"I will expedite a full U.N.C.L.E. raiding unit to Granite River as quickly as possible. They will mobilize there, and at dawn attack the fortress."
"I had better lead the unit," Solo said. "I know the area now."
"No, Mr. Solo," Waverly said. "You have been through quite enough. You are to remain at the ranger station. In bed."
I've been on this assignment from the start," Solo said stubbornly. "I want to be in on it at the finish."
"You are to remain at the Ranger station," Waverly repeated in a firm voice. "That is an order, Mr. Solo."
"But sir..."
"An order, I repeat! " Waverly barked. He hung up.
Waverly sat staring at the silent receiver. He knew Napoleon Solo's carefree, almost indifferent, attitude toward his job with U.N.C.L.E. was just an elaborate facade hiding the true, dedicated patriot within.
TWO
At the first yellowish rays of dawn the following morning, Illya Kuryakin stood on the observation deck of Hoover Dam. A chill, whistling wind tugged at his heavy mackinaw, numbing his face beneath the parka hood.
At the base of the dam stretching upstream as far as he could see, was a frozen, stilled floor of white. Lake Mead, the lake formed by the presence of Hoover Dam and extending some one-hundred fifteen miles upstream, and beyond that the raging Colorado River, were now nothing more than rock salt.
Beside Illya, the director of Hoover Dam said, "We closed all the locks and spillways, and shut down the dynamos, as soon as we received word from Washington last night. It appears as if we were in time."
Illya Kuryakin nodded. Downstream, as he had seen moments before, the Colorado flowed on its natural course. They had managed to halt the crystalisation at the dam, saving, as Waverly had said, thousands of acres of fertile land that depended on the Colorado for irrigation.
Illya had arrived at the Dam a few minutes earlier. He had taken an U.N.C.L.E. jet from New York to Las Vegas, waited impatiently for a heavy storm there to subside, and then had gone by helicopter to Hoover Dam. The entire dam had of course, been blocked off, and the copter had set down without obstruction in the visitor's parking lot.
He had received the news that Napoleon Solo was safe while aboard the jet enroute to Las Vegas. Waverly had radioed, telling him what Solo had learned and informing him of the course of action U.N.C.L.E. was taking.
Illya had asked Waverly if he could join Solo at Granite River for the assault on the THRUSH fortress in the Rockies, and had been told that he was to continue on to Hoover Dam and remain there until further instructions. Waverly did not elaborate as to his reasons for wanting Illya there.
Illya was dissatisfied. He felt left out of things. He did not want to be stuck here on the concrete dam; the need for positive action, fed by the long hours and days of waiting, was strong inside him. Why had Waverly wanted him to remain here when he could...?
He realized the director was speaking to him "...cold out here," the director said. "Why don't you come down to my office? I have some coffee there."
"All right," Illya said glumly.
Inside the director's office, Illya sat with a steaming cup of black coffee, wondering how the U.N.C.L.E. attack on the THRUSH fortress, now underway, was progressing.
The director, sitting across from him behind a large desk, chewed his lip.
"Frankly, Mr. Kuryakin," he said finally, "This is the gravest situation we've ever faced here. There have been heavy snow storms in the Rockies of late. Because of that, there will be a strong run-off of snow into the Colorado. Will this fresh water crystallize upon contact with the already hardened water?"
"I'm not sure," Illya said. "I should think it would."
"That's what I was afraid of," the director said. "You say there is an antidote for the process?"
"Yes."
"Unless this antidote were placed into the river carefully, in some way regulating the flow of the water, then we are faced with a danger of floods. There is a tremendous volume of water built up in the mountains, and the flow is regulated through our facilities here. But we are only able to handle 4,400,000 cubic yards capacity. Anything above that would have disastrous effects."
"I'll notify our people to use it only with the utmost caution when they confiscate the antidote." Illya did not mention the possibility the assault might fail. He didn't even want to ponder that potentiality.
The director nodded. "It will have to be used soon," he said, "before too great a volume of water can build in the mountains."
Using his U.N.C.L.E. communicator, Illya Kuryakin contacted Mr. Waverly in New York and imparted this information. U.N.C.L.E. headquarters was in a state of suspense waiting to learn how the invasion of the fortress was progressing. To that moment, they had received no communication.
For the next two hours Illya sat in the director's office. The continued inactivity was telling on his nerves. Finally, the immobility became too much for him, and he told the director he was going up to the observation deck again, to get some air.
The chill wind seemed to have increased in velocity outside. Illya walked along the observation deck, hands in the pockets of his mackinaw, brooding. He looked down at the frozen floor of salt, thinking how very close THRUSH had come in this single bid for world domination. And it wasn't over yet. If THRUSH had managed to get a large quantity of the salt chemical out of that mountain fortress.
Waverly had told him that the interceptor planes he had sent into the area the night before had encountered nothing. Unless they got it out before, Illya thought. Better give Mr. Waverly another call. Maybe...
In the quiet of the early morning and with the dynamos in the dam beneath him shut down, Illya heard the helicopter before he saw it.
He tilted his head back, ears straining, peering up into the cold, gray sky. He saw it finally, coming in from the west, across Lake Mead, a tiny speck at first, and then looming larger as it approached the dam.
He thought at first that it was an U.N.C.L.E. helicopter, sent by Mr. Waverly for some reason. But as it neared, he saw that it was smaller, a different model than that used by U.N.C.L.E.
THRUSH! Of course! That was why Waverly had wanted him to remain at Hoover Dam; he had suspected that THRUSH might come there to inspect its handiwork.
Illya turned and began to run toward the helicopter that had brought him to Hoover Dam, sitting silently in the empty parking lot at one end of the observation deck. His blood raced. Finally he was going to get a chance to act.
He reached the helicopter. It was empty. Where was that blasted pilot? He looked again at the approaching helicopter. It had reached the far end of the dam, coming over the bluff there.
No time to look for the pilot now, Illya thought. He slid into the cockpit, fastened the safety belt, and switched on the ignition. He let the rotary blades revolve slowly, warming, and stared upward through the glass dome.
They had seen him. The-other helicopter slowed, halting its approach, and then banked sharply, turning, and started back the way it had come. Illya shoved the throttle on the U.N.C.L.E. copter forward, and it rose, gliding left as he hurriedly maneuverd the controls.
His face grim, Illya chased after the helicopter.