Pulp Fiction | The Vanishing Act Affair (June 1966) Read online

  "Let's find out, then," Solo said.

  The five men moved at a fast walk out toward where the gauge said they would find Morlock The Great. When they were still a half a mile from the spot, a small aircraft appeared on the flat land. Its motor was running. Before the five men could run to the spot, the small plane raced down its runway and rose into the air. Illya looked at his gauge. It showed that Morlock was in the plane.

  "He's gone," Illya said.

  Solo bent over his ring radio. "London Control! Come in, London Control, Sonny here. Code One!"

  Instantly the ring answered. "London Control, Code One, all facilities alert."

  "Morlock The Great escaped in a light plane. No destination known, but probably London. Notify police, Interpol, and organize an intercept. Alert Mr. Waverly in New York. Sonny and Bubba returning to London."

  Solo clicked off, and the five men returned to the jeep. A half an hour later they were in the helicopter again, flying toward London.

  * * *

  IN THE RARE London sunny day, Solo and Illya approached the ruined old church that stood above the underground complex of the Cult. The tracking gauge in Illya's hand showed that, somewhere far below, Morlock The Great was still in the city. Solo looked for their friend, Paul Dabori. The hunchback was not in sight.

  "He should have been here," Solo said.

  "Yes, but we have more important problems," Illya said. The blond Russian nodded towards the ruins of the church. "There is something odd over there."

  Illya led the way across the street and into the ruins of the old church. There was a clear space in the rubble that had not been there before. Somehow, the rubble itself seemed to have moved.

  "The rubble was camouflage," Illya said. "Real rubble and bricks on a movable platform."

  In the center of the clear space that had not been there before, a large slab of stone lay heavy and flat. The altar stone, but not where it had been. Where it had been was now a gaping hole in the earth.

  "The stone was under the rubble," Solo said.

  "It must work electronically. Much too heavy to be moved any other way."

  The two agents surveyed the hole in the ground that led downward—a flight of narrow stone steps.

  "This they didn't build," Illya said. "It's an old hideaway, built under the altar."

  Solo took a breath. "Well, he's down there. Shall we wait for Mr. Waverly and help?"

  "We missed him at Salisbury. I don't think we have time to wait," Illya said.

  Solo checked his Special. "Let's go then."

  The two agents started down the stairs into the ancient hideaway under the altar.

  At first it was pitch dark. Then, as their eyes became accustomed, they saw that they were indeed in a very old stone room. The followed the homing signal to a blank wall. Solo felt carefully around. Four feet from the floor there was a tiny projection. The projection was metal and not at all ancient.

  Solo pulled it. The wall slid silently open. The two agents looked at a shaft. Illya peered over the edge. Far below there seemed to be a dark object. Cables ran down the shaft.

  "Elevator, at the bottom," Illya said.

  "If we bring it up we'll alert them," Solo said.

  "Then I expect we shall have to go down to it," Illya said.

  With no more words, Kuryakin swung out on the cables and began to slide down. Solo followed. The two men slid carefully, breaking themselves to prevent their hands being burned raw by friction.

  At the bottom they crouched on the top of the elevator car. Silently, Illya opened the roof hatch. The car below was empty. They lowered themselves in and pressed the open button. A long, darkened corridor stretched before them. One of the new concrete bomb shelter corridors.

  Once again, all was silent.

  They left the elevator and moved along the dim corridor. The forced air vents hummed above their heads. Illya watched his gauge, letting it lead them closer and closer to Morlock The Great.

  "The left corridor," Illya said.

  The turned down the left corridor.

  "Now right," Illya said.

  It was at the end of this right corridor that they first heard the sound. A distant rumbling like a powerful engine, and, below the rumbling a sound like the sea far off on a stormy day. Solo held up his hand. They both listened.

  "What do you think it is?" Illya said.

  "A motor, real powerful motors, and—" Solo said.

  "And voices, a lot of voices!"

