Nevertheless April didn't want to lose visual track yet, because she hoped to glimpse the men who had abducted Napoleon. The Ford made its way into the marketplace on the north side of town, where foot traffic was so heavy that the cars bogged down in a sea of orientals.
April observed three men getting out with Napoleon, and she quickly paid off her driver and leaped out of the taxi. She couldn't make out any faces, but by jumping up from time to time she could follow the four men as they wended their way through the throng. Then she got a chance to close in as the foursome ran into some sort of demonstration in the street, and the crowd in front of her momentarily thinned. But just as she was about to exploit her advantage she felt a strong hand close around her arm.
April Dancer's instincts directed her to bring her arm up to break the lock, then grab her assailant around the neck and drop to one knee. But while her nerves were tensing for the judo throw she recognized the voice. It was Don Wirts' drawl. "I thought for sure you'd been carried away by white slavers. I been looking all over creation for you, honey!"
His simple, grinning face blocked her view of Napoleon. "You lug, get out of my way." She thrust him aside and jumped up to see if her quarry were still visible. But Napoleon and his guardians were gone.
If it hadn't been a matter of life or death. April would have found Don's expression of injured dismay laughable. And if it weren't so genuine she might have suspected him of engineering this encounter. But no, he wasn't a THRUSH agent. He was simply a well-meaning oaf whose solicitude for her just might bring about the destruction of Singapore.
THREE
THE FIRST THING Napoleon Solo had done when ushered into the English Ford was hook a barbed, miniaturized radio transmitter on the pants of the man next to him. It was practically invisible, but it didn't have to be very big, for all it did was emit a steady beeping. It could do so for weeks. Napoleon prayed that the man was not planning to change his clothes immediately.
Seconds after taking this precaution he felt, as he'd expected, the jab of a hypodermic needle in his arm, and without hesitation an anesthetic—probably sodium pentathol—swept over his consciousness like the waves of the sea.
When he revived he'd been stripped and dressed in a pair of white pajamas. He was on a cot in a cell, looking into the round face of the man bearing the signal transmitter. Napoleon let his eyes wander to the man's pants, and the tiny silver nodule, looking like a feathery seed clinging to the fabric, was still there.
The man pointed a rather lethal looking Mauser at Napoleon's eyes, and gestured with it towards the open cell door, outside which stood another guard. The agent cleared his head, rose unsteadily, and staggered out.
They led him down a shiny, white-plastered corridor and into a dim chamber with a desk, some chairs, and a circle of oriental guards in white pajamas, the snouts of their Sten guns trained on choice parts of Napoleon's anatomy.
Behind the desk sat a powerfully built man with slanted eyes, straight dark hair, and an expression of monumental confidence.
"Kae Soong, I presume," said Napoleon.
The man smiled. "You would be Mr. Solo, if my dossiers don't deceive me."
Napoleon did not acknowledge.
"Mr. Solo, I would like to know why you have permitted yourself to be trapped."
"I wanted to meet you."
"You now have that pleasure. But am I unduly suspicious in suggesting you have your associates following you?"
"They aren't following me, but I'm sure they're looking for me."
"I prefer to think your organization is not as haphazard as that. Acting on that assumption, I have prepared a welcome for any that dare think my headquarters are an open house." He scanned Napoleon's eyes for a reaction but found none to raise his hopes. "But it is of no consequence. This place will be abandoned tomorrow morning. Our work is done. Mr. Solo, now that you've located me, I imagine you must be brimming with questions."
"Only one. Where is Edward Dacian?"
"In our custody. In fact, he occupies the cell next to yours. If you would like to share his cell, we'll gladly accommodate you. I'm afraid you won't find his company terribly stimulating, however. He's rather dull these days. But he'll liven up, as the saying goes, when he sees the fireworks display we've planned for the city of Singapore."
"I guess it goes without saying that I'm invited too."
"Oh," smiled Kae Soong, "your presence is indispensable to its success. Although if you did miss this one, you would still have an opportunity to see many more around the world. We have a large number of them planned for the near future."
"Then Dacian—"
"Has told us everything." He nodded at his captive as if to conclude the interview. "There is much to be done, so if you'll excuse me—"
He rose, and Napoleon's arms were gripped by the strong hands of two guards. He was led, almost carried, back to the cell block, but this time was thrown into an occupied room. It took a minute to adjust his eyes to the darkness, but when he finally could make out the bundle on the cot next to the far wall he was appalled. The features belonged to Edward Dacian, but the emaciated body and hollow countenance belonged to a survivor of a concentration camp.
FOUR
AFTER IDENTIFYING and introducing herself over the communicator, April told Illya of her progress in locating Napoleon Solo. "I found the car and watched it for four hours, but nobody claimed it. I have someone watching it now, but I can't just sit around and wait. Who knows how long it will be before they go back to the car—and how can we be sure the car belongs to THRUSH at all?"
Illya held silence for a moment, then asked, "What makes you think he attached the transmitter to the car?"
She pursued her lips as if struck by a revelation. "I don't know—I just assumed—"
"Let's assume that's an illogical assumption," Illya said, "and go on from there. We tag cars only when we can't tag people. The reason is obvious. Cars can be abandoned permanently or for long periods of time. So we try to hook our tracers onto individuals. How close are you to the car?"
"A few blocks away."
"Follow the beeps and see if they lead to the car."
April did as Kuryakin suggested, and when she got to the car, where she'd left Don in attendance, she signaled Illya. "I'm ashamed to say it—"
"We don't have time to be ashamed. Follow the signal as far as is safe, then buzz me again when you've located the source. Is that Don still with you?"
"He's looking at me now as if I'm a madwoman."
"Get rid of him immediately."
Don Wirts' mouth was wide open.
"You're a policewoman!" he gasped. "You're a spy, I'll bet. That's why—"
"I've no time to explain," April Dancer said, "but if you want to do your country a service, continue to watch this car and I'll contact you as soon as I can. If you see anyone get into it, remember what he looks like and follow him. But keep out of trouble."
"Gosh!" he exclaimed, and then added, as April fled down an alley way, "I hope she's on the good side."
Like a bloodhound baying after a strong scent, April followed the twists of Singapore's streets according to the strengths and weaknesses of the signal on her receiver. The beeping grew louder as she approached what seemed to be a complex of city administration buildings, and when she entered a small plaza the intensity of the beeps confirmed that she'd closed in on her quarry. Even if she'd had no receiver, the presence of two sinister Chinese outside a two-story, white-brick edifice would have told her she'd found what she was looking for. April communicated her location to Illya.