Behind this desk sat a tall, thin Chinese, wearing robes of silk which shimmered in the candlelight. His face was unlined, but his eyes were old with ancient wisdom, and seemed oddly veiled, like those of a drowsing cat. Above an imposing brow, he wore a black skullcap with a single coral bead which indicated the rank of Mandarin. A marmoset perched on his shoulder, occasionally nuzzling his ear.
His visitor sat primly on the edge of a deeply cushioned straight-backed chair, a slim briefcase balanced on his knees with a tightly furled umbrella and a bowler hat laid across it. He wore an utterly undistinguished gray suit, and he was addressing the Chinese gentleman.
"All these things my organization is prepared to offer you if you will join forces with us. The finest laboratories in the world will be at your disposal, with armies of expert technicians. Your researches may proceed in all the fields your genius encompasses without fear of interference from outside forces. In addition, your supervisory abilities would continue to be utilized…"
Somewhere a single soft note chimed, and the man in the gray suit paused, looking around. The Mandarin leaned slightly forward and touched a button on his desk, then spoke briefly in his native tongue. Without waiting for an answer he released the button, and addressed his guest.
"I beg pardon. An important operation has been successfully completed. Please continue; we will not be disturbed again." He spoke English without the least accent, save perhaps a slight emphasis on the sibilants.
The man in the gray suit nodded slightly. "Your network is falling apart, to speak bluntly. Your homeland is in the hands of the Communists, your old enemies. If you were to return, you would be subjected to a most protracted and ignominious execution as a representative of the old regime which they wish to see completely eradicated. Your own people have turned against you."
For a moment the membranous shields seemed to flicker back from the old man's eyes, which flashed an amazing green in the yellow light of the candles. "My people have been misled for centuries. Even now my agents within China are fomenting a revolution which will sweep that fat peasant Mao from his seat of power and replace him with men of wisdom and sanity."
His visitor laughed with a hint of condescension. "Very well. Perhaps it may be so. But in the Western World you are no more than an anachronism. Crime on an international scale is no longer the province of the gifted amateur, or the inspired technician. It is big business. It has no room for the cult of the personality, for the single vulnerable leader. As in other businesses, to be truly secure and successful, no single person is irreplaceable."
The old Chinese seemed to withdraw slightly, his eyes now hooded like a cobra's. But his voice was still soft and even. "I am many things in many lands; but I have never considered myself a criminal. Neither have I any concern for my own security. As for my vulnerability - the thin lips curled slightly - "my record speaks for itself."
"You have, admittedly, been lucky in your dealings with the law. But have you given any thought to the day that must eventually come when your luck will fail? Only an organization the size of Thrush can protect you and preserve your brilliance for the future. With us you will be free to work on your own projects, with your own personnel. Equipment and materials are no longer as inexpensive or as easy to find as they used to he, you know."
"You modern Englishmen are indeed thoughtful. Please tell me - are you actually attempting to sell me life insurance?"
The man in the gray suit regarded his host closely, but did not deign to smile. "I am trying to find out whether or not you are aware of the way things are," he said steadily. "There is no place for you and your kind in the modem world. You must go the way of the corner grocery and the independent manufacturer. You must adapt to changing conditions or be overwhelmed by the growth of more modern operations." He paused, and swallowed the anger that had come perilously close to the surface. His voice was calmer when he spoke again.
"This is not a threat - just a simple statement of circumstances. Your reputation is widely known and respected in the fields of applied psychology, biochemistry and biophysics. There is not another man living who is your equal at hypnosis. You are a valuable man in many respects, and Thrush is willing to reward you accordingly for your services. What is your answer?"
The old Chinese brought his eyes to focus on the Thrush's face. "Your offer has points worth considering," he said at last. "But I fear I would not be able to give you a definite answer without much thought and consultation with my ancestors, There are many factors which you have not taken into account, and many of which you are quite unaware."
"Of course the organization is willing to be patient. But you have been putting off our representatives for some time, you will admit, and…"
"Do not speak to me of patience, Englishman. Your race is young, and has not learned the simpler virtues of the mind. My race was already decadent when your ancestors were staining themselves blue. But I will accommodate your haste. The next fourteen days will bring changes to the fortunes of many - some for the better, others for the worse. Come speak with me again in two week's time, and I will give you an answer to take back to your leaders. If you acquit yourselves well, perhaps I may join you."
"My superiors will not be pleased with another delay. They may deem it necessary to give you a demonstration of their powers in the hopes of influencing your decision."
"I will await their leisure as they have so kindly awaited mine." The voice was almost a whisper, and the eyes were green sparks behind slitted lids. "But I fear I have kept you from your most important business far too long. Please accept my most humble apologies for the continued delay, and convey my very best wishes to superiors."
He made no move, touched no buttons, but the curtains at one side of the room parted and two huge swarthy men with shaven heads came into the chamber, taking positions with arms folded on either side of the entrance. The man in the gray suit stood, gripping his briefcase. His voice was only a bit less than perfectly even. "In two weeks' time, then. Very well. It may be that by then you will begin to appreciate the powers of Thrush."
The old Chinese gave no sign that he had heard the thinly veiled threat, and with a quick glance at the impassive Lascars flanking the door, the man in the gray suit took his leave.
As the two guards followed him out and the curtains fell soundlessly back into place, the faint dry whisper of something like rustling leaves might have been heard in the room. Only the most acute observer might have realized that it came from between the parted lips of he Mandarin, and even such a one might not have recognized it as quiet, sardonic laughter.
In a basement room only a few feet away, two of the factors of which Thrush was quite unaware were struggling back to consciousness. Solo had inhaled a little less of the gas than his partner, and was the first to recover awareness of his surroundings, but even so he had not decided quite where they were when Illya began to stir.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," he greeted the Russian wryly. "We've been packed away somewhere, and I think it's somebody's basement. A rat ran across my feet a minute or so ago."
"I hope you kicked him."
"Certainly not. If we treat him nicely, maybe he'll come back and chew through our ropes. I've heard of it happening."