"That's all right," Napoleon said. "Try to find out if the prisoners are likely to be moved in the near future, then meet us at the clearing by the river a mile east of the base in half an hour." He turned to Illya. "We're getting close enough so that we could be spotted by the helicopter on one of its flights. Better switch on the OTSMID."
Illya did so, and the bright moonlight around them was replaced by utter blackness. Illya came back and looked at the circular screen on the sonar. "Doesn't tell you much, does it?" he observed after a few seconds.
"Just watch the bottom blip," McNulty offered. "If it gets within ninety degrees of the upper one, you're too close to something, probably the ground. To find out where you are, of course, you have to shut the OTSMID off for a moment."
"Over this jungle, at night, I don't think 'moment' is quite the word," Napoleon said. "Just for the record does anyone know where we are now?"
"We have to be somewhere west of Thrush headquarters," Illya said. "Probably southwest, since Cerro Bueno lies a bit to the south. If we head north, we should cross that little river that flows past the Thrush base, and we could follow that."
"Good," Napoleon said. "The only remaining problem is to find out which way north is."
McNulty pointed to a compass mounted near the helm. "Turn the OTSMID off long enough for this to operate and we can get a heading. It's a little unhandy, but we didn't have time to get an inertial guidance system to install."
Illya followed McNulty's instructions and minutes later they were heading approximately north. They moved steadily, occasionally switching off the OTSMID so they could check the ground below and the compass. Eventually, Illya spotted the gleam of moonlight on water, and they turned toward the rising mountains in the east.
Now they had to switch the invisibility field off more frequently to avoid losing the slender thread of the stream, and with each brief foray into visibility, they nervously listened for the helicopter. Everyone, except McNulty, breathed a sigh of relief when a cluster of lights was spotted ahead.
"Thrush base in sight," Illya announce, hastily snapping on the OTSMID. "It's still at least a mile ahead; we'd better stay invisible until we pass it."
They moved silently along, with Illya checking one of his watches at intervals. Finally he rose, switched off the OTSMID, and hurried to a side window near the rear of the gondola. After a moment, he moved to the other side and exclaimed in satisfaction.
"We're fine," he announced, "but you'd better swing north about fifteen degrees or we'll miss the clearing. Incidentally," he added, "how are we going to pick up Sotavento?"
"Can't we just hover and lower the cable like Thrush did on Lake Michigan?" Napoleon asked.
"Not exactly. The dirigible was moored then, and it had more ballast. We lost a lot of weight when the paratroopers jumped. Now we're being held down by the elevators. The minute we stop moving forward, we start rising."
"Well, then we drift across the clearing as slowly as we can, dragging the cable, and Ishmael grabs it as it comes past."
Illya considered. "We can do that, I think, but I'd hate to snag that hook in a tree."
"You needn't worry," McNulty assured him. "The winch is very sturdy, and even at low speed the dirigible has enough inertia to tear a fair-sized tree out by the roots. Don't forget, it weighs fifty tons."
"We can do it, then," Illya decided.
Napoleon contacted Ishmael again and advised him of the plan. The local agent sounded dubious but reluctantly agreed to at least try.
A few minutes later, the dirigible coasted slowly over the clearing. The hook at the end of the cable splashed down in the middle of the stream, dragged across the bank, and headed for the first line of trees, less than two hundred feet away. Ishmael Gallinas y Sotavento valiantly dashed after it and overtook it about fifty feet short of the trees. He attached himself to it, leechlike, and closed his eyes. Illya engaged the winch and hauled him aboard.
Ishmael was still trembling and picking small leaves and branches from his clothing when he stepped into the control gondola ahead of Illya. He managed to smile weakly at Napoleon. "It is good to see you once again, se�or."
Napoleon returned the smile. "Glad to have you aboard, Mr. Sotavento. I believe you and Mr. McNulty have met?"
The local agent stared. "But he—"
"Is at present working with us to avoid the wrath of Thrush. However, keep in mind that he is rather inventive and untrustworthy, so under no circumstances allow him near a weapon."
