“Gentlemen, here is New York City. With a few adjustments we can focus in on Long Island. So. The computer can then take us close in, expanding the aerial view to show just the south part, near Lower Bay.” He talked more smoothly, finding the controls relatively simple when once started.
“Now, with this two-mile stretch of Coney Island in view, I think we can discuss the assault. Here, near the roller coaster, is an amusement pier with a sprawling funhouse at one end.” The maps, drawn by cathode rays from digital photograph recordings, could only show major topographical features where Napoleon wished he could have the original photographs. He noticed sadly that there were no golden blips on the screen-but it was hardly likely Thrush would let Illya keep his tracer once inside the funhouse.
“You want us to crash a funhouse, Chief?” asked Matt.
“I want you to come down on this beach in a skirmisher’s formation, and half-circle the funhouse. From as far away as you can see each other, I want you to wait in the sand for my signal. When you get it, you’re to move in close, tighten up the circle approximately here, so the nine of you will be only five or six yards apart”-he used a pencil to point to positions on his automatic map, relative to the pier -“and turn on the full Flush Routine.”
“Just get ‘em out?”
“Right. We have no reason to do anything but detain anyone coming out of there. Later, we may get them on charges of kidnapping, illegal possession of weapons, and a dozen others; right now, we want to get in and get Illya out of there. I’ll be hitting them from behind, off a submarine, and trying to give them good reason to let you flush them.”
“And what’s the signal?”
“If things continue all night as they’ve been going, every light in that building will be on when we get there. If so, and if I don’t have to resort to flares or an explosion to notify you, I’ll tell you to strike by simply turning all those lights out.”
His men grinned as they pictured the scene. “Lights out,” said Matt, “and we turn on our floodlights and bullhorns, and invite the gentlemen outside for a little parlez-vous.”
The unit was on its way out their assault exit, fully armed and equipped, when Napoleon strapped himself in the U.N.C.L.E. copter’s jump seat. The pilot hovered for a moment near the Pan Am building to avoid the flight pattern of the commercial chopper from Kennedy Airport, then he stood his little machine on its side and put on full speed across the river. Fifteen minutes after leaving Matt and the land task force, Napoleon was debarking from his helicopter near the north, seldom used gate of Floyd Bennett Field in Long Island.
Section IV : “All’s well that ends.”
Chapter 13
“Is there a Berlitz course in Seal?”
BEFORE THE copters blades stopped, two dungareed sailors blocked down the wheels, and a bright young ensign helped Napoleon to the ground.
“Do I have to request permission to come aboard?” he asked.
“No, sir,” replied the ensign. “And the nearest fantail is across the harbor in drydock, so you don’t have to salute anything, either. But they’re waiting for you in the Sea-Lab area, if you’ll come with me.”
They took a jeep across the tarmac and through the air-base’s north gate, the ensign driving with Napoleon hanging on in the passenger seat. A nearly invisible path of dry, level earth led through the marshland north of Bennett, facing Jamaica Bay, and took them on a roundabout path curving through mazes of low trees that hid them from the base and the nearest civilian housing. The young ensign pulled up abruptly, with his lights picking out a single long building painted battleship gray. He got out first, and almost made it around the jeep to hold the other door before Napoleon shook himself free of the panic handle and got out unaided.
“Through this door, sir,” he said, unlocking the building. “We will be met before we penetrate to the training rooms.”
Once out of the cold they found themselves in a long
corridor with no interesting tourist attractions. Their shoes echoed dully along asphalt tile, blending with a steady vibration almost below hearing level from all sides. The whole establishment seemed alive with sounds of steady activity and a beating of ocean. Nothing relieved the sound and the monotonous color scheme until they had traveled half the length of the corridor, when the far door opened.
The ensign kept on up to within three paces of the man who entered, and saluted smartly, getting a friendly nod in return.
“Mr. Solo, this is Lieutenant-Commander Bransen. He’s the U.N.C.L.E. representative in STEP’s program and will accompany you from here.” He turned to go, visibly fighting an urge to salute Napoleon.
The new escort was a tall Norwegian in dark-blue denim trousers and an ancient-looking sweater. He seemed to wear his rank lightly-he looked more like a fisherman plying the herring trade in some sub-zero fjord than a Navy officer. “Call me Gus,” he said, holding out one big hand in greeting. “We’re all ready to get the show on the road, as soon as you and I suit up. How would you like to go to the check-out area by way of the zoo?”
With no more ado, he turned and led the way through to the “zoo,” a high-ceilinged room with four seals and a submarine waiting in a sea-water pool. The pool took up over half the room’s area, and had plenty of room for the sub and some rocks to serve as rest stops for the seals.
“We don’t hold much with saluting here,” said Bransen, referring to the youngster who had introduced them, “mainly because our most able-bodied ‘seamen’ can’t get their flippers up to eyebrow level. This pool is where they come to visit, to look at freaks who choose to spend most of their time on dry land. We zoo-animals get walruses, sea lions, dolphins and elephant seals as visitors, with an occasional experimental whale. They’re a lot better behaved on the whole than the visitors at most other zoos-for instance, I’d balance them any day against the lot who go down to Coney zoo to watch Oscar the Walrus get fed.”
“Well, Commander, I must say you run a pretty tight—
ah-zoo, here. Do your visitors just come and go when they feel like it?”
“Almost. There’s a depth-compound outside here we keep fenced in, and they’re free to roam all through it, up, down and sideways. New trainees are brought in aboard ship or in tow, through gates that we keep secured other times. We let recruit frogmen get the hang of their equipment by assigning them patrol duty repairing the fence. Frequently the marine mammals are rotated by our request, other times by Navy requirements to train other breeds in the close coordination techniques we’ve developed here.
“Right now you’re kind of lucky. The current project involves testing out our diver-mammal linkage by scouring the local bay and river bottoms for junk that’s been dumped here during the past four centuries. We’ve been using these four harbor seals”-he waved his hand at the quartet of wet noses and whiskers pointing at him-“and from the word headquarters sent, I’d say these are the best workers we could have for your job.”
He bent down at the water’s edge and snapped his fingers loudly twice. One of the seals separated from the group and scudded in, leaving almost no wake. Before Napoleon could blink, the animal was out of the water and balancing on its flippers, barking in Bransen’s face. As smoothly as if he were doing an Orpheum circuit routine at the Palace, Bransen reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out a quarter. The seal sniffed it, and then watched suspiciously while he flipped it out into the pool.
The seal stayed, looking from Bransen to the pool, until he barked rapidly like one of them. Then it did a side-flip, hitting the water belly up, and Napoleon could make out an underwater twist, a sudden nipping motion, and a quick reversal. Before the quarter could have sunk to the bottom it was back neatly deposited on the deck at Bransen’s feet. With magnificent elan the seal twisted around and rejoined the other three on the rocks.