  Solo nodded. The rumbling of motors, and the sound that was many voices, came no closer. But even as they listened in the dim corridor, two morlocks suddenly appeared from a door in the wall in front of them.

  The morlocks, hurrying, and the two agents saw each other at the same time.

  The morlocks were too slow.

  Illya and Solo stepped over their bodies and went on down the corridor. They had used sleep darts and there had been no sound. But Illya stopped, looking at his gauge.

  "We're going away!"

  Kuryakin turned and retraced his steps. When he reached the door the two morlocks had come from he stopped again. He pointed at the door.

  "In there, Napoleon. But not close."

  Solo stepped past and opened the door.

  A narrower, brighter corridor led downward at a sharp slant. As the two agents moved silently along this different-looking passage, the sound of engines and voices grew louder. The two agents nodded to each other. At least it was becoming clear that they were going in the right direction.

  "From the sound of it," Solo whispered, "they may all be up ahead."

  "We'll need the sleep-gas bombs again," Illya said.

  "And a little luck. 'Dabori said there could be a hundred," Solo said.

  The passage continued downward. A chill grew in the draft of air that was now coming along the passage.

  "This passage connects to outside!" Solo said.

  "Morlock would have an escape route, Napoleon," Illya said.

  The voices seemed very close now, and the throb of powerful engines. Then, suddenly, Illya stopped again. He stared down at his gauge.

  "We've passed him again," Illya said.

  The blond agent returned up the passage and stopped at a spot where there was nothing at all—blank wall on either side, and smooth floor and ceiling. Illya narrowed his eyes and began to feel the walls.

  "Here!" Illya whispered. "Be ready! The gauge says he's very close, right behind this wall. I feel a lever."

  Illya pulled the lever and a wall slid open A very narrow opening, and on the other side only darkness. The two agents peered in.

  The shouts came loud from the end of the main passage. From both ends of the passage, the morlocks were roaring in fury and rushing toward them. There was no time to hesitate.

  "Inside!" Illya cried.

  The two agents dashed through the small opening in the side wall—and stepped out into space.

  With cries of surprise, Illya and Solo fell down through the pitch dark.

  FOUR

  STUNNED, the two agents lay on what seemed to be a dirt floor. Nothing moved in the dark. The only sound was the sound of motors not far away, and the rumbling sound of morlock voices.

  Solo was the first to revive. He sat up and switched on his miniature ring-flashlight. They were, he saw, in a deep pit. The floor was dirt, but the sides were stone. Above, far above, the ceiling was stone, and halfway up was the black shape of the opening they had been so cleverly forced through.

  Illya's voice spoke beside Solo. "Look!"

  "What?"

  "Shine it left, on the floor," Illya said.

  Solo shined the light. In the center of the pit-like room where they lay on the dirt there was a small metal pillar, like a receptacle for burning incense.

  It stood only two feet high and had a flat top. On the flat top was a tiny object.

  The two men looked at the object.

  "The homer," Illya said. "It's the device I attached to Morlock
The Great's cuff."

  There was a loud, mocking laugh.

  It came from above, from the opposite side of the pit from where they had plunged down. Solo shone his lights up. As he did so light flooded the entire pit from spotlights up in the ceiling. The two agents blinked in the bright glare.

  The sardonic laugh came again.

  On a wide ledge halfway up the sheer stone walls they saw once again the tiny, grotesque figure of Morlock The Great. The magician stared down at them.

  "You did very well, gentlemen. I underestimated you badly. But, then, you now have underestimated me. I admit I was stupid to let your plant that device on me, but you were stupid to think that I would not detect it in the end. So, now here we are."

  "And without an atomic war," Solo pointed out.

  Morlock laughed, his over-large head shaking on his skinny midget body. "True. I failed this time. But I have you. I will not fail next time, but for you two I fear there will be no next time. I do not intend to make the same error again—the error of leaving you alive behind me, I mean."

