The four prisoners were taken to one of the black buildings. An elevator shaft carried them an unknown distance underground. They were led down a corridor to a huge chamber equipped with computers, control consoles, and a dozen television monitors with fifty-inch screens.
Generators hummed. Technicians in THRUSH smocks busied everywhere. As their captors prodded them forward, Solo noticed that several of the monitors which cast a pale, eerie light over the vaulted rooms showed scenes in the valley. But three of the screens contained views of buildings and a harbor which Solo could identify.
"They're interested in Hong Kong for some reason," he whispered to Illya.
"No talking!"
The officer with the S-scar hit Solo in the lower backbone with a swagger stick. Solo ground his teeth together. That particular nasty was going to be dealt with before this affair was finished.
His attention was diverted to their destination, a large, open area in the center of the humming chamber. The focal point of the area was a spacious work table. Two objects sat on it. One was a dully shining vinyl-covered belt, of the sort the renegade pilot had worn. The other was the belt's companion equipment, a black generator box.
A disconcerting difference hit Solo then. This black box was three times the size of the one discovered in Alfred C. Chee's luggage.
Hovering over the apparatus were two men. One was bony, horse-jawed, with thin gray hair over an elongated skull. He had Occidental skin coloring but slanted eyes. His hands fluttered restlessly at his waist. He peered through thick spectacles as the officer marched the prisoners up to the table.
"Ah, Major Otako! Well done, well done," said the man with spectacles.
"Thank you, Dr. Dargon. We had no difficulty. I trust, sir, that you and the general will turn them over to me as soon as you are finished with them. I would consider it an honor to be allowed to dispose of two lickspittle servants of U.N.C.L.E. and their treacherous guides. I assure you the liquidation will be conducted in proper style."
"Yes, yes; you're expert at such things," said Dr. Dargon. He giggled.
His companion walked, or rather appeared to ooze, forward. He was Chinese, with a bald, shining pate. He weighed close to four hundred pounds. The white planter's suit which he wore resembled a tent. His four yellow chins all but hid his necktie.
The jolly fat man's look was deceptive. Solo knew it the moment his gaze met the Oriental's blubber- socketed eyes boring into his.
"It will not be long before your services are required, Major," the huge man said. He spoke in an asthmatic wheeze, resting the palms of his hands on his immense paunch. "You are Solo and you are Kuryakin, eh? Well, I have heard of you both. Perhaps you have heard of me also. General Weng, at your service. Forgive me for appearing in mufti.
"I am about to depart from Hong Kong to conduct a major test of this apparatus you see before you. I will be taking off from the airstrip within the hour. But I did not want you to arrive without being properly greeted."
General Weng moved round the table. His right hand closed over Solo's forearm. Through the wool of the holy robe, the fingers cut viciously into Solo's flesh. He had to fight to keep his face from cracking with pain. General Weng increased the pressure.
"After all, Mr. Solo, it was you and your associate who disrupted our first full-scale test of the storm machine."
"Well, I'm sorry about that," Solo said. The pain from the pressure of the fat fingers brought dizziness. With a gasp Solo added, "It's just that I've always had this silly thing about thunder and lightning -"
Illya recognized Solo's plight. He raised a diversion: "How does it happen, General Weng, that an officer so highly placed in the Red Chinese regime becomes a tool of THRUSH?"
The general released Solo, who rocked back on the balls of his feet, pale. The general held his paunch once more.
"Long ago, Kuryakin, I realized that the so-called plans of the Chinese leaders for world conquest were ill conceived. Mao is an addlepated poet surrounded by weaklings and sycophants. They will destroy themselves. They are not to be taken seriously. THRUSH, on the other hand, will achieve its goal of total domination."
"If you don't think the Chinese are serious," Solo said, "I'd hate to hear what you're cooking up."
Dr. Dargon sucked noisily on one of his pointed front teeth. "By all means tell him, General."
The general laid his hand on top of the generator box. He stroked it with an almost sensual pleasure. "I am sure the significance of our current plan will be lost on these two peasants who have been duped into aiding you, Mr. Solo. But perhaps you and Kuryakin can appreciate it. Two important nations in the Asian bloc have recently found their relations menaced by rising tensions. A number of border incidents have resulted. Skirmish fire between their troops. A few deaths on each side. The tensions have increased to the point where war threatens. Such a war could plunge Asia, and the entire globe, by escalation, into a holocaust."
Illya's expression was unpleasant. "Horror makes you THRUSH people so cheerful."
General Weng chuckled and held his paunch. "Naturally. THRUSH is holding the high
cards."
Solo noticed that Mei had regained her composure. With her father's arm around her waist, she digested Weng's remarks. Solo was in the dark about everything except the need to escape. He got busy checking the layout of the large chamber.
A railed concrete ramp led upward from the floor along the one wall. Two THRUSH guards with full battle dress manned this exit, over which a red bulb flashed intermittently. The prisoners had been brought down a similar ramp on the room's opposite side. As far as Solo could tell, the command center had no other exits.
Weng peeled back his white suit cuff. He consulted a highly capitalistic platinum wristwatch. "Time is short. You will understand," he said, "that I cannot participate in the amenities this occasion demands, much as I would wish." Weng's small eyes shone with amusement. "Major Otako is competent to handle them, however."
"And I will assist," Dr. Dargon added with a somewhat maniacal cackle. "My work is complete. Oh, yes, finished. My precious -" A pat of the black generator box "- is now in the hands of my co-officer in THRUSH. We have a delightfully effective test planned for this unit. The unit, incidentally, is of triple capacity, considering the one aboard the jet plane as our basis for rating. How fortunate, don't you agree, that we have an opportunity to conduct a large-scale experiment and reap practical rewards at the same time?"
"What are you talking about?" Solo asked.
General Weng feigned bewilderment. "Why, Mr. Solo, don't you know? As students of - not to say meddlers in - world affairs, are you not aware that the two nations I alluded to a moment ago are even now convening secretly in Hong Kong to try to settle their differences around the conference table before Asia is plunged into war? The conferees arrived yesterday in the Crown Colony via ordinary commercial aircraft. They will be meeting in the Hotel Hong Kong International, ostensibly as delegates to the Seminar on Asian Cultural Resources. That is merely a blind, to allow them to hold the conference on neutral territory. We have ways of knowing these things."
General Weng turned to study one of the huge television monitors on the wall. Its camera sent back a sharp picture of the black building above ground, which the U.N.C.L.E. agents had guessed to be a hangar. The hangar door was shut tight. But the screen showed a uniformed figure operating some sort of switch box alongside the great door.