Man From U.N.C.L.E. 08 - The Monster Wheel Affair by David McDaniel

Author:David McDaniel [McDaniel, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 10

“Island Ho!”

AFTER LUNCH the Captain conducted Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin below decks and unlocked the doors in the “D” hold. The harsh incandescents overhead cast black shadows and sharp highlights around the small chamber, and left a pool of inky blackness under the Squid, which hung in a double canvas sling a few feet above the floor.

The ship in which they had left Colombo some three days ago was a disreputable-looking freighter, flying the Liberian flag, but owned and operated, sometimes at a profit, by the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. It usually worked as a real freighter, but was maintained as a cover for a number of unusual operations, for which it was specially outfitted. “D” hold was only one of the many special features of the ship. Only her captain was privy to all the surprises contained by her hull, and his U.N.C.L.E. rank was not much lower than Solo’s own.

Down in the damp darkness of the hold, the minisub swung gently in her canvas cradle, awaiting the kiss of the salt water that would bring her to life. Inside her dull gray body rested maps, supplies and equipment that would direct and sustain two valuable men for an indefinite period of time—underwater, and ashore in a hostile land.

The ship’s engines were idling now, and the time had come for parting. Napoleon and Illya slipped through the hatch in the underside of the Squid, with a last look around at the dim interior of the hold—the smell of rust, the patches of moss on the walls, and the bearded captain standing near the door, awaiting their signal.

And then they were inside. The slight pressure change on his eardrums told Napoleon that the outer hatch had been sealed, and a moment later Illya’s blond head appeared in the airlock. “Welcome aboard, Captain Kuryakin,” he said formally.

“Thank you, Captain Solo,” said the Russian agent, as he slipped into his padded control seat and fastened the safety straps.

At the same time, Napoleon lifted a small microphone from a clip below the board, thumbed the button on the side, and said, “Hello, Mother Ship. Squid is ready to go.”

A speaker next to the mike-slip hissed to life. “Hello Squid. Your signal clear. All set.” The lights outside the little sub blinked out, and a moment later, as Illya touched a button, their own headlights blazed to life. “‘D’ hold sealed,” said the speaker. “Open ’er up.”

Faintly through the double hull of the submarine Napoleon could hear a low rumble of heavy machinery. Leaning forward, his head next to Illya’s, he peered out through their little porthole into the vast hollow of the hold.

The floor was bubbling up, blue and sparkling, beneath them. The deck plates were drawing back into the bulkheads, and the sea, carrying the hot equatorial afternoon sunlight around the bulk of the ship, surged up under their plastic craft. It stopped a few feet below the porthole, and the speaker hissed again.

“Pressure in ‘D’ hold equalized.

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