The Mind-Twisters Affair (7 page)

"I shot the stabilizer off," he said, a mixture of smugness and surprise in his voice. "They may not crash right away, but they're going to be too dizzy to pay any attention to us."

Napoleon didn't reply. He hurried back to the car with Illya and looked admiringly at the Mercox as they repacked Armden.

Chapter 6

"What Is All This Stuff Under Here?"

WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN an easy six-hour trip on the turnpikes was on its way to becoming a twelve-hour endurance test on the regular and secondary highways of Pennsylvania. The fact that there were three of them stuffed into a car barely adequate for two made the situation that much worse. Until mid-afternoon, they had the advantage that Armden, jammed between the two agents, remained peacefully unconscious. Before they were through Pennsylvania, however, he woke up. His first words, after blinking and noting the crowded situation, were, predictably, "What happened? Where am I?"

Napoleon, who had been driving for the past fifty miles, slowed the car and prepared for whatever action Armden might be in the mood for. Illya reached in his pocket and closed his hand over the hypospray he had been keeping in readiness.

"You became ill when we were ready to leave for New York," Illya explained. "We decided to make the trip anyway, since it seemed you were in need of some specialized medical attention that we could provide." He watched Armden closely for any reaction.

"Ill?" Armden looked puzzled. "And we were about to leave for New York? But why..." His voice trailed off uncertainly and his brow wrinkled in frowning concentration. The two agents watched him carefully. After a minute his frown deepened. "I remember most of what happened," he said slowly, "but none of it makes any sense. I must have passed out."

"Yes, sir," Napoleon agreed. "What do you remember?"

"You two came last Friday, to find out why I had refused to..." Armden broke off incredulously. "But why should I have refused to help Willard Morthley? He's one of my oldest friends." He thought a moment, and went on. "When you came to the house, I was with Arnold Bennett, and -" He stopped, shaking his head. "Either I've just lost m mind, or I've been out of it for the past several weeks."

"I don't think so, sir," Illya assured him. "There have been other people acting the same way. Somehow, Thrush has been influencing you and a good portion of Midford. Professor Curtis suggested drugs or hypnosis but that's only a guess. I can't imagine how a drug could have been administered to that many people, unless Thrush sprayed the entire town with a crop-dust. And hypnosis seems even more difficult."

"You might have something there," Napoleon broke in. "Thrush does have a fairly extensive air force."

"We hope you'll be able to help us find out how Thrush managed it," Illya continued. "You have no objections to a complete examination?"

Armden shook his head. "Of course not. Anything that would explain the past month is more than welcome."

The agents relaxed; Illya removed his hand from the pocket containing the hypospray.

"How are you feeling?" Napoleon inquired. "You've been out cold for almost a full day. Think some food would do you any good?"

Armden nodded. A few minutes later Napoleon pulled into a drive-in. He spotted a section with picnic style tables and nosed the car up next to one. The three men got out of the car, Armden staggering a bit at first. After stretching their muscles, they all walked up to the self-service window.

A few minutes later, they moved back to the table, having avoided answering most of the inevitable questions about the car that were invariably asked by the other

customers. This sort of thing had happened at every stop, and the agents had by now developed a standard line of patter about cross country mileage tests and an experimental sports car. Illya usually pulled out a note book and asked for the names of anyone who wanted to receive free literature about the car. This usually discouraged most curiosity seekers, who were hesitant about having their names added to still another mailing list, but occasionally he would have to take down some names and addresses.

This looked like one of the times the notebook would be required. There hadn't been many customers, and all but one had quietly gone back to their own cars when the list was brought up. That one, however, was on his way to becoming a problem. A polite description, Illya decided, would be "garrulous old coot"

"Mileage test?" he was saying skeptically as he sat down uninvited across the table from Illya. "Nobody that gives a damn about mileage is gonna buy one of these. Lemme see that notebook; I'll bet you didn't even write my name down." He reached across the table toward Illya, practically dragging his jacket sleeve in Illya s coffee.

