"Wait a minute," Illya said. "I'll need some help with this; come back and give me a boost."
Napoleon halted and looked around. Illya was standing at the base of a large tree, looking up into the branches. Napoleon walked back to him.
"It must be the country air," he said as he approached. "When we were looking for Dr. Morthley in Wisconsin last summer, you were constantly climbing trees. I think your ancestry is showing." He bent over to allow Illya to climb on his shoulders.
"This time you can stay on the ground," Illya assured him. "Just don't shoot at the helicopter through the branches of this particular tree."
"Don't worry; I seldom shoot at things I can't see."
"Precisely why I'm climbing up here," Illya said, as he disappeared into the higher branches.
A minute later, the sound of the helicopter grew louder as it flew directly overhead. It apparently went back to the highway, then started slowly back along the road. The copter was almost over Illya's tree when he heard the loud whiplash crack of the Mercox. There was no following explosion; apparently Illya had missed. There was an answering fire from the helicopter, however. Trying to judge its location from the sound of the motor, he loosed several rounds through the branches of a tree about 20 yards from the one Illya was ensconced in. He ducked behind the trunk of the tree as several bullets rattled through the branches.
Almost simultaneously, there was a loud explosion from a nearby field. Napoleon whirled to stare, then relaxed as he realized that it was merely Illya's first round coming back down. He hoped there were no cows or farmers in the immediate vicinity.
The Mercox cracked a second time, and the sound of the shot was almost drowned out by the following explosion. The sound of the helicopter's engine changed immediately, shifting into a higher pitch as the gunner stopped firing. Then there was the sound of something crashing through the branches of the trees. A moment later, a large tubular piece of metal with a small rotor attached dropped with a clatter to the road. Illya came scrambling down from the tree.
"I shot the stabilizer off," he said, a mixture of smugness and surprise in his voice. "They may not crash right away, but they're going to be too dizzy to pay any attention to us."
Napoleon didn't reply. He hurried back to the car with Illya and looked admiringly at the Mercox as they repacked Armden.
Chapter 6
"What Is All This Stuff Under Here?"
WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN an easy six-hour trip on the turnpikes was on its way to becoming a twelve-hour endurance test on the regular and secondary highways of Pennsylvania. The fact that there were three of them stuffed into a car barely adequate for two made the situation that much worse. Until mid-afternoon, they had the advantage that Armden, jammed between the two agents, remained peacefully unconscious. Before they were through Pennsylvania, however, he woke up. His first words, after blinking and noting the crowded situation, were, predictably, "What happened? Where am I?"
Napoleon, who had been driving for the past fifty miles, slowed the car and prepared for whatever action Armden might be in the mood for. Illya reached in his pocket and closed his hand over the hypospray he had been keeping in readiness.
"You became ill when we were ready to leave for New York," Illya explained. "We decided to make the trip anyway, since it seemed you were in need of some specialized medical attention that we could provide." He watched Armden closely for any reaction.
"Ill?" Armden looked puzzled. "And we were about to leave for New York? But why..." His voice trailed off uncertainly and his brow wrinkled in frowning concentration. The two agents watched him carefully. After a minute his frown deepened. "I remember most of what happened," he said slowly, "but none of it makes any sense. I must have passed out."
"Yes, sir," Napoleon agreed. "What do you remember?"
"You two came last Friday, to find out why I had refused to..." Armden broke off incredulously. "But why should I have refused to help Willard Morthley? He's one of my oldest friends." He thought a moment, and went on. "When you came to the house, I was with Arnold Bennett, and -" He stopped, shaking his head. "Either I've just lost m mind, or I've been out of it for the past several weeks."
"I don't think so, sir," Illya assured him. "There have been other people acting the same way. Somehow, Thrush has been influencing you and a good portion of Midford. Professor Curtis suggested drugs or hypnosis but that's only a guess. I can't imagine how a drug could have been administered to that many people, unless Thrush sprayed the entire town with a crop-dust. And hypnosis seems even more difficult."
"You might have something there," Napoleon broke in. "Thrush does have a fairly extensive air force."
"We hope you'll be able to help us find out how Thrush managed it," Illya continued. "You have no objections to a complete examination?"
Armden shook his head. "Of course not. Anything that would explain the past month is more than welcome."
The agents relaxed; Illya removed his hand from the pocket containing the hypospray.
"How are you feeling?" Napoleon inquired. "You've been out cold for almost a full day. Think some food would do you any good?"
Armden nodded. A few minutes later Napoleon pulled into a drive-in. He spotted a section with picnic style tables and nosed the car up next to one. The three men got out of the car, Armden staggering a bit at first. After stretching their muscles, they all walked up to the self-service window.
A few minutes later, they moved back to the table, having avoided answering most of the inevitable questions about the car that were invariably asked by the other
customers. This sort of thing had happened at every stop, and the agents had by now developed a standard line of patter about cross country mileage tests and an experimental sports car. Illya usually pulled out a note book and asked for the names of anyone who wanted to receive free literature about the car. This usually discouraged most curiosity seekers, who were hesitant about having their names added to still another mailing list, but occasionally he would have to take down some names and addresses.
This looked like one of the times the notebook would be required. There hadn't been many customers, and all but one had quietly gone back to their own cars when the list was brought up. That one, however, was on his way to becoming a problem. A polite description, Illya decided, would be "garrulous old coot"
"Mileage test?" he was saying skeptically as he sat down uninvited across the table from Illya. "Nobody that gives a damn about mileage is gonna buy one of these. Lemme see that notebook; I'll bet you didn't even write my name down." He reached across the table toward Illya, practically dragging his jacket sleeve in Illya s coffee.
Illya irritably flipped the notebook open to show the man his name, Charley Lampton, and his address, meticulously recorded. Lampton turned abruptly to Armden and swung his arm around to point at him. "What about you? You're old enough to be their father. What are they up to, just between us old-timers, hey?"
Armden looked resentful, and avoided answering by taking a large bite from his Deluxe Iglooburger.
"He's a research physicist, and he's not my father," Napoleon said irritably.