"His plane is due to touch down in half an hour," he murmured. "Right on sunset. The Thrush big boys have been there almost an hour. She will be giving them the first sales pitch by now, and anxiously waiting for him with the new supply of modules. It's going to be tight. You sure he's fit?"
"Of course I'm not sure," Susan retorted, the edge on her voice revealing her tension. "I've said all along that he should have had at least another week under observation and therapy. But you would have it that we couldn't spare the time."
"Don't blame me, blame the circumstances," he said. And it was true.
As Solo had pointed out himself: "I'm overdue. I was instructed to fly direct to her from Miami, and the longer I'm delayed the more suspicious she is going to get. I know we have a cover story laid on, but that's too thin to be stretched very far."
And there had been another spur to speed. Keen-eyed observers had reported all the signs of another gathering of the big Thrush people at the candy floss palace. The reason was obvious, as Waverly had pointed out.
"The Countess works out her operations very carefully. Obviously this meeting follows on the acquisition of a new set of modules and is the moment for more sales. And each one of those sinister delegates will be carrying a quarter of a million dollars in cash. This is a moment that might not come again in years. We have to seize it."
So the plans had been worked out and set in motion at top speed. Solo had been able to help a great deal with inside information. He had been supplied with fake modules. He had described, as precisely as he could, the electronic setup, and the yacht carried equipment to jam any frequency the Countess might use, as a last resort. But, as Solo had been able to warn ahead of time,
"Be careful how you go, if you have to break in. That palace is booby-trapped like nothing you ever saw. Louise has it stuffed from floor to roof with priceless art treasures, and she takes no chances with them."
He reviewed that, and other things, as he sat in the plane and stared down at the green and blue beauty of the island now spinning and turning below as the pilot wheeled to get into position for the run in. Just barely, he could see the yacht, properly in position. He slid a hand into his pocket to get out his communicator and murmur into it.
"Puppydog to Goldilocks. Any bumps?"
"Not a wrinkle, so far." The reply was prompt. "The birds are gathered safely in. I shall go swimming at dusk. Shine blue when you need me. Good luck, and out!"
Solo carefully deactivated his instrument and put it away. In the same movement he peeled a thin strip of lead foil from the module that was stuck to his jawbone with flesh-colored plastic, knowing that Crawford White, who was one of the strong-arm party below, would be simultaneously removing his module. So far as they could tell, Louise had not detected the switch at all. He hoped she would not detect this second one. He eyed the red warning in front of him and spoke it aloud, ruefully.
"Fasten your seatbelts, hah! You're not kidding!"
Purple-red dusk was rolling down from the mountains as the airport taxi set him down by the steel-frame gates, wheeled away and went protesting back up the steep little side road. Solo stepped close, directed a long arm through the grille and round the corner to the switch that sent the gates swinging open.
There had been no hint of communication from Louise. He would have been able to feel it had there been any. The fact bothered him. He leaned on the gates to close them and began walking up the drive. That walk seemed to have no end. His nerves were on tiptoe and every shadow offered refuge for possible danger, a temptation to alarm. The biggest worry of all was that with Louise rules were elastic. She could make them, and keep to them, so long as it suited her. But she could also toss them out of the window as and when she felt like it.
She must know, by now, that he was near. For instance, she must know that he had entered the gateway. That gate could be electrified, to discourage unwanted guests from leaning on it. And you had to lean on it to move it. But there had been no jolt, so perhaps he was clear. Perhaps! On the other hand it could well be that she was playing with him. You could never be sure.
By the time he reached the stone steps and began to mount he was moist with sweat again. And that wouldn't do. Even if she lacked every other method, Louise would be able to note his tension with the naked eye.
He paused just inside the hall doorway to take a slow look around and to cool off. Everything looked unchanged and as it had been. Then he started, nervously, as a figure moved into sight and came across the floor to meet him. It was Katherine Winter. He wasn't certain what to do with his face. She looked prettier than he remember, unexpectedly cool and wholesome in a gay cotton print. He chose a smile. She returned it with a hint of concern.
"Nathan! I—we have been worried about you. We had begun to think something must have happened when you didn't arrive five days ago. Where have you been?"
"Oh, here and there. Ran into a few snags, but nothing serious and it's all right now. How's Madame?"
Seemingly casual, he watched her closely. After all this time he still was none too sure about Katherine. She was, without doubt, a first-class cook. Louise had sworn she was nothing more. But you could never be sure. Chances were she had a hole in her head and was nothing more than one of Louise's growths. As he watched her, he saw her beaming smile fade just a trifle.
"In there," she said, stepping aside with a gesture. "She's waiting for you. Dinner will be only a few minutes."
He nodded, went on past and into the big room, paused a moment to survey the familiar luxury, then turned and closed the door after him. Outside, Katherine stood quite still for a moment, then, yielding to a sudden impulse, she kicked off her shoes, stooped to catch them up, and went in silence to the door, to press her ear close and listen.
Inside the room there was a storm-cloud silence that crackled. The aura of lethal violence was strong enough to taste. Solo swept five pairs of eyes that were like spears, and none were more dagger-like than those of the Countess herself.
"You are late five days, M. Solo!" she stated icily. "You will explain that delay, now!"
Outside the door, Katherine gasped in surprise. Solo? But he had said his name was Summers! She listened again.
"So I'm late!" Solo grinned lightly, although he knew as surely as he knew the day of the week that there were at least four lethal weapons trained on him under the table at that moment. "You ask me to explain? Do you need it? You know where I've been, and what I've been doing!"
"Perhaps," she said silkily. "Just the same, tell me now."
"All right. I ran into trouble changing planes. In Rome. An U.N.C.L.E. agent got curious. He wasn't sure, so he started asking awkward questions. I gave him a run. It could have been fun, but I was in no position to play games, so I slipped him and found a hole to hide in. Just one of those things. All clear now. Satisfied?"
Katherine, pop-eyed and breathless, was fascinated. She had heard of U.N.C.L.E. Now she realized that these people were on the other side. All of them, including Mr. Summers, who was now Mr. Solo. And the Countess. She wriggled her ear closer still, holding her breath, and heard a chesty growl.