Illya irritably flipped the notebook open to show the man his name, Charley Lampton, and his address, meticulously recorded. Lampton turned abruptly to Armden and swung his arm around to point at him. "What about you? You're old enough to be their father. What are they up to, just between us old-timers, hey?"

Armden looked resentful, and avoided answering by taking a large bite from his Deluxe Iglooburger.

"He's a research physicist, and he's not my father," Napoleon said irritably.

Lampton turned his attention to Napoleon, who quickly snatched his coffee out of the path of the old coot's arm as it swung around like an erratic compass.

"Hey?" Lampton said.

"I said he's not my father," Napoleon repeated.

"Never said he was. Okay, if you're checking mileage, what is it? Hey?"

"24.7 at the last stop," Napoleon answered quickly. "We hope to do better than that on the way back, on the turnpikes and expressways," Illya added.

"Hey?" said Lampton. They repeated their statements. Lampton cackled. "You're pretty fast; you work together real well." He suddenly poked a finger at Napoleon's tie clip. Napoleon automatically jumped back, slopping a good portion of the coffee out of his cup.

"Real fast," Lampton said. "Sorry about that. I'll buy you another cup, hey?"

"It's all right; I'm already filled up with coffee."

"Hey?"

Gritting his teeth, Napoleon decided it would be easier to let the old coot buy him a cup. The man trotted off to get it, returned with it before the agents could get away, and planked himself down to watch Napoleon drink it.

Napoleon took a sip to be polite, decided that he really was filled up, and got up to leave.

"Don't waste good coffee," Armden said, picking up the cup and draining it hastily.

They walked around a bit for a final limbering-up before crawling back into the cramped car.

One hour and forty miles later, Napoleon shook his head violently. "Filled up or not, I think I should have drunk the coffee. Do you feel like taking it for awhile?" He glanced at Illya, who shook his head sleepily.

"Better not," Illya said slowly. "I don't know what it is, but I feel too tired to move. Maybe we should stop awhile and try to get a little sleep." Napoleon nodded agreement and started looking for a stopping place. On the outskirts of a small town he spotted a large drive-in and pulled in. As he nosed the car into a parking stall, Illya muttered something sleepily without opening his eyes. Armden was also dozing. After-effects of the drug, Napoleon assumed, since the man had had enough sleep for two or three people in the ordinary course of events. He stifled a yawn as he dropped the car keys into his pocket and walked slowly over to the self-service window just around the corner of the building.

He had just stepped out of sight of the U.N.C.L.E. car when another car pulled into the drive-in and parked a few stalls away. A young man jumped out and walked hurriedly up to the driver's side of the U.N. C.L.E. car. Without hesitating, he slid into the driver's seat.

"Dr. Armden, Mr. Kuryakin," he said. "You will obey my orders. Both of you get out of this car and go down to the black sedan. Get in it and sit quietly."

There was no response except a muffled snore from Armden. Muttering to himself, the young man shook Illya and Armden awake, then repeated his orders. The sleeping men roused slowly and stumbled out of the car. The young man had to repeat his instructions a third time before they began walking slowly toward the black car. He watched them a minute to make sure they didn't fall asleep on their feet, and then reached for the ignition key. The key was missing, and he swore feelingly, then got back out and crawled into the car head first so he could get at the wiring under the dash. He was still in this undignified position when there was the sound of squealing tires and the slam of several car doors behind him. Seconds later a bearded face was peering at him through the open door on the passenger's side.

"Hey, that's a tough set of wheels. Never saw one quite like it," the face commented enthusiastically.

"Yeah," came another voice, presumably feminine, from behind him. "What kind is it?"

The man looked up hastily and banged his head on the steering column. "None of your business!" he snapped. "Get out of here; I'm busy."

"Yeah," the feminine voice replied. "We can see. Whatsamatter, you lose your keys?"

"Yes, I lost my keys. Now will you quit bothering me?" He looked toward the rear of the car and saw a big, rectangular box on wheels blocking the U.N.C.L.E. car in completely. "And get that thing out of the way!" he shouted, pointing at the offending object.

"I know how to hot-wire a car," came a polite voice from behind the girl. "I knew a guy who liked to take joy-rides. Anyway, maybe I can help you." A long-haired youth came forward, dropped to his knees and began looking under the dash.

