Nobody deigned to answer him. Illya shot him a glance, then returned his silent gaze to the floor ahead of them.
But he continued. "Of course, the really awkward part will come when you try to explain how we got in here. Top security base, huh? Questions will be asked all the way up to the Ultimate Computer over this little business." He shook his head. "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes when responsibility for this gets shifted around. I'll bet the whole guard staff here gets purged." He chuckled affably. "About the best thing you could do for your own sakes would be to let us go and pretend it never happened. We sure aren't going to tell anybody."
The first guard finally spoke. "Easier just to kill you and drop bodies down vulcanole, then pretend it never happened."
Napoleon thought about this for a minute, then nodded thoughtfully. "Easier from your standpoint, perhaps," he said, "but what about ours?"
The guard didn't bother to say any more, and they marched into an elevator at the end of the hall. One of the Thrushes pushed a button and they started to rise.
Napoleon had been using the idle conversation as a cover for his increased rate of breathing. He was drawing air deeply into his lungs and using it to talk with while the additional oxygen filtered into his bloodstream. He was, in fact, hyperventilating—preparing his body for a period without breathing. Expecting that the offices to which they would be taken would not be on the same level, he had been looking forward to this elevator. Now it was up to Illya. His equipment had included the necessary....
There was a subtle signal—a glance, accompanied by an almost imperceptible twitch of one eyelid and a slight wrinkling of the nose. None of the guards caught it.
The Russian's hand slipped casually to this belt, and fumbled briefly with something there. Napoleon took the cue, grabbed another lungful of air and held it. Since he was listening for it, he heard the faint hiss.
It was another twenty seconds before the elevator stopped and the door opened on another deserted hall. The two U.N.C.L.E. agents stepped over the slumped bodies of their guards, picking up a rifle each, retrieved their automatics, and looked up and down the corridor.
"All right," said Napoleon, after catching his breath, "you've got the sense of direction. Where did we come in?"
"The steel walls are interfering with my natural compass, but I think it's this way."
They ran. They were halfway to the end of the corridor when the loudspeakers came to life.
"All personnel," the voice resonated, "clear level two. Intruders at large. Secure all doors. Guards, converge on level two, corridor six. Observe caution—they are armed and extremely dangerous."
The first contingent of guards came running around a corner a short distance ahead of them, failing to observe the ordered caution. Two rifles set on fully automatic thundered in the echoing corridor, and the survivors fell back in disorder. Napoleon and Illya discarded their empty weapons and picked up fresh ones.
The loudspeakers rattled again. "Guards—load rounds of Alpha ammunition. Do not shoot to kill."
"Alpha?" asked Napoleon. "What's that?"
"I don't know about you," said Illya, "but I do not intend to wait around and find out. The local announcer said we were on level two. I'll bet the exit shaft we came in by opens off level one—top level."
"How do you know level one wouldn't be the bottom level?"
"Because we came up four levels in the elevator from where we were captured. You should pay more attention to things, Napoleon."
"All right. Where are the service stairs?"
"Over there. See the sign that says stuparo? That means stairs. But the door is probably locked. Let's get back to the elevator."
"What makes you think it'll be working?"
"They have to get more men to our floor."
They pushed aside the sleeping guards, whose bodies had been left blocking the door open, and sniffed the air. The gas had already dissipated. They jumped in as the door slid closed and pushed the top button.
The loudspeaker was behind the times when they stepped out. "Seal level two," it said, a note of anger in the voice. "Corner them and capture them."
Napoleon and Illya smiled triumphantly at each other, and started up the corridor. After a couple of intersections, Illya suddenly turned right and pointed to a large pair of doors across the hall some hundred feet away. Each half had a glass panel in it, and a red sign above the door said something about unauthorized personnel keeping out. Napoleon pointed this out as they trotted towards it.
"Fine," said his partner. "If you want to go back and get a surface pass, you go right ahead. I won't wait for you."
"Under the circumstances, I guess we can probably get away with it just once. But I hope they won't consider it a black mark against our records."
"I hope they haven't sealed the door."
The loudspeaker brayed again, and its metallic voice was all around them. "Open level two," it barked. "They are making a break for surface passage Delta on level one."
"You guessed!" said Napoleon bitterly as they skidded to a stop at the doors, and found them immovable.
Illya shook his head and pulled something out of his pocket. "I think the time is past for subtlety," he said. "I'll blow it."
Napoleon fell back, shifting his attention to the hall behind him. He snapped the rifle's control over to semi-auto and pointed it down the corridor.
Seconds later a gray-helmeted head poked around the corner. The rifle spat flame, and the head disappeared. Part of the shoulder was still visible, however, and it fell to the floor. Napoleon hugged the wall, and pulled his stomach in as far as it would go.
A shot from a concealed marksman slapped into the door near him, and he pulled in a little further. Apparently they were only shooting wildly in hopes of connecting. He glanced at the impact spot and saw the remains of the bullet. It was only slightly damaged—a small hypodermic dart. That must be Alpha ammunition—probably some knockout juice. Not that it mattered much—if it connected, it might as well be a bullet as far as they were concerned. Better a bullet, in fact; with a slight wound he could keep going, but this would put him out of the fight entirely with only a scratch.
Illya called from behind him, "It's going! Down!" and he dropped flat, hands over his ears, feet towards the door, body limp.
The blast threw him a few feet and knocked all the wind out of him, and the concussion made his head ache—it was actually too loud to have been heard. At least it would discourage their attackers from coming around the corner for the next minute or two, and give them some head start up the tunnel.
Napoleon was on his feet again in a moment, and past the shattered ruin of the door a moment later with Illya hot behind him.
A faint glow of starlight scarcely warned them as they approached the end of the tunnel, but then there was a cool sea breeze on their faces, sloping lava under their feet, and a glittering sheet of stars across the whole sky above them. And then they were off, bounding downhill, careless of the uneven ground and treacherous rocks.
Finally the protective shade of the forest was around them, and they slowed, panting for breath.
"Okay, trusted guide, you got us out of there. Now can you find where we left the scuba gear?"