The members of the tribunal looked at each other. There was a general nodding of heads, all but the Polish member, who frowned. Ramirez smiled.
"Good," Ramirez said. "By tomorrow, I hope we will know more. The future of much more than Zambala is at stake."
In a small room at the other end of the presidential palace, Illya and Solo sat at a table and leaned over a small radio receiver. O'Hara had his set open, and the two agents had listened to the entire discussion. Now Illya looked up.
"He is a hard man to convince, Napoleon."
"He is that," Solo said.
"Still, he may be right. We don't really know yet what they plan to do," Illya said.
"Then I suggest we find out," Solo said.
"My thought exactly," Illya said.
"The second regiment?" Solo asked.
"That seems the most likely place. It is very hard to hide the movements of a regiment," Illya agreed.
"Shall we go?"
The two agents left the small room and went down the wide corridors of the palace. They left the building by a secret entrance known only to O'Hara—a special precaution of the U.N.C.L.E. team in San Pablo.
They emerged through the thick bushes around the palace on its wide, park-like grounds. On another hill above the city, the two agents could see the night lights of San Pablo below.
They moved quickly to Solo's stolen jeep, drove down the wide ceremonial Mall that led from the palace to the highway into San Pablo.
They reached a point where the highway into the city curved high and close to the sea. The sea itself was far below, the lights of the city directly ahead. A low wall separated the road from the rocks high above the sea, and on the far side of the jagged rocks there was a sheer drop.
It was at this spot that the shots rang out.
Solo felt the jeep go. It bucked and slewed across the highway, both front tires shot out. Solo fought to hold control. The jeep hurtled down the road, careening from side to side of the road. Twice they bounced off the low wall without going over.
At last Solo brought the jeep to a stop against the wall above the sea. The two agents did not pause to feel lucky or to catch their breath. They were out of the jeep, over the parapet, and crouching behind the parapet on the rocks above the sheer drop before the jeep had stopped vibrating from the impact.
Across the highway, from among the trees on the vast grounds of the presidential palace, men moved down to the highway. A dozen men in uniform. It was a uniform the two agents had not seen until now, a regular army uniform. British-made khaki shorts, high socks and heavy black boots, khaki shirts and light brown berets.
The men coming after the two agents were regular soldiers!
"What do you think?" Illya said.
Solo looked over the wall. "I'd have a guess that that patch on their shoulders belongs to the second motorized regiment."
"My thought exactly," Illya said. "The Mahal girl?"
"It has that feeling," Solo said.
"Or someone on the tribunal," Illya said.
"Don't even say it," Solo said.
"I'll say something more to the point."
"And that would be?"
"How do we get out of here?" Illya said.
Solo looked at the soldiers, who had reached the highway now, then down at the sea breaking angry on the rocks far below. Then he looked to the right, where the wall and the cliff joined a few yards away and left nothing but open space for birds all the way down. Then he looked left—to the left there was enough room to walk, and ledges of rocks leading down. It was a way for goats, but it was the only way.
"Left," Solo said, "and fast."
Crouched below the wall, the two agents moved as fast as they could to the left. They peered over the wall in the night to see where the soldiers were. The soldiers had reached the jeep and found it empty. Now the soldiers came running down the road. Illya opened fire. The soldiers went to ground and began to fire back. The fire was high over the agents' heads.
Solo led the way along the narrow cliff, then down to the first ledge. But the going was too slow.
"I'll have to hold them," Illya cried. "You go on!"
Illya leaped back up to the wall. Resting his Special on the parapet, he opened fire. Solo continued on down, ledge to ledge, as fast as he could, but it was very slowly. Above, Illya continued his covering fire until the soldiers, well-trained and skilled, worked around and had him covered from two sides.
Halfway down the cliff Solo looked up and saw Illya stand with his hands up. The soldiers swarmed around Illya. But they did not give up with the capture of one man. Leaning over the parapet they opened fire on Solo, called on him to surrender. Their shots were still too high, but Solo was pinned against the cliff ledge. He looked down.
Below, the water seemed deep. He could see no rocks. At the next fusillade Solo cried out, clutched his chest, and let himself fall over the edge of the ledge down into the sea.
Above, the soldiers turned away with their prisoner.
The night became silent.
Below in the water nothing moved.
ACT III: COUP, COUP, WHO'S GOT THE COUP?
ONE
The sea outside the harbor of San Pablo is an angry one. It breaks against the cliffs and deserted beaches that curve out toward the sea itself until the beaches reach the opening into the harbor.
Inside the fine harbor the water is calm and sheltered, and anyone who swims does so on the harbor side. On the sea side, below the cliffs and on the beaches there is nothing but the surf and the flotsam of the sea.
This night, on one of the empty beaches below the cliff road, among the driftwood and seaweed, something rose from the white water, staggered, and fell again. The figure struggled up, falling and rising, until it lay beyond the reach of the surf on the silent beach. The figure was Napoleon Solo, bruised and half drowned.
After a time, Solo raised his head and looked around. The beach was as deserted as it had seemed. Nothing at all moved in the night. From time to time a car passed high on the road above the beach and the cliffs. Solo stood up. He checked his arms and legs, but there were only bruises. Nothing was broken by the rocks.
It was time to go to work.
Aware that when a coup threatened you could not afford to trust anyone, Solo walked the miles from the beach to the mansion of O'Hara above the city. He his whenever a car passed. It was close to morning by the time he staggered into the mansion, and, behind the bookcase in the silent rooms of U.N.C.L.E. in Zambala, told the story to O'Hara.
"What do you want to do?" O'hara asked.
"Go after Illya. Do you know what the insignia of the second regiment looks like?"
O'Hara went to a filing cabinet and took out a folder. He showed Solo a picture. It was the insignia worn by the soldiers who had attacked on the cliff road. Solo nodded.
"Right, then I'm going to their camp. Are they in their regular camp?"
"At Tidworth Barracks, ten miles northeast on the Real Plain," O'Hara said. "You want help?"
"No, we can't tip U.N.C.L.E.'s hand yet, and your men might be known," Solo said. "I'll just need a car."