Illya reached the room he wanted and went in through the window. He crossed the room to the door. His move had to be fast and soundless. He took another small capsule from his pocket, took a deep breath, and jerked the door open. He was through the door and on the man in a second.
The guard leaped up. There was no sound on the deep pile carpet. The chair came away from the wall. The man half-turned toward him. Illya squeezed the capsule, caught the man, and dragged him into the room. He came back out, closed the door, and listened.
There had been no sound at all.
The radio transmitter still hummed faintly under the chair. Illya stepped past and went to the door that showed light. There were voices inside and a large keyhole. Illya bent down to look. He saw them through the keyhole. Two men and a woman, laughing and drinking champagne from a row of bottles in ice buckets. He could see no one else.
One of the men was the tall Premier M.M. Roy, the Lion of Zambala. The woman seemed vaguely familiar. Then she turned and he saw her face. For a moment he did not recognize the beautiful face. Then Solo's description came to him -Jezzi Mahal!
The woman laughing now, drinking champagne with Premier M.M. Roy, was Jezzi Mahal. The woman who had killed Inspector Tembo! The woman who was Colonel Brown's girl-friend! The woman who had been so deeply involved in the plot against the premier! The woman who now leaned on the tall, laughing premier, who turned up her beautiful face and kissed M.M. Roy!
And the third man, who raised his glass in a toast inside the guarded room, was Ahmed Bengali! All three of them laughed together—and Illya knew what they laughed at.
THREE
Illya kicked in the door, and stood there with his U.NC.L.E. Special covering all three of them. For a minute they stood with their champagne glasses raised, laughter still on their lips.
"Let me in on the joke," Illya said. "I enjoy a good laugh."
Premier M.M. Roy was a very well-trained diplomat. Shocked as he must have been, as much as the gaping mouths of the woman and Bengali showed they were, the tall premier managed a cool smile.
"Ah, Mr. Kuryakin. What a pleasant surprise. I thought you were on your way home."
"You were supposed to think that, Your Excellency," Illya said.
"So I gather," Roy said. "May I ask why? And just what you are doing in my private rooms with that weapon? The guard—"
"Is asleep," Illya said bluntly. "I'm afraid it was necessary to make you think you had fooled us."
"Fooled you?" Roy said, for the first time a faint edge of something coming into his voice.
"With the coup business," Illya said. "It wasn't done badly, but a trifle clumsily, I'm afraid. Especially your friend Bengali, there. He shouldn't have been quite so on-the-spot to be sure that we came back safely with our news of the coup by Colonel Brown."
Roy placed his champagne glass on a table. "I see."
"And he really should never have used our names. That was a bad mistake. How could he know our names? Even you did not know our names."
Roy looked sadly at Bengali, who was now quite pale. The dark security man began to stammer. Roy sighed.
"Really, Ahmed, you should have been more careful," Roy said.
The tall premier looked at Illya. "Well, just what do you have in mind?"
"I think the OAS will be most interested in a premier who fakes a coup so that he can declare a crisis and martial law. I presume you intended to liquidate Zamyatta and Colonel Brown at some convenient time after the heat had cooled," Illya said. "The relation between yourself and Miss Mahal will fascinate them. I imagine Bengali will tell us all."
The dark security man swore. "Why, you -"
"Yes, I imagine he would," Roy said. "Just what do you think 'all' may be, Mr. Kuryakin?"
"You faked attempts on your life, killed your own security chief. I expect Mura Khan was too honest. Bengali here will be more pliable. I assume that Bengali arranged much of the fake assassinations, the bombs, all the rest.
"I also expect that Nathan Bedford had seen Mr. Bengali, so he had to be killed. Did you do that, too, Bengali?"
"I'll do better with you, Kuryakin!" Bengali said.
"The purpose was to convince the world that Zambala was about to experience a coup and perhaps a civil war. You knew that the OAS, and the United States, would never stand for that here. You would expose the coup, prevent it, and be in complete charge for much longer than any election would allow."
The premier laughed. "But, Mr. Kuryakin, why would I do all that when my government was in no danger?"
"I think to create a crisis. You would be rid of all threats of an election loss, and you would create a sensitive area in Zambala, a crisis in which you could again be the hero."
"Not good enough, Mr. Kuryakin. Not at all," Roy said.
Illya shrugged. "What does it matter? Perhaps you are just insane. The facts speak for themselves. You did it, and we can prove it now. When we tell the world, I think there will be a new government in Zambala."
The new voice came not from behind Illya where the door was, but from his right. A fine, cultured voice.
"Alas, how true, Mr. Kuryakin. A new government, and I could not allow that. You are right, and how unfortunate for you!"
Illya began to turn.
"Drop the weapon, please, Mr. Kuryakin."
Illya dropped his Special and turned toward the voice. There were five men standing in front of a secret passage into the room. Four of them were black-clad soldiers. The fifth smiled at Illya Kuryakin.
* * *
Solo entered the mansion of O'Hara as silently as a snake. The boyish agent crossed the large living room to the bookcase. He pressed the secret button. The bookcase opened. Solo went inside and the bookcase closed behind him.
The girl agent at the desk smiled at him.
"We thought you had left, Mr. Solo."
Solo looked around quickly. "Er, yes, I did leave, but I came back. May I have my badge?"
The girl handed him his badge. Then she tensed as if sensing something.
"Does Mr. O'Hara expect you?"
"I doubt it," Solo said pleasantly.
The girl reached for the pistol in the holster behind her back. It was the correct procedure for a field headquarters—no one entered U.N.C.L.E. Field Headquarters anywhere in the world without the written consent of the agent-in-charge, or without the agent-in-charge having notified the reception desk of the arrival. No one, not even Mr. Waverly or any other member of Section I!
The girl acted as she had been trained—but she had made the error of not acting at once, lulled by her acquaintance with Napoleon Solo.
Solo caught her as gently as he could, pressed the spot on her neck, and she slumped in his arms. He returned her to her chair. He hurried down the small corridor. The alarm system passed him, of course, since he was wearing the badge the girl had so carelessly given him. He reached O'Hara's office. The TV camera scanned him—and O'Hara made the same error. The door opened.
O'Hara looked up and saw Solo standing there with his U.NL.C.L.E. Special aimed straight at O'Hara. The Zambalan chief-agent blinked, opened his mouth, and then started to reach for a button.
"Ah, ah!" Solo said. "No, O'Hara, don't. I would be forced to put you to sleep and ask my questions in private with pentathol."