The Mind-Twisters Affair (15 page)

Napoleon complied, and extended his hands back through the bars as he was instructed. Whateley handcuffed his wrists together and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"That should render you reasonably harmless, but just to make sure..." Whateley produced a roll of adhesive tape from somewhere and taped Napoleon's wrists together. "That should take care of any little tricks you might have left. I feel much more comfortable now."

Napoleon nodded at the revolver, which Whateley was transferring from his belt to a coat pocket. "Does the Russian armament have any significance, or is Thrush merely flaunting its international status?"

Whateley shook his head. "No, the head of a certain European satrapy was offered a bargain in military arms." He looked at the weapon distastefully. "Naturally, the stuff eventually got dumped on us. Whenever Thrush Central finds itself with material it doesn't know what to do with, we get it. Just because this is largely a rural satrapy, they think they can get away with anything. We were getting nothing but Volkswagens until I put my foot down. Of course, it's a nice little car, but it has certain drawbacks for our work. It's really amazing what they try to palm off on us; once they even tried to give us a second-hand dirigible. Can you imagine it?"

Napoleon nodded solemnly. "I know how it is. You wouldn't believe the sort of thing we at U.N.C.L.E. have to go through to get a simple expense account approved."

"Oh, yes I would," replied Whateley. "I have the same problems. I know the official position is that Thrush is a free-wheeling organization, throwing millions around in a quest for world domination, but you'd never know it by working in the Central Indiana Satrapy. I've sent Thrush Central four requisitions for cyanide in the past month, and do you think I've seen any of it? Not a gram!"

"You might try conjuring it up," Napoleon offered.

Whateley produced his sinister smile. "I suspect that you aren't entirely convinced by the insistence of Rita and Flavia that my demonology is merely a pose. It isn't, of course. What better place to hide a serious interest in demons and gods than under an opera cape and theatrical gestures? Nobody believes in that sort of thing any more, and so anything I may be seen doing is simply explained as another example of my melodramatic nature. In fact, my father and uncle were the last full time practitioners. There are easier ways of obtaining power than by invoking malign and capricious entities which would be as much inclined to kill me as to obey my orders. It's much simpler to invoke Thrush, red tape and all." He paused reflectively. "My cousins tried a different method. I understand they made an affiance with some Irishman and went into politics."

Whateley paused again.

"I thought you said the old gods were so powerful that mankind could not resist them," Napoleon said. "Thrush doesn't have that kind of power."

"It will, Mr. Solo; it will. However, there is the problem of communicating with the old gods and of striking a bargain with them. Their history does not show them to be particularly trustworthy and there are very few ways to force a god to obey one's will. In any event, one does not invoke them lightly. For general use, the standard, or garden variety of demon, is sufficient. Even they, however, are not particularly reliable."

"Does Flavia know about all this? She's a good actress if she does; she sounded as if she really believed that your demonology was a pose."

"Oh, she does, just as Miss Berman does. I cultivate that opinion, of course. However, Flavia is becoming something of a problem. When she was younger, we operated differently and she didn't question my being away from home a lot. We put in this underground base while she was away at school. I wasn't expecting her to return and set up shop in the basement; I expected her to find some nice young man and settle down somewhere. As it is, I hope her work starts selling well; I've offered to pay her expenses if she will live in New York, but she insists on being able to pay her own way. I'm considering priming the pump, so to speak; a few good purchases through a third party should do the job. If it doesn't, I'll have to, ah, consider other solutions.

Whateley took out his pocket watch. "I can't stay much longer; I must attend to other business, such as preparing a nice warm cell for your friend Mr. Kuryakin."

Napoleon looked surprised. "But Illya is in New York by now."

"Now, now, Mr. Solo, we know better than that, don't we? For one thing, Lem Thompson's farm has been under surveillance since yesterday. For another, I overheard your recent conversation with the dear boy. My intercom system," he gestured at an overhead speaker with a bony finger, "is also designed to pick up sounds from any room and broadcast them on a special frequency to my communicator. I can tune in to any room that I wish." He held up his Thrush communicator proudly.

