"We're fine," he announced, "but you'd better swing north about fifteen degrees or we'll miss the clearing. Incidentally," he added, "how are we going to pick up Sotavento?"
"Can't we just hover and lower the cable like Thrush did on Lake Michigan?" Napoleon asked.
"Not exactly. The dirigible was moored then, and it had more ballast. We lost a lot of weight when the paratroopers jumped. Now we're being held down by the elevators. The minute we stop moving forward, we start rising."
"Well, then we drift across the clearing as slowly as we can, dragging the cable, and Ishmael grabs it as it comes past."
Illya considered. "We can do that, I think, but I'd hate to snag that hook in a tree."
"You needn't worry," McNulty assured him. "The winch is very sturdy, and even at low speed the dirigible has enough inertia to tear a fair-sized tree out by the roots. Don't forget, it weighs fifty tons."
"We can do it, then," Illya decided.
Napoleon contacted Ishmael again and advised him of the plan. The local agent sounded dubious but reluctantly agreed to at least try.
A few minutes later, the dirigible coasted slowly over the clearing. The hook at the end of the cable splashed down in the middle of the stream, dragged across the bank, and headed for the first line of trees, less than two hundred feet away. Ishmael Gallinas y Sotavento valiantly dashed after it and overtook it about fifty feet short of the trees. He attached himself to it, leechlike, and closed his eyes. Illya engaged the winch and hauled him aboard.
Ishmael was still trembling and picking small leaves and branches from his clothing when he stepped into the control gondola ahead of Illya. He managed to smile weakly at Napoleon. "It is good to see you once again, se�or."
Napoleon returned the smile. "Glad to have you aboard, Mr. Sotavento. I believe you and Mr. McNulty have met?"
The local agent stared. "But he—"
"Is at present working with us to avoid the wrath of Thrush. However, keep in mind that he is rather inventive and untrustworthy, so under no circumstances allow him near a weapon."
Sotavento nodded, and the four men settled down to a discussion of the possibilities of rescuing Kerry and Dr. Morthley. The dirigible, its rudder locked in place, drifted in large, lazy, invisible circles.
* * *
Illya stood on the hook at the end of the winch cable, one of the retuned Thrush communicators and one of the normal ones tied around his neck. Three ropes were attached to the cable fifty feet above him in such a way that a solid pull on the ends that were looped about his chest would slide them down the cable until they were stopped by the hook. A hundred and fifty yards above him, Ishmael was cautiously operating the winch.
"Very slowly now," Illya spoke into the retuned communicator. "The hook is just starting to disappear. Just another couple of feet and I can duck down enough to see out."
As Ishmael lowered him further, the hook disappeared entirely into the floor of blackness beneath him, then his feet and legs up to his waist. "Stop!" he said, and the winch halted with only inches remaining between the edge of the field and the communicators hanging around his neck.
Illya squatted down on the hook, and the tops of the trees suddenly appeared, moving by at a leisurely pace less than a hundred yards below. Looking forward, he could just make out the lights of the Thrush base a good half mile ahead. He watched for several seconds, then stood up with his head inside the field.
"To the left about ten degrees," he said into the communicator, and ducked back down. He could feel the cable sway slightly as McNulty shifted heading. Ahead, the cluster of lights grew larger and seemed to be dropping lower. "We've got the heading about right," he said as he stood up into the field again, "but bring it down a little. At this height, I'll need one of the parachutes myself."
Back outside the field, the trees rushed up at him with disconcerting suddenness, but before he hit the upper branches, the dirigible leveled off and he skimmed over the highest trees by twenty feet. "Hold it level," he said, sticking his head for a second back into the field.
As the Thrush base loomed nearer, Illya could make out the sound of the helicopter. Even at a quarter mile, its clattering roar began to drown out the quiet rumble of the dirigible's engines. So much the better, he thought; the more distraction, the better chance we have.
Now the headquarters building was approaching, sticking several yards above the surrounding trees. "Up about ten feet," Illya spoke into the communicator and immediately ducked back inside the field to watch the back wall of the building charge directly at him at ten miles an hour.
Again, he felt a shift as the elevators moved and the dirigible started to gain altitude. He waited until he cleared the last tree at the edge of the clearing and was swinging up and over the edge of the headquarters building, then stuck his head back into the field long enough to snap, "Now!" sharply into the communicator.
Illya dropped the half dozen feet from the hook to the roof. He hit lightly, partially restrained by the ropes around his chest and managed to retain his balance. The hook continued forward in a slightly rising trajectory for a second and the ropes tugged at him as their other ends slid jerkily as Ishmael reeled it off the winch at top speed.
The sound of the dirigible motors as their props seemed thunderous to Illya, but they were still not as loud as that of the helicopter as it clattered over the jungle on its way to pick up another load of the paratroopers.
As the hook came within reach, Illya grabbed it and began tugging it toward one corner of the roof. As he reached it and lay face down to feed the hook over the edge, a brilliant flash of light came from the jungle on the other side of the clearing. Ignoring the flash, he brought the hook level with a cell window four feet down the back wall of the building. He swung the hook against the bars, and called over the edge, "Kerry! Dr. Morthley! Come to the window, quickly!"
In a matter of seconds, a pale face appeared at the bars and stared at the hook dangling inches away. "This is Illya," he explained in a stage whisper that carried over the sound of the receding helicopter and the growing tumult that had resulted from the first flare. "Get that hook in through the bars and loop it around them; then stick it back through and hook it to the cable. Hurry! We only have a few seconds!"
A second flare, brilliant red this time, went off. As Kerry's hand darted through the bars and pulled the hook through, the normal Thrush communicator around Illya's neck erupted into life.
"What's going on out there?" Forbes' voice crackled through. "Helicopter, can you see anything?"
Meanwhile, the sound of men shouting orders and pounding across the clearing toward the jungle was coming from in front of the headquarters building.
"A bunch of flares is all we can see," the helicopter was answering.
"Well, get back here, quick, whatever it is!" Forbes snapped "It's probably those two U.N.C.L.E. agents again—it has to be!"
The communicator fell silent as the hook reappeared through the bars and was fastened over the cable. "Now stand back from the wall." Illya told Kerry and Dr. Morthley. "I'll be in to pick you up in a few seconds."