"Because I am pretty sure that General Valera is the leader on the other side," Solo said. "I think General Valera is the man in charge of Project Condor. He has taken my partner prisoner, and has him on that island in the swamp."
Montoya slowly twirled his dark mustache. "General Valera, you say?"
The dark colonel stared hard at Solo. Montoya did not leap to Valera's defense, did not fly into a rage of outraged honor. Instead the colonel seemed to be thinking, considering, watching Solo very carefully.
"You tell me that General Valera is actually a traitor?"
"I think he is a top leader of Thrush. You've heard of Thrush?"
Montoya nodded slowly. "I have heard of this Thrush."
"Then you know how dangerous this affair is. You have to get through to General Hoyos," Solo said. "You can check up on why Valera isn't here where he should be!"
A tall, gaunt figure loomed in the entrance to the field tent. The cadaverous face stared at Solo and then at Colonel Montoya. Montoya had leaped to his feet at the sight of the tall man.
"But he is here, and if you have anything to ask, ask Valera himself!"
General Miguel Valera stood in the doorway flanked by four of his special staff. They were all armed. Solo looked at the armed men, and at Montoya.
"Who is this man, Colonel Montoya?" General Valera asked.
"He claims to be one Napoleon Solo of an organization named The United Network Command For Law and Enforcement."
Valera snorted. "A spy! Shoot him!"
"His credentials seem genuine," Montoya said.
"Forged, my dear Montoya. Anyone can forge a set of U.N.C.L.E. credentials, especially a Thrush agent," Valera said.
"He claims that you are a Thrush leader, General," Montoya said.
"And do you believe him, Colonel Montoya?" Valera snapped.
"Of course not, but, with your permission, his credentials should be checked," Montoya said.
"Shoot him! I, Valera, take responsibility!"
Montoya stared straight ahead. "With your permission, my General, you are not empowered to shoot without a trial."
"Empowered? Fool, I command in the field! That is all the power I need, you know that," Valera snapped.
"With your permission, such power was removed by General Hoyos when he assumed the Defense post. Article Twelve of the new Military Code."
"The devil with Article Twelve," Valera snapped. "But if it bothers you, Colonel, I will simply take your prisoner off your hands. You agree I am 'empowered' to do that much?"
"Yes, General," Montoya said "But, with your permission, I think the matter should be taken to General Hoyos. This man has, of course, made some mistake about you, but he may well be who he claims to be, and—"
Valera stared at Montoya. The eyes of the gaunt general were grim and careful.
"I see," Valera broke in. "General Hoyos, eh? And if I take your prisoner, you will, of course, immediately inform General Hoyos of that fact?"
"Of course. It would be my clear duty." Montoya said.
Valera nodded. A pistol seemed to appear in his thin hand. There was a sharp, soft cracking sound. Montoya seemed to leap backwards and sprawl out flat on the ground. Valera held his silenced pistol and looked down at the dead man. Then he holstered the pistol.
"Come," Valera said to his men. "Bring Solo."
Outside, Valera called over two of the soldiers of Headquarters Company of the 16th Regiment. The soldiers stood at rigid attention.
"Colonel Montoya does not wish to be disturbed," Valera said crisply. "Is that clear? I will return later, see that no one bothers the colonel at his work."
"Yes, General," the soldiers said in unison.
"Very good," Valera said. And to his men, "Bring the prisoner." Solo was marched to the grey Bentley and pushed inside. The touring car drove off. Once out of sight of the soldiers of the Sixteenth Regiment, the grey car turned toward the island in the swamp where the space station waited to be launched. Valera smiled.
"So, Mr. Solo, now we have you all."
"They'll find Montoya," Solo said.
"Of course. But what will they learn from a dead man?"
Valera began to laugh aloud.
TWO
SOLO STOOD in the dark night. The four guards watching him. Valera faced an angry Dr. Guerre. The cherubic little man still looked like some rotund pixie despite his anger.
"Kill them or throw him into the pit with the others, Council Member," Guerre said. "We have wasted too much time on them as it is. We will have to launch at dawn; they will find Montoya! Did you have to kill him? Stupid!"
"They will learn nothing from a dead man," Valera snapped. "And may I remind you who is in charge here?"
"You may remind me forever," Guerre roared, "but it is my project! I have waited too long to let you ruin it. Do you think I need a computer to tell me that Waverly will put two and two together once Hoyos informs him of Montoya's death? Those soldiers saw you in that tent, you fool! They will talk to anyone."
Valera turned purple with anger. "How dare you call—"
"Oh shut up! The space station goes at dawn; we cannot risk discovery! When will you Thrush fools learn that Waverly is as good or better than your damned computer!? Kill them now, if you have to. That is about what you are good for, to kill gadflies!"
Valera boiled with rage. "You take care of your project, Dr. Guerre; leave U.N.C.L.E. to me. You did not do very well with them in New Mexico. I think they are too valuable to kill. Once Condor is in orbit, we will still need other information. Condor alone will not bring us the world."
"Then throw this one into the pit with the others and be damned!" Guerre raged. "I have work!"
The fat little man turned and waddled off into the night. Valera, still in a rage, barked an order. The four men hustled Solo to the edge of a yawning pit. Valera turned and strode off after Guerre, his eyes blazing with rage against the fat Doctor. The four men bound Solo's hands, looped a rope under his arms, and lowered him into the pit.
On the bottom Solo lay in soft dirt. He felt the rope jerk; then it was loose and going up. He saw the faint faces of the four soldiers far- off above. The pit was at least thirty feet deep. Solo lay there struggling in his bonds. Then he heard a noise. The face of Illya Kuryakin peered down at him. The blond agent grinned and went to work on his ropes.
A few moments later Solo sat up, free. He smiled at Illya.
"At least we can play cards, if we had any cards," Solo said.
Illya shook his head.
"You don't feel like talking?" Solo said.
Illya shook his head again, pointed to his mouth. Solo stared. Illya pointed to his mouth, shook his head, shrugged.
"You can't talk?" Solo said. "They used that drug on you?"
Illya nodded, pointed off into the dark at the bottom of the pit. Solo looked and saw a figure. The figure moved, sat up. It was Penny Parsons. At least the girl was still alive, but there was fear in her eyes.
"Did they drug her too?" Solo asked.
Illya nodded. The girl just stared as if in a trance. Solo looked around.
"At least they left us our clothes again. Shoes, too, this time," Solo said.
Illya held out his flat suitcase. Then the blond agent pointed up, and at the walls, and shrugged, tossed the case away. Solo watched Illya, and then walked and touched the walls of the pit. Soft dirt everywhere.