Suddenly the thrashing sound stopped and the solid thunks of a pair of car doors came to them, followed immediately by the hum of a motor and the sound of spinning tires. The trees and undergrowth ended abruptly, and the two agents found themselves on a narrow path, just wide enough for a car. Disappearing down the path was a large black sedan.
"Back to the car!" Napoleon snapped. "If they get there first..." They raced back to the highway. The truck and their car still sat there, and the black sedan was nowhere in sight.
"At least we have the truck and the OTSMID," Illya said philosophically.
"I hope so," Napoleon replied. "But I have a distinct feeling that this was too easy."
They walked up to the back to the truck and opened the rear doors. Inside was the massive metal object they had glimpsed at the warehouse. It looked like a large metal case, decorated with a few knobs and meters. "Does that look like an OTSMID to you?" Napoleon asked.
Illya shrugged. "It looks as much like an OTSMID as you could expect," he replied cryptically.
"The immediate problem, though, is to get it back to headquarters. How's your memory of your old Russian truck driving days?"
Illya looked at him thoughtfully. "If I don't get picked up by the police; I suspect every prowl car in town will be on the lookout for this particular truck."
"You go ahead then," Napoleon said. "I'm going to take a look around back there, and then I'll bring our car in."
A few minutes' inspection showed the path behind the cemetery to be a U-shaped access road ending on a cross street about fifty yards to the east. Just a few yards from where they had emerged from the trees earlier, a half dozen cigarette stubs lay scattered on the grass. Indentations in a sandy area of the path showed where a car had been parked.
Napoleon took out his communicator and contacted Brattner. "Anything worthwhile in the warehouse?"
"Nothing yet," Brattner replied. "The place is deserted. There are cars in the lot, but no sign of the drivers. The office is empty, too. We've been over the entire place once; we're checking more thoroughly now. Any luck with the truck?"
"We have the truck, but the drivers got away. What worries me, though, is why they should give up the truck and the OTSMID without at least a final gun battle. And they very conveniently had a getaway car waiting when they abandoned the truck. Even if this was a routine rendezvous point, the timing strikes me as remarkably good." Napoleon was silent for a moment, then went on.
"Anyway, Illya is on his way back to headquarters with the truck. I'll join you at the warehouse as soon as I can. Solo out."
He had just snapped the cap back on the communicator when its warbling beep sounded. "Solo here," he said.
"Yes, Mr. Solo," Waverly's voice replied. "I have that report on Forbes and McNulty for you. Forbes has been with Thrush for many years now and is regarded as one of their most capable operators. McNulty is a fairly recent recruit, but his enthusiasm has brought him favorable notice from his superiors, though not necessarily from his comrades. The combination of Forbes and McNulty could very well prove a formidable one. I'm forwarding complete dossiers to Milwaukee headquarters."
Forty-five minutes later, Napoleon pulled his car into the warehouse parking area past the battered car that still partially blocked the driveway. Brattner came out of the warehouse at a trot. "We just found the warehouse employees," he said as he came up to Napoleon. "They were drugged and hidden away in some empty crates."
Before Napoleon could reply, his communicator sounded. "Napoleon," came Illya's voice, "Kerry just looked at the machine in the truck, and she says it's not the OTSMID."
Illya's announcement produced a dismayed silence from Napoleon and Brattner. Then Napoleon spoke. "I was afraid of then. Thrush gave up too easily—and that getaway car was just too convenient."
"A decoy," Illya said bitterly. "They must have decided it was worth the loss of their souped-up truck to gain two or three hours' time. Which would indicate that two or three hours was all they needed. The real OTSMID is probably on its way."
"They must have a more liberal budget than we do," Napoleon said, turning to Brattner. "Back to headquarters, then? The bird seems to have flown."
Brattner nodded, but seemed to be thinking of something else. After a second, he said, "Maybe we can sell the Thrush truck and get a replacement for the car we smashed up trying to stop it." He brightened as another idea occurred to him. "You know, with the truck, and that computer we picked up in Forbes' apartment, we may end up showing a profit today."
