It was no better in the center of the area. As they moved from the wall, sound intensity increased, stalking them.
It was like some brain-smashing force, relentless, without pity.
Suddenly the sounds ceased, but the silence was unbearable. Solo felt as if his head were expanding, as though his brain would burst.
Illya sank to his knees, but then the sounds started again. They came upward through the perforated flooring. At first they were welcome, now that their force seemed to press inward upon their brains.
The intensity increased, going beyond the range they could endure. It was like physical blows slapping them about. They ran from one end of the room to the other, unable to escape the unwavering intensity of the sound waves.
They pressed their arms like shields against their heads, but the sounds would have penetrated steel.
Then silence again. They screamed against the pressures and expanding agonies of the silence. They almost welcomed the increase of the sound waves.
Neither was conscious at the end of the hour.
THREE
ILLYA REGAINED consciousness first. He pressed his palms against the throb in his temples. It was a headache beyond description—no hangover could ever approach it. But when his hands touched the sides of his head, he screamed. His head was too sore to touch.
Yvonne was kneeling over him, her face constricted with pity.
"Oh, you poor dears," she whispered. "What have they done to you?"
She extended her hand toward his face. Illya rolled away from it, crying out in panic. "Just don't touch me."
Movement jarred him until he wavered a moment on the brink of unconsciousness. But he did not pass out again. That would have been too easy.
After a long time, Solo stirred. He sat up, his head bent forward loosely on his neck. As Illya had been, Napoleon was unable to touch his temples or his cheeks. He throbbed with pain from his neck up.
He lay still a long time.
"Drug-induced hypnosis," he whispered. "Brainwash. So that's how he controls Caillou."
Illya stared at the distant gray ceiling of the dungeon. "And there's nothing we can do to help him—or the people who are going to be ruined in this game of money manipulation."
Solo did not speak for a long time. Illya thought maybe he had fainted, but it was too terrible an effort to turn his head to see. When he moved even the slightest, he felt as if his brain rattled inside his agonized skull.
The dungeon door squealed open. Biting his mouth, Illya managed to keep from screaming against the rusty sounds.
Marie entered, accompanied by Albert and an armed guard. They came into Illya's line of vision, or he would not have seen them. They wavered before him in some kind of red haze.
"You. Yvonne," Marie said. "Let's go."
Yvonne cried out, protesting. She caught Illya's hand, pleadingly.
Illya winced in agony. "I'm sorry we got you in this, Yvonne," he whispered.
She pressed his hand.
"It's not your fault," she said. "You are very brave, very good. Both of you. You have done all you could."
"Not quite," Illya whispered grimly between his teeth.
He lay there helplessly and watched them lead Yvonne away. For a long time strange sounds drifted into the dungeon through the high window, even through the walls. He tried to think his way out, but thinking was as painful as a physical touch inside his mind, and finally he sank into a troubled sleep.
Illya awakened in the deepest darkness, feeling as if he were b ing battered by an earth tremor. For some moments he did not know where he was. Then he felt the rough texture of the dungeon floor, the late night chill, the touch of Solo's hand on his shoulder, shaking him.
"What's the matter?" Illya said. His head hurt less intensely now, though he was painfully aware of movement.
"I've figured it out," Solo said.
"You figured what out?"
"The one weakness in Maunchaun's scheme."
"You mean there is one?" Illya's tone doubted it.
"There is one. Drug-induced hypnosis. That's why they had to find Caillou's precise double—that's why they had to bring in a ringer. That's why everything has to go on exact schedule."
"Maybe it's just my headache, but you've lost me somewhere."
"No. Don't you see? There are no ill after-effects of ordinary hypnosis. It can even be benefiting. But drug-induced. That's the key. Lester Caillou had to be prepared for this drug-induced hypnosis. He had to be destroyed."
"You mean this drug is killing him?" Illya sat up, headache forgotten.
"That's right. They can induce hypnosis, or anything else they want with it, but enough of it is fatal. Nobody knows that better than Maunchaun. They can control Caillou just so long—so many weeks, or days, or hours. I don't know that. But you can bet Maunchaun has it figured to the minute. Everything has got to go right for him until the moment that Caillou falls dead from the effects of that poppy-seed drug—or Maunchaun is lost."
"Looks like he's got nothing to worry about," Illya said emptily.
"He would have," Solo said. "If I could just get out of here. If could do nothing else, I could upset his schedule. I might even save Lester's life—"
"Or lose your own."
"We're expendable, Illya," Solo said. "I don't have to tell you that."
Illya tried to grin. "No. You don't. And I sort of wish you wouldn't keep reminding me."
"Death's been playing with me. It just missed me a few days ago in an Istanbul street. Maybe this time it won't miss. I hate to sit here waiting for it."
Illya sighed heavily. He crawled along the wall, and after a few moments returned with a small packet.
"Maybe I can help you," he whispered.
"What have you got?"
"Friction-bomb blasting pellets. THRUSH made. I took them off that pilot when we had to help him from the midget copter."
Solo laughed admiringly. "That's what they were looking for when they searched us up in Maunchaun's room?"
"I think so." Illya nodded. "I knew the TV cameras were on us when they threw us in here, so when I found that crevice in the wall, I sat there and hid my find."
Solo grinned warmly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Illya smiled. "I do. You'd sit here and nurse that king-sized headache."
Solo exhaled. "Let's go."
Illya nodded. "Which way?"
"Will one of those pellets take out that door?"
"Probably. But there are guns out there. If we timed it right, we could go out the window with a better chance."
"I'm with you."
Illya swung up on Solo's shoulders. They walked toward the high window. Illya drew back his arm and threw a friction bomb pellet at the window base.
He sprang from Solo's shoulders then and both retreated swiftly to the wall farthest from the window.
Everything happened with instant suddenness. The bomb exploded outward, carrying the bars of the window with it. While the explosive sound still reverberated inside their heads, they raced across the room.
They moved then with the grace and precision of circus acrobats. Illya flung himself against the wall beneath the window on his knee. Making stirrups of his hands, he waited until the toe of Solo shoe touched his palms. Then he sprang upward, levering Solo into the opening.