The Final Affair

once NetRec is verified, which should be shortly.'

Napoleon peered at two six-letter groups on the screen. 'And what does that mean?'

'SYNLOC / TESTOK means that synchronisation has been locked and will be maintained continuously until the unit is unplugged; and that the unit is ready to be tested without any danger from the integral destruct mechanisms. There wasn't anyway, since we disconnected them, of course.'

Mr. Gold looked up, recognised them and came over. 'Hi there,' he said. 'Thanks for all this – looks like it'll be worth it. Did anybody tell you what we're going to be doing?'

'Only vaguely,' said Illya.

'Once we get all the access lines straightened out, I have to try and convince UlComp that this unit is supposed to be undergoing certain modifications in its top secret data access channel, and so naturally we have to keep testing this facility. For the same reason, we can put in an order that any faulty signals coming from this unit are to be reported only to this unit instead of setting off all sorts of alarms.'

'That seems perfectly reasonable,' said Napoleon.

'It's stupid,' said Mr. Gold. 'I could've written them a system that would have prevented this – at the very least they should have a human guard to clear top secret access.'

'Overconfidence,' said Illya.

'Overcomputerization,' said Mr. Simpson.

'Mr. Gold, it's ready for you now,' said the operator, looking back over her shoulder and starting up from the chair. The screen now showed an additional legend:

ULCOMP NETREC had a line to itself and below it, in case there was any doubt, green glowing block capitals said UNIT CLEAR.

'Thank you, Miss Klingstein.' He held the chair as she rose, and then took her place. He drew a pad of data sheets from a thin folder and opened it to the first page of illegible pencil notes, then laid it on the desk beside the keyboard, flexed his fingers and wiped his palms on his shirt, then glanced up at Mr. Simpson and grinned quickly before starting to tap out a series of meaningless numbers and letters. The screen reacted with gibberish of its own.

Mr. Gold studied it for several seconds, and nodded. There wasn't a sound in the room above the soft endless rush of the air conditioner and the subliminal hum of cooling fans in the equipment rack. He spent another second studying his notes and nodded again, then blanked the screen and typed something else.

'How long does this go on?' Napoleon whispered to Mr. Simpson, who shrugged.

'A day,' he said. 'A week.'

A month, a year?' Illya quoted under his breath.

'I hope not.'

'But we aren't likely to see anything more exciting if we stick around now.'

'Not unless we overlooked an infernal device and the terminal blows up.'

Napoleon looked at his partner. 'It's not the sort of thing I'd care to wait for.' Illya nodded, and glanced inquiringly towards the door.

Outside the Russian said, 'I should have realised it would take some time to actually get into it. After all, stupid as the Ultimate Computer basically is, you could hardly expect to walk up to it and say, 'Good afternoon, I'm the new janitor – would you tell me where the top secret files are kept and let me clean them out?' It takes a certain amount of lock-picking, even if you can convince anyone who finds you that you are a janitor, and just by being a janitor the alarm systems ignore you while you're picking the lock.'

'Because they have such a great alarm system, they use cheap locks,' Napoleon suggested.

'That's a good analogy. Offer it to Mr. Gold when he comes back to earth.'

'Okay. Which leaves us with one problem: while half the technicians in the United Network Command are taking apart the gamma laser we brought them and the other half are invading the nervous system of Thrush through a door we brought them with a key we brought them – what do we. do to keep busy in the next day, or week, or month or however long it will be until something definite happens? You're a nice guy, Illya, but if I have to spend another three days sitting around looking at you I'm going to start climbing walls. If I could just get out and wander around San Francisco for six hours a day I'd be happy – but here we are, under effective house arrest except for special occasions because nobody's supposed to have any idea anything's happening.'

'Napoleon, I'm quite surprised at you. Weren't you and that Korean code clerk rather a pair? And what about Jennifer, down in Translations?'

'Kim was new here and hadn't heard, and Jennifer was just curious because she'd heard so much.'

'Heard?'

'It's been – what? Four or five years? since that DAGGER Affair, but every now and then somebody remembers to tell all the new girls about what happened to us. And after that they tend to giggle at me.'

'Well, Napoleon, you knew the job was dangerous when you took it. Have you thought of talking Mr. Waverly into allowing you a few hours a day outside on your own? If you went between, say, ten in the evening and four in the morning – and maybe a false moustache and glasses would help…'

They stepped into the elevator and the doors closed behind them.

Napoleon was allowed his first liberty that evening, checked in nearly an hour late, and slept like a boulder until noon. Illya had taped a note on his mirror inviting him downstairs to the terminal test area, but he picked up his extension and called instead. In a few seconds the Russian answered.

'What's going on?' Napoleon asked. 'Are they into anything?'

'A lot of confidential bookkeeping records which will probably prove very interesting once they're analysed; they'll all be copied out onto our own tapes while Mr, Gold goes on investigating through another channel. It's like drilling holes in a wine keg.'

'I should think the guard would get suspicious if the janitor was drilling holes in the wine kegs when he's supposed to be cleaning out the top secret files.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Never mind. I just got up. Is there anything going on down there interesting, educational or comprehensible?'

'Not, really. I just find the atmosphere intellectually stimulating. Why don't you go back to sleep?'

'Because I'm up and hungry. When your massive intellect has sated itself, bring your body up to the Commissary and join me in a plate of steak and eggs.'

'That sounds messy. Fifteen minutes?'

'Closer to five.'

'See you there.'

Little Sirrocco called on an emergency line about seven that evening. Worried about Harry after his misadventure three days ago, she had telephoned his apartment and gotten no answer. On a hunch she'd phoned his landlady to ask if she'd seen him, and had been told that two friends of his had stopped by with his key, told her he'd been called out of town for a couple of days and had asked them to pick up a few things to send him.

'Do you think they've killed him?' she asked Mr. Waverly bluntly.

'Of course not,' said Waverly, 'They obviously do not intend to do anything violent to him – it would have been as easy to say he would be away two weeks or a month, and delay any suspicion by a much greater factor. Or simply arrange an accident. Most likely they want to talk to him uninterrupted – or it may even be that he has been called out of town for a few days. We shall check into this at once, Miss Sirrocco, and if he is in any danger of exposure you may be sure we will spare no effort to rescue him. More specifically, Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin will spare no effort.'

'I don't know what I think about that. You'll call me if you find out anything,'

'Mr, Solo and Mr. Kuryakin may appear somewhat unconventional, Miss Sirrocco, but I assure you they are among my most competent and consistently successful agents.

'Well, somebody at the office told me about an affair here a few years ago…'

'I'm sure even Joe Namath strikes out occasionally. You understand that Mr Stevens' security is of paramount importance to us for very practical reasons, and as soon as you disconnect I shall personally investigate the