Ten minutes later, Solo, Illya, Brattner, and Kerry were seated in the local U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, discussing their next move. "We should be able to locate them," Illya was arguing. "After all, a dirigible isn't something one can hide in one's garage. It requires a sizeable installation. And we already know it's somewhere in the western part of the state."
Brattner laughed shortly. "Don't bank on its being easy to spot. The driftless section of this state has some of the most rugged topography in the Midwest."
"Driftless?" Napoleon's eyebrows raised a fraction. "From what little I've seen of the snowy Wisconsin winters, I wouldn't think the state had a driftless section."
Illya groaned, but Brattner merely shook his head. "No, the driftless area is the section of southwestern Wisconsin that didn't get covered in the last glacial advance."
Illya nodded. "And with no glaciers, it wasn't leveled off and filled in with glacial deposits."
Napoleon had the good grace to look suitably chastened at this display of knowledge. "The southwest corner of the state, you say? Is that the only section in which something as big as a dirigible could be hidden?"
Brattner frowned in thought for a moment. "There
might
be some areas in the north woods, but it would probably get shot full of holes every deer season, no matter how out of the way it was. And besides, Kerry said McNulty specifically mentioned the western part of the state."
"Do you have any topographic maps of the area?" Napoleon asked. "Perhaps we could narrow the search down a little more."
"Certainly; we keep a complete file of ordnance maps of the state and surrounding areas. Wait a minute and I'll get them." Brattner disappeared into one of the other rooms and returned a minute later with a file of maps and a book. "This is a guide to the state," he announced, waving the latter. "Gives you a general idea of each area." He handed the book to Kerry and began dealing the maps to the others.
It took them an hour to put definite boundaries around the area. It included the complete driftless section and some counties bordering it on the north.
"Anyplace else and they'd be spotted from the air rather easily," Napoleon summed up. "But a little camouflage over one of those gullies and they'd be safe from anything but an expert search. And if they've had twenty-five years to perfect their layout, it's going to be a major job to uncover it."
Mr. Waverly was not happy when Napoleon finished his report. "Dear me, Mr. Solo, I had hoped that you would have settled the affair by now. Our agents in San Sebastian report increased Thrush activity there, and you and Mr. Kuryakin may be needed before long. However, the invisibility device is more important at present. I assume you will be going to southwestern Wisconsin to continue the search?"
"Yes, sir. It's a large area, though, and I can't say definitely when we'll locate something."
"Very well, Mr. Solo; do your best. We have one or two part-time agents in the area you may call on for help if necessary. If possible, however, obtain their help without alerting Thrush to their status. If it becomes absolutely necessary, I can send you some additional manpower, but there are really more world crises brewing than we can conveniently handle at once. I must urge you to finalize the affair yourselves if it is at all feasible."
"Of course, Sir; we'll keep you informed. Solo out."
"I wonder if he ever wrote government proposals?" Kerry mused.
Illya grinned. "You should see his reports to the Budget Committee."
Napoleon looked at his watch. "Six o'clock," he said, half to himself. "We could start driving now, but after last night I think we could all do with an extra share of sleep." He turned to Brattner. "Would it be all right if Illya and I spent the night at your apartment? And is there a nearby hotel you could put Miss Griffin in for the night? Thrush may be gone, but they might also be still watching her apartment. We'll leave for the country in the morning."
"Is Kerry going with us?" Illya asked.
"Of course I'm going with you! They still have Uncle Willard, and besides, what's to stop them from picking me up again the minute you leave?"
"She's right," Napoleon said. "Until we get the OTSMID and Dr. Morthley both safely in our hands, Kerry will be a prime target for Thrush. To guard her properly here would take Don's entire force, and they could more profitably spend their time continuing the search for the Thrush warehouse. I doubt that Thrush was able to move everything today, but even if they did, checking with the warehouse proprietors might still provide a lead."
Brattner and the local agents seemed relieved as they mad the arrangements to get Kerry installed in a hotel. "Perhaps you could even use Miss Griffin's car," Brattner suggested as they were leaving. "We'll be a little short after today."
