"Well?" Dr. Sagine said. "What do you see, MR. U.N.C.L.E. agent?
Solo said nothing. The snow-capped mountains in the distance reminded him of something. He had seen them before. Where...
"Do you see the river down there?" Dr. Sagine said. "Do you?"
"I see it," Solo said. He was trying to remember.
"Do you know what river that is?" Dr. Sagine asked him.
Solo got it then. Pike's Peak. He and Illya had been to Denver once on an assignment, and they had... The river! Of course, there was only one it could be.
"The Colorado River!" Napoleon Solo said.
"Yes, yes, the Colorado," Dr. Sagine said. "Quite correct." He laughed maniacally. "Four hours to go. Exactly four hours. Going to put the Sagine formula in that Colorado River down there, you know. Going to turn that river into a frozen bed of rock salt. What do you think of that, MR. U.N.C.L.E. agent?"
Solo spun it round. The Colorado River, the most important river in the Western United States. If it were crystallized, thousands of fertile acres of agricultural land in Arizona, Utah, Nevada and California that depended on water from the Colorado for irrigation would be reduced to barren wasteland. Electrical power derived from the huge dynamos at Hoover Dam would cease. Hundreds of thousands of people would be without drinking water.
"Only the first step, you know," Dr. Sagine said. "THRUSH wants a major test. After that, the formula goes into every main body of fresh water in the world. Simultaneously. Oh, yes, the Great Lakes, the Mississippi River, the Nile, The Amazon, the Congo, the Huang. All of them. In the mountains, too. Melting snow. All the fresh water reduced to rock salt. Millions of people at my mercy. I'm the only one who knows the antidote. The only one."
Spittle flecked Dr. Sagine's deformed lower lip. Solo stared at him, speechless. "Two days," Dr. Sagine said, his mad eyes alive with the fever of his affliction. "Two days to immortality! I'll have my revenge then. Oh. yes, they'll be sorry they laughed at me. THRUSH will see to that. Going to force the world powers to surrender under their terms. Extinction by thirst and famine if they don't. Tidal floods, too. I can do that. Just put in too much of the antidote. Food everything. Two days, Mr. U.N.C.L.E. agent. Two days, and THRUSH and I will rule the world!"
ACT IV: NO ESCAPE
The address Estrellita Valdone had given Illya Kuryakin was a rundown warehouse along the East River.
At nine o'clock, he stood on the deserted street in front of the warehouse. An ice-like, numbing wind blew in across the river, touching his face with chill fingers. It was very dark...there were no street lights...and the silence was deep except for the mournful howl of the wind.
An alleyway ran alongside of the warehouse to the left, a pit of blackness. The rear entrance, Estrellita had told him. Down the alleyway, up on to the pier.
She had sounded frightened on the phone. She had information about Napoleon Solo, and had come to New York to find Illya. But there had been two men on the plane, and they had followed her. A cousin of hers owned the warehouse, she said, and she was staying in a small room he had there. She had eluded the two men, but she was afraid to leave the warehouse for fear they would find her. He must come alone, she had said; he must trust no one. And he must make sure he was not followed.
A nice story, Illya Kuryakin thought as he stood on the dark street. He had passed over it at first, elated over the news that he might soon find out what had happened to Solo and where his friend was. But in the taxi ride over, he had begun to dwell on Estrellita's story, and had found holes in it you could drive the proverbial truck through.
Why had she come to New York at all? Why hadn't she simply gone to authorities in Mexico? And if there were some other reason then why hadn't she gone to the authorities here?-Why call him? He was supposed to be a mere photographer. What could she expect him to do that the police could not?
He had a strong feeling of uneasiness. There were things that disturbed him about Estrellita Valdone. She hadn't put in an appearance in Teclaxican the morning after their accident. She and Solo had had a dinner engagement; yet, when Solo had not shown up for it, she had not asked any questions of the hotel clerk as to his whereabouts. Illya had questioned the clerk and knew this for a fact.
Of course, it was possible that she had seen something that afternoon, after the accident, that had sent her into hiding. It could have been then she learned whatever it was she had to tell Illya. But he had thought of arguments against this; if she knew of Solo's whereabouts, then she must have seen him being taken somewhere. And if she had learned this the afternoon of the accident, then that would logically mean that Solo were still somewhere in Mexico. That being the case, Illya was right back to his original query. Why had she come to New York?
He was beginning, as they say, to smell a rat. Or, more correctly, a—THRUSH.
He debated his next move. He could go back to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, report his suspicions, and lead a raiding party back to the warehouse. But if he did that, there was the possibility that Estrellita would be gone when he returned. And that would leave them where they had started. In a blind alley.
Too, there was the chance that they had seen him arrive. They might be watching him now, hidden in the shadows. If he tried to leave they could stop him without any trouble. A well-placed bullet in the darkness, and you could scratch one U.N.C.L.E. operative.
He knew he had to go through with the meeting. He had to take the risk. U.N.C.L.E. was powerless now; they knew nothing of THRUSH's cabal. Inside that warehouse, one way or another, lay the answers to a lot of questions.
Illya Kuryakin entered the mouth of the alley. The blackness was absolute. He walked carefully, feeling his way along the side of the warehouse. He had gone no more than a few steps when he heard something. He stopped, listening. Quiet, and the howl of the wind. He took another step, his hand on the U.N.C.L.E. special at his side.
There was a scurrying sound directly in front of him, and a shapeless black form darted past him, brushing his leg. He eased the pressure of his hand on the gun. Cat, he thought. But his body did not relax.
He reached the end of the alley and stepped up onto a catwalk at the edge of the pier. Below, the black waters of the river churned at the pilings. The sting of the wind was more pronounced here, tugging at his clothing, chilling him. He walked carefully. One good, strong gust of that wind could send him plunging into the icy river. He would not last five minutes in the subzero waters.
He stepped up on to the pier itself, and went along it to where he found the door Estrellita had said would be there. He lifted his U.N.C.L.E. special from its holster, flicked off the safety, and thrust his right hand and the gun into the pocket of his overcoat. He rapped loudly on the door.
It was opened almost immediately. The white face of Estrellita Valdone peered around the jamb.
"Mr. Kuryakin?"
"Yes."
"Are you alone?"
"I'm alone."
She swung the door wider. He stepped past her, inside. A light glowed dimly at the far end of the warehouse. Estrellita shut the door, motioning for him to follow her, and they threaded their way through heaping rows of empty pallets, packing crates, and misshapen, canvas covered mounds, toward the light.