's gone east; let's head out the west window."

"Ready any time you are, C.B."

"I shall close the window after you," said Baldwin. "Should you return, you will be able to ring the front doorbell."

They went out the window, across the open stretch of ground and into the trees, ears tensed for that almost inaudible cue to drop. They were under cover before they heard it again, and it was followed almost instantly by a splintering
crack
from the far side of the lodge.

"He's riding in rings around the house, firing as he goes," said Napoleon. "Primitive, but effective. He isn't doing much damage yet; shall we hide and wait for him to come to us?"

"Seems reasonable. Why don't we spread out. I'll signal if I see him coming."

They spread. The PAR mired once more for the east side of the building, and hit the front door area again less than ninety seconds later. The silence was perhaps the strangest part of the one-sided battle—except for the
slam
of a corner of the lodge being hit, the whisper of leaves and the calls of undisturbed birds could be clearly heard. The clear bright noon sun dappled through the leaves where Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin crouched in the chilly shade, and watched and listened.

King shifted across the front of the house at his leisure, loosing a round every thirty seconds or so. A beautiful scrollwork cornice exploded into a puff of white splinters, and another section of the steep shingled roof was blown clear of cover to the steel sheathing beneath, which rang like a tin can with the impact and cratered strangely.

Another minute passed as the two UNCLE agents hugged the clammy ground beneath their chosen bushes, watching the house fifty yards away and listening for the muffled engine.

Then a corner of the house burst into a brick cloud and fragments shattered and splattered the wide white door of the garage. A red hole gaped in the masonry as though a berserk airhammer had gone through, but as the larger shards pattered to the ground they heard King's Mule approaching.

Napoleon gathered his feet under him and got ready to move in any direction called for. The jeep engine raced and slowed, ground gears and came closer. It sounded as if it stopped fifty feet or so north of his hiding place, and he waited, squinting among leaves and trunks, for further evidence. Slowly he rose to a crouch and moved forward, ducking from his bush to a stout tree to an outcropping of rock.

On the other side of the rock a good twenty-five feet of open ground separated him from Joseph King. King was climbing from the seat of his Mule onto the rear deck where the Particle Accelerator Rifle was mounted onto a sturdy tripod, with guy wires and a chain. He started to aim the gun, which indeed fit into his arms like a huge clumsy rifle, his eye at the telescope and one hand falling naturally to a panel set with buttons.

As he did so, Napoleon charged directly over the rock, scraping on the face of the granite and sprinting towards the Mule. Even as he left his cover he saw King shift his weight, swinging the gun around like a pool cue, and wondered if he could make it. The twinge in his ears triggered his knees, and he skidded to his face in the wet grass as the rock behind him shattered into gravel.

He rolled desperately, leaped to his feet as he heard Illya's voice yell something from the other side of the clearing and dove behind a large stump. King swung the Rifle and fired again, into the trees where Illya had appeared and vanished. A small tree fell, a larger one cracked, and Illya flopped limply into view.