He saw a bare room with a single tiny spotlight.
In the center of the bare steel floor, in a small circle of bright light, was a tiny object. Illya stared at it and froze.
The object was his tiny directional signal device!
It lay there, the only object in the bare room.
A hand clamped on his neck. A giant hand. He twisted. A second hand gripped his waist as if he were no bigger than a toothpick. Other hands worked swiftly, stripping him. He was held there naked while something was passed over his body-a metal detector. Helpless and naked, he waited.
Then he was flung forward. He lay on the floor beside his directional signal. His clothes were flung after him, shirt, trousers, and belt, all searched.
The small spotlight went out.
"Welcome, Mr. Kuryakin," a horrible inhuman voice hissed. "Rest now. You can join your friends later."
And the hissing laugh chilled the darkness.
ACT IV: A POWER OF TEN
The loud machinery pounded somewhere all night. It seemed to pound in Illya Kuryakin's brain. He dreamed of witches and giant hands. He floated helpless in a cauldron of blinding sun and empty dark.
When he opened his eyes he saw that he was not alone. Nor was he lying down in the room where he had been caught.
"Hello, Illya," Solo said. "Welcome to the club."
They were all standing against the walls, one in the center of each wall. They were shackled to the walls, spread-eagled, wrists and ankles shackled. Illya faced Napoleon Solo across the room. Mahyana stood pale against the wall to Illya's left. Joe Hooker was shackled to the wall to Illya's right.
"We seem to be caught," Illya said, still half stupefied.
Joe Hooker looked sad. "Man, I thought you could run faster. When I stopped for the chick, they put me away."
A voice seemed to come from the ceiling. The hissing voice of Marcus Fitzhugh.
"Mr. Hooker, I truly regret your part in this. I realize now that you were merely a helpful American. But, alas, it is too late. You must, I fear, share the fate of your Uncles."
Illya looked up at the ceiling. "Please, spare us the bad jokes. We have troubles enough."
"Of course, Mr. Kuryakin," Marcus Fitzhugh said.
The small, disfigured man had suddenly appeared inside the steel room. They all blinked. A door in the wall had opened and closed so quickly they had not seen it. Marcus Fitzhugh was not smiling. His hissing voice came seriously.
"I apologize. No jokes, no sadistic toying with helpless victims. And I will not reveal all you need to know about PowerTen. Those movie villains are so ridiculous, aren't they? Who knows-you might still escape, and then wouldn't I seem foolish?"
"You understand the program ahead, I'm sure. You all have knowledge we can use—Mr. Hooker excepted, of course. We will torture you, until you tell us or die. That is it. Naturally, we will try to keep you alive as long as possible, but we are only human."
"You will die whether you tell us or not. It is really only a matter of pain. We have drugs; we shall try to break down your conditioning. Miss Mayhana may not be conditioned, my agent Herrara tells me. And I will not insult either her or your gentlemen by suggesting you talk to spare her pain. I think we are all aware that the stakes are far too high for chivalry. Miss Mahyana, I'm sure, knew what she was getting into when she joined you."
"So, that is the schedule. It begins at once. First, experts want to study your pain thresholds, so we can make an intelligent working schedule. For that, you will all go together this time, Mr. Hooker excepted. You will only be killed, Mr. Hooker."
Joe Hooker said, "How do I thank you, let me count the ways. Is the creepy one for real?"
"I'm afraid he is very much for real, Joe," Illya said.
Marcus Fitzhugh did not answer either of them. The small, disfigured man with the metal and plastic voice had vanished through the same swift and silent secret door. There was a silence in the steel room.
Suddenly, as if pushed, flung down, all four prisoners fell forward to the steel floor. The chains had been removed by some remote control. There was a sharp rattling sound as the shackles scraped the walls, steel against steel.
From where they lay, their muscles cramped from the long chaining, the four prisoners watched as the shackles and chains vanished into the walls.
Illya stood up. He had been chained the shortest time and he was not numbed like the others. He crossed to where the shackles had been. There was nothing but smooth walls. His slender fingers could feel no trace of a break. He crossed the room to where he thought the door was. The wall was smooth, unbroken, not a hairline crack.
"Excellent engineering," Illya said.
"Excellent methods," Solo said. "Not even a guard to unshackle us and give us a chance to jump him. All done with mirrors."
"Electronics and complicated engineering," Illya said. "And what is complicated is easiest to sabotage. It is typical of THRUSH to equate complexity with efficiency and progress. Of course, they have us under surveillance and voice monitoring. Is that not so, Mr. Fitzhugh?"
It was the deep voice that answered. "Quite true, Kuryakin. And I don't think you will sabotage us. Mr. Fitzhugh is preparing for you now. I'm sure Gotz will enjoy another meeting with Solo."
Silently the hidden door slid open. They waited, the four prisoners, but nothing happened. Then the voice of Herrara came again.
"Step out, except Hooker."
They looked at each other.
"Come on," Herrara's voice said impatiently. "We can prod you, but why make it hard? You might as well walk where we tell you."
Illya shrugged. "Why not? Come."
The three agents stepped through the door, which instantly closed behind them, shutting off Joe Hooker. But the door did not close fast enough to stop the bearded boy's gallant parting message.
"Stay loose, Dads," Joe Hooker said.
Then they were alone in a long silent corridor. They walked ahead. As they neared the end of this corridor another door slid open. They passed through, and the door closed behind them. Smoothly and simply they were forced along corridors by doors that opened and closed. The steel corridors were smooth and doorless. They were under constant scrutiny. At last they entered a series of corridors that were different.
"Keep walking," Herrara's voice said.
They had seen no human being, nothing they could attack even with bare hands. Herded by opening and closing doors, watched on closed-circuit television, they marched now in corridors that reminded them of U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters. There were doors, windowless and smooth, but marked with small metal plaques. Casually, Illya looked at the plaques on the doors.
At last, after what seemed like a walk of a mile in the maze of corridors, a door opened and they saw the figure of the giant Gotz standing before them.
TWO
There were three men in the torture room. The giant, Gotz, and two smaller men in white coats. All around the walls were the instruments of torture—some old, like a simple hot iron glowing white in its brazier, some new, like a simple square box with electrodes for the temples.
Gotz was grinning, his eyes fixed on Napoleon Solo. One of the men in white stared at Illya, and the third man seemed to wet his puffy lips as he watched Mahyana enter the room. The voice of Marcus Fitzhugh came over the loudspeaker.
"Now we will learn about your pain levels," Fitzhugh said. "The three men who will, ah, accommodate you, have been very carefully chosen. Gotz, of course, will enjoy his work on Solo. The man staring at Kuryakin is a former Soviet scientist Mr. Kuryakin was involved in exiling in his early days. The third man takes particular pleasure in handling women, especially pretty ones. Proceed, gentlemen."