"And we'll fly out with the circus," boomed Raymond. "Parley's already arranged that. We'll be on the list as part of the circus crew."
"What happens to health inspectors?" asked Tito.
"That's not official," laughed Langston. "That's only in case anybody asks questions this evening—and nobody figures to question. Parley will have the grounds clear for us."
There was a silence, and then Tito asked, "What about this business here? Raymond and Langston in America? The munitions firm?"
"The lawyers will handle that," said Raymond. "They know already that Otis and I plan a long trip to Europe. This firm will be dissolved. The lawyers already have their instructions to handle that. Lawyers here in America and lawyers in Australia will work together, liquidating the business here in America."
"Beautiful," rasped Tito.
"We'll deliver the goods to Geneva," said Langston, "and then finally our long job will be over. Six million dollars in gold! We'll be given enormous bonuses and then a full year's vacation before the next assignment. You, too, Tito. You've been our sturdy right arm all this while down there in South America."
"Yeah, me, sturdy right arm," rasped Tito. "Me, I take the vacation on the French Riviera. Me, I like the sun; I love a warm climate. Me, gentlemen," he laughed, "I am ready for this vacation."
"Not yet, dear Tito," said Raymond. "Now we've got work—the most important, the final work. All ready, gentlemen?"
"Ready," said Tito.
"Ready," said Langston.
"Let's go, gentlemen."
There were shuffling sounds, then the slam of a door, then silence. Solo backed out of the closet, quietly closing the door. He went to the kitchen and stationed himself at the window, looking down into the alley. He saw the truck at the curb, but he could not make out the number of the license plate.
He took the Communicator from his pocket and clicked it on.
"Solo here. Urgent. Chief, are you there? Over."
"We're here, Mr. Solo. What do you have for us? Over."
19. Unmasked!
ALEXANDER WAVERLY, eyes haggard, deep furrows in his brow, sat stiffly in his swivel chair, listening intently. His clothes were rumpled; his shirt collar was open; his tie, knot askew, hung limply. Mr. Waverly had had a bad night. He had not gone home. He had remained at Headquarters. He had slept some, but his sleep had been fitful, and he had returned to his post at eight o'clock in the morning.
Seated opposite him across the desk were U.N.C.L.E. agents Jack O'Keefe and Aaron Johnson who, like Solo and Kuryakin, were a team. They, like Waverly, were intent upon the ceiling loudspeaker through which came Solo's voice, metallic via his Communicator.
"...and we are now at a key point. The building is closed and normal business for the day is completed. I am in my apartment on the third floor, by a kitchen window, looking out on the alley in the rear. At this time they are packing the ingots for delivery to the Parley Circus. There is a truck waiting in the alley, but I cannot give you the license number. From my vantage point up here, the license plate is obscured. Parley—John Parley—is connected with them. He is definitely a part of the T.H.R.U.S.H. organization."
Waverly interrupted. "Craig? What about Kenneth Craig? Over."
"Craig may be working with them, and he may not. What word from Illya? Over."
"In favor of Craig, but only opinion. He has no facts as yet, no proof. Continue. Over."
"Raymond and Langston have an assistant. So far I have only his first name—Tito. Have you got that? Over."
"Yes—Tito. Proceed. Over."
"They called him their sturdy right arm in South America. Seems he's the guy who was in charge of the operation down there. But he's up here now for good. He'll be going off with them."
Again Waverly interrupted. "Going off? Where?"
"Easy, Chief."
"Yes, Mr. Solo. Proceed. Over."
"They are to pack the ingots into the truck downstairs. There's no sign of them yet. Ingots are to be placed in the lions' feeding troughs at the Parley Circus. Craig will take the lions out of the wagon and into an outdoor cage so that they can complete that part of the operation."
"So he is involved?"
"Not a hundred percent. They're coming in as health inspectors, to look over the feeding deal on the animals. Parley can legitimately order Craig to take the lions out of their wagon. That way Craig is busy with the lions in the outdoor cage, and they are free to do what they want inside the wagon. That's no proof that Craig is involved. Could be—but also might not be. Clear? Over."
"Okay. Proceed. Over."
"They plan to leave here at six o'clock and to get to Westbury by seven. At that time they do what they're supposed to do, and then the three of them stay over. Parley Circus leaves for Switzerland 'unexpectedly' by chartered planes, already waiting, tomorrow morning. And they, with the gold, go with the circus. Are you reading me, Chief? Over."
"The three go with the circus in the morning. Proceed, Mr. Solo. Over."
"Any idea who this Tito is? Over."
"No. Over."
Suddenly Solo's voice, through the loudspeaker, had a new urgency.
"Here they come! Langston and Tito. They're carrying the stuff in the suitcases that the machinery parts were in. I'm watching them now through the side of my window. They're opening the suitcases, putting the yellow bars into the truck. Raymond's still inside. It figures for a number of trips with the suitcases. Hold everything. I'm watching."
There was a long pause. Waverly lit his pipe.
O'Keefe and Johnson sat motionless.
Then Solo's voice crackled again from the loud speaker.
"Langston took the two empty suitcases back into the building. I saw this Tito. A short, dark, swarthy man—looks like a wrestler. He's wearing a blue suit, white sport shirt open at the neck, no tie. Tight jacket with a nice big bulge in it. Figures for a gun. Langston had a bulge in his jacket, too. With six million bucks in gold, all three figure to be armed." There was a pause, then Solo's voice came through again. "Tito's inside the truck, in the driver's seat. The skinny guy, Langston, he's gone back into the building with the two empty bags. Tito is the lookout now, downstairs. Langston and Raymond will be bringing out the rest of the stuff. I'm waiting for a few minutes and then I'm going down. Okay, Chief? Over."
"I don't want you to interfere now, Mr. Solo. I don't want you to risk any wild action. Over."
"No wild action, Chief. I'll go down, real casual, as Harry Owens. I'm not going to offer to help, nothing like that. I'm going to be a real big dope, period. Harry Owens coming out for a breath of air. But what I want to get for you is the license plate number of the truck. Okay, Chief? Over."
"Okay, but be careful. Over."
"I'm going to cut off communication now. But I'll be back to you, without fail, between six and six-fifteen. Got that? Six and six-fifteen. Definite. Over."
"We'll hear from you between six and six-fifteen. Very good, Mr. Solo. Now, remember, you've done your job. Leave the rest to us. Careful. No wild action, no wild chances. That's an order. Over."
"But you do want that license plate number, don't you? Over."
"I don't want you to take any risks getting it, though." A chuckle. "Yes, we want it but we can live without it. I don't want you taking any further risks, Mr. Solo. Easy does it, lad. Over."