The Stolen Spaceman Affair Read online

  THE STOLEN SPACEMAN AFFAIR

  By Robert Hart Davis

  Somewhere, hidden, deadly, a haunted man held the fate of the world in his hands. And only April Dancer knew the answer to his secret---if she could live to reach him in time…

  ONE

  THE MAN FROM SPACE

  A beam of light cut through the total darkness in the alley near the public dock in Kowloon, Hong Kong. It flashed a brilliant arc across the willowy body of the girl crouched against the brick wall. She jerked up her gun, aiming by instinct, knowing that her life depended on shooting accurately.

  Her finger tightened on the trigger. Her shot and that of the man behind the light came so close together that the report blended into a single crash of sound.

  Her bullet was just a split second faster. It smashed into the killer's forearm, knocking his hand up so that his own bullet just skimmed the girl's shoulder-length hair.

  Completely unruffled by the hairbreadth escape from death, she coolly fired again. This time her shot smashed into the man's chest. The shock knocked him back against a garbage can. His cry of anguish was partly drowned by the clatter of the metal lid on the pavement.

  "April?" a man's voice called anxiously from the opposite end of the alley.

  April Dancer, top woman agent for the famed United Network Command for Law and Enforcement---called U.N.C.L.E. from its initials---whirled.

  "Here, Mark!" she said. "I'm okay. I got him."

  Mark Slate, her co-agent and partner, hurried down the alley to join her.

  April picked up the fallen flash light and trained it on the dead man. Slate stooped to inspect the body. He looked up at April Dancer.

  "He's a new one to me," he said.

  "He has the coarse features of a coolie. The stain on his teeth shows that he is an opium addict as well."

  "Then he was just a hired hand," .April said. "The other one?"

  "I took care of him," Slate replied off-handedly.

  "I didn't hear a shot," April said. "He had a knife. I had to turn it back on him," Mark Slate said quietly. "Too bad about both of them. I would have liked very much to question one or the other."

  "The gunshot will be reported," April said. "The Hong Kong police will be along very soon."

  "I suppose so," Slate said, still staring at the dead man.

  "What are you going to tell them?"

  "Nothing," he said. "You are going to do the explaining. Inspector Malcolm will never believe me when I say I don't know why we were ambushed. He just might believe you."

  "And he just might not!" April said. "He will think we are trying to put something over on him. He has been extremely cooperative to us on previous cases. I don't like to spoil that kind of rapport."

  Slate straightened up after making a quick search of the dead man's pockets.

  "I know," he said slowly. "But there is nothing we can tell him. I haven't the foggiest notion why we were attacked."

  "It certainly wasn't robbery," April said.

  "No," Slate agreed. "Just before they jumped us I heard one clearly say to the other that they must be sure we were dead. Murder was the motive, April."

  "But why?" the girl from U.N.C.L.E. asked. "We are between cases now. We aren't threatening anyone that I know of. Unless THRUSH---do you think THRUSH is behind this, Mark?"

  Slate shook his tousled blond head. "So far as I know we aren't in any of that vicious organization's business right now," he said gravely. "Why should they run the risk of killing us? THRUSH people do not like to take risks. They like to be sure."

  "Something is very peculiar about this," April said darkly. Her hair swished about her shoulders in an impatient gesture as she tossed her head.

  "I hear the police siren," she said. "Let's go down to the end of the alley and meet them."

  When they came out on the street, a nearby lamp cast its soft glow over them. April Dancer was a surprisingly pretty girl, with a figure that would stand competition in any crowd of beauties. The same soft light that enhanced April's beauty softened the loud colors of Mark Slate's Carnaby Street ward robe, but did not hide the unkempt look of his blond hair.

  April glanced at him. His casual manner almost annoyed her. She gave him an exasperated look.

  "Somebody tried to kill us and you act as if you don't even care!" she snapped.

  "Oh, I suppose I do care," he said lightly. "But I think I should have cared much more if the fellow had succeeded. I hardly think I would make a nice corpse!"