Sotavento nodded, and the four men settled down to a discussion of the possibilities of rescuing Kerry and Dr. Morthley. The dirigible, its rudder locked in place, drifted in large, lazy, invisible circles.
* * *
Illya stood on the hook at the end of the winch cable, one of the retuned Thrush communicators and one of the normal ones tied around his neck. Three ropes were attached to the cable fifty feet above him in such a way that a solid pull on the ends that were looped about his chest would slide them down the cable until they were stopped by the hook. A hundred and fifty yards above him, Ishmael was cautiously operating the winch.
"Very slowly now," Illya spoke into the retuned communicator. "The hook is just starting to disappear. Just another couple of feet and I can duck down enough to see out."
As Ishmael lowered him further, the hook disappeared entirely into the floor of blackness beneath him, then his feet and legs up to his waist. "Stop!" he said, and the winch halted with only inches remaining between the edge of the field and the communicators hanging around his neck.
Illya squatted down on the hook, and the tops of the trees suddenly appeared, moving by at a leisurely pace less than a hundred yards below. Looking forward, he could just make out the lights of the Thrush base a good half mile ahead. He watched for several seconds, then stood up with his head inside the field.
"To the left about ten degrees," he said into the communicator, and ducked back down. He could feel the cable sway slightly as McNulty shifted heading. Ahead, the cluster of lights grew larger and seemed to be dropping lower. "We've got the heading about right," he said as he stood up into the field again, "but bring it down a little. At this height, I'll need one of the parachutes myself."
Back outside the field, the trees rushed up at him with disconcerting suddenness, but before he hit the upper branches, the dirigible leveled off and he skimmed over the highest trees by twenty feet. "Hold it level," he said, sticking his head for a second back into the field.
As the Thrush base loomed nearer, Illya could make out the sound of the helicopter. Even at a quarter mile, its clattering roar began to drown out the quiet rumble of the dirigible's engines.
So much the better,
he thought;
the more distraction, the better chance we have.
Now the headquarters building was approaching, sticking several yards above the surrounding trees. "Up about ten feet," Illya spoke into the communicator and immediately ducked back inside the field to watch the back wall of the building charge directly at him at ten miles an hour.
Again, he felt a shift as the elevators moved and the dirigible started to gain altitude. He waited until he cleared the last tree at the edge of the clearing and was swinging up and over the edge of the headquarters building, then stuck his head back into the field long enough to snap, "Now!" sharply into the communicator.
Illya dropped the half dozen feet from the hook to the roof. He hit lightly, partially restrained by the ropes around his chest and managed to retain his balance. The hook continued forward in a slightly rising trajectory for a second and the ropes tugged at him as their other ends slid jerkily as Ishmael reeled it off the winch at top speed.
The sound of the dirigible motors as their props seemed thunderous to Illya, but they were still not as loud as that of the helicopter as it clattered over the jungle on its way to pick up another load of the paratroopers.
As the hook came within reach, Illya grabbed it and began tugging it toward one corner of the roof. As he reached it and lay face down to feed the hook over the edge, a brilliant flash of light came from the jungle on the other side of the clearing. Ignoring the flash, he brought the hook level with a cell window four feet down the back wall of the building. He swung the hook against the bars, and called over the edge, "Kerry! Dr. Morthley! Come to the window, quickly!"
In a matter of seconds, a pale face appeared at the bars and stared at the hook dangling inches away. "This is Illya," he explained in a stage whisper that carried over the sound of the receding helicopter and the growing tumult that had resulted from the first flare. "Get that hook in through the bars and loop it around them; then stick it back through and hook it to the cable. Hurry! We only have a few seconds!"
A second flare, brilliant red this time, went off. As Kerry's hand darted through the bars and pulled the hook through, the normal Thrush communicator around Illya's neck erupted into life.
"What's going on out there?" Forbes' voice crackled through. "Helicopter, can you see anything?"
Meanwhile, the sound of men shouting orders and pounding across the clearing toward the jungle was coming from in front of the headquarters building.
"A bunch of flares is all we can see," the helicopter was answering.