  "We are not alone," Illya said coldly.

  "U.N.C.L.E. ? Yes, they will send more men, but I think you two are the most dangerous. The others I can handle," Morlock said. "I am in no hurry, really. We are all prepared, the shelters are ready. All that has happened is that we have lost our good London shelter, and—"

  "Don't be stupid, Morlock," Solo said. "You're known, and so is your plan. Every government will be after you. You won't be able—"

  "So," Morlock said, "you have reported. Unfortunate. Still, it is not as bad as you hope. I'm sorry to tell you. They will not find me, and we will start again."

  "Where can you hide now?" Illya said, mocked.

  The grotesque figure on the ledge only laughed his sardonic laugh.

  "Ah, gentlemen, where I can hide is my secret. But I admit freely, that you have caused me much trouble. Yes, much trouble. I will not let you off lightly. So, Voila!"

  The grotesque magician waved his tiny hand. There was a puff of smoke on the floor and morlocks appeared as if from nowhere. Before Illya or Solo could move they were pinioned by strong hands, something was looped around one of each of their legs. Another flash of smoke, and the morlocks vanished.

  "You must admire my tricks, gentlemen," Morlock said from his ledge. "I am the greatest magician."

  Solo and Illya were too busy looking at what had been done to their legs. They looked at each other, puzzled. The morlocks had chained one leg of each of them—chained securely and on long chains that clanked when they moved. The morlocks had also removed all clothes but their underwear.

  "Your clothes appear to be far too dangerous," Morlock said drily from his ledge. "Are the chains comfortable? As you see, you have quite free movement. So, now, Ole!"

  And the tiny magician gestured again with his hand. There was another flash of flame and smoke, and the sound of water. Fast, inrushing water. Illya and Solo stood up. Water was gushing around their feet, pouring into the room.

  On the ledge the insane little magician choked with demonic laughter. "A swim, eh? A nice swim. You are quite free to swim, to fight, until—But you must have guessed, yes? Until the chains reach their limit!"

  The water gushed up. It had reached their waists now. Illya bent, struggled with the chain on his leg. Solo watched the tiny magician laughing on his ledge.

  "You can fight, you see? Ah, that is the pleasure! To watch you struggle, and you will struggle because you are alive! No simple drowning, not for you! You will swim, and thrash, and then the chain will hold you, the water will rise, and you will go under. When the water reaches my feet—your heads will go under and you will die! Die!"

  The water rose higher and higher, and the two agents were swimming now. The chain on only one leg did not prevent them from swimming on the surface of the rising water.

  Morlock roared with laughter on his ledge.

  In the distance, suddenly, there was the sound of firing. Doors crashed. The voices of men reached their ears above the sound of inrushing water. On the ledge the monstrous little magician listened. He seemed to be estimating. His laughter was gone. He stared down at them from his glowing, satanic eyes.

  "Your friends, but they will not be in time. My men will hold them until I escape, and by then you will be under the water."

  The water rose swiftly. The two agents struggled to swim, to break the chains. Morlock leaned down toward them as they floated up toward his ledge.

  "You destroyed my plans! You stopped me! I will win, but you have ruined it all for now! So you will die! You will all die and we outcast and spit-upon will inherit the Earth!"

  Struggling, Solo and Illya looked at each other. Their heads were nearly up to the ledge. Each man could feel the chain reaching its end, dragging now on their thrashing legs. Another few minutes and the chains would be fully extended—and then—

  On the ledge the water lapped at the feet of Morlock The Great. The grotesque magician laughed once more.

  "We will rule the earth!" Morlock cried, and once again his hand described an arc in the air. "Farewell, dead men, Voila!"

  The tiny hand made its magic gesture.

  There was a puff of bright red smoke, and—

  A sheet of flame shot to the ceiling of the stone pit.

  Inside the flames, his clothes a holocaust, Morlock The Great screamed and screamed.

