"Hiya, he-man!"
He returned the kiss. "Hiya, damsel! Did you have a bad last minute?"
"Uproarious!" She chuckled. "I set all the alarms so I wouldn't be disturbed. Then I saw you, but I was too late to switch off." She waved a hand. "Very busy here. You got news?"
"Most of it will keep, but Headquarters are rather keen for us to call in the French choppers if we need help. Seem to be nervous of us starting anything in England."
April's eyes widened. "Oh golly! Headquarters—I forgot all about them!"
"Forgot! That, me old darling, can be construed as famous last words. Well, goodbye—nice to have worked with you!"
She tapped the bag, said in a wheedling voice: "I've got goodies. Formula, samples, lists, suppliers—and I'm just about to collect the gem of all the goodies—a real live sample of K.S.R.6."
"Which is what?"
"This." April walked to where a large vat stood next to racks of small containers. "Neat K.S.R.6. You press the end of a container in here. It's compression-filled and self- sealing." She moved a sliding cupboard door. A small tap fell out. "Then you screw this into the sealing and you have yourself a prescribed dosage of K.S.R.6 for any purpose—distance no object."
"You've done all this?"
"Not yet. You set off the bang-bangs and disturbed me."
"Is this stuff dangerous?"
"In concentrated form—yes, I'd say it is." She pointed to the end wall. "There are gowns and mob-caps—like surgeons use, only in this weird metal stuff. Masks and gloves too."
"How much time have we?" Mark asked as he hurried to fetch the clothing.
"Until the guards come back, and as much time as we can make." April was turning valves and watching dials. "I don't know how long this thing will take for pressure to build up."
Mark took out his slim pigskin case. "I need a smoke. Have one?"
"Not now."
He put the case on the porcelain bench top near the vat and lit up. They helped each other on with the metal clothing, leaving the masks looped under their chins.
"You were quick," said April. "Your old-boy-pals act paid off, huh?"
"Thought you hadn't been in contact?"
"I mean Mr. Waverly. Good car?"
"Spot on. The plane was a bit ropey on one engine, but we made it. I cut off the moor road, risking a smashed axle or some such point. We've only to scoot around this place and on to the track leading to the road. Then we can make for Plymouth or back for the plane at Exeter. Might need gassing up."
"Or if in a hurry, call the French choppers."
"Looks as if the noble Count has bought it."
"Dead?"
Mark shrugged. "Surrounded by figures in this metal gear last time we heard of him. THRUSH hijacked his chopper. But Sama Paru is around some place. Isn't this blasted thing cooking yet?"
April grinned. "Hungry?"
"Don't remind me—I am!" He plumed smoke. "So you managed to get Papa out of here. Nice work."
"Thanks. Seems you did a neat job in Regent's Park."
They smiled at each other.
"You're gorgeous," said Mark. "Nice holiday?"
"Delightful! I think supper's about ready." She laughed. "Those guards must have wondered whether to stay or come back here."
"Would they have heard the bang-bangs?"
She shrugged. "Possibly—but even so, they'll take time to get back. Pull up your mask and stand by."
Mark said: "There's a release valve this side. I'll ease it off if you strike trouble."
"Here goes!" April pushed home the container. In her eagerness to ram it hard enough to perforate the sealing and so lock the container to the filler valve, she tilted it slightly off-center. A stream of fluid hissed over her hands and the porcelain-topped bench. Mark spun the release valve, but the injector had ceased.
"Timed flow," he said, screwing up the valve. "Try again."
April took another cylinder. This time she made no error. The hissing of the injector stopped. The container jerked back in her hands. She shook it gently, inspected it. "One more for luck." She filled another, collected a handful of taps, put these and the containers in the bag, zipped it up, then turned to see Mark staring at the bench.
"My God! This stuff's a killer—look at my case! Or what was my case." The pigskin had dissolved into a gooey mess, shriveled away from the metal frame.
"Neat K.S.R.6," said April, spreading her gloved hands. "It sprayed all over these; but they're okay."
"Car-iss-ima! What will it do to the human skin?"
"It isn't intended for use on skin, but people in constant contact with it must wear this type of clothing."
Mark nodded. "It jells, darling—it jells. Clever girl! Those chicks in Carnaby Street gave you the lead?"
April smiled. "I'd like to go down to posterity as a genius, but no—not as simple as that. I thought the dresses intriguing. I couldn't see why they were being modeled so publicly, because they weren't on sale. Then I saw Dr. Karadin and a silly little bell started ringing in my wee head. Years ago he had this thing about the Parsimal Theory—I won't go into that now—but he also had a very, very big thing about a world currency. He belonged to a wealthy family, but some collapse of the currency in which their wealth was invested wiped out his inheritance."
"So he became a fanatic on the subject? That's understandable. It ain't funny to see all your buy go down the spout."
"That's true. But he made a lot of trouble for himself. Professors in politics, or those who interfere in political issues, are not very popular. Yet he was a brilliant scientist. I think he still is." She stared at Mark. "What is worse than a brilliant scientist who becomes a nutcase?"
"Two ditto scientists."
"One is enough to devise a bomb."
"And if that one defects with his nasty little secret..."
"… and finds someone who not only believes in him and his work but guarantees him a fortune and—say—a world currency?..."
Mark grinned. "I'd better empty my teapot!"
"Teapot?"
"Weak joke. An old British custom. They can't abide to throw away old teapots. They keep 'em and stuff 'em with money for their holidays or a rainy day. Yes—I don't need a diagram to see the connection." He paused, gazing at April as he said slowly: "That's what happened to my cash paper money—and yours! Holy Hannibal—wotta jolly old carve-up!"
"But not Dr. Karadin's cash in its" — she flicked the gown—"in its cozy metal protection."
"Nor Suzanne's with her little purse ditto."
April grinned. "So you put the bite on her for lunch?" Then seriously tapping the vat: "This is neat K.S.R.6 in here. It stands weakening to around a thousand to one."
"A thousand to one what?"
"Rain water, or specially softened water. It is designed to be spun out under pressure and is so constituted that it remains in miniscule globules."
"You should put that to music. So we are surrounded by miniscule globules. Why then does not our skin peel off?"
"In that diffused solution it doesn't affect the skin. As the moisture dries out, a vapor is released from each globule. This vapor has an affinity of reconstitution with banknote paper and the ink used to print it. The dosage can be varied for each country, according to types of paper and ink. The vapor penetrates clothing, purses, wallets, through cracks in doors or safes, is carried into banks, shops—anywhere. All paper money will absorb it—some parchments or heavy quality paper also can be affected. Once the vapor reaches your money it at once reconstitutes itself and, in the process, turns your lovely crisp notes into an ugly, indistinguishable mess."