  "When somebody shoots at me, I want to know why, and I want to know it fast," April said.

  "So do I," he replied. "But after all, April, we have finished our assignment. We promised to make an appearance at Jeff Soames' party tonight. It is hardly cricket to stand up one's friends, you know."

  "And what' about our murderers? They aren't the ones who are dead back there. Those poor devils are just the weapons. I want the person or persons who hired them."

  "We'll hunt for them tomorrow, of course."

  "Tomorrow? I happen to know that you have a date to take that pretty---but obviously empty-headed---Chinese airline stewardess to Aberdeen for dinner."

  He gave her a startled look. "How did you know about that?" he asked.

  "Never mind!" she said.

  He sighed. "I'm glad you mentioned it. Completely slipped my mind. Okay, April, we'll hunt the killers' employer day after tomorrow."

  "Or the day after the day-after-that!" she said. "How can anyone prefer a dull party to hunting for the man who hired those poor fools to murder us, is more than I can possibly understand. You---"

  April Dancer stopped, a startled look coming across her face. She turned to Mark Slate. "Did you feel that?" she asked.

  Slate nodded. He also felt the slight electrical shock from the fountain pen he carried in the pocket of his loud waistcoat.

  "Something big must he up Mr. Waverly to contact us over the pen-communicator," he his face turning grave.

  Both he and April removed identical fountain pens from their pockets. They twisted the caps and a tiny six inch antenna shot up from each one, revealing the pens as super midget voice controls, powerful enough to span the distance from Hong Kong to York City, placing them direct communication with U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.

  April hastily spoke her identifying code into the speaker. Then she said, "This is April Dancer, go ahead, Mr. Waverly."

  "This is an emergency!" Alexander Waverly's voice came in face-to-face clarity. "Are you in a position to talk?"

  "The Hong Kong police are arriving," Slate said through his pen-communicator.

  "What has happened?" Alexander Waverly's voice sounded calm, but the two U.N.C.L.E. agents knew him so well that they could catch the slight strain in their chief's voice.

  "We were ambushed in Kowloon by two coolies bent on murder," Slate said.

  "Robbery?" The U.N.C.L.E. chief asked.

  "No, sir," Slate replied.

  "I see," Mr. Waverly said.

  "Then you see more than we do," April put in. "There is no reason that I can see for anyone to try something like that here. Is there something we don't know, sir?"

  "I'm not sure, Miss Dancer," Waverly's voice held a slight note of indecision. "It is possible that someone in Hong Kong may have assumed you would be involved in a most curious matter. They at tempted to remove you before you started."

  "And what is that, sir?" April asked eagerly. "Is THRUSH up to something again?"

  The infamous criminal organization known only as THRUSH was April Dancer's favorite enemy. There was something about its mysterious evil that fired her imagination. Watching her face now, Mark Slate grimaced. He knew how she loved to fight THRUSH. No one knew what
THRUSH really was or even what the word meant, but one thing was clear: the huge criminal organization was bent on world domination.

  "Well, yes and no, "Waverly's voice said from the pen-communicator.” THRUSH did not originate this trouble, but it is trying very hard to take advantage of it."

  "And what is the trouble, sir?" Slate asked quickly. "The Hong Kong police are coming. We have only a short time to talk."

  “I received an urgent request from the head of the United States Space Agency," Waverly said.

  "Oh, I hope he wants to put us in orbit!" April cried, her lovely eyes afire.

  "I sometimes think you have been in orbit ever since you joined U.N.C.L.E.," Waverly retorted. "No, the gentleman wants his astronaut back!"

  "His what?" Slate asked. "Astronaut," Waverly replied gravely. "That, Mr. Slate, is the name given to scientific personnel who are placed in orbit by rockets fired beyond the atmosphere."

  "I know, sir," Slate said. "But how do we get one back? Is he lost up there? We aren’t astronauts ourselves. How---?"'

