Yet hadn't Solo pegged Caillou's behavior at Orly Airport as surreptitious, the actions of a man sick with fright'?
And most mystifying of all, why couldn't Caillou remember him? If it hadn't been for him and Solo, Caillou's carcass would now be rotting under a few feet of desert sand.
Still, the shaky condition of world finance, of the World Bank itself, could explain erratic behavior, even Caillou's not recognizing him at once, unexpectedly confronting him in his own office.
"Why shouldn't I get in here?" Illya asked, watching the banker. The years had made inroads. The thin face was lined, the hair grayer, the eyes less lively. "In France one can always find someone to bribe, eh?"
Caillou did not smile.
Illya laughed. "And anyhow, an old Arab buddy of yours from firing squad days like me—who would be heartless enough to deny me entrance through your private exit?"
Caillou studied him intently. A look of relief washed across his face. He came around the desk, hand extended. "Of course! How stupid of me! Of course, you're Il1—Illya—"
"Kuryakin," Illya said warmly, shaking hands.
"Kuryakin, the man who saved me from a firing squad. How good it is to see you again, ma chere ami."
He nodded toward a leather chair pulled near his ornate desk. He placed his hat upon a hat tree, studied himself in the dark mirror, sat behind his desk.
"You met another old friend a few nights ago, Lester," Illya said. "At Orly Airport. You didn't recognize him, either."
Caillou appeared to search desperately in the files of his mind. "Solo—Napoleon Solo?"
Illya smiled. "He was upset when you brushed him off."
"Brushed Solo off? What does this mean? I was upset. Yes. This terrible business. So much on my mind. I hope you will apologize to him." Then Caillou sank back, hardly at ease, even in his own office. "In what way may I serve you?"
Illya grinned. "Solo and I had hoped to be of service to you— with your help, of course."
"Anything. But how could you hope to serve me?"
"I'm sure it's no news to you that the dollar, the pound and the ruble have been devalued in the world market. A sudden, inexplicable drop in their value, a demand for gold payments—"
"A desperate situation—for some countries."
Illya stared at him, frowning. "Lester! Those nations lead the world."
"Perhaps it is time for a new world leader."
"Is this you talking? Surely De Gaulle's government knows a devalued dollar will further depress the franc—"
"It is nothing Bon Charlie would wish."
Illya leaned forward. "We've a good idea who would want panic and fiscal chaos. That's why I've come to you."
"Me?"
Caillou straightened. "What would I have to do with such matters?"
"You've gotten nervous since the old days in Iran," Kuryakin said. "Staying alive in the world of finance can be a slower, but more agonizing death than that of the firing squad, my friend.
"We plan to expose the plot to wreck money values. We plan to expose the people behind it. I came to you as an old friend to enlist your aid in checking on the actions taken in international monetary affairs. We believe that through you, we can locate the people responsible and expose them."
After a moment Caillou nodded. "Naturally I'll do anything I can."
Illya smiled and stood up. "Good. This is what we were sure we'd hear from you."
"What else would you anticipate to hear from an old friend?"
Illya laughed and nodded. "Right. You see, I still wear it." He held up his wrist, shooting his cuff and displaying the twin to the Swiss chronometer worn by Solo.
"What?" Caillou looked con fused.
"The watch, Lester!"
Caillou gazed at the watch, puzzled. "Yes. Very nice watch, indeed."
Illya caught his breath and retreated a step, staring at the banker.
Caillou stiffened. "What's wrong, old friend?"
Illya dampened his lips with the tip of his tongue. "Nothing, old friend, I've just sort of goofed, that's all."
He continued to back across the lavishly furnished office, not taking his gaze from Caillou's face. He reached behind him, turned the knob. He opened the door, stepped out into the midoffice of the suite.
Closing Caillou's door, Illya turned and walked swiftly toward the reception room.
Entering it, he heard the rasping buzz of the intercom summon Yvonne into Caillou's inner
Yvonne sat at her desk, face gray. She ignored the buzzer. She stared up at Illya.
"It's been one of those mornings when nothing goes right, hasn't it?" Illya said sympathetically. He walked out.
The buzzer continued waspishly. Yvonne got up, entered Caillou's office.
Caillou stood in the center of the room. He held out a small card with a telephone number on it. His hand shook.
"Get me a private, outside line," he ordered. "Call this number."
"For whom shall I ask?"
Caillou's voice crackled in rage.
"Never mind! Just get me the outside line. I'll talk to whoever answers."
PART TWO
INCIDENT OF A WORLD IN PANIC
ILLYA OPENED the corridor door of Caillou's office and stepped outside.
"Kuryakin!"
The name was whispered at him, hissed.
He wheeled around. He was not fast enough. As he turned, leaded gloves smashed across his eyes. He grunted in pain, and so did Albert.
Sickness spread out through Illya from the bridge of his nose.
Rocked on his heels, Illya staggered. He toppled against a wall and shook his head, trying to clear it.
Albert advanced upon him.
Illya gazed up through an occluding red haze at the pointed beard and old-bronze features of the Moor.
The Moor laughed. "So I get you at last, eh?"
Illya managed to speak lightly through the pain clouding his mind. "What kept you?"
Albert showed him the snout of a Biretta. "Never mind that. Do you come quietly?"
Illya looked at the gun.
"The only way to go," he said. He straightened. Albert inclined his head toward the rear of the corridor.
"I warn you," Albert said. "Do not push me. You are worth nothing to us alive."
"You keep talking like this, Albert, and I'll begin to think you don't like me," Illya said.
Albert snorted. "Keep walking."
They passed the bank of public lifts, walked to the service elevator.
Keeping the gun fixed on Illya, Albert pressed the button.
The doors parted. Albert motioned with the gun. Illya preceded him into the cage
The elevator plunged downward.
Suddenly Illya lurched toward the controls, grabbed the lever, thrusting it downward.
Albert pressed the trigger instinctively,
The sound was like a cannon in the metal cage.
The roar reverberated through the well, bouncing off the sump and the roof.
The bullet imbedded itself inches from Illya in the metal. He wheeled around, whistling. "I never thought you'd do that. They must have heard that in every part of this building!"
"I could have gotten you between the eyes if I wished."
"What would you do carrying a corpse around?"
"Keep pushing me! You will find out!" Albert stepped forward, waving the gun. "Let go of that handle!"