"Almost ahead of you," said April.
"Taradata is not a big island," said Mark. "But there's room to spread out a few thousand leaves."
"No go," said Chas. "George tried it. They mustn't dry out beyond a certain point. Then he found — by accident, ain't that comical? — that the tara bark, leastways the under side of it, was a natural. It stopped the leaves from breaking before they were ready, and it actually helped the drug to do what he called 'become stable and viable'."
"So why boats? Why not strips of bark?"
"Because you can't get large enough pieces of bark. It comes off in strips, and you mustn't bind the leaves into tight packaging. Okay for tiny quantities, but George's backers wanted production — big production. So they revived the native coracle industry. Seems too that there's a whole mess of laws in your country about importing plants. But they didn't bother about them little boats."
"It jells." April looked at Mark. He grinned and said:
"It might justify our expense sheets. But if they were ready to spend all they did on this set-up, why not go the limit and build an extractor plant here?" He picked up a bottle he'd put ready to collect along with other items. It was full of coarse brown flakes. "What do the victims do, Chas — crunch it for breakfast, or boil it in a teapot?"
"It don't travel like that," said Chas. "You have to pour boiling water over the whole leaf — strain the water, and drink it. Only keeps about three days before it begins to lose its effect. But once you've drunk a course of it, you don't need any more for a helluva long time. All the dosages are worked out. The islanders have drunk it for years. The leaves of the tara fern and the roots of the tara tree make smashing vegetables and juice in a fish stew."
Mark shuddered.
April said: "Your friend George should have kept it to the islanders — not let an anti-social and powerful organization get their hands on it by mixing it with cold viruses in a concentration. It's a fiendish weapon, Chas. It could wipe out half a population."
Chas stamped on his cigarette as he jumped to his feet.
"Wipe out! What the hell are you talking about?"
Mark juggled the empty phials. "Your ship brought these in."
"So what? I've brought plenty. George used them for testing."
"But these are full of virulent cold germs!" Mark exclaimed. "If they're released in concentration, thousands of people could die of congestion, pneumonia, bronchitis, or go tubercular. Our experts will tell us exactly how THRUSH intended to use them. But for my money, Chas, both you and your mate George are unscrupulous rats. I don't know why April has bothered to trade with you."
Chas stared at her. "Is he crackers? What's he talking about? Don't he know there's not a ruddy native on this island, nor on mine, nor me, nor my wives and kids, ever has a cold — is never ill with any chest complaints?" He stabbed Mark in the chest with his finger. "You sink a few gallons of George's wallop down you, and you'll never have a cold, no time, not ever — see?"
Mark goggled at April, who was scanning the sheets more closely than on her first flip through them.
"It's true," she said. "Cheval's tests were all positive.
He'd been sent to conclude Lodori's work. THRUSH was ready to move into action. Cheval has some notes here about suspending the tara substance inside mercury linings — he doesn't seem very hopeful about it, and suggests the present methods of transporting the leaf be retained pending further tests." She smiled at Chas. "Sorry we misjudged your friend — and you. It is a wonderful discovery."
"I told you," said Chas, waving his arms. "I told you!"
April nodded. "I don't think George knew either."
"Knew what?"
"That the organization he'd sold out to were going to use the tara substance to make their own people immune. Then they could spray concentrations of virus around any community they chose. They could cripple the work, the economy, and the life of any country by being the only healthy persons in that sector. The more illness there was, the more cultures their scientists would make."
"A weapon!" Chas exclaimed. "My Gawd — a weapon to destroy people! And all George wanted was to save them." He moved to look out at the flames streaking up to the sky. When he turned back, the tears were streaming over his wrinkled brown cheeks. "Y'know something? You'll laugh like hell. George never took any money for it — not for himself. We all made money — except him." He stumbled to the door, turned. "There ain't no deal," he said. "Your people want me — I'll come to the other side of the world."
April nodded. "Thanks, Chas."
The wind blew chill from the river. The United Nations building reared dark against a cloud-scudding sky.
April and Mark pulled their coats tighter around them as they hurried into the tailor's shop below the old brownstone house. In three minutes they had passed through the secret cupboard entrance into U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.
Mr. Waverly greeted them with: "Treasury are still carping about your expenses on that golden boats of Taradata affair three months ago. I'd be obliged if you'd submit revised sheets. They ask particularly about the rates of pay Mr. Slate received for his work aboard Island Traveller, and why he didn't work out his notice in the usual way."
Mark opened his mouth to utter a furious reply. Mr. Waverly held up his hand. "Let us remain dignified about this. After all you had a jolly jaunt on the island boat — all that sun and sea air. They are human enough to be a trifle jealous, so let us humour them."
April said: "I've redone mine four times. Why shouldn't you?"
"Sweet," said Mark. "You're so sweetly sympathetic."
Mr. Waverly flipped a pasteboard across to April. "That might interest you, if you are free this evening."
She read: "The Ibrox Chemical Co. invite you to the inaugural dinner at Skyway Arms Penthouse, 7.30 for 8.00, of the George Lodori Foundation. Guest of honour is Charles Henry Arthur Salisbury, Esq., representing the Foundation."
"Chas!" she cried. "The old devil!"
Mark peered over her shoulder at the card. "Well, I'll be damned! He's really among the top brass, isn't he?"
"Among?" said Mr. Waverly, raising his eyebrows. "He is the top brass. He's just granted Throx the rights to manufacture the Tara Cold Prophylactic under a special trade name for an advance royalty of two million dollars."
"Y'know something?" said Mark, imitating the Chas cockney voice. "I'll ask him to make out my expense sheets. Those Treasury wallahs have never met a real pirate!"
"You could be right," said April. "They should be grateful they don't have a Chas on the strength!"
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE: TIME WAS AND IS
CHAPTER TWO: KEEPER OF A THOUSAND SECRETS
CHAPTER THREE: CORACLE-ORACLE
CHAPTER FOUR: THY NAME IS WOMAN
CHAPTER FIVE: DECOY AND LINK
CHAPTER SIX: SEEK, FIND, DESTROY
CHAPTER SEVEN: COOPERATION PLUS
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE TARA
CHAPTER NINE: SELECTIVE KILL
CHAPTER TEN: FLAMES OF TARA