"Nah, that roof's solid. What we got is a big overhead door at one end. You know, one of them sectional things that slides up on tracks. Camouflaged real nice on the outside; looks like rocks and stuff. Had a hell of a time getting one big enough. But that roof, now that's real rock, with steel below. You could graze cattle up there," he said proudly.
Illya shifted position to ease an overburdened leg, and was rewarded by having the gun swivel to cover him. "Sonny, when I tell a man to stand still, I mean for him to be still," Sanders said.
"Where is everybody?" Napoleon demanded, assuming an authoritative air. "Forbes said this was urgent; why don't you take us to him instead of wasting time talking?" He can identify us."
"Forbes ain't here, and neither is anybody else but me. They took the dirigible out just a few hours ago. They ain't gonna be back, neither, so taking care of you two is up to me. Lessee now, if you're from Dubuque you got identification. Beard's a bureaucrat at heart; all his boys are loaded down with cards and countersigns. Let's see your identity card."
"Certainly," said Napoleon, reaching for his inside coat pocket.
"No sudden moves," said the caretaker. The Ithaca swung to point directly at Napoleon's stomach, and his hand halted abruptly. "Now then," Sanders continued, "just slip that identification out nice and easy, and toss it over to me so I can look at it."
Napoleon slipped his wallet out of his pocket and gingerly tossed it toward the caretaker's feet. At it struck the ground there was a muffled pop and a cloud of gas shot up to engulf the old man. Illya and Napoleon leaped sideways as a double charge of buckshot ripped though the space where they had been standing. Charging forward, Illya grabbed Sanders from behind while Napoleon wrestled the gun away from him. As soon as Napoleon had the gun, both agents released the man and stepped back, leaving the caretaker to stand with his eyes streaming tears and his mouth streaming profanity.
"Good work, Napoleon," Illya said. "I never really thought that tear gas cartridge in the wallet would ever be useful. Powerful stuff." He wiped his own eyes and retreated a trifle further.
"Now then, Ezra, we'd like you to answer a few of our questions. Where are Forbes and McNulty and the dirigible?"
The old man wiped his eyes and glared. "You're U.N.C.L.E. agents, you are! Think I'll tell you anything? Why, back in the Great War, I..."
"You mean World War I?"
"Nah, I mean the real war—the War with Spain!"
"You fought in the Spanish-American War?"
"I lied about my age. Anyways, I was a prisoner for two years, and nothing they did could make me talk."
"The Spanish-American War only lasted four months," Illya said.
"Who's tellin' this, you or me? Anyways, if the Spaniards couldn't make me talk, you two fancy-dressed punks can't."
"Are you sure?" Napoleon asked blandly.
"Sure I'm sure. You ain't got any truth serum or you'd have had a hypodermic in me by now; you U.N.C.L.E. boys are too lily-livered to use torture, and even if you did you wouldn't find out anything because I don't know anything. Forbes and McNulty and Hunter don't tell me all their little plans. You two might as well pack up and go home."
"You know, I hate to say it," said Napoleon, "but I think he's right. We could wait here for the dirigible on the chance that he's lying, but if he's telling the truth we'd be wasting valuable time. Brattner can get some men over here to clean the place and post a guard on it in case anyone shows up."
Reluctantly, Napoleon and Illya climbed aboard the elevator. The controls were plainly marked at this end. At the top they needed Illya's powerful flashlight; the moon seemed to have gone under a cloud for good. Wearily the agents tramped back to the gate. Halfway back, Napoleon flung the Ithaca into the woods beside the trail. "If he wants to hunt for it, let him have it," he said. "I'm tired of carrying it." He gained a little satisfaction by blowing the gate off its hinges with plastic explosive. It was a long walk back to the car.
As they reached the county road, Illya spoke. "How many bugs did you plant down there?"
"One in the shed, one in the elevator itself, one in the hangar and a tracer in the caretaker's pants cuff when we jumped him."
"Not bad. I put a couple of microphones in the hangar and one in his shirt pocket. We should be able to hear his inmost thoughts, at least until he changes clothes."
"He doesn't look like the type who changes clothes often," Napoleon said. "I only hope he was lying about the rest of Thrush having left the place for good."
"We'll soon know." They climbed into the car and headed for Richland Center.
Chapter 10
"Only Your U.N.C.L.E. Agent Knows for Sure"
Illya had just turned the care onto a state highway and headed north for Richland Center when Napoleon checked their direction finder and noticed that the tracer he'd planted on the caretaker had moved. He checked more closely. As near as he could tell, the caretaker was traveling behind them, heading east. He checked the instrument at short intervals and after some time decided that the man was not going to turn north but continue east.
"It would seem," he remarked, "that the bird is on the wing."
Illya nodded without taking his eyes from the road. "Whither, midst falling dew, while glow the heavens with the last steps of day, far through their rosy depths pursue thy solitary way?"
"William Cullen Bryant," said Napoleon, "and since when did Thrushes become waterfowl?"
Illya shrugged. "Very few poets have written about Thrushes. Are the mikes picking up anything?"
"Not a sound; not even a hum to show they're operating."
"That one in his shirt should at least pick up his heartbeat. He's found them; that old man is pretty sharp."
Napoleon agreed. "We're lucky he hasn't located the tracer in his cuff, and we'd better get after him if we want to stay lucky."
"What about the girls?"
"We'd better get Kerry, at least, since we're driving her car. But I don't think we should get Lee involved any further."
Illya nodded agreement. "So far, Thrush doesn't know about her, and she'll be a lot safer if they never find out. They've probably left the area, but we only have Sanders' word for that."
"And his other statements aren't proving very reliable," Napoleon said, watching the direction finder. After a second, he switched on the communicator and told Kerry to be ready to move as soon as they arrived. "And ask Lee if she can put together something for us to eat on the road."
Illya raised his voice enough to be picked up by the communicator. "Something other than peanut butter, if you have it," he said.
The sound of a bell came faintly through the communicator. "What was that?" Napoleon asked sharply.
"Just the phone," Kerry replied. "Lee's getting it." There was a minute's silence, punctuated by occasional fain background outbursts from Lee; then Kerry continued. "It was Edwin Mallard, the naturalist. He's read Lee's last book and is going to stop and see her on his way through town tomorrow, and—"
Napoleon interrupted. "Is she sure it really is Edwin Mallard, and not a Thrush agent? This strikes me as a pretty large coincidence."
"It must be him!" Lee's voice suddenly burst through the communicator. "Why should Thrush...I mean, they don't even know I exist, do they? Didn't you say...And this is the only chance I'll ever have to meet...He doesn't often..."