"Too early," Mark whispered. "Has Count Kazan got all his U.N.C.L.E. field agent's devices with him?"
"He should have."
"You've got yours?"
"Surely."
"Then call him up on the micro-transmitter—see if we can raise him. No sense making war palaver and rushing the dump if we can save time and effort."
Sama Paru operated the transmitter, while Mark used the waiting period by climbing high into a fir tree, from where he could look down on the layout. He used the U.N.C.L.E. micro-camera to good effect, obtaining full shots of the whole area. The early sun slanting through the clearing gave some high definition to his shots.
He rejoined Sama, who nodded, smiling.
"Count Kazan is on his way to join us. He broke out last night. Ssh!" They heard branches creaking. A twig snapped. Bushes away to their right quivered. Both drew their guns as sunlight glinted on a silvery figure.
"Hold it right there, tin-man!" said Mark, pushing through the bushes towards the figure.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Count Kazan. "I am so glad to see you! Have either of you two gentleman got a can-opener?"
They stifled roars of laughter as he stood up, stiffly. His body bulged, perspiration streaming down his face. He was unshaven. Altogether, the elegant Count Kazan was not easy to recognize.
"I am in agony—and you laugh! It is not funny I have had a terrible time!"
"If you had to dress in that gear, couldn't you find one to fit you?" Mark chuckled.
"The suit fit," said Kazan. "They are very cleverly made and will adjust to all normal sizes. But I robbed their piggy bank. The suit is stuffed with money as well as me. There was no other way to carry it."
"Money! French money?"
"World money," said Kazan. "They print it on an underground press. Very pretty it is too. If you get me out of this, I will show you."
"No guards?" said Sama Paru.
"Not until eight o'clock. About thirty women are inside there. The men do not stay at night." Kazan grinned. "Many young girls, but all controlled by some of the hardest-faced witches you ever saw. With them around you do not need guards. Those have been trained by Sirdar the Turk. They are evil and ruthless—as only truly bad women can be."
"But you tamed 'em?" said Mark.
"I gassed the whole flock of little THRUSH birds," said Kazan. "Last night, with my gas gun, I was a busy bee. Then I injected each of the leaders. They will not wake up for many hours yet." He looked at them pleadingly. "Please—my friends—get me out of this before I stifle. The zip has stuck and the lever, she is bust."
The suit was beautifully made, the metal-like fabric bonded to a fine mesh of the same material. This mesh had a two-way-stretch weave. The only vulnerable part was the side zip which ran from thigh to armpit. The suit thus had to be put on sideways. Kazan had so stuffed the money around his body that the stretch was extended beyond normal use. He'd then forced up the zip so hard that he couldn't shift it. The suit was virtually indestructible and could not be torn.
They used Mark's lock-breaking tools to open the zip and soon had Kazan freed. The printed notes, each approximately the size of a hundred-dollar bill, were artistic though not fancy. These bore the THRUSH emblem dead centre with a sun-blaze effect of red-gold on a green background. A purple border at first sight looked like circles with filigree tailings of gold. Closer inspection showed these circles to be miniature imprints of a globe of the world. The denominations were from ten to ten thousand esparas.
"What the hell are esparas?" said Mark. "That's a country I've not heard of."
"The world," said Count Kazan. "Esparas are to be the new currency of the world of THRUSH."
Mark whistled softly. "Kid me not, my French comrade—you have proof?"
"In a file back there is the distribution arrangement for the whole of Europe. I have micro-filmed some."
"Let's go get the others. You feel better now?"
Count Kazan drew a deep breath. "Much better."
"Right. Stow some of this cash in your pockets. Wrap the rest in the suit. Hide that under the bush and let's go blow this thing—fast."
They ignored the dormitory of sleeping girls and the separate rooms of the unconscious overseer women, although they first checked on these females. But they wasted no time on them.
Mark said: "Quick and rough. We've no time to tangle if we can help it. H.Q. has to have this stuff as soon as we can rush it to them."
They were three very experienced wreckers. Files were blown open, contents packed into a few handy-sized boxes which once held banknote paper. They took samples of this and rammed the rest in the basement furnace. Samples of inks and the plates were carefully packed, telephone wires, radar and TV sets and cables wrecked beyond any chance of repair.
The press was a superb piece of machinery controlled by a small computer. Count Kazan complained:
"A beautiful sculpture, the sculptured beauty of a woman, and a beautifully created machine—to me they are all God's work, my friends. It makes me sad to have to destroy this. Did you ever see such perfection of design? Swiss, of course. Where else can you get such craftsmanship? And the computer—American, naturally. Who else could produce such an electronic marvel? Now—we place a small explosive charge here, and here, and there. We insert this metal bar and rip apart the frame and carrier. Mark Slate deguts the computer, crushing its tiny contacts underfoot. Soon it will all be gone—pouff!"
"And pouff to you too!" said Mark. "Set that charge and let's go."
"I need violence," said Kazan. "I want to crush and kill the men who made this necessary. Let us await the men and smash them too."
"They'll be smashed," said Mark. "We've no time to stay and be heroes. Maybe your H.Q. will send you in with the clean-up detail. Right?"
Count Kazan shrugged. "It is right."
"Charge set," said Sama Paru. "All the boxes are out side. How much time have we got?"
Kazan checked his watch. "Nearly an hour."
Mark took the wires they had rigged from cable found in the basement. "Let's go." He thrust a wire through one window, let it trail, put the other through the next window.
In the compound he gathered one in each hand. They crouched below window level. Mark touched the wires together.
The blast blew out the window with such force that the shattered pieces went clear beyond them.
Mark stood up and peered inside.
Count Kazan said: "An efficient wrecking job."
Mark nodded. "Well judged. Hasn't brought even a spot of plaster off the ceiling. The ladies sleep undisturbed."
Sama Paru said: "I have my choice of sleeping beauties and all I do is run away. This is a hard life!"
Mark pulled out his U.N.C.L.E. communicator. "This is Mark Slate. Channel D. Hear me! Mark Slate from France. Hear this!"
When he had concluded his report, they gathered up the boxes, collected Count Kazan's suit from the bush, and were surprised to see the donkey waiting for them as they came hurrying from the trees.
"Oh, no!" Kazan wailed. "This is too much! I will never live it down!" He refused to ride on the beast although Sama offered to walk. Instead, he ran with the donkey all the way to the farm.