"Billion?" said Illya softly.
"Billion," said Waverly.
The sort of reverent hush that always follows the mention of astronomically huge sums of money was broken by another cough of the pneumatic tube. This time its contents were handed to Illya.
"Section Five's reports on the circuit diagrams you photographed. Short-wave transmitters, receivers, frequency multipliers of various sorts.
"Nothing else?" asked the Russian. "No radar, no observation devices of any kind?"
"None."
"Well, Napoleon, what does this do to your theory?"
"Illya, it is positively necessary to it."
"Mr. Solo, perhaps you would like to expound your theory for our benefit. Frankly, I think I may be getting an idea of what you are driving at, and I must say I consider it to be highly improbable."
"But..."
"Its improbability is only outweighed," continued Waverly imperturbably, "by the greater improbability of Thrush actually being capable of building a real space station and selling it to Egypt."
"Wait," said Illya, a terrible idea dawning upon him. "That couldn't just be a balloon up there."
"Why," said Napoleon softly, "not?"
He went on: "Look. They simply could not have put up a real one. All our information says they didn't have the capability; there was no time to build it without being seen; there are no arrangements for any life support systems; and if Thrush had a real space station, they wouldn't sell it—they'd keep it! Now, when you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Picture a balloon—like the Echo satellite, but shaped into a wheel the same way a Mickey Mouse balloon is made. It could have been launched in a single missile complete with a cylinder of compressed gas to inflate it to half a pound per square inch and a few hundred pounds of electronics gear." He was talking faster now as more pieces of the idea began falling into place.
"Even if they had the capability of constructing a full working space station, it couldn't have been put into orbit all at once. Lots of ships would have had to go back and forth from the surface to the construction orbit, and it would have taken time. It couldn't possibly have avoided observation before it was finished. But did anyone even see the shuttle ships the crew was supposed to have been sent up on?
"The radio signals—all they prove is that there's a transmitter of some kind up there. A powerful one, probably powered by solar cells. The receivers could be coupled to recording tape units which could play back anything through the transmitter. And anything could be sent up from earth on a tight beam with some kind of coded signal, to start the recorders. The signals we thought were telemetry could have been handled the same way. Nobody has to be there—nothing has to be there but a shiny shell that looks like a space station from a distance of a thousand miles, and something to make noises that sound like a space station. And that's all there really is!"
Waverly nodded. "And they sold it to Egypt, probably promising their own crews occupancy on receipt of payment in cash. And that payment is on its way at this very moment."
"And Egypt has paid an incredible amount of gold for a bright, shiny balloon," said Illya slowly. "It's a con game. It's actually all a confidence game."
"Yes," said Napoleon seriously. "The highest con in the history of the world. And what can we do about it?"
"If the Wheel cannot actually shoot back," said Illya, "it would be a simple matter to destroy it. There couldn't be any international recriminations—no nation has officially claimed it, and Egypt most certainly wouldn't once it was proved a fraud."
"There is only one flaw in that idea, Mr. Kuryakin," said Waverly. "This theory just might conceivably be wrong. And if we fired something at the Wheel, we would have about half an hour to contemplate the magnitude of our folly before thermonuclear missiles reduced selected portions of the United States of America to a seething mass of radioactive slag."
Napoleon sat silent. After a pause Waverly continued thoughtfully: "No, I am afraid our only hope is to try to convince the Egyptians somehow to withhold payment. This will leave Thrush out by a fairly large investment. They will probably attempt to use the Wheel to threaten for a while, but eventually it will prove a toothless tiger.
"But we must move quickly. If Thrush collects the money, two billion could be sufficient to enable them to put up a real space station, actually capable of doing everything the Monster Wheel claims. And that Wheel, gentlemen, would not be sold to any national power. With it Thrush could—dare I say it—rule the world.
"Your job will be to stop that shipment of gold. We can find its current position and get you to it—I leave to you the mechanical problems of hijacking the ship. Meanwhile I will be working through diplomatic channels with the Egyptian government to justify your—ah—emergency activities.
"Will you be rested up and ready to leave again tomorrow morning? Probably a small twin-jet would be the best transportation."
"I think we can manage it. Illya?"
"Of course. Long vacations leave me bored."
"Very good. I think we shall also ship Rameses home now, full of the information we have garnered and well primed with your theory, Mr. Solo. His report may help convince the government there of the wisdom of following the course of action we advise."
"But the Wheel itself?"
"I shall present your case to our own government. In their position, I don't feel I would take the chance, but it is possible some method may be devised to test the defenses of the Wheel without bringing fire from the heavens down upon our heads. If such can be managed, it would probably serve to sway the Egyptian government where nothing else would."
"In the meantime?"
"We each have our jobs to do. Nothing can be done in the meantime except doing our best to shorten the meantime."
Napoleon and Illya looked at each other, and the Russian spoke first. "Well, I've never hijacked a shipload of gold before."
"When I was a boy," said Napoleon, "I wanted to be a pirate. And now here I am. Too bad we have to give it back afterwards...."
Chapter 14: "We'll Have To Ditch!"
The first answer came in before they left the next morning. Diplomatic communications with the Egyptian High Command had a net result of slightly less than zero—not only did they refuse to comment on the suggestion that the space station known as the Monster Wheel was of Egyptian origin, they were politely insulting about the very idea.
Waverly looked at the teletype flimsy he had been handed, and shook his head. Their sources within the governments of both the United States and Egypt would continue to work at getting the message through, but as long as the individuals responsible refused to admit their connection with the Wheel, they could not be approached with information as to its true nature.
He tossed the piece of yellow paper on his desk and reached for the intercom. "Is the airplane ready yet?"
"Fueling is almost completed, sir," came the answer. "Ready for takeoff in about twenty minutes."
"Very good. Put Mr. Solo on, please."
It was a minute or two before Napoleon answered. "Solo on, sir."