15 - The Utopia Affair Read Free

the last two days, so he is shifted"—the knobbly thin fingers dived into a slot a little farther back—"towards the rear."
    Solo bent to look. There was a neatly typed reference number on the red tab which indicated Field Operations. It would be slow for a while, but he could have a constantly updated list of reference numbers by name taped over the cabinet, which would be rearranged logically. He made a mental note to that effect.
    Miss Williamson, a leggy redhead much younger than one would expect in such a position of responsibility, flickered in and out of the office with dizzying irregularity. She typed the most confidential material, fielded low-priority calls, prepared his outlines, and made tea. She also acted as an extra memory and a mobile pair of hands; in short, a perfect secretary. Good looking, too, Napoleon thought, watching her pass him as though he were invisible, and wondered momentarily at the perquisites of his temporary position.
    He was called back to his duties a moment later when a team of agents, a sleek dark-haired girl and a young Englishman, was called in for a quick briefing and a fatherly, cautionary word of encouragement before setting out on an assignment. As the automatic door slid closed behind them, Waverly allowed his face to seam into an expression of concern. "By the way, Mr. Solo— another sensitive problem you will have to keep in mind is the use of female enforcement agents. The Board of Directors has never fully approved our employment of young women in front-line operations, despite the fine account they have given of themselves."
    He pushed his chair back from the desk and rose, Napoleon following. "In my personal safe, there is a sealed package containing information concerning our operations which you will need to know only if I am gone for more than three months. You need not concern yourself with it now, nor, hopefully, for quite some time. My personal safe is behind the large picture to the left of the door. It is keyed to my voice-print, and now also to yours. It will not function with more than one person in the room. I shall step outside for a moment while you test it." Waverly moved to the door, pausing short of the opening sensors. "Just say your name. Stand about three feet straight out from the rubber plant and address the middle of the picture. If it doesn't trip directly, try varying your inflection a trifle. It's rather sensitive." The door slid open and closed behind him.
    Napoleon thought the picture which filled the wall was rather large to conceal a safe, but stood in the specified position, faced southwest towards the picture, and said clearly, "Napoleon Solo." Nothing happened. He lowered his voice a bit and repeated, "Napoleon Solo." Still nothing. He cleared his throat and said conversationally, "Napoleon Solo." There was a muffled clunk and the side near the door swung back.
    He stepped forward and saw the heavy gray door of the safe. And beside it, to his left, a tall rectangle flickered and glowed with cool light. A paneled closet, its floor level with the back of the couch, which could only be an elevator. An emergency exit and entrance, its existence utterly unexpected. Well, Waverly would explain anything that needed explaining. Now, how to close up that picture again?
    Settling on a direct course of action, Napoleon swung the picture back by hand, and was rewarded by the sound of a latch dropping solidly into place. A few seconds later the outside door opened and Waverly reentered. A raised hand held Napoleon's questions while he resumed his seat, and then he answered them unspoken.
    "The elevator will take you directly to the westbound tunnel of the Fifty-Third Street subway, opening to place you there directly after the passage of a train. A worn pair of coveralls are stowed in the elevator. You turn right as you come into the tunnel and the Third Avenue station is only a block away. No one will notice a solitary figure in coveralls coming out of