"Handy gadget," Napoleon said. The longer he could keep Whateley talking, the more chance there was of discovering something that he could use to turn the tables on the Thrush. "But it seems a bit odd to have it set up here as well as the house, here in secret passages that no one but Thrush uses."

Whateley chuckled again. "Although I find Thrush an admirable organization, dealing with individuals devoid of principle does require some discretion. For example, I am the discoverer of the drug that you and Mr. Kuryakin are so interested in. I am also the only man in the world who knows how to make it. Anyone with a good laboratory could analyze its composition, of course, but they might be a little surprised if they tried to duplicate it." He smiled. "Like so many modern drugs, the secret is in the manufacturing process and I doubt that anyone could duplicate mine. I doubt that many people would even believe mine. But, as I started to say, this gives me a much securer niche in the organization than most Thrush satrapy heads possess."

"An astute maneuver," Napoleon said admiringly. "I assume you also invented the rather complicated system of administering the drug and the subliminal conditioning?"

Whateley leaned back against the iron maiden and smiled, looking as if he would be happy to lecture Napoleon for the rest of the night.

"Actually," he said, "the administration and conditioning were determined by the action of the drug. As you have no doubt guessed, its entire effect is to make people susceptible to suggestion, but both the dosage and the conditioning must be gradual for the best results. Drugging the drinks in Falco's vending machines was an ideal method of administration: half a dozen times a day, five days a week. In the early stages there is a tendency for the subject to regress over weekends; in the long run this is unimportant, but it enabled you to talk Armden into going with you. If you had arrived in the middle of the week, you would never have convinced him. As I was saying, it is the subconscious of the subject that we must work on. Direct orders are not feasible, while subliminal conditioning works wonders."

Napoleon looked puzzled. "But Illya and Dr. Armden obeyed direct orders when they were drugged the other day."

"Ah, but they had been given a massive dose. Such a dose does enable the subject to respond to direct orders; unfortunately he doesn't respond to anything else. His willpower is temporarily destroyed. We want to obtain scientists with their initiative and creativity intact. Also, conflicting orders given to anyone with a massive dose of the drug produce hysteria and collapse, as you observed in Dr. Armden's reactions last Monday. I would have preferred not to give him that dose, but you forced our hand."

"But wouldn't normal brainwashing techniques accomplish the same thing?" Napoleon asked. "You have all sorts to choose from, from the Chinese to Madison Avenue."

"I'm afraid not. Efficient brainwashing requires that the subject be under the complete control of the operator for long periods of time. Not at all suitable for our purposes."

"Is this just a test run, then?" Napoleon hazarded.

"Yes, our first field application. Previously, we tested one of our own agents, not having any U.N.C.L.E. agents to practice on. Also, your men are so frequently conditioned against drugs. Terry was expendable, so we turned him into an U.N.C.L.E. admirer. Worked very well; in fact a little too well. We hadn't counted on his escape; I had a few bad moments when I realized he was on the threshold of U.N.C.LE. headquarters with traces of the drug still in his bloodstream. Fortunately, we got him back."

"And changed him back to a loyal Thrush, I assume?"

"Oh… no. Effects are cumulative; after a certain number of doses, the conditioning is permanent. We're very close to that point here at Midford now. Once we got Terry back and completed our tests, we had to dispose of him."

"I suppose the next thing is a full scale assault on the scientists of the world?"

"We haven't decided. Probably we will seek to influence scientists, but there is always the possibility that we'll go into mass production of the drug, infiltrate the major TV networks for our messages and condition a majority of the citizenry. How does 'Whateley For President' strike you?"

Napoleon shivered inwardly but kept an outward calm. "How it would strike Thrush Central might be more to the point. They just might have other candidates in mind."

Whateley chuckled. "Yes, I suppose they might. But I control the drug, and I do think I might conjure up a few helpers from somewhere, if necessary. It wouldn't be too hard."

Napoleon shuddered slightly. "What about me? You mentioned some time ago that it was expedient for you to keep me alive."

