Both paused at the top of the stairs and looked at their goal.
Illya caught up to Napoleon and said, "Well, there it is. Shall we just go try the door?"
"Why not? It has to be the right place."
"There's no place like it anywhere near here," said Illya. "Come on. Let's get out of the rain."
They hurried across the open field towards the tower, their lights extinguished. A quick search around the base found a door—the only opening apparent at ground level. Huddling over the handle, lights dimmed by fingers over the lenses, they tested the handle. It turned, and the door gave slightly inwards. No light showed around the frame.
Illya looked up doubtfully, and Napoleon shrugged. "Who would bother to lock a door on an island as well guarded as this? Remember the same situation on Dauringa Island?"
The Russian agent nodded, and pushed the door open, to dart the attenuated beam of his torch into the room.
It was empty. They ducked inside quickly and closed the door behind them.
In the relative silence, they looked around. There was a desk in one corner, and two doors opening in different directions. The one on the right ahead of them showed a light, and led down. The one on the left side bore a sign saying, COMMUNICATIONS. KEEP OUT.
Napoleon smiled. "I knew," he said, "we would find a Rainbow at the end of the storm."
Section IV : "The Rainbow Comes and Goes"
Chapter 13
How A Lighthouse Proved Larger Within Than Without, and Napoleon and Illya Became Unexpected Guests.
THEY HAD ENTERED the lighthouse on the ground floor, and had more or less expected to be at the bottom. But the relative sizes of the doors leading up and down indicated that the far greater portion of traffic went down into the rock. They passed the desk and looked through the glass doors.
"It's Dauringa Island all over again, isn't it?" said Napoleon in a whisper. "Only the stairs go down."
"And shall we?"
"Why not?" After checking the edges of the door for concealed alarm switches and concealing their outer garments in a cupboard, they passed through the double doors into a rough-hewn rock stairwell leading down to a landing and switching back.
"I wonder how far down it goes," Illya murmured.
"Considering its proprietor, the other end probably comes up in the Royal Mint."
They descended past a door on the next level down, and stopped at the second. "How interested are you in getting all the way to the bottom of this?"
"Not especially. Besides, we'd have to climb all the way back up. Let's look in here."
"My idea precisely." They leaned on the push-bar and the door swung open, revealing a narrow corridor some fifty feet long. Flat-painted plywood partitions formed walls, and fluorescent lighting fixtures hung from the rocky ceiling. One light in ten was still on, splashing shadowed blue-white light over the offices and into the corridor. At the far end, under what might have been the generator house attached to the light upstairs, an open door with a heavy bar across it let into an unlit space. They walked, rubber-sole silent, down the hall towards it.
Name tags were slipped into slots on the doors as they passed - normal names with nothing in common to show why they would appear inside an artificial cave under a lighthouse in the Bristol Channel. It was uncanny. Napoleon suddenly had the impression that the western branch of the London Underground terminated two floors below them, and that these offices were daily filled with ordinary commuters. He shook his head to clear it, and looked down at the room beyond the open doorway.
It was an empty shaft, faced on the inside with well-finished cement, apparently awaiting an elevator. Light shone against the far side of the shaft many feet below them, indicating the next level down.
Napoleon stepped back from the edge. "If it's all the same to you," he murmured, 'I'll walk down."
"I checked the doors," said Illya. "All locked. Apparently they aren't completely lax on security. Want to check the other side of the stairwell?"
They moved quietly back to the central space, and checked through the facing door. An identical bank of offices, with a large wooden door at the far end, in the same position as the unfinished shaft on the other side. And as they looked, lights faded on behind them. They straightened slowly, and did not turn.
A voice behind them said politely, "Straight ahead, gentlemen, and through the door at the far end." The voice spoke in a tone which indicated it came from behind a gun.
Napoleon was first, and Illya followed him. As their captor came last through the door, Illya spoke. "Good evening, Mr. Rainbow. Sorry to drop in unexpectedly like this, but the storm was getting worse."
A soft chuckle came from behind them. "I am slightly hurt that you spied out my hideaway so quickly. Obviously I erred in attempting to bring Mr. Solo here with inadequate preparation."
"As you see, I made it anyway," said Napoleon. "Nice little place you have here."
"Thank you. It just shows what one can do if one is handy with money. Yes, just push the doorhandle and go in. I'm afraid we haven't got automatic doors yet."
Illya snorted. "Automatic doors? You don't even have an elevator!"
"Illya!" said Napoleon. "That's rude!"
"Help yourselves to chairs, please." The door closed behind them and the room lights faded on. They found soft, form-fitting chairs and sat down. Out from behind them strolled a stocky figure, informally clad, with a pipe in one hand and the other in a pocket.
"I hope you're comfortable," he said. "Would you care for a drink?"
They declined politely. He touched a button on the large desk that dominated the comfortably furnished room. Some thirty seconds later there was a sharp rap at the door, and two armed men came in, both in pajamas.
"Pete, Willy, will you get our guests settled in comfortably? I'll want to talk with them in the morning." He shifted his attention to Napoleon. "It will be a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Solo. I have been warned about you many times."
Napoleon and Illya were helped out of their chairs and hustled out of the room again and down the hail. As they went, Napoleon managed to ask Illya, "He didn't have a gun on us, did he?"
Illya shook his head, and looked sour.
Somewhat to Napoleon's surprise, they did spend rather a comfortable night, although fully aware of the locks on their door. His watch registered nine o'clock when there was a buzz at the door, and a voice announced, "Breakfast."
"Bring it in," said Illya with a shrug to Solo.
Two armed men brought in trays and set them on a table. "Best fresh up a bit," one of them said. "The old man'll be wanting to see you in an hour or so. Just stack the trays by the door, sir." And they popped out, drop ping the latch behind them.
Breakfast taken care of, the U.N.C.L.E. agents found a washstand and other sanitary necessities in an adjoining room. By shortly after ten they were reasonably well-kempt and ready to meet their host again. The escort was announced by another buzz at the door; Illya opened it to find two different men. One of them threw him a casual salute.
"Mr. Rainbow requests your presence," he said. "Come along."
They came, down a corridor, up a flight of stairs, and back into the same master office they had visited the night before. Lights were on now, and the furnishings of the room could be seen. It was almost spartan in its simplicity, with only a few concessions to comfort. The desk was large enough to double as a map-table, and doubtless often did. The chair behind it was upright but comfortable, and capable of some movement. The other chairs of the office were low, form-fitting designs of slick leather. They struck a jarringly sybaritic note in the sturdy practical decor.