Whateley took out his pocket watch. "I can't stay much longer; I must attend to other business, such as preparing a nice warm cell for your friend Mr. Kuryakin."
Napoleon looked surprised. "But Illya is in New York by now."
"Now, now, Mr. Solo, we know better than that, don't we? For one thing, Lem Thompson's farm has been under surveillance since yesterday. For another, I overheard your recent conversation with the dear boy. My intercom system," he gestured at an overhead speaker with a bony finger, "is also designed to pick up sounds from any room and broadcast them on a special frequency to my communicator. I can tune in to any room that I wish." He held up his Thrush communicator proudly.
"Handy gadget," Napoleon said. The longer he could keep Whateley talking, the more chance there was of discovering something that he could use to turn the tables on the Thrush. "But it seems a bit odd to have it set up here as well as the house, here in secret passages that no one but Thrush uses."
Whateley chuckled again. "Although I find Thrush an admirable organization, dealing with individuals devoid of principle does require some discretion. For example, I am the discoverer of the drug that you and Mr. Kuryakin are so interested in. I am also the only man in the world who knows how to make it. Anyone with a good laboratory could analyze its composition, of course, but they might be a little surprised if they tried to duplicate it." He smiled. "Like so many modern drugs, the secret is in the manufacturing process and I doubt that anyone could duplicate mine. I doubt that many people would even believe mine. But, as I started to say, this gives me a much securer niche in the organization than most Thrush satrapy heads possess."
"An astute maneuver," Napoleon said admiringly. "I assume you also invented the rather complicated system of administering the drug and the subliminal conditioning?"
Whateley leaned back against the iron maiden and smiled, looking as if he would be happy to lecture Napoleon for the rest of the night.
"Actually," he said, "the administration and conditioning were determined by the action of the drug. As you have no doubt guessed, its entire effect is to make people susceptible to suggestion, but both the dosage and the conditioning must be gradual for the best results. Drugging the drinks in Falco's vending machines was an ideal method of administration: half a dozen times a day, five days a week. In the early stages there is a tendency for the subject to regress over weekends; in the long run this is unimportant, but it enabled you to talk Armden into going with you. If you had arrived in the middle of the week, you would never have convinced him. As I was saying, it is the subconscious of the subject that we must work on. Direct orders are not feasible, while subliminal conditioning works wonders."
Napoleon looked puzzled. "But Illya and Dr. Armden obeyed direct orders when they were drugged the other day."
"Ah, but they had been given a massive dose. Such a dose does enable the subject to respond to direct orders; unfortunately he doesn't respond to anything else. His willpower is temporarily destroyed. We want to obtain scientists with their initiative and creativity intact. Also, conflicting orders given to anyone with a massive dose of the drug produce hysteria and collapse, as you observed in Dr. Armden's reactions last Monday. I would have preferred not to give him that dose, but you forced our hand."
"But wouldn't normal brainwashing techniques accomplish the same thing?" Napoleon asked. "You have all sorts to choose from, from the Chinese to Madison Avenue."
"I'm afraid not. Efficient brainwashing requires that the subject be under the complete control of the operator for long periods of time. Not at all suitable for our purposes."
"Is this just a test run, then?" Napoleon hazarded.
"Yes, our first field application. Previously, we tested one of our own agents, not having any U.N.C.L.E. agents to practice on. Also, your men are so frequently conditioned against drugs. Terry was expendable, so we turned him into an U.N.C.L.E. admirer. Worked very well; in fact a little too well. We hadn't counted on his escape; I had a few bad moments when I realized he was on the threshold of U.N.C.LE. headquarters with traces of the drug still in his bloodstream. Fortunately, we got him back."
"And changed him back to a loyal Thrush, I assume?"
"Oh… no. Effects are cumulative; after a certain number of doses, the conditioning is permanent. We're very close to that point here at Midford now. Once we got Terry back and completed our tests, we had to dispose of him."
"I suppose the next thing is a full scale assault on the scientists of the world?"
"We haven't decided. Probably we will seek to influence scientists, but there is always the possibility that we'll go into mass production of the drug, infiltrate the major TV networks for our messages and condition a majority of the citizenry. How does 'Whateley For President' strike you?"
Napoleon shivered inwardly but kept an outward calm. "How it would strike Thrush Central might be more to the point. They just might have other candidates in mind."
Whateley chuckled. "Yes, I suppose they might. But I control the drug, and I do think I might conjure up a few helpers from somewhere, if necessary. It wouldn't be too hard."
Napoleon shuddered slightly. "What about me? You mentioned some time ago that it was expedient for you to keep me alive."
"I'm glad you remembered the word I used, Mr. Solo. Expedient. That applies equally to Mr. Kuryakin when he arrives. As soon as I get a new batch of the drug made, you will be given massive doses, after which you will report to Mr. Waverly that the anti-U.N.C.L.E. feeling was a mere misunderstanding that has now been cleared up. And then... well, I'm afraid that even though I enjoy such an interesting conversationalist and splendid audience, you and Mr. Kuryakin will both have a regrettable but fatal accident on your way back to New York. It will be a pity for U.N.C.L.E. to lose their two best agents and their remarkable new car in one fell swoop, so to speak, but turnpike driving can be terribly hazardous these days."
With a final chuckle, Whateley turned and walked away down the corridor. Napoleon listened to his dying footsteps. They produced a slight echo, as though one of his demons was pattering along in front of him.
Chapter 14
"This Isn't Exactly What I Had In Mind"
AFTER RECEIVING NAPOLEON'S second call, Illya reluctantly got out of bed and dressed, meanwhile considering ways and means of getting from Lem Thompson's farm to the Whateley mansion. Lem's car had the clutch burned out, a circumstance Illya had not discovered until Lem left for Fort Wayne in his pickup truck. As a result, the only self-propelled vehicles on the farm were a tractor and a power lawn mower, neither of which seemed quite practical for driving several miles and sneaking up quietly on the Whateley house.
Once dressed, Illya picked up his communicator from the table by the bed and called the New York office. Waverly replied. Waverly always replied, no matter what time of day or night an agent called in. When he slept, or if he slept, nobody knew. Illya had heard idle speculation that the head of Section Two of U.N.C.L.E. was actually a robot. Impossible, of course, but still - when did the man sleep?