"I wonder what our relations are with the local police." Napoleon wondered as he swerved out to pass a bus.
"Deteriorating by the minute, I suspect," Illya returned.
"Now what's that juggernaut up to!" Napoleon exclaimed. "We were just starting to gain on him!"
Two blocks ahead, the truck made a sharp left turn amid more blaring of horns and disappeared down a side street. Napoleon did the same a few seconds later, earning some colorful language from a bus driver he cut off.
For half an hour the pursuit continued. Whenever Napoleon and Illya started to overtake the truck, it would duck into a side street and emerge again, always; it seemed, through hordes of cross traffic that parted much more readily for the truck than for the pursuing car. By this time, the two agents could hear the wail of police sirens, but so far no police car had been able to get close enough to the chase to be effective.
Longer open stretched, however, were making it more difficult for the truck to retain its lead. Napoleon and Illya were only a few car lengths behind when the truck's brake lights flared suddenly. With a last-second twist of the wheel, Napoleon swerved the car past and stepped on the brakes.
The car skidded to a halt just off the edge of the highway and the two agents leaped out, guns ready. The truck was empty and two men were disappearing into a line of bushes atop a steep bank. Illya and Napoleon plunged after them.
Bursting through the bushes at the top of the bank, they found themselves in a cemetery, most of the graves overgrown and the headstones weather-beaten and cracked. The Thrushes were disappearing down another steep bank at the rear of the cemetery.
Illya and Napoleon cleared the remnants of a wire fence, then half jumped, half slid down the bank and plunged through a thick cluster of trees, followed by the sound of the Thrushes crashing through the brush ahead of them.
Suddenly the thrashing sound stopped and the solid thunks of a pair of car doors came to them, followed immediately by the hum of a motor and the sound of spinning tires. The trees and undergrowth ended abruptly, and the two agents found themselves on a narrow path, just wide enough for a car. Disappearing down the path was a large black sedan.
"Back to the car!" Napoleon snapped. "If they get there first..." They raced back to the highway. The truck and their car still sat there, and the black sedan was nowhere in sight.
"At least we have the truck and the OTSMID," Illya said philosophically.
"I hope so," Napoleon replied. "But I have a distinct feeling that this was too easy."
They walked up to the back to the truck and opened the rear doors. Inside was the massive metal object they had glimpsed at the warehouse. It looked like a large metal case, decorated with a few knobs and meters. "Does that look like an OTSMID to you?" Napoleon asked.
Illya shrugged. "It looks as much like an OTSMID as you could expect," he replied cryptically.
"The immediate problem, though, is to get it back to headquarters. How's your memory of your old Russian truck driving days?"
Illya looked at him thoughtfully. "If I don't get picked up by the police; I suspect every prowl car in town will be on the lookout for this particular truck."
"You go ahead then," Napoleon said. "I'm going to take a look around back there, and then I'll bring our car in."
A few minutes' inspection showed the path behind the cemetery to be a U-shaped access road ending on a cross street about fifty yards to the east. Just a few yards from where they had emerged from the trees earlier, a half dozen cigarette stubs lay scattered on the grass. Indentations in a sandy area of the path showed where a car had been parked.
Napoleon took out his communicator and contacted Brattner. "Anything worthwhile in the warehouse?"
"Nothing yet," Brattner replied. "The place is deserted. There are cars in the lot, but no sign of the drivers. The office is empty, too. We've been over the entire place once; we're checking more thoroughly now. Any luck with the truck?"
"We have the truck, but the drivers got away. What worries me, though, is why they should give up the truck and the OTSMID without at least a final gun battle. And they very conveniently had a getaway car waiting when they abandoned the truck. Even if this was a routine rendezvous point, the timing strikes me as remarkably good." Napoleon was silent for a moment, then went on.
"Anyway, Illya is on his way back to headquarters with the truck. I'll join you at the warehouse as soon as I can. Solo out."
He had just snapped the cap back on the communicator when its warbling beep sounded. "Solo here," he said.
"Yes, Mr. Solo," Waverly's voice replied. "I have that report on Forbes and McNulty for you. Forbes has been with Thrush for many years now and is regarded as one of their most capable operators. McNulty is a fairly recent recruit, but his enthusiasm has brought him favorable notice from his superiors, though not necessarily from his comrades. The combination of Forbes and McNulty could very well prove a formidable one. I'm forwarding complete dossiers to Milwaukee headquarters."
Forty-five minutes later, Napoleon pulled his car into the warehouse parking area past the battered car that still partially blocked the driveway. Brattner came out of the warehouse at a trot. "We just found the warehouse employees," he said as he came up to Napoleon. "They were drugged and hidden away in some empty crates."
Before Napoleon could reply, his communicator sounded. "Napoleon," came Illya's voice, "Kerry just looked at the machine in the truck, and she says it's not the OTSMID."
Chapter 8
"Charles Fort Never Mentioned Sandbags"
Illya's announcement produced a dismayed silence from Napoleon and Brattner. Then Napoleon spoke. "I was afraid of then. Thrush gave up too easily—and that getaway car was just too convenient."
"A decoy," Illya said bitterly. "They must have decided it was worth the loss of their souped-up truck to gain two or three hours' time. Which would indicate that two or three hours was all they needed. The real OTSMID is probably on its way."
"They must have a more liberal budget than we do," Napoleon said, turning to Brattner. "Back to headquarters, then? The bird seems to have flown."
Brattner nodded, but seemed to be thinking of something else. After a second, he said, "Maybe we can sell the Thrush truck and get a replacement for the car we smashed up trying to stop it." He brightened as another idea occurred to him. "You know, with the truck, and that computer we picked up in Forbes' apartment, we may end up showing a profit today."
Ten minutes later, Solo, Illya, Brattner, and Kerry were seated in the local U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, discussing their next move. "We should be able to locate them," Illya was arguing. "After all, a dirigible isn't something one can hide in one's garage. It requires a sizeable installation. And we already know it's somewhere in the western part of the state."
Brattner laughed shortly. "Don't bank on its being easy to spot. The driftless section of this state has some of the most rugged topography in the Midwest."
"Driftless?" Napoleon's eyebrows raised a fraction. "From what little I've seen of the snowy Wisconsin winters, I wouldn't think the state had a driftless section."