The Final Affair

downstairs watching people sorting reports, typing precis, reading gibberish off small CRT screens and typing gibberish back to them. After two days he was starting to talk to himself, so he began picking up reports and contributing his own analyses, which were filed and mostly ignored.

His personal clearance allowed him to scan anything that looked interesting and he satisfied much curiosity… Only the highest-priority programs, the decision-making, planning and strategic programs which gave the whole system a sort of meta-intelligence of its own, were kept in areas simply not available to any remote terminal. These key programs could be accessed only through Central's own home console. The system had been inaugurated less than two years ago, apparently after one particularly brilliant Satrap had used his terminal to copy many top secret programs, having solved the access proceedure as an intellectual exercise, and made off with the copies temporarily during a power struggle which had shaken the whole Hierarchy. Now Satrap terminals simply would not access that part of the bank.

The day-to-day business of Thrush was laid out before them in vast and intricate variety almost beyond comprehension, from the private telephone number of the London Satrap arid biographical data on his staff of 470 to the accounts of a two-man bicycle shop in Hobart, Tasmania, which had been continually subsidised for 19 years with only one call to duty. Mysteries were being solved daily.

The Russian heavy cargo plane (AN-22-093OS) which disappeared last month off southern Greenland while carrying earthquake disaster relief to Peru was hijacked by Thrush. The AN-22 was the largest (100-ton) cargo plane until superseded by the American C-5A; the Russian fleet now consists of nineteen. #09303 was believed to be carrying an eleven-ton helicopter and 40 prefab houses, plus several tons of medical equipment and supplies.

…Infrasonic weapon in 7Hz range mounted in heavy truck, powered by jet turbine. Lavavasour insulation for operators; possible one-man version. Fatal to all life over radius of one-half to one mile, moderate structural damage within 75 to 100 yards. Construction cost: $150,000. Cost per use: $200-$300.Minimal technology level three given power source. Code name: Earthquake Whistle. Design specifications classified White- Plus.

At the lunch break Illya asked Mr. Gold, 'Have you gotten into the white- classified material yet?'

'Hm? Oh, yes. Yesterday – no, two days ago. It hasn't been too hard to break their internal security systems; UlComp designed them, and now it's solving them for me. All I have to do is ask it properly.'

'Do you know anything about what they called 'The Earthquake Whistle'?'

Mr. Gold shuddered. 'Thrush hasn't built one yet, but you ran into a pilot model a couple of years ago in New York. It was a low-power job, on a higher frequency with a shorter wavelength tuned to resonate your building. I heard it did pretty well.'

'It was most impressive. Napoleon blew it up with a 75mm armor piercing shell.'

'Well, the 7-cycle note over fifty or a hundred decibels starts to break down living tissues. Human, animal, insect, plant. It'll kill a tree in ten minutes at sufficient intensity, and a man in seconds. And it doesn't give any sign or warning, unless you have something handy that will detect a 7 Hz tone. You just feel dizzy and fall over. The French were doing some scary things with infrasonics a few years ago; apparently Thrush has picked up on it. Mr. Simpson has a ten-minute lecture on the subject which would make it all clear to you – how the thing that generates it works, and what it can and can't do. All the Earthquake Whistle is, structurally, is a big whistle mounted on a truck. The inside of the truck is shielded – the French researchers also developed an insulation against subsonics, light and simple, which was a good trick since ten feet of concrete is transparent and a forty-foot sandback negligible – and the whistle is blown by a jet turbine, which burns cheap kerosene.'

'And 'technology level three'?'

'I'm told it means more or less that it would help if you could weld the metal, but it isn't absolutely necessary. It could be built in a backyard by a couple of guys who were handy with tools. More than 90% of the estimated cost is a medium-big truck-and-trailer rig about the size of a small moving van, and the jet turbine which goes inside it. The rest of it would go for sheet metal and tubing. I think Thrush had a price tag on it -'

'One hundred and fifty thousand dollars,' said Illya.

'Uh-huh. That included labor.'

'Considering it would kill as many people as a small atomic bomb, without destroying valuable real estate, and could be used over and over for two or three hundred dollars a shot, I'm surprised it hasn't been developed already.'

'Well, there's always the problem with infrasonics that you cannot try something out on a small scale. Sound waves have, to be a certain size, and whatever generates them has to be big enough. Why do you think you get such lousy sound out of a transistor radio? Transistors are clean and give fantastic response, but besides the cheap circuits you have a two-inch speaker – you can't expect it to generate a twenty-foot, wavelength. And a 7 Hz wave is about 155 feet long. So nobody has quite had the nerve to build the Earthquake Whistle. I don't know whether they're afraid it won't work and they'll be laughed at, or afraid it will work and they'll be assassinated.'

'So what else is new? Anything outstanding in the last six hours?'

'I think we're getting close to the Central locations and scheduling records. I can smell 'em. But nothing specific yet. I think it's in the section we're starting into – maybe the next couple of days. Let's see, what else? Did you 'hear there is probably a major hard base somewhere? Some evidence it's used for top secret research and training – things like that. Don't know how big it is, or whether it's tied directly into the communications net or where it stands in the Hierarchy.'

Illya prodded his sauerkraut with a reluctant fork. 'Any mention in the local bank of Joan's disappearance?'

'She's listed on leave, with a request for her to see Baldwin as soon as she checks in. Nothing suspicious at all. Except that two agents have been sent here from Central on some-top secret mission and report only to Baldwin.

I'm surprised Mr. Waverly hasn't contacted you about that yet.'

'He wouldn't if that was all he knew. Any idea what they're here for?'

'Not a thought. Baldwin didn't send for them, and nothing has been mentioned to or through UlComp about them. Maybe it's something personal.'

'Two agents from Central? Who?'

'I don't remember. You can see the report copy if you'd like.'

'I would. Who ever it is, I don't think they can be up to any good. We may be able to get some idea of what they're here for from who they are. Remember, this is the age of specialisation.'

About the same time, less than two miles away, Ward Baldwin sat in a worn leather swivel chair and looked at a few typed sheets and several large photographs as though he found them personally repugnant.

The photographs were clinically sharp and gruesomely detailed, but received less attention than the underscored sentences which had brought the report to him.

'Second wound made no sooner than five minutes after death. First wound burst heart, instantly fatal. Slug split against posterior rib, recovered. (See still #6.) Second slug trajectory closely parallel first, but fired after blood had pooled and tonus lost. Indications body was reclining on right side before second wound inflicted. Second slug recovered, undamaged. (See still #7.)'

Ballistics: 'Slug B matches test slug from Guard Ellern's sidearm. (See Comparison Frame #1.) Slug A damaged beyond comparison, but not standard Thrush sidearm issue; reconstruction yields a full-jacketed slug, exact original configuration undetermined. (See Frame #2.)'

Baldwin knew perfectly well what the report did not feel was quite proven. The microphotograph of the second slug told his practiced eye the unidentified slug had come from an U.N.C.L.E. Special; its base bore the distinctive scratches left by the threading inside the muzzle.

His musings were interrupted at this point by the gentle chime of his intercom and Robin's voice announcing visitors. 'The two men from Central are here,' she said. 'Were you expecting them?'

'Wasn't that some obscure communications problem?' he asked.

There was a pause, followed by a strong, friendly voice working a little too close to the mike. 'Ah, Dr. Baldwin, you were told to expect us. It's simply a matter of explaining a technical problem and getting your official permission to work on it. Surely you can spare us eight minutes.'

'Young man, would you return the intercom to my secretary? I will take great relish in underwriting your report,