"Well, get back here, quick, whatever it is!" Forbes snapped "It's probably those two U.N.C.L.E. agents again—it has to be!"
The communicator fell silent as the hook reappeared through the bars and was fastened over the cable. "Now stand back from the wall." Illya told Kerry and Dr. Morthley. "I'll be in to pick you up in a few seconds."
Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he raised himself from his prone position and moved back toward the center of the roof. The cable, where it disappeared into the field, was now moving back over the roof and rising slightly. The ropes had slid on the cable until they were attached to it a few feet above the point where it dropped over the edge of the roof.
The progress of the cable seemed agonizingly slow, and the sounds of activity below reached a new pitch as a third flare let go over the jungle. Illya was beginning to wonder if creating a diversion by having Napoleon fire the Very pistol into the jungle was going to be a help or hindrance.
Finally, the slack was taken up in the cable and it grew taut. There was a pause, much preliminary crackling and creaking, then a rending crash as the bars, a ten foot section of wall, and a small chunk of the roof tore loose and swung in a short arc toward the jungle in back of the building.
Simultaneously, the dirigible appeared overhead.
The instant the wall tore loose, Illya dashed forward, dragging the three ropes with him. Coming to the jagged edge of the hole, he stopped only long enough to assure himself that the floor of the cell had not been detached along with the wall, than grasped the edge of the hole and swung down into the cell.
Almost simultaneously, he spotted the two prisoners crouched in the far corner of the cell next to the door and a guard, his eyes wide and mouth agape, looking through the bars in the door. Before the guard could fully comprehend the situation and react properly, Illya had his U.N.C.L.E. Special in his hand. He snapped a quick shot the caught the guard in the shoulder just as he was attempting to bring his rifle into play. The rifle clattered to the floor and the guard stumbled back across the corridor away from the door.
Illya stuffed the gun in his belt and began struggling to get two of the ropes from around his chest. "Help me with these!" he snapped at Kerry and Dr. Morthley. "Each of you get into one and be ready to make like Tarzan in about ten seconds."
He broke off as he could feel a tug on the ropes. The slack was gone and they were sliding the last ten feet toward the end of the cable.
"More cable!" he shouted into the communicator. "And reverse the props again! We'll swing right into the trees this way!"
"Helicopter!" Forbes' voice crackled from the Thrush communicator. "It's the dirigible! Open fire as soon as you get within range!"
Kerry and Dr. Morthley were into their ropes. "Okay, we're hooked on," Illya shouted "Haul away!"
The slack disappeared rapidly from the ropes and the three of them were jerked roughly from the cell. Like a large pendulum, they swung toward the trees. The ropes cut viciously into their armpits.
Utter confusion reigned below. Another flare had just gone off and all Thrush troops were milling around in the clearing. No one seemed to realize what was happening except Forbes, who was back on the air shouting at the helicopter to hurry up.
As Illya, Kerry, and Dr. Morthley were hauled above the level of the roof, Illya could see the helicopter approaching rapidly. It apparently spotted them as well, for it veered sharply and took a course directly for them.
In the light of another flare, Illya could see someone leaning out one side of the helicopter. Something that looked suspiciously like a sub-machinegun was clutched in one hand.
"There's someone hanging on a rope, being pulled up into the dirigible," the voice from the helicopter came sharply over the communicator.
"Get them!" Forbes snapped back. "I don't know how, but it must be Morthley, and we can't let him fall back into U.N.C.L.E. hands. Get him first, then try for the dirigible."
Illya looked around frantically. Invisibility would do them no good. They were still a hundred feet below where the field would extend if it were turned on. By the time they could be pulled into it, the helicopter would be on them.
He looked up. The helicopter would be coming directly under the front of the dirigible, he noticed suddenly. If he could remember the location of the ballast tanks correctly, and if there was any ballast left..."
"Napoleon!" he shouted into the communicator. "Get ready to drop all ballast from all tanks when I give you the word. And the instant you drop it, turn the OTSMID on and put on full power."
There was no reply, and Illya watched the helicopter. It was almost beneath the dirigible. A short burst from the sub-machinegun sent bullets hissing by over their heads.