"It sounds like a dangerous position."
"It is. But if you couldn't take care of yourselves you wouldn't be here." He glanced at the mantle clock and stood suddenly. "Now you must pardon me. You will be picked up tomorrow evening about eleven. Have fun; I wish I could join you."
They were accompanied down the stairs to the ground floor, and even out the door. It was late afternoon, and shadows were lengthening across the park. Their host looked up and down the street. "You didn't drive over? I should have rung for a cab. Ah - never mind. Here comes one now. I always seem to be lucky with taxis; always can find one when I need one. Good afternoon, gentlemen. Been most pleasant talking with you - hope we may get together again."
He popped them into the taxi, gave the driver the address of their hotel, and disappeared behind them in a grinding of gears and a cloud of exhaust.
Napoleon and Illya looked at each other. Finally the American spoke. "Well, I don't know about you, but although it seemed to me at the time he was explaining everything clearly, I'm still just as confused as I was when we went up there."
Illya nodded agreement. "Nevertheless I fully expect to be picked up at precisely eleven o'clock tomorrow night by a car full of detectives. I developed the distinct impression that the fellow we just spent half an hour listening to knows very well what he is doing and saying - and more important, not saying. Somehow, though still quite in the dark, I feel better about it."
Solo settled back in the comfortable seat and wondered as he reached for a cigarette whether all the threads in the complicated skein would ever be fully unraveled for him. Or, for that matter, if any of them would. He drew the smoke deep into his lungs and let it trickle out. Only time would tell.
Section II : "Look Upon The Rainbow"
Chapter 5
How Illya Kuryakin Heard a Discourse on Weaponry, and A Good Time Was Had By All.
THE NIGHT WAS clear and even moderately warm, for London, which is to say the overcoats were barely necessary. The small squad of uniformed policemen had arrived quietly from various routes to station themselves in hiding at a dozen or more locations within a block radius of the suspected target. Napoleon and Illya sat inside a parked van with two other men on a cross-street facing the jewelry shop, and watched it alternately through the concealed slits in the side paneling.
The distant chime of Big Ben echoed over the sleeping city, tolling one o'clock, and eventually two. Cars passed occasionally, and one or two lonely pedestrians hurried along the street as the men sat patiently waiting. There was little conversation among them; like soldiers before a battle they kept the company of their own thoughts.
From time to time a small transceiver would hiss to life as one or another of the concealed cordon of watchers reported someone entering the controlled area; pedestrians and vehicles were under almost constant surveillance from one point or another as long as they remained in the four-block area under study.
It was about two-fifteen when an unmarked motor truck purred into their view and stopped next to the target shop. A moment later the front door of the shop opened and three men carrying large flat cases and a couple of sacks hurried out. The head of the stake-out party swore under his breath.
"Death and destruction! They must have been in there all along, working happily on the alarm system and cracking the box while we sat out here waiting for them to show up."
He gripped the talk-switch on the transmitter micro phone and spoke quietly into it. "Border posts - establish blocks. Let no one in or out. Observation posts - converge on the shop. Remember, these men may be armed. They've never used firearms on a job before, but there can always be a first time. Maintain security; don't let them know we're coming."
He ceased transmission, and Napoleon reported from the observation slit, "The three men are going back for another load. How much evidence do you need?"
"A single handful will be quite sufficient. Let's move in."
"Shouldn't you address them through a loud-hailer and offer them a chance to surrender peacefully?" asked Illya.
"Perhaps. But we would greatly prefer not to disturb the sleep of honest residents of the area with bullhorns and shouted threats. They should realize they are severely outnumbered as soon as the officers begin to show themselves from all the streets."
He half rose from his crouch and opened the back double doors of the van. Moments later all four of them stood in the shadows, watching the three robbers emerge once again from the shop with armloads of loot. The Scotland Yard man said, in an even voice pitched just loud enough to carry clearly across the silent street, "I think that will be enough, gentlemen."
The effect was all that could be desired. Two of the three men dropped their bundles and jumped for the truck; the third, apparently confused, stepped back, seeking the safety of the shop entrance.
Walking steadily towards them, flanked by Napoleon, Illya, and his aide, the Yarder continued to address the robbers. "I hereby place you all under arrest in the name of the Queen, and advise you that anything you say may he taken down and used in evidence against you. I further advise you that this entire area is surrounded by policemen, and you haven't a chance of escape. So you'd best come along quietly."
Constables in uniform were beginning to emerge from various hiding places, converging on the truck. More than fifteen officers were now around the truck, including the two U.N.C.L.E. agents. Its back doors were tightly closed, and the motor was ticking over slowly, but no attempt had been made to start it moving.
The nearest policeman threw an order towards the cab: "Stop your engine and dismount with your hands up.
Suddenly all hell seemed to break loose. The back doors of the truck burst open, and at least forty men came leaping out, armed with truncheons and various similar forms of life-preservers. They took on the representatives of the law in groups of three, and in a matter of seconds a fierce and desperate melee had begun.
Napoleon and Illya were far enough from the truck to react to the sudden attack. Solo whipped out his gun and shouted, "Stand clear or I'll shoot!" Even he himself, looking back on it later, admitted that it sounded rather foolish, but with only the standard eight-round clip against some two score men, all he could do was attempt a threat.
It proved to be no more than that, as an accurately thrown tire iron cracked him viciously across the wrist and his U.N.C.L.E. Special Hew from his hand. Before he could even draw breath, four toughs were swarming over him. With his right wrist severely bruised and possibly broken, he was in less than perfect defensive shape. He called Illya's name once as he went down, but the Russian had his attention fully occupied.
Four more unshaven mugs were moving in on him, exhibiting iron bars and self-confidence. Illya fell back a couple of steps, his glance flicking from one face to another. He heard his partner's call without turning his head, and just at that moment all four charged him.
He leaped forward with a lightning-swift double kick that left one man writhing on the ground and another clutching at his shin and hopping about swearing profanely. The other two swung their iron bars at a sturdy figure that seemed to pass between them like a ghost, and struck only the uncomplaining air.
In the same fraction of time, Napoleon was struggling in the grip of eight strong arms. He had been unable to inflict any damage on his assailants, who had not given him the moment which Illya had taken to assess the situation, but had simply laid into him without pausing for formalities.