"Wow!" he exclaimed a moment later, "What is all this stuff under here?"

The man stood up and looked around. There were a half dozen of the kids around. According to a blazing red and yellow sign on their car, they were the Thundermugs, whatever that meant. One of the new folk-rock outfits, possibly. He swore under his breath, and walked to the front of the car, where he motioned frantically to the black sedan. A hulking man got out from behind the wheel of the sedan and pushed past Illya and Armden.

"Get these kids out of here, Andy," the smaller man hissed as the hulking one approached. "And get that crate out from behind this car."

"Sure, chief." The large man reached down and plucked the hot-wire expert out of the U.N.C.L.E. car, setting him down none too gently on the asphalt.

The bearded youth came forward, protesting. "Hey, we weren't -"

Andy placed a large hand under his chin and shoved, sending the boy staggering back against his own vehicle. Turning, he reached for a girl who had been sitting on the hood of the U.N.C.L.E. car, patting it and saying "It's cute," to no one in particular. The girl squealed and hopped off the hood on the side opposite Andy.

At this moment, Napoleon came around the corner of the drive-in, carrying a plastic tray loaded with coffee and sandwiches. "Illya! Dr. Armden!" be shouted, dropping the tray. He pulled his gun, and started forward. Illya and Dr. Armden, hearing their names, halted by the side of the black sedan and looked around.

Andy had started to pull his own gun, but the smaller man grabbed him by one arm and headed for the sedan at a run. Napoleon raised his weapon but the kids and then Illya and Dr. Armden were in the line of fire.

The two Thrushes started to force Illya into the car but Napoleon's shouts roused him enough to put up some resistance. The smaller Thrush made a grab for Dr. Armden, but changed his mind as Napoleon approached. He leaped into the sedan instead. His larger companion had already switched on the ignition, and they roared out of the drive-in with squealing tires. Napoleon sent a futile shot after the car as it disappeared down the highway. The Thundermugs, grouped around the U.N. C.L.E. car, looked on with evident enjoyment.

Napoleon stood staring after the departing sedan for a second, then returned his gun to its shoulder bolster, and turned to Illya. "What happened?" be asked.

"He told us to get into his ear," Illya said, in a tone implying that this was a perfectly reasonable request. Not having been addressed, Armden stood quietly, his face blank of expression.

Napoleon looked at them, frowning. They looked straight ahead, at nothing in particular.

"Both of you, raise your right hands," Napoleon said sharply.

Illya and Armden raised their bands, without speaking or changing expression.

Napoleon sighed. "Put your arms back down and go back to our car," he instructed. He walked behind them until they climbed into the car. Unclipping his communicator from his pocket, he called Waverly and reported the situation, while the Thundermugs looked on in respectful silence.

Chapter 7

"The Thing To Do Is Work Out A New Questionnaire"

"SO," NAPOLEON CONCLUDED his explanation to Sascha Curtis and Rita Berman, "the Harrisburg agents took Illya and Dr. Armden on to New York, and I'm back here looking for a place to stay while I investigate what happened. I wouldn't mind having a place nearby to hide that car, either," he added. "It's a bit conspicuous."

"Amazing, perfectly amazing," Curtis said. "Must be some sort of drug; it couldn't be anything else. Though I don't," he added thoughtfully, "know of any current drug which would produce just that reaction."

"Thrush is quite adept at producing new drugs, if that's what it is," Napoleon replied. "I'm still not certain it isn't some sort of instant hypnotism."

"And the hotel wouldn't give you a room, you say?" Curtis remarked. "I can't think that they're really that full. As far as I know, that hotel has never been filled to capacity."

"Could the hotel manager be a Thrush?" Rita inquired.

"If he was, he'd have made room for me if he had to throw someone else out," Napoleon explained. "Thrush would like nothing better than to have me where they can keep an eye on me. It's more likely that the manager is affected by the same anti-U.N.C.L.E. influence that has struck the rest of the town. That doesn't seem like a drug; one can do wonders with modern drugs, but transferring prejudices seems a bit extraordinary."