"Very good, Mr. Solo. Now pull your head in before a bullet or a tree removes it."
Illya gaped out the back window as they swung out the opposite gate. The black car, apparently with all four tires blown, sat just within the lot surrounded by men in identical black suits. Two of them seemed to be waving their fists after the Mercedes as it picked up speed and vanished in the general direction of Interstate 89.
Section IV: "And With A Little Pin..."
Chapter 13: "It Seemed Like Such A Quiet Little Town."
Interstate 89 ended at Montpelier, the state capitol, and they picked up US 2 about eight o'clock. Shortly after nine Irene turned the Mercedes into a cheerful motel on the outskirts of St. Johnsbury.
"After we check in," she said, "we can look for dinner."
"Check in?" said Napoleon. "But we're on the run."
"Exactly. The people following us are reasonably clever. They will half-expect us to stay in hiding very close to Burlington, and half their forces will be searching an ever-widening area around the University. They will also half-expect us to concentrate on putting as much distance behind us as possible, knowing or suspecting the capabilities of my Mercedes, and will be searching for us another hundred miles ahead, over in Maine or further down in New Hampshire. We may run into these searchers tomorrow, but at least we will be able to face them well rested and, hopefully, fed."
"In other words," said Illya, "nobody will think of looking for us eighty miles away. It is neither too near nor too far, one might say."
"Precisely," said Baldwin. "Could we hold any further explanations of the obvious until after dinner? Thank you."
* * *
They stopped for a very late lunch in Rumford, Maine, after losing several hours on an interminable and mostly unpaved detour between Gorham and Bethel, crossing and recrossing the Androscoggin on crude wooden bridges uncountable times. The overcast sky had released a drizzle which developed to a soaking rain as they drove east across Maine, and it was already dark when they turned into Interstate 95 at Newport and rode the wide concrete into Bangor. They stopped for dinner there, and Baldwin disappeared to make a telephone call. He was back in two minutes, and resumed his seat.
"The storm seems to have been worse near the coast," he said. "Telephone lines are down, but it would appear to have blown itself out. The roads are open, and they assure me service will be restored before morning."
"Shall we go ahead?"
"I think so. If we arrive too late to disturb Roger, we can take local lodgings for the night and call on him in the morning."
After dinner they followed obscure signs through dingy streets until the town fell away behind them and the showers began to slacken. By the time they reached Ellsworth, an hour later, the sky began to crack and stars were showing through the rifts, as bright and sharp as any seen from a mountaintop or desert.
They passed through Ellsworth and drove along the edge of the sea for another hour. They crossed bridges from time to time, and by the cold moonlight white spume flashed from the breakers dashing against the ragged rocks. The sky was clear now, swept of the last wadded clouds by a high-altitude wind. Small towns passed, dimly lit in the midst of the great starry night, and it was somewhere past eleven o'clock when the Mercedes pulled into a small parking lot with a single floodlight on a pole making a pool of yellow light in the silver darkness.
A sign-board swayed in the salt-sweet breeze over the door near the light. COLLINSPORT INN, Estab, 1765. Baldwin exchanged courtesies with the proprietor, apologized for the late arrival without reservations and requested two adjoining twins. The cold seeped in around weather-stripped windows, and wisps of it drove Napoleon and Illya under heavy blankets until well after dawn.
* * *
They woke violently, both already sitting up as awareness returned with the half-conscious memory of a thunderous explosion. Their still-ringing ears registered a grotesque hollow voice calling their names.
"...ryakin! Solo and Kuryakin! Send Baldwin out here at once or I'll blow you off the map!"
"I can't be sure about the voice behind that bull horn," Illya said, reaching for his trousers, "but I think he's Joe King."
Napoleon shook his head. "I'll bet he means every word. If he's got that Scrooch Gun working we may be in real trouble."
The wall below the window shook and flakes of plaster settled to the floor as another blast stunned their ears. Napoleon, whose clothing was neatly hung in the closet, reached for his shoulder holster on the nightstand.
Illya buckled his belt as Solo glanced around the corner of the window looking for their attacker. The great gray Mercedes in the lot caught his eye. "Illya," he said, "check the Baldwins. Tell them what's going on."
"Right." Illya rapped on the connecting door between the rooms. After a moment he knocked louder. "It's Illya. Open up. King's here and I think he wants to talk to you." He listened. "Dr. Fraser? Are you all right?"
He looked at Solo and raised his eyebrows. The American nodded. He tried the door and it opened. Cautiously he called again and stuck his head around the corner.
"Send Baldwin out! I am perfectly capable of leveling the entire building if you force me."
The left window burst inward as a near concussion drove it in sparkling shards into the room. Solo hit the floor almost the same moment as the glass. As he rose, he said, perhaps a little sharply, "Well, where's Baldwin?"
Illya remained silent until his partner turned to look, then beckoned him wordlessly. Only when Napoleon was standing beside him staring into the empty room did he speak.
"Gone, I should imagine."
Solo stepped past him into the other room and ran his hand between the sheets on the rumpled beds. "They've been gone a while, too. Bed's cold."
Illya picked a folded piece of paper from the pillow of the other bed. "Ahha!" he said bitterly. "What have we here?"
"It looks like a note," offered his partner.
"I was afraid you'd say that." He unfolded it, scanned it, and then read aloud. "The bogeys seem to have found us after all—I suspect a bug in the Mercedes. You boys will be able to defend yourselves better without having to worry about us old folks. It's signed by Irene."
"Oh well," said Solo, "they left us the car."
"Bugged."
"Yeah, well..."
"This is your last chance. Send Baldwin out or the minute..."
"Oh, good gosh!" said Napoleon. "What'll we tell him?"
"How about the truth?"
"He'd never believe it."
"If it doesn't work it'll at least give us time to think of something better."
Napoleon nodded and turned back into their room. Illya padded barefoot after him. "Mind the glass," said Solo, safely shod, going over to the open window. He stuck his head out just a little and yelled, "KING!"
"Thirty seconds, Solo."
"BALDWIN'S GONE!! OVER AN HOUR AGO!!"
"You're lying. His car's still here. Twenty seconds."
Napoleon looked frantically at Illya, who was yanking his shoes on over bare feet. The Russian shrugged, and he turned back to the window, mentally estimating how long it would take to get out the door. "HE'S GONE!!" he yelled again.