Illya prodded his sauerkraut with a reluctant fork. "Any mention in the local bank of Joan's disappearance?"
"She's listed on leave, with a request for her to see Baldwin as soon as she checks in. Nothing suspicious at all. Except that two agents have been sent here from Central on some-top secret mission and report only to Baldwin.
I'm surprised Mr. Waverly hasn't contacted you about that yet."
"He wouldn't if that was all he knew. Any idea what they're here for?"
"Not a thought. Baldwin didn't send for them, and nothing has been mentioned to or through UlComp about them. Maybe it's something personal."
"Two agents from Central? Who?"
"I don't remember. You can see the report copy if you'd like."
"I would. Who ever it is, I don't think they can be up to any good. We may be able to get some idea of what they're here for from who they are. Remember, this is the age of specialisation."
About the same time, less than two miles away, Ward Baldwin sat in a worn leather swivel chair and looked at a few typed sheets and several large photographs as though he found them personally repugnant.
The photographs were clinically sharp and gruesomely detailed, but received less attention than the underscored sentences which had brought the report to him.
"Second wound made no sooner than five minutes after death. First wound burst heart, instantly fatal. Slug split against posterior rib, recovered. (See still #6.) Second slug trajectory closely parallel first, but fired after blood had pooled and tonus lost. Indications body was reclining on right side before second wound inflicted. Second slug recovered, undamaged. (See still #7.)"
Ballistics: "Slug B matches test slug from Guard Ellern's sidearm. (See Comparison Frame #1.) Slug A damaged beyond comparison, but not standard Thrush sidearm issue; reconstruction yields a full-jacketed slug, exact original configuration undetermined. (See Frame #2.)"
Baldwin knew perfectly well what the report did not feel was quite proven. The microphotograph of the second slug told his practiced eye the unidentified slug had come from an U.N.C.L.E. Special; its base bore the distinctive scratches left by the threading inside the muzzle.
His musings were interrupted at this point by the gentle chime of his intercom and Robin's voice announcing visitors. "The two men from Central are here," she said. "Were you expecting them?"
"Wasn't that some obscure communications problem?" he asked.
There was a pause, followed by a strong, friendly voice working a little too close to the mike. "Ah, Dr. Baldwin, you were told to expect us. It's simply a matter of explaining a technical problem and getting your official permission to work on it. Surely you can spare us eight minutes."
"Young man, would you return the intercom to my secretary? I will take great relish in underwriting your report, should you survive to complete one."
A distant shriek came through the intercom, and the voice spoke sharply, off-mike. "Fang, put her down! Fang!"
Something between a snarl and a grunt answered him, followed by Robin's voice, breathless but nearly composed. "I'm all right, sir. Really. Shall I send -"
The office door opened and two men strode in. The second closed it quietly behind them.
"- them in…" she finished lamely.
"Yes, thank you, Robin. You might also send for a security force and have them ready at the door."
"Good afternoon, Doctor," said the front man, in the same sturdy tones which had come through the intercom. "Allow me to introduce myself and my partner."
"Don't tell me," said Baldwin… "You're Gryptytte-Thynne and he's Count Fred Moriarty."
The second individual, a large mound of what might have been muscle but was probably fat, stepped forward and bowed silently.
"Not even close," said the first. "I'm Vince Kerrigan and this pitiful wreck is my partner, Chou Tee Fang. He's Formosan, of course. Now what we have to do here need never bother you again. It's just a technical sort of thing, running around with instruments and checking a few circuits and talking to a few people. We've done this before, and we guarantee not to get in anybody's way. Now if you'll just initial this, I will vanish out of your life as swiftly as I came into -"
"What sort of technical?"
"Surely Central explained it to you."
"They served me a helping of doubletalk about imbalanced impedances and unaccounted line losses. Before I give you permission to prowl my territory I want to know just what is going on."
"Simply, Doctor, that there seems to be an open circuit somewhere in the San Francisco Relay Area." Chou's nasal bass joined the conversation. "The probability was determined by demand analysis and checked by Central through UlComp as far as could be accomplished remotely. My partner and I are here to inquire more closely into the matter." His voice was deep for a Chinese, and slightly pompous.
"In all likelihood it's no more than a faulty piece of equipment," said Kerrigan. "Didn't you just receive a new master terminal?"
"Yes – and I must thank someone at Central for the special cabinet in which it was constructed. It goes quite as Well with my office as the old one did."
"Well, I hope you won't have to lose it. The transmission anomalies first appeared about a week after the change-over, and there might be a stuck relay or something like that. It's as if you didn't hang up the telephone."
"No, Vince," said Fang. "Then you couldn't receive any incoming calls. In this case it doesn't seem to interfere with the full functioning of the terminal unit."
"Sure, Fang, but what I meant was that it's as if he had an open line all the time."
"Of course. I only meant that your analogy was poorly chosen. You have no grasp of these technical things. You must forgive my partner, Dr. Baldwin. All he ever has on his mind -"
"Gentlemen," said Ward Baldwin harshly… "You broke in here to tell me about a telephone problem?"
"Well, it's more than just a -" / "You invited us in, and -"
"How long do you expect to take finding it?"
"Oh, the checking routine takes about a week, but we might find it the first day."
"On the other hand, it might not be routine," said Fang.
"I see. You gentlemen are experienced field agents, are you not?" Baldwin asked sweetly.
"Our record speaks for itself," said Kerrigan with a-bit of a swagger.
"I was afraid it might," said Baldwin. "Nevertheless, I have an interesting and possibly challenging intellectual problem at the moment, and I was wondering j if you might be able to help me with it. It involves a recent double murder under very suspicious circumstances, with the distinct likelihood that U.N.C.L.E. may have been involved. I suspect there may have been a plot to extract information from the very heart of Thrush, using a subverted agent. That agent may now be dead."
He studied them from the corner of his eye as he sorted absently through some papers on his desk. "Have you heard of the KugelBlitzGewehr – or Plasmoid Projector? My Satrapy has been testing the pilot model for the last three months. In the course of a general investigation surrounding the emotional breakdown and subsequent mysterious death of this suspected agent we discovered that one key device, fortunately a spare, is missing. I strongly suspect that U.N.C.L.E. has it. I have evidence that United Network Commandos attempted to rescue Harry Stevens, but were surprised in the attempt. I should give a great deal to know how our other security systems were avoided. The guard who stumbled across them apparently fired once and hit Stevens, while the agent carrying him had time to return his fire fatally. Then he set up this little tableau." Baldwin indicated the photographs of the murder scene, and sighed. "All these modern stylists," he said. "It looks good from a distance, but under any intellectual scrutiny it falls to pieces."