He listened while he continued removing his gear, and heard nothing. A few insects chattered, and a nightbird screeched, but the noises were natural and reassuring—the presence of alien intruders in the area would have damped the sounds.
After three minutes he pointed his flash out to sea and waved it in a circle. There was no answer. A minute later he repeated the signal. This time a spot of light flicked twice.
Two minutes later Illya was standing beside him in the shelter of the trees. In silence they shucked out of their wet-suits, slipped on the camouflage coveralls from their packs, and blacked their faces. A few more minutes' work concealed their scuba gear under a foot of soft earth at the base of a distinguishable tree, and they were ready to complete their invasion.
Three cautious hours later they lay on their bellies in the brush and looked up at the side of the volcano. It rose up from beds of old lava, where a few hardy bushes had already managed to take root, and stood black and jagged against the moon-blue sky.
They had seen no signs of human habitation—if this island had been the launching site of a space missile, it was kept quite secure. No tracks, no cigarette butts, not even a smell of anything but the highly pungent Kerguelen's Land cabbage which grew in profusion among the scattered trees.
"There we are," said Napoleon in a whisper. "And it looks as if nobody's home."
"It seems a shame to come all this way and then leave without seeing them," said his partner. "Let's look for a door."
"They may be trying to avoid us—what if they don't answer the bell?"
"We sneak around and go in the window?"
Napoleon nodded, and they began moving off around the mountain, scanning the rock walls for openings of any kind.
Eventually it was a spark of light against the shadowed rocks that showed the door they were after. Illya spotted it first, tapped Napoleon, and pointed silently. Solo nodded, and they turned up the slope towards it, rubber-soled shoes soundless on the lava sheet as they climbed.
Then they saw another light—a match that flared in the darkness ahead of them. They froze in their tracks and sank flat against the harsh surface of the bare rock. The match illuminated a man's face as it touched the end of his cigarette, and dimmed as he drew the flame into the tobacco. A moment later a voice was heard, softly, in English:
"God, but it's good to get out in the fresh air once in a while. I feel like a ruddy prisoner in there."
The match was blown out and the second smoker muttered agreement. "Sometimes I think they're a little crackers on security. There's nobody in a thousand miles that's not been checked and cross-checked by Thrush six ways from Sunday. But we're supposed to act like we're under siege every minute. Practically have to twist arms to get a blinkin' surface pass." He snorted. "In six months, what have we ever seen on radar? Three planes and one ship. And we sank the ship."
The two smoked in silence for a time, while the two U.N.C.L.E. agents huddled in their own shadows not fifty feet from them. Only a small portion of Napoleon's mind appreciated the irony—most of his attention was occupied in an attempt to make himself invisible.
After several minutes one of the glowing butts arched away into the darkness and burst in a shower of dying sparks. It was followed by a muttered curse. "Forgot again!" said the voice, and he started down the hill towards where the cigarette had fallen.
Napoleon and Illya lay very still and watched the silhouette of the Thrush moving diagonally, somewhat closer to them. But his attention was focused only on his error. Apparently nothing was allowed to be thrown where it could be seen from outside.
He struck another match and searched for the dead butt. When it burned down to his fingers he swore, dropped it, swore again, lit another, and picked up the first one. Then he found the butt and hurried back up the hill to his companion. "Got it," he said. "I don't know whether I'll be able to get the hang of this security nonsense or not. Force of habit keeps taking over."
The other one laughed shortly, stubbed his cigarette out on the rock wall, and said, "Well, we've had our freedom for tonight. Let's get back inside."
The two men faded back into blackness under an overhang of rock, and were gone.
After a few moments, two blobs of shadow rose cautiously from the ground and crept up to the overhang. Even close up the U.N.C.L.E. agents could distinguish no back to the cave it formed. They stepped in.
There was a feeling of space ahead of them, and a breath of warm air smelling of oil and people moved gently past them. They nodded to each other in the darkness, and slowly and silently began to move down the long tunnel into the heart of the mountain.
Chapter 11: "Get Those Intruders!"
Eventually the last of the tropical moonlight faded behind them, and Illya brought out his pocket flashlight. Putting his mouth to Napoleon's ear, he said softly, "I'm going to try the light for a second. Get ready to run."
He aimed the slender cylinder at the floor and pressed the button, tensed and alert for the sound of a guard who would probably shoot at the light. A few seconds passed, and nothing happened. He swung the dim beam up and along the wall, dilated pupils straining to draw in the faint images.
The walls were natural stone, only slightly smoothed in the excavating that had formed the tunnel. Not a door nor a side passage nor a ventilator broke the rough stone as far as he could see. After a few seconds they both moved forward again.
The diffused glow of the pocket light slipped along the lava floor and danced up the walls as they continued their stygian way for what seemed like several minutes. Then an answering glow became visible ahead, and they stopped.
"Well," murmured Napoleon, "I think we've arrived."
"Do we burst in without knocking?"
"I think not. Scarcely polite, not to say probably suicidal. Let's practice our sneaking technique."
"Fine. Keep that quiet pistol of yours handy; we may need to hush someone quickly, and I still haven't seen you use it."
"You've got a silencer—you can be just as quiet as I can."
"Yes, but you went to so much trouble bringing that rocket pistol it would be a shame not to let you use it."
"All right. If we have a choice, I'll go ahead. But if we don't, please don't stand on ceremony."
"Do I ever?"
Napoleon had to admit it was not one of Illya's characteristics, and they moved on.
Used air was still blowing softly in their faces, and they were hoping for a ventilator shaft to give them access to the interior of this sub-volcanic antheap. But it was beginning to appear that ventilation passed in and out through the same passages as personnel in search of a breath of fresh air and a cigarette. This meant a likelihood of guards and similar unpleasant phenomena in the immediate offing.
They stopped.
Napoleon shook his head thoughtfully. "It doesn't seem reasonable," he said, "to have all the foul air in the place blowing out from an inhabited area. Either there are blower vents between us and the lighted area, or the lights are leaking in from adjoining rooms where inhabitation is going on. I think it's worth looking at, anyway."