up into the warm tropical night. Illya followed them, and Joan followed Illya. Napoleon paused a moment at the foot of the ladder and turned to face his chief, uncertain of just what he wanted to say.
Mr. Waverly spoke instead. 'Good luck, Mr. Solo. Just don't take any unnecessary chances.' He extended his hand unexpectedly, and Napoleon took it.
'We've got them licked, sir,' he said as they shook hands. 'You may get the Nobel Prize for this night's work.'
'I'd rather have you all back,' said Waverly gruffly. 'Now get going. The entire invasion is waiting on you. And remember, they don't know they're licked. It's up to us to convince them.'
Quickly Napoleon turned and swarmed up the ladder. The hatch closed behind him before he was into the Squid, and then they were on their way.
Surf murmured on the sand behind them as the Squid silently withdrew and vanished beneath the inky surface. Ahead a black bulk blocked the stars and rising third-quarter moon which shone palely on the sloping coral a short distance to their right past the Barn. Both teams had rehearsed endlessly on photographs of this beachhead during the past twenty hours, and each individual knew his part like a trained dancer. Not a word was spoken as seven figures clad in conmando black shared out equipment and separated into two groups.
Four went to the right, to the nearer corner of the high windowless wall which rose above them, the rear of the huge stone barn, almost as big as the Big House, which it nearly adjoined at the diagonally opposite corner. Three went to the left, moving like darker shadows in the star-pierced darkness, with neat bundles of high explosives and silenced sidearms at the ready.
Illya led his team around the corner, and saw that lights burned in three windows of the Big House even at this late hour. Two Guards walked the terrace. And seventy feet of blank wall stretched from the rear corner where the U.N.C.L.E. team crouched to the side door, lighted but unguarded, which would lead them to the generator room. And forty feet of neatly trimmed lawn separated the door from the wide terrace.
They hugged the grey stone wall in the darkness and watched, timing the ritual pacing of the two Thrush Guards. Infrared sniper-scoped rifles slung at the ready could turn night into day for them at the flick of a finger.
Illya shifted slightly to peer at his watch. Eight minutes left before Napoleon could be sure of his position and the generators must go. Still, he could afford another sixty seconds while booted figures paced slowly on the terrace.
Once around his corner and into the moonlight, Napoleon left his group in a series of quick, quiet dashes from one shadow to another, spying out ahead for sentries. They paused at last behind the front corner of the Barn. At the other end of the building they could see the Big House; to their right a long dark lane between two long, low buildings -Mr. Waverly's report said they were built as slave pens, but nothing of how many they must have held. Somehow appropriate that Thrush should now be using them. The communications exchange was on the upper floor of the second building. There was a convenient light directly over the double door at the near end.
Illya dropped his arm and started forward toward the distant door just as the second Guard turned away. He knew without looking back his team was with him; the three slipped into the lighted interior, crouching below the level of the glass pane in the door as it sighed slowly closed. They moved quickly out of view and looked around. Stairs ahead, descending to a deep hum and a smell of power. Six minutes to go.
Napoleon surveyed the wide yard, not to mention all but the rear of the Big House, from which they would be clearly visible, and wondered how to break unobserved across a moonlit stage. He leaned his head close to huddle with his team.
'All right, gang,' he said. 'There's no reason to expect a total curfew, is there, Joan?'
'Not unless whatever's left of Central declares an official state of siege, and they wouldn't likely do that if they've had no warning at all we know of their existence.'
'Could we have gotten this far if there had been a state of siege declared?' asked Bob Short.
'No,' Joan admitted. 'We probably would have been machine-gunned about the time we hit the beach.'
'How did you know there wouldn't be?' asked Bill Mills, the fourth agent.
'I just didn't think there was,' said Joan. 'I was right.'
'I'm glad,' said Mills.
'So am I, said Napoleon. 'Therefore, since we won't be shot on sight unless somebody gets the idea we're up to something – or recognises us, which would amount to the same thing – I suggest we simply saunter across the lawn as if we knew what we were doing and go through that door just as though we had every right to be there.'
'That's right,' he said. 'That's one thing I never forgot about you.'
Their eyes held for a moment like a kiss, and then he looked down at his watch. 'Five minutes, gang. Okay- by the numbers… saunter!'
They walked easily along a hundred feet of gravel path to the middle Long Building and through the door. Stairs were on the left, as described, and the four cat footed up them to a quiet tiled hall on the second floor.
The lower level beneath the Barn was deep. Illya and his team crept down steel steps towards a blue blaze of fluorescent lights beyond the next door panel, which opened into the tension of power, the tang of ozone and the hissing roar of working generators. Four minutes left to find the master control point and plant their charges. They moved purposefully down the short aisle between six squat pyramids towards a board full of meter faces. Good. Plenty of time to work in.
Behind a door marked INTERCOM in three scripts Solo's team found their first action. Two startled operators turned from their switchboards to inhale a stunning breath of knockout gas and slumped from their form-fitting chairs to the floor. Mr. Short applied his attention to the lock on an unmarked door and it gave way to a dark cool closet-like room filled with racks and a sound like tiny metallic insects. Napoleon found a switch on the wall which brought shadowed light to the rack-packed room.
'There's nothing like this place anyplace near this place,' he said, 'so this must be the place. Let's keep it small; one pound in the middle of each rack should do it. Give the timers a synchronised start for three minutes when I give you the signal. Ready -'
The lights went out and there was a very soft thump under the floor.
'Oboy,' said Napoleon. 'I think something's gone wrong. Set the timers for fifteen seconds and let's get the hell out of here!'
He pulled the antenna on the jammer, dropped it into a wooden desk drawer and slammed it closed. They made it into the corridor just as the inner door was belched across the room and a cloud of cement dust billowed out after it with a sprinkling of resistors and relays.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The moonlight had vanished in the merciless arc-white illumination of parachute flares over the two main assault points, bracketing the center of the island. Solo stopped just inside the doors, squinting into the naked glare, as the patter of small arms fire was heard in the distance, punctuated by the
They flinched back into the shadows as running footsteps skidded up the walk. The door was flung open, and they leaped upon the individual who burst in before they recognised Mr. Goldin, covered with dust and blood. 'What happened?' Where's Illya?'
'They got him – he's wounded. An alarm got tripped in the power house and there was a Guard handy.' Sanders got into the generator control room ten feet ahead of him, and I guess he set it to Manual/Zero Delay. The Guard kicking in the door was the last thing I saw.' He shuddered violently and sat down on the bottom step. 'I'll be okay in a minute.'
'Are you hurt?' said Joan, kneeling beside him. 'You look a bloody mess.'
