Napoleon blinked. "It seems awfully confusing."
"Very. But it has its advantages. One of the more enterprising students at the university has been making good money by selling mimeographed copies of his conversion table. So people in Midford can tell when the stores will close in Bippus and vice versa."
"But I thought time zones had been standardized by law," Illya said.
"Oh, they have," Rita said casually. "But can you see someone standardizing Lem Thompson? This state has been arguing over the standard time zones for the past five years, and they're no closer to an agreement now than they were when they started."
"I see your point," Napoleon admitted. "Where is this TV station, anyway? The newspaper just said Bippus."
"You can't miss it," Rita informed them with the cheery confidence of someone who has never tried to follow directions. "It's right downtown, across from the hotel. Why? Are you going to raid it?" Eagerness for adventure was apparent in her voice.
"Eventually," said Napoleon. "But not until we have something a little more definite to go on."
"Yes," Illya added helpfully. "We're having enough image problems now; imagine what would happen if we were caught burglarizing an innocent TV station."
Rita looked unconvinced, but failed to pursue the subject as the agents got out of the car. With a wave, she drove off, and the looming hulk of the Checker disappeared into the darkness.
"Well, let's go," Napoleon said.
"Aren't you the mad, impetuous boy, though," said Illya.
Napoleon shrugged. "If you'd prefer to wait until Rita thinks of a good excuse to come along..."
They walked to the U.N.C.L.E. car.
Section III: "You're Anxious to End Your Career?"
Chapter 9
"If I Didn't Know Better, I'd Say This Was A Chain"
THE OFFICES OF WHPL-TV occupied the second floor over the Gackenheimer Feed Store. Napoleon and Illya strolled by the front of the building, trying to look as though they had legitimate business on the totally deserted street at two o'clock in the morning. Napoleon halted to inspect a sign advertising Candied Baby Pig Pusher. "I'd think it would be hard to get hooked on candied baby pigs," he commented. "Though I've heard that chocolate covered ants are considered a delicacy in some circles."
Illya grimaced and urged Napoleon along to the alley next to the building. The agents disappeared into it.
"I wonder if they'll have a watchman?" Illya asked.
"A possibility, if Thrush is involved," said Napoleon. "I don't think they're expecting us, though. Having a watchman tends to make people wonder what sort of valuables need to be watched. We might be lucky. This stairway seems to be what we're looking for. You keep a lookout down here while I see about the door."
The door at the top of the stairs was, of course, locked. As quiet as the town was, blowing the lock would attract too much unwanted attention. After studying the lock by the light of his small flashlight, Napoleon extracted a piece of thin wire from a coat pocket and inserted it in the keyhole. After some experimental poking he pulled the wire back out, bent it to shape, and reinserted it. Some experimental twists revealed the need for further modifications. The next trial produced the satisfying sound of the bolt being withdrawn. He gestured to Illya, who quickly joined him.
"I'm going inside," Napoleon said. "You stay here. If I run into trouble, I'll make enough noise for you to hear and come bail me out. If someone starts investigating from outside, you make enough noise to warn me."
"You didn't say anything about bailing me out," Illya complained.
"Anyone you run into is likely to be an officer of the law, in which case I'll bail you out in the morning. Just pretend you're a burglar and keep U.N.C.L.E.'s image untarnished."
Illya nodded unhappily and tried to look like a burglar. Napoleon switched on his light and moved into the studio.
The place was about what he had expected: some offices, an art department for local advertising, a couple of small sound stages for live programming, a film library. Making his way into the library, he found the films neatly racked and a portable viewer for examining film strips set up on a table. If Thrush is involved, he thought, they're going out of their way to be helpful.
On inspection, the majority of the films turned out to be commercials. They were filed by sponsor name; a thorough search failed to reveal the cross-index by program that he expected. Not that it made much difference. Professor Curtis had mentioned a local news broadcast that almost everyone watched, but subliminal messages were as likely to appear in one film as another.
He began selecting films at random and running them through the viewer.
To his surprise, he found subliminal messages in the first film, and the second, and the third. It began to look as though every advertising film in the room had been tampered with by Thrush. Additional single frames had been spliced into the films, so that each would be shown just long enough for the viewer's subconscious to pick up the message. Most of the messages were just two words, such as "U.N.C.L.E. Communist," or "U.N.C.L.E. Killers." Others simply had the U.N.C.L.E name overlayed across photos of gangsters, hooded executioners, and the like.
He found a few frames that showed skid row bums, panhandling in one frame, mugging someone in another, and some which seemed to portray Thrush's favorite axiom, "Might is Right." The Thrush name was never mentioned, but it seemed obvious that they were the originators of the messages. Apparently in addition to castigating U.N.C.L.E., they were attempting to implant a general attitude which would make the citizens more receptive to Thrush domination in the name of strong, efficient government. There might be other films implicating Thrust directly, but he had found what he suspected. It wouldn't do to jeopardize a successful mission by making protracted examinations of all the films in stock.
He carefully replaced the films where he had found them, made sure the viewer was in its original position, and rejoined Illya at the back door. After locking the door behind them, they returned to their car and, as they drove back to Lem Thompson's farm, they reported their success to Waverly.
The warbling of his communicator awakened Napoleon the next morning. He groped around on the table next to the bed and eventually located the device.
"Solo here," he mumbled.
"Good morning, Mr. Solo," came the precise voice of Waverly. Napoleon shook his head and untangled himself from the covers enough to sit up.
"The analysis of the food and drink samples you sent us has been completed," Waverly continued. "With most interesting results."
"So soon?" The efficiency of the U.N.C.L.E. lab technicians never ceased to amaze Napoleon.
"Yes, Mr. Solo, and a pretty penny of overtime it cost us, too. But I'm happy to say it was not spent in vain. The drug found previously in Mr. Kuryakin and Dr. Armden was present in every sample of liquid from Midford vending machines."