"I'm glad you remembered the word I used, Mr. Solo. Expedient. That applies equally to Mr. Kuryakin when he arrives. As soon as I get a new batch of the drug made, you will be given massive doses, after which you will report to Mr. Waverly that the anti-U.N.C.L.E. feeling was a mere misunderstanding that has now been cleared up. And then... well, I'm afraid that even though I enjoy such an interesting conversationalist and splendid audience, you and Mr. Kuryakin will both have a regrettable but fatal accident on your way back to New York. It will be a pity for U.N.C.L.E. to lose their two best agents and their remarkable new car in one fell swoop, so to speak, but turnpike driving can be terribly hazardous these days."

With a final chuckle, Whateley turned and walked away down the corridor. Napoleon listened to his dying footsteps. They produced a slight echo, as though one of his demons was pattering along in front of him.

Chapter 14

"This Isn't Exactly What I Had In Mind"

AFTER RECEIVING NAPOLEON'S second call, Illya reluctantly got out of bed and dressed, meanwhile considering ways and means of getting from Lem Thompson's farm to the Whateley mansion. Lem's car had the clutch burned out, a circumstance Illya had not discovered until Lem left for Fort Wayne in his pickup truck. As a result, the only self-propelled vehicles on the farm were a tractor and a power lawn mower, neither of which seemed quite practical for driving several miles and sneaking up quietly on the Whateley house.

Once dressed, Illya picked up his communicator from the table by the bed and called the New York office. Waverly replied. Waverly always replied, no matter what time of day or night an agent called in. When he slept, or if he slept, nobody knew. Illya had heard idle speculation that the head of Section Two of U.N.C.L.E. was actually a robot. Impossible, of course, but still - when did the man sleep?

Illya passed along Napoleon's report on the Thrush base and inquired if any other agents were nearby and available.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Kuryakin. The Fort Wayne agent was called to help with a case in Cleveland; we haven't had a report from the part-time agent at Midford University for some time. I'm afraid we must assume that Thrush's drug has caused a temporary, ah, shall we say defection? I will alert the Chicago office to stand by if you wish, but even with their helicopter, they are hours away. I fear that, as usual, affairs are entirely in the capable hands of Mr. Solo and yourself."

"Very well, sir. We'll do our best to handle it."

"Quite, Mr. Kuryakin. Keep me informed."

Illya stared momentarily at the silent communicator, then hurried downstairs. A minute later he was dialing Sascha Curtis' number.

In answer came the impolite noise that telephone companies use for a busy signal. Illya held the receiver out and glared at it. What was Curtis doing, using the phone at this time of night? Honest citizens should be in bed. He hesitated, but there was now little choice. U.N. C.L.E. had only one other trustworthy ally in town. Reluctantly, he called Rita Berman.

She answered almost instantly, sounding sleepy. "Who is it?"

"Illya. I'm afraid I have a favor to ask."

She yawned slightly before answering. "Ask away."

"I'm at Lem's. I have to get to Whateley's right away to help Napoleon, and I need a car. If you could pick me up here, I could drop you off at home on my way through town."

"You can have the car - on one condition."

"What's that?" Illya asked, with a sinking feeling that he already knew.

"I come with it."

"No," he said firmly. "This could be dangerous. Whateley is a Thrush, and he has quite an army at his command."

"Then," Rita pointed out, "you need all the help you can get."

"Spying on Thrush is dangerous enough for professional agents, trained for the job. It's nothing for amateurs to get mixed up in."

"Then you can't have the car. It isn't trained either, and what sort of driver would I be if I ordered my car to go where I wouldn't go myself?"

"Look, this is serious!"

"So am I. Where the car goes, I go."

Illya continued to protest, but eventually gave in. Rita promised to pick him up as soon as she could get there. She arrived a short time later. As Illya approached the car and started to enter, he came to a sudden stop.

"Professor Curtis! What are you doing here?"

"I thought you were in a hurry," Rita said. "Get in and let's go."

Illya climbed into the front seat.

"Where do you want to go?" Rita inquired. "I know you said Whateley's, but were you planning to drive up to the front door, or were you planning to try coming up on them from downwind, so to speak?"