He halted to gather his courage and his strength. What else was facing him in the blackness, he didn't know, and wasn't in any hurry to discover.
Chapter 7
"A Do-It-Yourself Murder Scene"
ILLYA KURYAKIN stood at the far side of the round table, Mr. Waverly beside him, and stared across at the cowering figure of Mada Adams. She stayed glued to her chair, shaking, her face cascaded by trails of tears. Illya felt no compassion for her. His own arm was in a sling, the pain annulled by local anesthetic, the bullet wound closed. But Napoleon was out in the dark somewhere, partly because of this woman. She had to be forced to tell them where. They had already spent forty-five minutes on her interrogation and they had gotten nowhere.
Mada looked at Illya, a new tear following the others down her cheek. "You're frightening me! I know what you do up here. Don't you dare touch me!"
Illya made his voice low and cold. "If you know what we do up here, then tell us what we have to know before we start on you."
He caught Mr. Waverly's frown. The older man didn't like such threats; he never allowed them to pass. But this time even he kept silent.
"I can't tell you!" Mada cried. "I can't inform on my own uncle. Not after all he's done for me." Her head bobbed back and forth from Illya to Waverly, frantically searching for some sign of tenderness. "He never told me anything, anyway. He suggested that I take a job here, yes. He also told me not to mention his name on my application."
"And when the security investigation was made on you, he was conveniently out of town, I understand," Waverly said.
"That's right. There was nothing to link us together. He's just a distant relative, not a real uncle at all. We seldom saw each other. It was mostly phone calls and letters - and a lawyer handled all the money he gave me for my education."
"Don't play the innocent," Illya badgered her, keeping her going, keeping the tears streaming. "You knew he worked for Thrush. You passed him information."
"Only little pieces. And not for Thrush., either. I didn't see what it would hurt. An address - a routine assignment - the grapevine knew all those things. They weren't classified."
"But you go along with his plan to murder Napoleon!"
"Stop saying that, Illya! There's no murder involved. You wouldn't even have me up here, abusing me, if I hadn't made that one slip. I only mentioned my Uncle Abel once, but you remembered it. You have a nasty, clutching mind."
Mr. Waverly stepped in since she had rallied enough to put Illya on the defensive and take the offensive for herself. Illya watched his Chief's tactics carefully. The old fox was switching from browbeating to a gentle appeal to her conscience, trying to bring her back to the emotional state, to break her down. "Tell me, Miss Adams, what did Mr. Solo do to make you hate him so much?"
"I don't hate him," she countered. "In fact... he wasn't at all what Uncle Abel said he would be. But my uncle wouldn't harm anyone. I know that!"
She was back on the defensive, but Illya chafed under the slow passage of time. Right now he almost wished he wasn't an U.N.C.L.E. agent, that he could hit her, could force the confession out of her. He tried the only thing he could do. Still pretending some terrible threat, he said, "One warning, Mada. You haven't time to weigh pros and cons here. You have just enough time to talk. Do it! Because if your Uncle Abel wouldn't harm any one, then what was that red stuff I dripped all over the street getting back here? What is this sling I'm wearing?"
She was terrified, but still too stubborn to speak. She gasped, "Now are you going to hit me?"
Illya swung from her in total disgust. He said to Mr. Waverly, "She's abnormally afraid of everyone in Section Two, sir. Her uncle brainwashed her."
Waverly stepped away from the table, motioning his agent to follow. Waverly spoke in a whisper. "I think she's just about ready to speak in spite of herself. What do you say?"
"From the symptoms, yes, sir. Do we have time to push her over the line?"
Waverly made the decision with a quick shake of his head. "No. It may take another half hour. Yet I can't use drugs on the chance we need her to lead us to Mr. Solo. We'll have to try a bluff." Without explanation, he faced Mada again and said loudly, "All right, Mr. Kuryakin, get the hypodermic. And make it a goodly-sized dose. We can't worry about side effects now."
Mada clutched the arms of her chair. "Hypodermic? What -"
Illya headed for the door with long strides, waiting for her call to halt. Before her call came, and before he reached the door, it whooshed open on its own and a frantic figure ran into the room. Lainy Michaels. She pushed by Illya, almost knocking him down.
Lainy took a stance halfway to the table, panting from exertion. "I heard you'd found someone who knows where Napoleon is. Is this the one?"
Mr. Waverly was taken off guard. All he could muster was, "Miss Michaels - if you please! You have no business here."
Mada stared hard at Lainy, her own mouth set. Mada said, "No, you mustn't stay around to see the torture."
Lainy's body lost some of its stiffness. "Torture? Don't be ridiculous. These men would never - you wouldn't, would you?" She swung to Illya. "Would you?"
Illya only said, "You d better leave."
Lainy didn't move. Instead, she zeroed in on Mada. "If she knows where Napoleon is and won't tell, then I'll pull out her fingernails, myself!" She broke from her spot in the middle of the room and ran to Mada, grabbing the other woman by the shoulders. "Do you know? Do – you - know?"
Illya covered the distance quickly and with his one good arm clutched at Lainy. "Please. This is none of your affair."
Mr. Waverly watched the action with an intent stare, letting it play out to its own end.
Lainy slapped Illya's hand aside and still grasping Math's shoulders, started to shake her. Mada s head jerked back and forth, her neck limp. "Now, tell!" Lainy shouted into her face. "Tell! Maybe they won't touch you, but I will! Where is Napoleon?"
Mada fought, but couldn't rally the strength to push her away. "Leave me alone! No one is going to hurt Napoleon. You all think in terms of killing so you believe everyone is a killer."
Lainy let Math go, bending over her, her breath pulsing onto Math's face. "But they are going to hurt him! Don't you understand that? They're going to kill him! I saw them attempt it once. With my own eyes."
Mada became suddenly still, unbelieving. "You saw? And you don't work for U.N.C.L.E.?" She was vacillating, tying to make the decision.
Lainy stayed close, face to face, and there were tears on Lainy's cheeks, too. "Please! Whoever you are - please!"
Mada made up her mind. It seemed to Illya that he could almost see the decision form. "All right," she said. "Get away from me. I'll tell everything I know. But get away!"
This time, when Illya touched Lainy's arm, she stepped away from her astonished victim. "Hurry, Mada," Illya said.
"If my Uncle Abel isn't at his apartment, then he has to be at the old farmhouse he leased a few weeks ago. It's out in the country on a deserted side road. I saw it once. He said we could settle there if things worked out, and make it nice, and live there. But –" She clapped her hands to her head as though trying to clear it. "I don't know if I can explain how to get there! I'm not good at maps and things."
Waverly's voice entered calmly. "Can you point the way?"
Math sighed and nodded yes, resigned to the ultimate betrayal.
Waverly was all tense action beneath his tweed suit. "Mr. Kuryakin, order an assault team. Meet us in the garage as soon as you can."
Illya, new blood rushing through him, took off the sling and flung it on the table. "We're already there, Mr. Waverly," he said and sprinted for the door.