Kerry nodded yes excitedly, and Napoleon thanked her. "Every little bit helps when it comes to the budget, as Mr. Waverly is wont to say."
* * *
Morning dawned bright and clear. Napoleon and Illya met Kerry at the hotel, had a mediocre breakfast in the hotel dining room, and were on their way before seven. "The food wasn't too bad, "Illya was saying as he pulled out of the parking lot, "but I didn't like the way the spoon floated on top of the coffee."
Two hours later, about the same time the food settled, they had covered the seventy-five miles to the state capitol of Madison and were debating which highway to take from there.
"As you travel, ask us," Illya quoted as they approached a service station. "I doubt their tour guides include dirigible hangars, but we do need gas."
While the attendant filled the tank, Napoleon reached over and turned on the radio. Some dial twirling produced a caterwauling teenager backed up by a thumping bass, and Napoleon leaned back with a satisfied smile. Illya looked mildly horrified and Kerry leaned more closely on his shoulder in sympathy.
"If no one has a better suggestion," Illya said as they pulled out of the station, "I'll take U.S. 18. It heads right into the heart of the driftless area."
Nobody objected. As they left the city, the "Top 47" program gave way to a news broadcast. The trio listened idly as the announcer gave the latest developments in the African crises, the Asiatic crises, and the European crises. He closed out the state and national news with the latest statehouse maneuvers to legalize the sale of colored margarine in Wisconsin, then introduced his own local imitation of a well known network newscaster's "For What It's Worth" Department.
"Here's a switch for all you people who are tired of the same old reports of flying saucers. Yesterday afternoon two Richland Center men—they requested I not use their names—were returning from Madison on U.S. 14 when a truck disappeared from the highway in front of them."
The announcer paused for effect, and lowered his voice confidentially. "Not only that, the men said a good-sized chunk of the highway disappeared, too. There was, one of them later reported to the state patrolman who helped pull them from the ditch, a 'big pit' that moved off down the road. A voluntary drunkometer test produced inconclusive results, according to the police report. So, if any of you Richland Center residents see any moving pits this morning give me a call here at the station—especially if they are being followed by moving pendulums." Chuckling heartily, the announcer gave way to a beer commercial.
"Apparently we picked the wrong road," Illya commented.
"Easily remedied," Napoleon said, running a finger along one of the maps. "We can cut across on another highway at Mount Horeb; it hits 14 near Black Earth."
"If we're going to Richland Center," Kerry said, "I have a friend there who could help us. She's a school teacher—and a hiking nut. She writes nature books, and she's probably been over every square foot of the county."
"A native guide would certainly be a help," said Napoleon, "but I'm not sure we should involve another woman. As you found out, Thrush plays rough."
"Oh, Lee—her name is Lee MacGregor—Lee can take care of herself. She has a roomful of marksmanship trophies, and she knows all about those oriental things—you know, karate, judo, Kung-fu."
"We'll see," Napoleon said and lapsed into silence.
West of Black Earth on U.S. 14, Illya and Napoleon began to realize their work was cut out for them. There were still occasional stretches of rolling meadows and farmland, but more and more the highway cut a winding path among thickly wooded hills that rose sharply on either side. Occasional stretches of rolling hills that rose sharply steep hillsides. A dirigible could be tucked away within three hundred yards of the road and be safe form anything but an air search.
Shortly before noon, they pulled into Richland Center. Kerry insisted on driving directly to her friend's house. Napoleon looked puzzled. "Won't she be in school?" he asked.
"Oh, no. School is out for the summer. She should be home; she always takes a couple of weeks to unwind from teaching. And she's a very good cook."
In a few minutes, they pulled up in front of a small cottage on the outskirts of the town. Napoleon expecting a veritable Amazon was pleasantly startled when Kerry's knock on the door was answered by a petite by shapely blond, dressed in paint-spattered slacks and a sweater. He noted approvingly the Lee MacGregor was one of those rare women who looked good in slacks. Even the paint smudges only added a certain note of piquancy.