A few shots sounded hesitantly from across the courtyard, and slapped through the boxes several feet from them.
Hilda started, but Napoleon shrugged. "Just shooting in the dark," he said. "Trying to keep us nervous. They don't dare come in here after us—we could pick them off from ambush." He dropped the empty clip from his automatic into a pocket and replaced it with a full one. He worked the slide once, and then let the hammer down gently with his thumb.
Out in the courtyard a starter motor whined briefly, and then the roar of an internal-combustion engine filled the night. It coughed, roared again, and then the sound softened to a whisper. Something went whuffa-whuffa-whuffa-whuffa, and Illya said, "They've started the helicopter. I was right—it is quiet." He snapped his fingers. "There's our vampire—a flying harness slung from the copter. There was always fog, and..."
"Of course," said Napoleon suddenly. "There was always that wind when he showed up—you mentioned it the time you saw him in Hilda's room. I should have recognized it in the forest. Nothing makes a wind like that except a helicopter."
"I think you can be forgiven," said Illya, "under the circumstances."
The sound of the blades speeded up and the soft note of the engine deepened. "They're taking off," said Illya suddenly.
Then they could hear, coming closer, the familiar sound of an unmuffled helicopter. Their transceivers twittered in unison, and Napoleon answered.
"Solo—Kuryakin," cracked the voice. "We are coming in. Are you all right?"
"We are all right," said Napoleon. "But watch out for another copter coming up to meet you. It's probably armed, and dangerous."
"Thank you. We are considered dangerous, too."
"I hope so," said Napoleon, but he had cut off his microphone before he said it. Then he turned to his friends. "Well," he said, "if the sky were clearer, we could see a most exciting aerial battle...."
"Here comes our copter," said Illya. "They're below the cloud cover."
As they watched, the Thrush helicopter climbed gracefully into their field of view and soared away into the sky. The U.N.C.L.E. craft, smaller and wider, sailed over the wall, and then started to climb after them. Lights flickered around the sides of the Thrush copter, and a few seconds later the crackle of machine-gun fire drifted down to the audience below.
The smaller copter shot up and engaged the other in fairly close-range combat. Darkness hid them half the time, but the flashes of gunfire were visible from both. The U.N.C.L.E. helicopter leaped about in the air like a hornet—hovering, darting in and out, diving, side-slipping, and always presenting the narrowest target to its larger, slower enemy.
But the Thrush craft seemed to have the advantage in firepower. There were at least two machine guns firing, the tracers making a flickering V from the belly and tail of the craft with the point dancing around the U.N.C.L.E. copter.
It was a touch and go battle high in the cold mountain night, with the snow clouds pressing low above the peaks, and the resolution of it was to remain a mystery. The Thrush copter suddenly began climbing again, and in half a minute it had been lost to sight in the clouds. The U.N.C.L.E. pilot followed it up, and then he was gone too.
Napoleon brought his gaze reluctantly back to ground level, and rubbed his neck. Then he looked around. "Do you smell something?" he said, to no one in particular.
Hilda lifted her nose and sniffed. "Smoke?" she suggested.
Illya looked sharply down the corridor between crates. "Smoke. They're trying to drive us out by setting fire to the boxes. I think they know they're done for now, and want to take us with them. We'll have to stick it out here as long as we can," he said grimly. "If we break into the open, we'll be shot down."
The fire spread only slowly, but they had to retreat from it. There were only two ways to go—to the wall of the castle or towards the open courtyard. To the wall there would be no escape—in the open there was always a chance.
Then they heard a roaring of motors overhead, and looked up. Three more helicopters swung into sight over the wall, and started to descend. Napoleon whipped out his transceiver and called to them. "Solo here—watch out for Thrush rifleman under cover. We're back here near the fire, so you can shoot everywhere else."
"What are you doing, Solo—lighting a beacon so we can find the place?" asked the voice from the landing party. "We've got radar, after all."
"It was a cold night," said Napoleon. "We're about out of sausages, but we have some marshmallows left if you care to join us for dessert."
The three helicopters settled into the courtyard with a great roaring of wind and thunder of engines. As they sputtered and died, an amplified voice ordered, "Throw out your guns and surrender. You are covered, surrounded, and outnumbered. Coöperate and you will not be killed."
There was a pause, and Napoleon looked over the top of the crates. One by one, rifles were being pushed out into the open, and joined by men in gray uniforms, with raised hands.
Then there was a whistling in the air, far above them, and they looked up. Out of the clouds a helicopter was falling—out of control, windmilling weakly. It was coming down far too fast, spinning blades holding it back only slightly. The fuselage was turning, nose down. It grew larger and larger, and then flames began to show along its side. It would miss the courtyard, it would miss the castle—then it seemed to swing to one side, and a moment later it disappeared beyond the wall.
There was a second of absolute silence, and then a long tearing crash as it ripped through trees and plowed into the side of the mountain. Then there was a muffled explosion, and a flare of light against the sky as the fuel tanks burst and detonated.
Then every eye was turned skywards again, looking for the victor. After many seconds the other helicopter appeared, motor roaring, and sank swiftly towards the anxious audience. It was small and round—the U.N.C.L.E. helicopter.
As it landed in the midst of the watchers, it could be seen to be riddled with bullet holes through the fuselage. But the pilot leaned out and gave a "thumbs up" sign as he cut the motor.
Just at that moment there was another sound, which was more felt than heard. The ground shook, and the deepest rumble came from beneath their feet. Four seconds later clouds of dust erupted from the door and the mouth of the conveyor tunnel. Illya looked at it, and this time it was Zoltan who spoke first, his voice a whisper of shock.
"They have blown it up," he said, with the sound more of disbelief than of rage or surprise. "They have blown it all up, and collapsed the caves."
Then another figure stepped into the courtyard, hands raised, but with an expression of triumph on his face. It was the Thrush they knew as Peter.
All four then started across the courtyard towards him, but Zoltan reached him first. Before the Count could speak, Peter anticipated him.
"Yes," he said. "It is gone. It is buried under thousands of tons of rock, and you will never recover it. The charges were planted to destroy every trace of our work, but they were ready. And when it became obvious we had been defeated, I detonated them. It should have been ours—no one else will ever profit from it."
And then the U.N.C.L.E. agents were all around them, and handcuffs were being clamped on gray-clad wrists, and Peter was led away with the rest while Zoltan looked around at his castle.