Section One, waiting until the new arrivals were settled, swept them with a steady gaze.
"The wheels are beginning to turn," he announced. "Last night another military center was raided and another consignment of the radio-modules was taken. This time we have had instant cooperation from the military as to critical wavelengths, and those modules will be useless to whoever has them. That is by the way. We know where they are. At this moment they are being held within Thrush-Miami head quarters. Our man on the inside informs us that the Thrush station is standing by for an important courier from Paris, who is to collect the modules and carry them to Corfu. We believe we know who that courier will be."
He swiveled to snap his fingers and the display screen lit up to show detail of a rambling old house in Coral Gables, standing in semitropical grounds.
"If it's Solo, we are going to have one hell of a job snatching him out of that rat's nest," a deep voice declared.
"That is not the intention, here. If, as I think, it will be Mr. Solo, our strategy will be to let him enter, make his pick up, and leave again. We will take him later. A point to stress. This operation must be done with great care. For one thing, we must operate completely outside our customary style, in a completely unorthodox manner, because we are dealing with a man who knows all our routines. For that same reason we cannot afford to use anyone who is known to him by sight."
"That won't work!" Kuryakin objected instantly. "Napoleon knows just about every enforcement agent on the staff. All the top rank men, anyway. If we pull out all of them we might as well quit right now. We'll be so crippled, we won't stand a chance!"
Waverly half closed his eyes, stroked his jaw with his pipe stem as he weighed the objection, then shrugged in resignation.
"Very well, we will have to make do with very careful and elaborate disguises. Now for the essential strategy. I'll sketch it, and if anyone can suggest improvements, please interrupt as we go. We have very little time to waste."
Napoleon Solo sat back in the taxi, apparently quite at ease, but in fact very much on the alert. The pick up operation had gone very smoothly, just a trifle too smoothly for his peace of mind. Surely there should have been some sign of opposition? The cab crossed the Tamiami Canal, and once again he could see the airport lights.
"I'm certainly sorry I couldn't stay awhile and visit with you boys," he said. "You seem to have a nice place here. In the daylight, they tell me, the scenery is pretty good too!"
"The way I heard it," one of his escort chuckled, "the scenery is kind of outstanding where you're going, too. They say the Countess is a real dish! What's your word?"
"I'll tell you." Solo grinned. "You take Helen of Troy and the Queen of Sheba. Then you add in those two Italian lulus, Gina Lollobrigida and Sophia. Then Brigitte Bardot, the best parts of Jane Mansfield and Liz Taylor. Stir and save the cream, and you aren't even close!"
"I don't wonder you're in a hurry to get back. How's about asking us all out there for a vacation, sometime?"
"The expenses come high, but I'll give it a mention."
The cab swayed, slowed and halted. The small group climbed cautiously out and looked around.
"This is too easy," one of them muttered, as they formed an apparently casual but efficient surrounding escort for Solo. "I was half hoping some of your U.N.C.L.E. buddies would want to horn in. They must be slipping!"
"Just goes to show!" Solo made a throwaway gesture. "Without me—nothing! I bet they don't even know I'm here."
No one offered to call him on the wager. The little party halted at the edge of the landing field.
"This is it," said the man in charge. "Our job is to see you on the plane, that's all. And there it is!"
"Right!" Solo kept his grin, squeezed down on the sudden tension that gripped him, and made a goodbye gesture. "See you again, sometime."
He set away to walk
"The wheels are beginning to turn," he announced. "Last night another military center was raided and another consignment of the radio-modules was taken. This time we have had instant cooperation from the military as to critical wavelengths, and those modules will be useless to whoever has them. That is by the way. We know where they are. At this moment they are being held within Thrush-Miami head quarters. Our man on the inside informs us that the Thrush station is standing by for an important courier from Paris, who is to collect the modules and carry them to Corfu. We believe we know who that courier will be."
He swiveled to snap his fingers and the display screen lit up to show detail of a rambling old house in Coral Gables, standing in semitropical grounds.
"If it's Solo, we are going to have one hell of a job snatching him out of that rat's nest," a deep voice declared.
"That is not the intention, here. If, as I think, it will be Mr. Solo, our strategy will be to let him enter, make his pick up, and leave again. We will take him later. A point to stress. This operation must be done with great care. For one thing, we must operate completely outside our customary style, in a completely unorthodox manner, because we are dealing with a man who knows all our routines. For that same reason we cannot afford to use anyone who is known to him by sight."
"That won't work!" Kuryakin objected instantly. "Napoleon knows just about every enforcement agent on the staff. All the top rank men, anyway. If we pull out all of them we might as well quit right now. We'll be so crippled, we won't stand a chance!"
Waverly half closed his eyes, stroked his jaw with his pipe stem as he weighed the objection, then shrugged in resignation.
"Very well, we will have to make do with very careful and elaborate disguises. Now for the essential strategy. I'll sketch it, and if anyone can suggest improvements, please interrupt as we go. We have very little time to waste."
Napoleon Solo sat back in the taxi, apparently quite at ease, but in fact very much on the alert. The pick up operation had gone very smoothly, just a trifle too smoothly for his peace of mind. Surely there should have been some sign of opposition? The cab crossed the Tamiami Canal, and once again he could see the airport lights.
"I'm certainly sorry I couldn't stay awhile and visit with you boys," he said. "You seem to have a nice place here. In the daylight, they tell me, the scenery is pretty good too!"
"The way I heard it," one of his escort chuckled, "the scenery is kind of outstanding where you're going, too. They say the Countess is a real dish! What's your word?"
"I'll tell you." Solo grinned. "You take Helen of Troy and the Queen of Sheba. Then you add in those two Italian lulus, Gina Lollobrigida and Sophia. Then Brigitte Bardot, the best parts of Jane Mansfield and Liz Taylor. Stir and save the cream, and you aren't even close!"
"I don't wonder you're in a hurry to get back. How's about asking us all out there for a vacation, sometime?"
"The expenses come high, but I'll give it a mention."
The cab swayed, slowed and halted. The small group climbed cautiously out and looked around.
"This is too easy," one of them muttered, as they formed an apparently casual but efficient surrounding escort for Solo. "I was half hoping some of your U.N.C.L.E. buddies would want to horn in. They must be slipping!"
"Just goes to show!" Solo made a throwaway gesture. "Without me—nothing! I bet they don't even know I'm here."
No one offered to call him on the wager. The little party halted at the edge of the landing field.
"This is it," said the man in charge. "Our job is to see you on the plane, that's all. And there it is!"
"Right!" Solo kept his grin, squeezed down on the sudden tension that gripped him, and made a goodbye gesture. "See you again, sometime."
He set away to walk
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