"Go on down the road a few hundred yard and stop," he ordered. Speaking into the communicator, he asked, "Still with us, Illya?"
"You sound particularly pleased," came the reply. "Found something?"
"I think so. At least, one doesn't normally see a set of tire tracks turning off the road into the middle of a mass of bushes and trees."
"Are you sure about the tracks?"
"Not positive; I'll have to go back for a closer look. From the glimpse I got as we drove by, it seemed like someone had tried to erase them, but the sun was at just the right angle to highlight the depressions. They're the right distance apart for tire tracks, at least. I'll tell you more when I've checked them out."
A few minutes later, he reported. "Tracks, all right' deep ones. And someone has gone to the trouble of filling in the ruts with sod. His only error was that the sod didn't quite match the height of the surrounding grass. The thicket is phony, too. It looks like some of the trees have been transplanted, and others have been cut and arranged to make the growth look thicker than it really is. I'm going on in."
Another few moments of silence, and Napoleon spoke again. "There's a road here, all right. About fifty feet of it next to the county road has been filled in, but from where I'm standing I can see it going off into the woods. I'm going to work back towards Lee; you and Kerry get over here."
By the time Illya and Kerry had arrived, Napoleon had his plans worked out. He handed his communicator to Kerry and showed her how to use it.
"All right, now. Kerry's car is already driven off the road and hidden. You two girls take Lee's and drive back to Richland Center." He quelled the outburst from both girls by raising his hand. "We are not playing cops and robbers; this is serious business. If you want to help, follow instructions. All right?" There were sullen nods and Napoleon continued.
"Illya and I will investigate. If everything goes well, we'll return to Kerry's car and drive back to join you. If everything does not go well, you"—he gestured to Kerry—"will press this button on the side of my communicator, say the magic words 'Open Channel D,' and make a full report to Mr. Waverly in New York. You will then follow his instructions. In the meantime, you, Lee, will prevent anyone from entering your house. That includes mail carriers, milkmen, your next-door neighbor, and your best friend. Anyone in this county could be a Thrush agent, and several people probably are. There are also innocent people about, so try not to kill anybody out of hand. But keep them out. Understand?"
Lee nodded.
"Fine. Now, we'll try to report at least every half hour. If two hours go by without a report, assume we're out of action and report to Mr. Waverly."
After seeing the girls safely off, Napoleon and Illya began to follow the track into the woods. It obviously wasn't a well-used thoroughfare; even where no effort had been made to hide it, there were times when the agents had difficulty following it in the waning light. Eventually, however, they rounded a final thicket and found themselves facing a large steel gate, set in the middle of a wire mesh fence that stretched off into the woods on both sides.
A large sign was fastened to the middle of the gate. WARNING! PRIVATE PROPERTY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW. Beneath this, in smaller letters, was the name TOTAL HARMONY REALTY UNDERWRITERS SOCIETY OF HURICON.
Illya pointed to the name, spelling out the initial letters. "T.H.R.U.S.H. They certainly advertise their presence, don't they?"
"Probably not expecting anyone but an occasional hunter and wanted something that sounded impressive," Napoleon responded. "Well, I suppose we have our choice: do we pick the lock or simply blast through a section of fence?"
"I wouldn't recommend either," Illya said, pointing to another sign to one side of the gate: WARNING! ELECTRIC FENCE. "You'll note the lock is wired into the electrical system; I suspect that failure on the part of either fence or lock rings an alarm somewhere." He pointed to a push-button set in the gate above the lock. "If you're in a hurry, I suppose we could ring the doorbell and see who answers."
Napoleon careful examined the lock and gate, and stepped back. "All right, mastermind; from the tone of that last remark, I assume you have something in mind."
"Of course. A good secret agent is prepared for any emergency." Illya removed a small package from his jacket pocket and began looking up and down the length of fence. "First, however, we need the proper setting—down that way would be best, I think."
Illya strode off to the left of the path, Napoleon following closely. About a hundred yards from the path, he halted and stared thoughtfully up into the branches of a large oak tree.
"This should do it. They've kept the brush trimmed back from the fence, but they didn't get all the tall trees in the area." He unwrapped his package with proved to be a length of heavy monofilament line with a miniature grapnel attached to one end. Swinging this around his head, he cast into the branches of tree. On the fifth cast, the grapnel caught and a careful test of the line showed it to be hooked solidly.
Napoleon had watched the proceedings with interest. "What's next, kimosabe?" he asked, although he had developed a strong suspicion and his hands were smarting from only the thought.
"Next we go up the line," Illya confirmed, suiting action to words.
When both agents were well up among the branches, Illya unhooked the grapnel. "Now for the hard part," he murmured as he cast the line toward an equally large tree thirty feet away on the opposite side of the fence.
It took patience, and it was almost totally dark by the time he had the line hooked to his satisfaction. Carefully, he tied the end around the trunk of the tree they were in. "Now," he explained cheerfully, "we swing across, hand over hand."
Napoleon felt the thin line again and winced. "There must be an easier way, Tarzan."
"Nonsense, Napoleon, a little exercise is good for you. Tones up the body. Come on, or it'll be so dark we won't be able to find the path again."
Inside the fence, Napoleon rubbed his aching palms. "When I go back, I'm going through that gate, one way or another. Let Thrush sue me for property damage."
By the time they had located the path again, the only light was from a half moon that tended to duck behind small clouds at just the wrong times. The path continued for another quarter of a mile, winding through scrubby woods and up and down hills.
"Looks like something up ahead," Illya said, squinting into the shadows.
Hurrying forward, they came to a large and rather battered shed, with windows knocked out and a roof that sagged dangerously. Here the trail apparently ended. They stared at the shed.
"It doesn't look like my idea of a dirigible hangar," said Illya.
"Let's check it out," Napoleon suggested. "Something made those tracks."
They circled the building warily. It remained enigmatic in the moonlight. The only positive result was to prove that the road definitely ended here at the shed, although the woods didn't.
Holding his U.N.C.L.E. Special ready for action, Napoleon cautiously approached the sagging door of the shed, and kicked it open with a sudden motion.
Nothing happened.
With Illya covering him, he stepped inside. Feeling a little foolish, he lowered his pistol. The shed was empty.