Illya cursed silently. To strike Dargon would be to admit that the evil organization had succeeded. Dargon realized this. Hence his amusement. Illya silently pummeled his mind for an answer.
In a moment he had one. Carefully he composed his face for the bluff.
"Well, Dargon, I suppose you are correct."
"Yes, it will be impossible for you to establish communication with Hong Kong."
Carefully Illya slid his hand down to the thick folds of his lama robe. His fingers probed until he found what he wanted. In the dark he moved his hand back from his knee.
"So we could not alert the proper authorities as to General Weng's whereabouts even if we wished," he said, trying to sound as dolorous as possible. "Where does he have the unit set up, by the way?"
"On a junk in the harbor. It is a large vessel with a black storm cloud painted on its sail. Quite appropriate."
"In a grisly way," Illya said. "The harbor, eh? Did you select the site?"
"Experimental meteorological studies led us to the conclusion that the harbor basin in the vicinity of Smiling Fish Quay would facilitate the widest sweep for the generator, and afford maximum destruction of the area surrounding the Hotel International."
"I like a man who knows his subject,"' Illya grinned. "Thank you very much, Doctor." He pulled the pocket communicator from his robe, depressing the appropriate stud.
Dargon's eyes seemed to swell behind his lenses. "There is nothing you can do with the information, Kuryakin. Radio contact with Hong Kong is impossible. You said as much. I heard for myself -"
Uncertainty put a catch in Dargon's tone. He licked his lips.
"You're quite correct, Doctor," Illya said. "I cannot establish contact with the Hong Kong authorities by using the radio transmitter in this aircraft. And by the time we land in the Crown Colony, the damage will be done. U.N.C.L.E. however, has thoughtfully provided these little communicators, which your Tibetan cohorts did not discover when they searched me."
Illya showed Dargon the small box-like affair. "It's power is startling, Doctor. And its anti-interference properties are excellent. Let's see what we can do with your tidbits via our headquarters. Watch him carefully, Mei." Then, into the communicator: "Open Channel D, please. Extreme urgent priority."
Following several wheeps and crackles, a familiar voice said, "Waverly here."
"This is Kuryakin, sir."
For once, Waverly did not sound phlegmatic. "Mr. Kuryakin! This is incredible."
"At forty thousand feet above Red China in a THRUSH aircraft, I am inclined to agree."
"I thought you were dead, Mr. Kuryakin."
Illya's Words raced ahead of his thoughts: "It's Napoleon, sir. He's the one who didn't make it. General Weng of THRUSH captured him and I'm afraid he - I'm dead?"
"Mr. Kuryakin, evidently there has been a breakdown of communications between you and your cohort." Waverly cleared his throat, "Only moments ago I spoke with Mr. Solo in Hong Kong. He informed me THRUSH had liquidated you. Mr. Solo is attempting to find and destroy the THRUSH Weather generator, which is already causing a storm of catastrophic proportions. A difficult task, since we don't know where it is."
Illya allowed himself a grin. "Sir, I know the whereabouts of the generator. I can't raise Hong Kong on the plane's radio but I should be able to contact Napoleon on the communicator. I thought that he had been -"
"Brevity is the soul of survival for Hong Kong, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly interrupted. "We shall open and clear all channels at once. I suggest that you get busy relaying your information to Mr. Solo."
"At once," Illya said, thumbing off the D band. Simultaneously, Dr. Dargon began to burble and bleat:
"Gulled! Gulled and deceived! You'll pay for tricking me -!"
Before Illya could whip round to fend him off, Dargon fastened his hands on Illya's throat and at the same time thrust forward with all his strength.
Illya tore at the fingers biting the flesh of his neck. Dargon slammed Illya's head against the instrument panel. Various switches and controls were knocked out of adjustment. Warning lights blazed and blinked. The fighter-bomber began to veer and tilt downward toward the cloud bank.
Illya struggled. Dargon was panting like an enraged bull. He pounded Illya's head against the console with a thud, and another, and another.
The edges of Illya's mind grew stained with darkness. The fighter-bomber was into a dive, its altitude dropping alarmingly. Once more Illya tried to rip the murdering fingers from his neck but couldn't get a grip on them. His mind was getting fuzzier by the second…
Two
Another power line came whipping down like an electrified snake, directly in Napoleon Solo's path.
Blue fire danced and hissed over huge puddles of water. Solo jerked back from the puddle into which he had almost skidded.
Two ambulances passed at the next intersection, sirens going at full. One raced on out of sight. A mammoth gust of wind picked up the other and drove it into the wall of a building where it crashed and burst into flames.
Solo staggered into the cover of a shop front, which was already beginning to totter. He pulled the frantically beeping pocket communicator from his sodden shirt.
"Mr. Waverly?" he shouted into the box, "I haven't had time to find it yet -"
"If you would kindly stop bellowing, Napoleon," said a tinny voice, "I know where you can locate the generator."
"Illya! Where are you?"
"Sitting with a headache in a THRUSH airplane. Never mind that. I thought you were dead."
"I thought you were dead."
"The reports of our deaths have been greatly exaggerated. Dr. Dargon told me the location of the generator because he thought it was impossible for me to communicate with Hong Kong. I called Waverly on the communicator. He said that you had escaped Weng's tender mercies. I was in the process of calling you when Dargon tried to throttle me. I apologize for the delay, but it took Mei a minute or so to work up enough nerve to put a bullet into Dargon's stomach. He has designed his last unpleasant device for THRUSH."
More citizens went streaming by in the torrential rain. Their screams of fear trailed behind them. Solo said, "The city can't last much longer in this storm. Where's the generator?"
In thirty seconds Solo had left the shop front a block behind. It promptly collapsed.
A bolt of lightning lit the rain-swept foot of Smiling Fish Quay. The air smelled of ozone and decayed fish. Solo went sliding and skidding along the drenched cobbles to the quay's edge.
The only human being in sight was a fisherman kneeling in a cul-de-sac a few yards away. He was praying to be spared from the impromptu typhoon. Solo bent over. His back kept the rain off Miss Fong's pistol, which he pulled from his belt and checked.
The lightning fizzled into darkness. Thunder pealed so loudly it hurt his ears. Visually Solo tried to sort out the hundreds of wildly pitching junks and sampans moored in this part of the harbor. No lights showed anywhere, except on the distant mainland where they gleamed dimly through the driving rain.
Solo jumped aboard the nearest sampan, which was damaged, but still afloat.
It lurched terrifically under him. A monster wave washed over the deck and nearly pitched him into the water. The rain was coming at him almost horizontally because of the wind's force.