Waverly paused to inspect his pipe, which seemed to have gone out. He took his time puffing its dormant embers back into life, and then spoke again. "He claimed it belonged to his own nation."
"To Egypt!" said three voices simultaneously.
"To Egypt. The interrogators pointed out to him that this was obviously ridiculous, but he continued to insist for a few exchanges, then suddenly shut up. He said if his government hadn't seen fit to announce it to the world, he would respect their judgment. And they could get nothing more out of him.
"Also, Mr. Schneider has recovered rather well from the drugs he was given in Australia. And we are now in possession of the coordinates of the mysterious island."
"Have we identified it?" asked Illya.
"Yes, we have. Few charts bother to list it, since it is tiny, uninhabited, has no natural fresh water, and is far off the main trade routes. It is a volcanic island, with a single peak at two thousand and some feet above sea level. The last reported activity of the volcano was in 1872. It is now officially considered extinct. The island itself is moderately jungled, and is roughly two miles from east to west, three miles north to south.
"A photo-reconnaissance aircraft has been ordered over the island—more than one would probably arouse the suspicions of anyone who might be there and equipped to observe it. The results of the mission will be in our hands by tomorrow afternoon, and a topographical map will be prepared for your use.
"Friday you will depart by jet to our branch office in Colombo, Ceylon, where you will board a special ship. You will be put over the side in a miniature submarine some two hundred miles from the island, and will proceed to infiltrate whatever operation may be centered there. Obtain as much information as you can regarding the nature and especially the source of supply for the operation, and get out again. You will then be picked up by the same ship at the spot you left it. All details beyond these will be left to your own discretions."
"Fine," said Napoleon crisply. "We'll want camouflage suits, some basic guerilla equipment and survival gear. Also two scuba outfits. And if at all possible, a map of underwater contours around the island. We'll want to sink the sub in fifty or a hundred feet of water, where it'll be safe while we're ashore."
"Section Five will get to work on the map tonight. Incidentally, you should plan to spend tomorrow down in the Research Department. Mr. Simpson will want to check you out on the new submarine."
"That shouldn't be necessary, sir, unless it's a radical departure from the old one."
"It is. Top submerged speed of forty knots plus, depth capability in excess of five thousand feet, and totally noiseless."
"Five thousand feet? Why weren't we using that on the H-bomb that got lost off Spain last spring?"
"Too much publicity attendant, and the fact that it was still in the final stages of construction at the time. It has now been extensively tested, although this will be its first real use in the field."
"A top speed of forty knots, and completely noiseless?" asked Illya. "How is that accomplished?"
Waverly held up a patient hand. "These technical matters are outside my bailiwick," he said, "and it is past midnight. I suggest you take up your questions with Mr. Simpson tomorrow."
"Just one more question...."
"Yes?"
"The name of the island."
"Oh, of course. The only two charts it appears on call it Dauringa Island. No reason for the name—probably some obscure navigator who first sighted it."
"Dauringa Island," mused Napoleon. "A peaceful enough name. Palm trees waving in a gentle tropical breeze. But somehow I have the feeling it will not live up to the travel posters."
Illya nodded. "It may even look peaceful on the surface, Napoleon—but not deep down inside, where it really counts."
Section III: "Round And Round Went The Monster Wheel..."
Chapter 9: "This is Your Submarine—Keep It Clean."
The research and development section of U.N.C.L.E. in New York is in the very lowest level of the building, which extends nearly as far down into the solid bedrock of Manhattan Island as it does up into the polluted air. This level includes the target range, the main emergency generator plant, and the docks which open onto the river.
In the great echoing vault of the construction area, the lights hung far overhead and shed their cold light over half an acre of heavy machinery, machinists, and their products.
One product rested, fat and shining, in a cradle on the floor at one side of the room. It was a dull gray teardrop about fifteen feet through at its widest and some thirty feet long. At the center of the rounded end was a small porthole, with a ring of lights around it. All the surfaces were flush with the metal, leaving the curve unbroken. Here and there on the hull were small areas of different textures which could be recognized as transducers, as well as a number of screened openings and small access hatches. Just above the porthole was a large screened opening—an intake scoop of some kind.
About halfway from the fattest part to the rounded nose a ring of small openings girdled the entire object. And partway back towards the tapering tail, on the top, a three-foot circle showed where an access hatch was located. A ladder led up the side of the cradle to the hatch, which was closed.
Napoleon Solo stood at the nose of the thing, hands cupped around his face, peering through the porthole into the darkened interior. Illya stood behind him, with a thin dark man in a white lab smock, who was speaking.
"Some years ago, experiments were being made by medical researchers in the design of blood-pumps for a new design of artificial heart. They were interested in a pump that would not break down under years of constant use. In the course of their tests they discovered that a powerful enough electromagnetic field could affect the blood directly, and move it through tubes without the use of motors or impellers of any kind. Since sea water is electrically quite similar to blood, it was reasoned that the same electromagnetic flux could be used to move it. Stewart Way, of Westinghouse, developed the basic principle just this summer at Santa Barbara."
Napoleon took his face away from the porthole and wiped the fog of his breath off it with his sleeve. "So that's why the submarine is noiseless. No motor—no moving parts—just an electrical field to pump sea water. That means it's jet-propelled."
"Like a squid," said Illya. "It takes in sea water and squirts it out again."
"Exactly," said the inventor. "That is the reason for naming it the Squid. It is a prototype of what will someday be called the Squid class of submarines." He cleared his throat and smiled shyly. "More modest than calling it the Simpson class."
"Does it squirt ink too?" asked Napoleon.
"We thought that would be unnecessary. Most undersea combat is carried out by sound rather than by sight."
"Have you worked out a way of making it invisible to sonar, then?" asked Illya.
Simpson nodded. "More or less. The propulsion system itself does a great deal to help that."
Napoleon had wandered around to the pointed end of the submarine, and was looking around, slightly puzzled. "Where's the jet?" he asked. "This end looks solid to me."
"It is. The jets are up here," said the man in the lab coat, pointing to the ring around the nose of the teardrop.