"The point I want to make is this: the men who did he physical work of the robbery could scarcely have disposed of the loot themselves. They instead trusted it to Johnnie Rainbow. Any man capable of commanding this degree of loyalty is well worth a second look. Secondly, and finally, our sources in England indicate that Rainbow's recent and continual successes have attracted the attention of another group, one in which we are vitally interested."
Napoleon looked up from his study of the Rainbow dossier. "Since so much seems to be known about Johnnie, what is preventing the Yard from giving him a complete going over?"
Waverly smiled wryly. "An unfortunate skepticism. The Criminal Investigation Division of Scotland Yard has yet to be convinced of the actual existence of Johnnie Rainbow. The information on him was developed by a retired Superintendent of Detectives through his own personal sources, and since the data did not come through officially recognized channels the Yard has felt justified in discounting it, at least so far."
Illya cleared his throat and spoke thoughtfully. "Rainbow is a brilliant criminal, able to command great loyalty and presumably respect from his workers. He probably has quite a personal fortune stowed away by this time. But his work is confined to England, although he has wide international contacts. Would it perhaps be reasonable to suppose that he has attracted the attention of Thrush?"
"Exactly," said Waverly. "Thrush has begun to woo Mr. Rainbow with offers we can only begin to guess. If you will check page three of the dossier on the recent gold robbery, you will find that the guards were incapacitated with guns which squirted a blinding spray. There is an excellent chance that these guns were supplied to the Rainbow gang by Thrush.
"Involving as they do the utilization of international exchange, the crimes already have international implications. The criminal himself has a great deal more. Were Thrush to succeed in winning him to their camp, we could foresee the police of the world baffled, the treasury of Thrush enriched many times over, and robberies worthy of the imagination of a pulp novelist being implemented daily."
"What exactly is our assignment, then? To help the Yard find Rainbow, to find him ourselves, to lop off whatever arm of Thrush is beckoning him, or a combination?"
"All three, if possible. The last has priority; as has been pointed out, the local authorities generally prefer to retain responsibility in their own area. If you can lead them to Rainbow and then step out of the scene as they arrest him, well and good."
He tossed the familiar slim envelopes on the table and spun them to their recipients. "Here are your tickets from Kennedy International to London. On arrival you will cheek in with New Scotland Yard - and remember, they've moved to a new address - but don't expect too much cooperation. Accept whatever they're willing to offer, and then continue on your own. We have little to go on here, frankly; you will doubtless be improvising as you go." He swiveled his chair back towards his desk and reached for the humidor.
Napoleon and Illya stood, the Russian still with a trace of a scowl. Waverly, without turning around, spoke again. "If you have any further comments, Mr. Kuryakin, please don't hesitate to make them."
"Well," said Illya reluctantly, "I still can't feel too impressed by a mere bank robber."
Waverly tamped his pipe calmly. "Understandable, Mr. Kuryakin. I suggest you study his dossier tonight. You may have a different feeling towards him when you have done so." He struck a match and listened as the steel door sighed closed behind his two agents.
Chapter 2
How Napoleon Commented on the Weather, and the C.I.D. Took a Firm Stand on the Subject of Rainbows.
THE PLANE CAME down out of the fog, tiny streaks of water flicking across the windows, with gray wisps of limbo wrapping themselves around the sleek steel body. Its wheels touched the runway, screeched and smoked as the thunder of the jets rose to a scream of reversed thrust, bounced and rolled along the dark wet tarmac.
Inside the jet, Napoleon looked out the small round window next to his head. "Ah," he said. "London."
Illya looked past his shoulder to where the wing disappeared into the gray nothingness that cloaked the plane. "How can you tell?"
"I have a boundless faith in Trans World Airlines, Illya. They told us we were going to London, and since we have arrived somewhere, I can only presume..."
The plane rolled to a stop, and a stewardess came up the aisle to open the forward hatch. The two U.N.C.L.E. agents were among the first out, and were greeted with a freezing drizzle as they stepped onto the top of the wheeled stairs. Napoleon hunched his shoulders and turned up his collar. "Ah, to be in April," he said wryly, "now that England's here."
"Cheer up," said Illya as they hurried towards the warmth of the customs house, "It was probably worse in April."
At three the following afternoon, they entered an outer office at Scotland Yard. A uniformed constable had guided them through the maze of concrete, steel and glass, having to stop twice himself to check wall-mounted directories. He was quite candid in his admission – "We still haven't really gotten settled in, sir. It's a much larger place than the old Yard, and I'm afraid it'll take some getting used to."
Napoleon was frankly lost after the first few minutes. He half suspected Illya might be as well, but the Russian would never have admitted it. The building was beautiful, in a sleek, shiny way, but somehow it seemed to clash with the traditionally uniformed officers who moved about its corridors, looking more like costumed extras on a futuristic movie set than the enforcement arm of one of the world's most highly regarded civilian police forces.
The trim girl in a feminized version of the same uniform sat behind a sleek desk, and looked up as they entered.
"Solo and Kuryakin," Napoleon said as they came in. "Here to see Inspector West."
"He's occupied at the moment," she said. "I'll tell him you're here." She ticked a tab on a shiny intercom unit, and a voice answered faintly. "The men from U.N.C.L.E. are here, sir."
"Excellent," said the other end. "Send them right in. Oh, see that Claude gets the latest additions to the Rollison file, will you?"
"Certainly, sir."
The inner door opened and a stomach walked out, closely followed by a red-faced man carrying a bowler hat. He glanced at them sleepily as he paused by the desk, and as the secretary flipped through a drawer he unpackaged a stick of gum and engulfed it.
Solo and his partner stepped through the still-open door into a crisply furnished office which still smelled slightly of paint. Behind the desk a remarkably handsome man rose to greet them.