  There was the puff of smoke, and where there should have been nothing an no one, where Morlock The Great should have vanished in his puff of smoke—there was a great sheet of flame and the tiny magician, his eyes a mask of terror, turned into a human torch before the eyes of Solo and Illya struggling in the water.

  With a final scream of horror and pain, Morlock The Great leaped into the water.

  It did not help. The flames did not go out, and, on the surface, Morlock The Great burned like a torch.

  Solo and Illya stared, struggled, fought to keep their heads above water.

  Then they felt it—the water was receding.

  On the ledge where Morlock The Great had played his last trick, they saw the twisted body, and gentle face, of Paul Dabori. The morlock who had come to their aid smiled down as they floated down with the receding water.

  * * *

  IN THE long conference room of the Cult shelter deep beneath the city of London, Solo and Illya sat in dry clothes and listened to the dry voice of Alexander Waverly. The chief was having difficulty lighting his pipe.

  "You see, your friend Paul Dabori decided to slip back after you went off in chase of Morlock. It seems he decided that with all that hair he would not be recognized, especially after you all escaped."

  Dabori smiled. "They never suspected I had come back down here. When Morlock came running back, there was much confusion. I followed him to his private room. When he wasn't looking, I replaced some of his special smoke powder with some of your heatfoil. I tore up the foil, and mixed it with his smoke powder. I'm afraid it fixed him."

  Waverly managed to get his pipe alight. "So, when you gentlemen were, shall we say, at the end of your—uh—rope, Morlock could not resist one last disappearance, and set off his smoke act. Unfortunately, this time Dabori had mixed him something a little stronger than smoke. You saw the result, I believe."

  "And I knew where the walves were for that pit," Dabori said.

  Solo raised an eyebrow. "If you need work, I think we could use you, Mr. Dabori."

  The hunchback shook his head. "No, I will return to my own work, I think. I want to live quietly, usefully now. Of course, first I will get a haircut!"

  Solo laughed. Illya looked seriously at his Chief. Waverly, his bloodhound face impassive, puffed quietly on his pipe. All around them the London police were herding morlocks away.

  "Did you get them all?" Illya said.

  "We did. They had a submarine. That was the motors you heard. But they were still waiting for Morlock himself when we broke in. When they saw his body, all fight went out of them.
I don't think we will have any more trouble with them. I'm afraid many of them will need mental care, though," Waverly said.

  "And the powder? The powder that induced the hallucinations?" Illya said.

  "We do have it all. We will analyze it, of course, but then it will be destroyed," Waverly said.

  Suddenly, Solo jumped up. The chief agent looked all around the room. He seemed to be looking for someone.

  "Maxine!" Solo said. "We forgot Maxine!"

  Alexander Waverly studied his pipe. "No, we picked her up where you had left her."

  "I'll bet she was annoyed," Solo grinned. "We have her?"

  Waverly coughed. "Ah, no, I'm afraid she's slipped us again. A very resourceful woman. It seems she had a hidden hypodermic and knocked out our guards. She escaped, and with some of the hallucination powder. She—"

  Illya sat up. "Thrush has a sample of that powder?"

  A smile spilt Waverly's impassive face. "Yes and no. The Trent woman did escape with a sample. But, fortunately, I had taken the precaution of removing the real powder. I hope Thrush will not be too disappointed with their sample of the simple smoke powder Morlock liked to use, poor man."

  Solo and Illya grinned at each other. Solo, his boyish face smiling, wondered just what Thrush would say after their experts ran exhaustive tests on what would turn out to be simple smoke powder.

  Solo decided that Maxine would have a few bad moments. But Maxine Trent had a charmed life. Solo knew that he would see her again.

  Illya Kuryakin was busy studying the records of the late, and very unlamented Morlock The Great.

  The grotesque magician himself was a charred corpse in a tiny coffin on its way to the London morgue.

  THE END

  * * * * *

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  posted 2.14.2010, transcribed by Iris