"Subsequent to that discovery, this area was subjected to an exhaustive search. Other moldering documents were discovered, and analyzed for clues. At last, six months ago, our years of effort were crowned with success. We believe this to be the main store of Attila's treasure, so hidden as to defy the treasure-seekers of the world for a thousand years. And it now comes to swell the treasury of Thrush, who will put the wealth it represents to uses Attila could not have dreamed of."
"A fitting inheritor," said Napoleon coldly. "He'd be proud of you."
The intended insult seemed to pass Peter completely, as he merely nodded complacent acceptance of the statement.
"But you are no better than thieves," said Zoltan. "This treasure is not yours. It belongs to—"
"To whom?" asked Peter sharply. "Half the nations these were stolen from no longer exist. The treasure was on your land, it is true, but your family inhabited it for over five hundred years and never suspected its existence. We, on the other hand, have spent years of labor and hundreds of thousands of dollars in a scientific search for the treasure—not to mention the cost to our front organization which bought this castle. We have worked for the treasure, and now we have it."
"But think of the archeological and historical value," said Hilda suddenly. "This should belong to the world."
Peter smiled slowly, and suddenly he looked like the vampire he had pretended to be. "My dear girl—when we take over the world, it will."
There was no answer for that. Napoleon decided to change the subject. "As long as we are in the midst of explanations, what are you doing with all your loot right now?"
"We are packing it carefully and shipping it out by air to another location—and this is something I'm afraid I cannot reveal to you. But it is carried by our Thrush helicopter, which uses the courtyard of the castle for a landing area. During the day the helicopter is stored away under cover with our Thrush trucks and other vehicles, in an upper level of these caves which we have expanded to suit our purposes."
"Thrush-helicopters and Thrush-trucks? And I suppose you call this your Thrush-cave?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact it has been referred to that way."
Napoleon leaned forward towards Peter, lifted the flap of his coat, and looked intently at his waistband. The guards had their hands on their weapons, but Peter merely glanced down. "What are you doing, Mr. Solo?"
"Looking for your utility belt."
The Thrush scarcely batted an eye. "Oh," he said. "I only wear that when I'm in my bat costume."
And he turned and started towards the stairs, motioning the guards to follow him. Napoleon was seized again and hustled off, followed by a passive Zoltan and a complaining Hilda.
As they started, Napoleon scowled after him. "Five thousand Thrush agents in Europe," he muttered aloud, "and we had to be captured by a wiseacre."
Chapter 15: "My Sense Of Humor Will Be The Death Of Me Yet."
Somehow Napoleon's primary emotion was one of relief. He was captured and Thrush was getting away with a fortune; and he had failed in his assignment to bring the murderer of Carl Endros to justice. But his beliefs had been vindicated—there really was a logical, rational explanation behind the whole thing. There were no vampires, no werewolves; only good old Thrush, up to its unusual tricks. And once again Napoleon felt he was on a solid footing with the universe.
Besides, all was not lost. Illya was out there in the darkness somewhere, and rescue would be forthcoming. In fact, the canny Russian had probably taken the suggestion and hurried back outside to call for assistance. A small army could be flown in from Bucharest in the next few hours, and Thrush would not get another ounce of this gold.
Meanwhile, they were being taken up a flight of stone steps. The fluorescent lights overhead were spaced economically, but there was more than sufficient illumination to keep the steps safe.
They climbed what seemed to be several hundred feet but was probably no more than the equivalent of eight or ten stories. As they climbed, their host continued talking.
"I really thought the idea of starting a vampire scare was a bit of inspiration. We needed to keep the local citizenry indoors at night so our flights would remain unobserved, and to keep them away from the castle. They're so terribly superstitious that it was easy. Two lower-echelon workers in another satrap of Thrush were discovered taking advantage of our organization and materials for their own personal profits, and were ordered executed. It was no less than fitting that their deaths should serve to repay the trouble they had cost. Wasting lives is as foolish and inefficient as wasting anything else that can be made to work for you.
"So we had them killed, dressed them in local working clothes, and drained their blood. Then the bodies were left where they would be found and start rumors. It was really quite simple. We had not counted on the credulity of the authorities—the idea of their believing in these rumors to the extent of actually sending someone to investigate never occurred to me. As I am sure you are aware, the greatest strength a real vampire would have in this modern time would be the fact that no one would believe he existed."
He smiled to himself. "Perhaps we feel a certain amount of kinship. Certainly there are few people outside of high-level circles who really believe Thrush exists. As a result we can accomplish many things which would otherwise be beyond our abilities. Disbelief is the strongest shield anyone can have."
"How much longer does this go on?" asked Napoleon under his breath.
"The stairs or the monologue? A few more minutes. They will end simultaneously, I promise you."
"Good. I came here to be captured, not talked to death."
The Thrush smiled tolerantly. "Bear with me, Mr. Solo. It is seldom we allow a captive to carry information about us to the rest of the world. You three will have that privilege."
"Forgive my curiosity, my friend," said Zoltan, "but why release us? Are we not enemies?"
"That is of no importance. Friends and enemies are alike to Thrush. We have no reason to kill you. When our operation is done here we will be far beyond anyone's reach. This is why we did not kill you before this. Our only goal was to frighten you—to lower your efficiency, keep you running around in the forests with nothing material to work on while we completed our liberation of the treasure."
He shrugged. "U.N.C.L.E. agents are like wasps—if you kill one, you'll have the whole nest after you."
Napoleon raised his eyes from the floor and saw the end of the stairs ahead. "Your calculations were a little off," he said. "You should have known better than to kill Carl Endros."
Almost on cue, cutting off his last word by a fraction of a second, the howl of a hunting wolf floated eerily between the rock walls.
The Thrush looked back down the stairs and frowned. "Franz," he said to Hilda's guard, "was that ahead of us or behind us?"
"Could not tell, sir," said the guard. "Echoes."
"Klaus can take care of the girl—you look ahead. Don't worry about shooting the damned beast; we've got dozens of them."
Franz snapped a salute and hurried up the stairs and out of sight. During the silence that ensued, Peter said casually, "I had wondered about the security of those pens. I hope no more than one is loose—they have been a great expense to the organization."
There was another pause. Napoleon looked at his two guards, each a couple of inches taller than himself. "I suppose you two are Hans and Fritz?"