15 - The Utopia Affair Read Free Page A

the tunnel and going into a Men's room to divest himself of the rags that cover his street clothes. This, incidentally, will be my route of departure for Australia tomorrow morning. Communications will be suspended for twenty minutes following my departure and then all channels will receive a videotaped transmission wherein I will explain the situation and name you my temporary replacement. This will give me time to pass Thrush's watchers before they become aware of my absence."
    Waverly leaned back in the leather chair. "You may treat the entire office as your own," he said. "You will find a small refrigerator under the sink in the corner, behind the curtain"—he gestured—"and a two-burner hot plate. Miss Williamson—ah––prepares things occasionally."
    His hand fell back to the desk and his eye lighted on the solid old humidor. "I will probably be forbidden my pipe there," he said, "and stale smoke is unpleasant. If you run out, order the same mixture from my tobacconists. The blend is written inside the lid. And of course you will use your own pipes."
    He stood again. "Thus, having disposed of all my property, I shall let you go now. Tomorrow morning at nine you will be here ready to pick up the reins."
    The door slid open as Napoleon stepped out, and Miss Williamson was ready with his hat and coat. She met his eyes directly as he glanced at her, with a look he was unable to read.
     
    At one minute after ten Napoleon stepped back into the office where he had left Waverly ninety seconds before. Now it was empty. He hesitated a moment, then walked directly across the room towards the large leather chair at the desk. He was halfway there when a call signal chimed. He hurried forward and connected. "Solo here."
    "All net communications have been cut, sir. Tape ready to roll in eighteen minutes."
    "Check. Thank you."
    That meant he'd have almost twenty minutes of peace in which to…
    The intercom called, and he answered. "Solo here."
    "Head of Section Six, sir. Urgent."
    "Send him in."
    The gray-haired physician hurried in. "While the curtain is still up around us, I would like to make a request," he said as he came to perch on the edge of the desk. "Surely we could spare one field agent, the best one available, to follow Mr. Waverly and act as his bodyguard."
    "But Utopia's security system must be adequate."
    "Their security is fantastically tight, Mr. Solo, but Waverly is fantastically valuable. It will not be an easy job. The managerial staff of Utopia has refused us permission to send our own man in legally; their policy includes complete separation of the guest from his old environment. Whoever we send will have to remain undercover from the staff as well as from Mr. Waverly."
    "We have no competent agents he wouldn't know on sight."
    "Then you'll have to assign the most competent and hope he's good enough. I especially don't want Waverly to spot him; he's supposed to keep his mind off business. Besides, he'd be insulted at the idea that he couldn't take care of himself." He smiled wryly.
    Napoleon's mind clicked automatically to the most competent agent available, discarded it, retrieved it, weighed four reasons for sending him against three for keeping him, one of which was recognizably selfish, and by the time he had finished drawing a breath he was ready to say, "It'll have to be Illya Kuryakin. As you said, Mr. Waverly would recognize any agent he spotted. Kuryakin is also capable of functioning as a one-man assault force. How soon do you think you can get his cover arranged?"
    The older man dipped into a manila envelope and spread its contents on the table. "Here is a full set of identification showing him with close-cropped hair and a short beard to disguise the jaw line. His references are excellent—he recently left the Cunard Lines, where he was a cabin steward—and he has been hired by Utopia to begin work for them on the first of November, next Wednesday. This will give him time to fly to Melbourne,