"You know how to get there?" Illya asked the hunchback.
"Yes," Dabori said. "But we cannot go yet. They are still searching for you. We must wait."
"But not long," Illya said. "Soon we'll have to take some action, Paul."
Dabori nodded. "I know. I am ready."
In the dim light of the lead-lined room Illya Kuryakin and the gentle hunchback listened and waited.
* * *
SOLO and Maxine Trent completed their search of the house. In the front hall, with the bodies of two of her men, they stood and considered what they had found.
"Nothing," Maxine said, undisturbed by the bodies of her men. "Absolutely nothing."
"But wired for defense. Why?" Solo said. "It's your turn to tell me what I want to know, Maxine. For instance, there should be a cellar under this house, but there seems to be no entrance into a cellar."
"I noticed the same thing. You think the real part of this place is down below?"
"Why don't you tell me, Maxine?" Solo said.
"Oh for God's sake, Napoleon, don't you realize yet that we're not working with Morlock The Great! He just killed eight of my men!"
Solo grinned, his Special still warily trained on the beautiful Thrush agent. "With Thrush that could be a lover's quarrel."
"For the last time, you fool, Thrush is just as anxious to stop Morlock The Great as U.N.C.L.E is! Do you think we want some other organization getting in our way?"
"Not enough spoils to go around, eh?" Solo said.
Maxine shrugged. "If you like, yes. We in Thrush have no love for competitors. We have enough trouble with do-good outfits like U.N.C.L.E. without having to worry about amateur competitors."
Solo smiled. "Just what are you suggesting?"
"That we pool forces! There, I said it! Think of it, Napoleon—for once we can work together. You want to stop the Cult, whatever it's up to, and so do we. You saw how much Morlock loves us! I say we work together."
"Why should we? You want to know what we know. What do you have to offer?" Solo said.
"Illya Kuryakin and how to save him," Maxine said.
Solo watched the beautiful Thrush agent. He did not rust her as far a s he could have thrown all of England. But if she knew where Illya was! After all, it was obvious that she, and Thrush, were not working with Morlock and his Cult this time.
"You know where Illya is?"
"I saw them take him, Napoleon, and I know how to get into their London headquarters," Maxine said.
Solo grinned. "Then welcome, partner."
Maxine laughed. "It has a nice sound. And may I have my gun back?"
"On one condition," Solo said.
"Condition, Napoleon dear?"
"That I can put it back into its holster."
"Napoleon, you do care!"
Smiling, Solo returned her small pistol to its holster on her long, beautiful leg. Maxine laughed as Solo kissed her lightly. He, too, laughed—he had taken the precaution of palming the bullets from the clip before he returned the pistol.
"Shall we go to London?" Solo said.
"Lead on, partner," Maxine said.
ACT III: THE LAST SHALL BE FIRST
MAXINE TRENT lifted her skirt to climb up out of the old sewer onto the ledge of dry stone. Solo followed her. Together they stood in the dark far below London. Rats scurried against the ancient stone walls, and ahead there was a door.
"That's it, Napoleon," Maxine said. "One of our men located it last week."
"Where does it lead?"
"Into the old tunnels and corridors. There are new corridors, but I think we can find a way through."
"Stay here," Solo said.
The agent inched along the stone ledge to the old door. It was rusted and locked, but there was a trace of oil around the lock. The door had been used. Solo took out a small strip of what looked like foil and stuck it to the door next to the lock. The foil was self adhesive. Solo polled a small metallic thread and jumped back.
The foil burst into an intense white heat. The door glowed around the lock, melted, and when the white hot glow died away in the dark sewer, a gaping hole had appeared in the metal around the lock. Solo stepped forward and pushed the door open. He motioned to Maxine.
Together, Solo and Maxine stepped through the door and into a short stone tunnel that led to a flight of stone steps going upward. Carefully, they moved up the stairs in the pitch dark. The steps did not go far, and came out in a low room that stank of slime and ancient decay.
They crossed the low room and went through an archway into another low stone room. The second room was low but vast, its corners hidden in the dark. Solo flicked on his ring flashlight. The ultra-powerful beam picked out all the corners of the vast room.
Rusted metal rings hung from the walls; rusted metal cages littered the floor. Spikes that had once been sharp protruded out from the walls. There was a cauldron and a brazier all turned to dust at Solo's touch. What had once been skeletons lay on the floor, nothing now but white dust.
"Things don't change much," Solo said. "It reminds me of a Thrush headquarters."
"Ah, ah, Napoleon dear. Remember, we're partners; speak nicely about us," Maxine said.
"I'd rather speak nicely about how we're going to get out of here," Solo said, his powerful miniature light playing around the walls. "I don't see any way out, and no one's been in here for centuries. There must be another way in; that door had been oiled."
"Then we better find it," Maxine said.
They turned and retraced their steps to the smaller stone room. As they passed out of the vast room into the smaller one, Solo suddenly crouched and pulled Maxine down. His U.N.C.L.E. Special was out. Maxine held her pistol.
Something moved along the right wall of the smaller room. Solo and Maxine waited, watched. His light out, Solo crouched with his Special trained on the wall. A Stone moved, a large stone.
The stone fell into the room.
Someone, a figure, came through the hole in the wall. A second figure followed. The two figures turned to replace the stone.
Solo switched on his miniature flashlight ring.
The two strangers dove for the floor.
Solo and Maxine shone the light directly on the two and stepped forward with their weapons.
* * *
DEEP beneath the city of London, in a large, soundproof room lined with thick sheets of lead, the twelve men sat at the long table and watched their leader. They were all deformed, disfigured men, and their leader was Morlock The Great.
The tiny magician stood before a great map of the world. His thin, delicate hands swept an arc in the air that took in the whole world and the many red pins on the map. His eyes gleamed in his large head.
"They are all completed. We are ready. We will not wait now."
"And Kuryakin?" one of the men at the table said.
"He does not matter. He and Dabori cannot escape from her," Morlock said.
"Dabori perhaps has found a way. I never trusted him," another man said.
"It does not matter!" Morlock said. "If they escape it will be too late. We know they have not yet escaped. I am telling the Inner Council, you men, that the day is at hand! We move—tonight!"
The twelve men at the table looked at each other, and their eyes glowed like the eyes of their leader. Morlock The Great laughed a diabolical laugh that filled the large room where the Inner Council of the Brotherhood held their secret meetings.