Then in the second week of the war Dodgson had rallied and counter-attacked, gaining ground with such clear foreknowledge of his opponent's methods of combat that Silverthorne was driven to devise a wholly new style. He held most of his cavalry back from an encounter until the battle was well joined instead of using them in the massed charge. Dodgson halted his advance, pausing to study the change in tactics, and Silverthorne changed his artillery deployment and counter-attacked.
Now the third week had begun and they were temporarily stalemated. Silverthorne had ascertained that the Gamesmaster was unbribable, the Battle Results Computer untippable, and the soldiers themselves unapproachable. So much for the covert transactions of the game. Very well; he was willing to fight on whatever levels were open.
This was the state of his mind as he wandered, late of a Tuesday afternoon, through some of the wilder reaches of the Park towards the north along a network of color-coded trails. He was pacing himself to reach the Lodge with time for a drink before dinner when he came around a small grove of trees and found a sawhorse and notice saying DETOUR—MEN WORKING in several languages, including International Road Sign. With a moment's hesitation he turned to follow the blockaded trail.
He had gone no more than fifty feet when a man in canvas work clothes stepped from a clump of bushes ahead of him and said, "Sorry, sir, this area is temporarily closed to guests because of ragweed infestation."
"I was just interested in what was going on," Silverthorne said, continuing to approach. "What are you using to clear it out?"
He was fifteen feet away when his expression began to change. "Refet?" he said uncertainly.
The workman paused and said, "Yes, sir."
"Kiazim Refet? You worked for me in Noumea about a year and a half ago?"
"That is right, sir."
Silverthorne frowned and looked about him. They were alone. "You had a partner."
"Sakuda Matsujiro. He is here. We are on assignment, sir, and under Total Security." Refet saw Silverthorne's face beginning to register a not unfamiliar combination of unease and suspicion. "Our assignment has no relation to you, sir," he added with a slight smile.
"Certainly not," said Silverthorne, almost concealing his doubt. "But if you will report to me in Bungalow Twelve this evening, we may discuss the amazing mechanics of coincidence."
"We may discuss them only in the abstract, sir. I fear our orders were specific on that point. After all, you are on vacation."
"We shall see what fruit our discussion bears. Come at ten o'clock."
"If practical, sir."
Silverthorne started to correct him, then reconsidered. If they failed to appear, they could be found again. "Very well," he said. "You may return to your work."
He coolly turned his back on the Turkish assassin and strode back up the trail to the blockaded intersection. If his spine was tense, he gave no indication.
Refet did not wait for him to disappear, but melted silently back into the woods and was gone.
"Unless there is someone on the staff important enough to demand your attention, your assignment must be one of the guests. It would be interesting to try to find which one."
"We can only ask that you do not, sir," said Matsujiro. "Our job is not an easy one, with Park Security to watch out for, and with all respect you could best assist us by forgetting our presence here."
Silverthorne scowled. "You realize that I am several levels of rank above you," he said. "I could order you to give me all the details of your assignment."
Refet's lips parted slightly in a wolfish smile. "You could sir, but we would not answer you. Our orders came directly from Central—White priority. You should be aware that Central is not lightly disobeyed."
"Or interfered with," added his partner. "You have the power to command us in many things, but our first duty is to Central. We should not have been seen by you; in this we have failed. With this already against us, surely we could not willfully continue to disobey."
Silverthorne regarded the broad innocent face of the elderly Japanese with unallayed suspicion. "I have seen few guests here who are important enough to warrant your employment. You are valuable men."
"We are but humble workers; mere arms of Thrush Central and the Ultimate Computer."
"No compliment intended," Silverthorne said. "A statement of fact. You may be mere arms, but you are without exaggeration the finest assassins in the world."
"My friend Kiazim is indeed dexterous with weapons," said Matsujiro with a nod, "but I fear my poor talents are comparatively few. I was adjudged slow and clumsy by my masters in the Imperial Guard."
Refet's eyes crinkled at the corners. "You have snatched a flying arrow from its path before my very eyes," he said. "You have shattered stones with your bare hand and scaled walls a fly could not climb."
"Children's tricks," said Matsujiro flatly. "Truly I can accomplish things few men are capable of, but I have seen the true masters of my art and I know that I am indeed less than they."
"Very well, very well," said Silverthorne. "If you will not tell me what I wish to know, you need not attempt to impress me with either your skill or your modesty. I am quite aware of both. If I have any use for you, I shall contact you." He rose, and they followed.
Matsujiro bowed. "And if we are able to help you without lessening our chances of success in our assignment," he said, "we shall be only too happy. Good night, sir.
It was four days before Silverthorne had a reservation for the outside telephone line, and when his call was placed his first question concerned the two assassins.
"They're absolutely right, sir," said the Sydney satrap. "All we've seen here was the part of their orders saying Total Security and the UCR heading on the message. But we have Central's word that you are not their target.
"Thank you for your concern," he said with a trace of sarcasm. "Now what have you done about the business in Port Moresby?"
He was willing to accept the situation as it stood—he had no choice. But he would sleep easier with his windows wired and a chair propped under the doorknob, though he didn't mention that to Sydney.
Chapter 7
"Always The Easiest."
ILLYA LEANED BACK from his little playback unit and allowed himself the luxury of a deeply regretful sigh. His six-week vacation was scarcely half over, and it looked as if he would have to get back to work already. His almost instinctively planted bug in Silverthorne's cottage had caught a bigger fish than he'd had any reason to suspect, and his job was cut out for him until Waverly was safely away from Utopia.
So Silverthorne was a top executive for Thrush. Obviously, someone somewhere had recognized his description of the putative Mr. Dodgson, and a team of assassins had been neatly delivered accordingly. He remembered scanning Refet's file a couple of years before; though the face eluded his memory, the reputation had stayed with him. Matsujiro was a stranger, but his reputation was guaranteed by the company he kept.
He would save this tape cartridge for U.N.C.L.E.'s files; voice prints on all three men could prove valuable. Tomorrow he would find a way of picking up and replanting one of his bugs—probably the one from the table in the main dining room; Waverly used it only irregularly, usually being invited to join other groups at meals. The bug in the Security Office brought him nothing but two hours a night of worthless trivia played at double speed, but he'd put a lot of effort into planting it and hated to undo it all. Besides, it still might prove useful.