At seven o'clock that evening in Washington, D.C., Mr. Alexander Waverly sat in conclave with the Joint Chiefs Of Staff. A specially chartered flight from Kennedy Airport had jetted him to the nation's capital. Mr. Waverly had asked the Secretary of Defense to arrange the conference. The President was in California; he would not be needed until it was made precisely clear what had led the head of the U.N.C.L.E. organization to call for a Red Alert.
The heads of the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine Corps, beribboned, and wary of secret service organizations, all watched closely as Mr. Waverly presented the problem. A hush lay across the War Room. It was like a unique conference in the Executive Suite of a vast industrial empire. This was business, too. The biggest business of all.
"—so there it is, gentlemen," Mr. Waverly said stonily. "We have Zorki and Thrush wants him back. As I have tried to indicate in this rather elaborate report, Zorki is the key to the entire machination of Thrush in this country. If they get him back, there can only be the most dire consequences."
"Mr. Waverly," the Chief of the Army rumbled. "If he's all you say, and none of us can doubt that, what's the problem?"
"They have two of my finest operatives as hostages," Waverly said, trying not to appear emotionally involved. "If a trade is not effected, the operatives will most certainly be killed."
"Wages of war, Mr. Waverly. And, I take it, this is a war. I'm sure your men understand that and wouldn't have it any other way."
"They do," Waverly agreed. "One of them is a young woman, in fact. But I'm afraid I haven't made myself clear. I haven't come here to ask your advice on the advisability of a trade. That is out of the question. Zorki must be kept from ever returning to Thrush."
The Chief of the Army looked around the table at his colleagues as if seeking reinforcements for his argument. "He's a spy, isn't he? This is a national emergency. Why not shoot him? And may I ask what your organizational problems have to do with us? You have called us all away from our desks. I trust there is more to it than a mere local problem."
Waverly shook his head. "I am sorry, Gentlemen. Killing Zorki, apart from the fact that this country doesn't operate that way, would be too simple. He is far more valuable alive. He must be made to defect from Thrush."
An irritated wave of voices washed around the table. The Secretary of Defense coughed politely, by way of interruption. He had an inkling of Waverly's problem, thanks to some private comments in the hall, prior to the conclave.
"Perhaps if you explained the qualities of this man, Mr. Waverly, the Chiefs and I would be better able to offer suggestions."
The Chief of the Navy was oddly silent and thoughtfully watching the head of U.N.C.L.E.
Waverly considered for a moment, then nodded, almost to himself, as if deploring the necessity and then finding the Defense Secretary's request unavoidable.
"Yes, perhaps so." He gazed slowly about the circular table, eyeing each of these important men as if he could influence them with what he was about to say. "Alek Yakov Zorki is no mere agent provocateur, gentlemen. In our files he is listed under the code name of Bomber, letters KKK. Oh, he is highly skilled for all of of the typical agent's jobs of assassination, sabotage, propaganda and intrigue but he is far more than that. He is a scientist. We first came abreast of this fantastic man after World War Two. He had achieved a record of liquidating Nazis for the Russians that, to quote William Shakespeare, would make each separate hair on your heads stand on end. But, I am not concerned with his abilities to kill and destroy. It is his work in the Moscow laboratories which make him so important to a world organization with the devilish aims of Thrush. They wooed him away from the Reds. Second, these attainments make him someone to worry about. You see, Zorki loves field work. Bombings, sabotaging factories, destroying shipping, radar stations. There's a zest about the man that belies his more sedentary genius in the research laboratories. But it is that phase of his work which involves us. We never would have gotten our hands on him if he hadn't decided, almost as a lark, to come to New York to blow up the Verrazzano Bridge. He is a capricious man. We have him now but we also have nothing."
A murmur of surprise raced around the conference table. A haze of blue cigarette and cigar smoke hung over the room. Mr. Waverly pushed out his lips. It was always difficult convincing the powers-that-be of the need for forceful steps and measures. But now was the time.
"Zorki has somehow found a chemical formula that defies all probability and yet we have incontestable proof of its existence. Yet, he has kept no papers, no records, no data on his work. In short, it is all in his head. The man possesses that rare phenomenon—a photographic mind. If we give him back to Thrush, he will surely give them the secret. He may never give it to us but at least, if he is on our hands, the secret is safe, allowing for the vast sociological difference in the world aims of the United States versus Thrush. Therefore, we must keep him. Were he to return to them, I could not answer for the safety of civilization as we know it."
The Chief of the Marine Corps snorted.
"That's a mouthful of frogs, Waverly. What could be that big? Another cobalt bomb? Germ warfare?"
"No," Waverly said quietly. "We could combat those evils."
The Chief of the Navy looked less skeptical than the rest of his colleagues. A slow, unworried smile crossed his face.
"Mr. Waverly, I've had some indications about your man, Zorki. Fact is, our own G-2 has been working on him but—you'd have to go some to top the bomb. Overkill is nothing new, you know."
"I realize that, sir, but what else is there to surpass the simple, unalterable truth that Alek Yakov Zorki, Thrush agent and scientist extraordinary, has discovered a chemical agent which guarantees everlasting life?" Mr. Waverly phrased the words very slowly and very carefully. "Nobody will ever die once they are innoculated with this amazing solution. Life everlasting against the fast statistics of old age, accidents and even intentional homicide. Think of it."
The Joint Chiefs of Staff began to laugh. The low ripple of mirth played about the table. The laughter reached the Secretary of Defense. He bit his lips, and reluctantly rapped his gavel for silence. A sudden quiet greeted the hollow thud of the hammer, as if all the participants were somewhat embarrassed by their own reactions.
The Defense Secretary leveled a stern gaze at Waverly.
"You can prove this preposterous revelation?"
"I can, sir," Waverly said, without hesitation. "I wish to God I was in error."
"But that's absurd!" The Army Chief exploded.
"Incredible and impossible," agreed the head of the Marine Corps. "Why if—"
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," the Defense Secretary cut in. "It isn't in our province to discuss the niceties of the matter. I'm sure we are all aware of the consequences of such a discovery."
"Precisely, gentlemen," Mr. Waverly said firmly. "They go on living, we go on dying, in the normal order of things. And soon we would have a world of people who think alike and live alike for all time. Thrush people. Thrush conquerors and dictators. And Thrush, of course, will gain what it has sought since the very day of its birth. World dominance."
The Defense Secretary nodded.