Man From U.N.C.L.E. 05 - The Mad Scientist Affair by John T. Philifrent

Author:John T. Philifrent
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-05-29T21:05:55+00:00

Directly over his head, Illya Kuryakin would have disagreed had he been able to hear. That unshakably serious young man had hoisted himself onto the cab roof, and with one arm wrapped around the ultrasonic unit he was playing the beam of his flashlight over that black-bound notebook in his other hand, and studying it with intense interest. There were some very intriguing diagrams in it, and the neatly written explanations were even more interesting.

“‘At a liquid temperature of 60°F,’” he read, “‘the original sample ferments in a yeast-like manner, entraps water, doubling in volume every fifteen seconds for the first hour. The volumetric increase then falls off steadily, becoming stable after eight hours, when a colloidal suspension forms and the entire mass becomes extremely viscous—’” he flipped a page or two and came across one more diagram, an electronic layout this time. He studied it carefully as the truck jolted and swayed beneath him.

“Limerick!” Sarah peered ahead. “The lorries will have had to slow down a bit, here. ’Tis a bit of a job to get through the cross-streets to the T 13, which they will have to do, you see, to make for Clonmel and then on to the road to Waterford and the boat.”

“Good!” Solo nodded. “You’ll have to pilot me here.”

The black bulks of buildings began to rear up on either side of the road. Cobbles jarred them. He hauled on the wheel, swinging and whirling the truck crazily in response to her directions. They roared over Thomond Bridge, and he snatched a glance at the docks and long lines of shipping.

“Why don’t you ship your stuff from here?” he wondered.

“We do!” she declared. “But not to England. For that market it’s quicker to run overland to Waterford and take the short sea-route. Whisht now—I think that’s them on ahead, see?”

Solo peered, then raised one hand from the wheel to thump on the roof over his head, grinning as the replying thump came at once. Over the booming roar of the truck’s motor he heard a sudden new growl and shudder, and knew that the generator was spinning. He fastened his gaze on the winking tail-lights ahead, and cut his own headlights, leaving only the running lights glowing. They stormed through a clutter of cottages, a little backwater on the edge of town, and then out into the open again. The truck ahead drew near and he could see the tailboard and the narrow slats that held the shuddering cargo of cartons. Coming up fast. He tensed, remembering what Illya had said about a twenty-five foot range. He wondered if the driver ahead would have the common road-courtesy to pull over to let him pass. Not that he was going to, not yet. Closer still. He eased his foot from the gas, peering ahead, waiting.

All at once the top left-hand carton flew apart in a bursting spout of amber froth, a wild succession of squirting jets of foam. His windshield grew a thick haze and he hit the wiper-switch frantically.

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