  "Speak for yourself!" April interrupted. "I'll go up for him. Is he---“

  "Just a moment!" Waverly said testily. "Who said anything about going up into orbit after him? He isn't in orbit. That is the trouble. He's been stolen!"

  "Stolen!" April gasped in surprise.

  "You mean somebody kidnaped him from Cape Kennedy?" Mark Slate asked.

  "If I had meant kidnaped, I would have said so," Waverly said. "Will you please listen?"

  "Yes, sir," April said, only partly chastened.

  "This man and his space capsule were stolen right out of orbit!" Waverly said.

  "How far up was he when this happened?" Slate asked, his eyes narrowing uneasily.

  "About twenty-thousand miles," Waverly said.

  "Then there must be something to this flying saucer thing!" Mark Slate said. "Did men from Mars get him?"

  "Mr. Slate!" Alexander Waverly snapped, "This is no time for levity. This matter is serious. So serious that world freedom as we know it may depend upon our success in this stolen spaceman and his orbital vehicle!"

  "You say that THRUSH is involved?" Slate asked.

  "To the extent that THRUSH wants this spaceman's secrets for their own designs," Mr. Waverly said. "It is imperative that we find this man first."

  "Yes, sir," April Dancer crisply, glancing to the where a Hong Kong police wagon was pulling up at the curb, "Where do we start looking for this stolen property?"

  "One of you will return to New York tonight for a top secret briefing," Waverly said. "The other should stay in the crown colony to see if there is any possible link between the attack on you and this stolen spaceman affair."

  "Which one stays?" April quickly.

  "I will leave that decision to you two," Waverly said, "Now it may be that there is no connection between this murderous attack and the theft of the space capsule, but we must be sure. The astronaut is believed to be somewhere in Southeast Asia. If you were spotted as U.N.C.L.E. agents by men from THRUSH, then this attempt on your lives could be THRUSH's way of removing competition. They would assume you were on the case because of your presence in Hong Kong."

  The police wagon pulled at the curb and muted its low siren. A lank Britisher with a clipped gray mustache got down from the side opposite the driver.

  "I hear the police siren," Waverly said from the pen communicator. "Who is it?"

  "Inspector Andrew Malcolm," April said.

  "Excellent," Waverly said. "Let me speak to him."

  Inspector Malcolm of the Hong Kong police came toward them. His nod was rather short. "Then you were on a case," he said frostily. "You might have been truthful with me."

  "No, "April said quickly.”The attack was a complete surprise to us. Perhaps Mr. Waverly can explain to you."

  April handed the pen-communicator to the Hong Kong police man.

  "Speak into it," she said. Malcolm took the communicator gingerly. "Yes?" he said in a clipped English accent.

  "Alexander Waverly here," the U.N.C.L.E. chief said.

  "Oh?" Malcolm said. "It has been a long time. London, I believe."

  "Yes, the Ainsworth case. Inspector, I hope you will take my word that Miss Dancer and Mr. Slate are not up to anything out of order in your territory."

  "There is more to it than that, Waverly," Malcolm said slowly. "Something very peculiar---perhaps even sinister. When the call came about his attack on Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer I was just returning from an investigation of a similar murder attempt at Aberdeen Bay over on Victoria. That one involved an attack on two people---a man and woman just as here and those two are a couple we suspect of being THRUSH agents!"

  "I see," Waverly's voice said slowly. "And you think there is an interlink between the two?"

  "It is my considered opinion, Waverly," Inspector Malcolm said, "that somebody is trying, if I may be permitted to use an Americanism, to muscle in on THRUSH's territory. If there is going to be a war between two great criminal organizations, then it is very important for me to know what is going on."

  "I can appreciate that, Inspector," Waverly said quickly. "And I assure you that we will respect your jurisdiction. At the moment we know nothing about why our people and THRUSH were attacked. I will guarantee that you will be informed as soon as we know something."

  "We try to cooperate with U.N.C.L.E. at all times," Malcolm said, "but you must appreciate that our position here on the edge of Red China is unique. The Communists are just looking for an excuse to seize this territory. We cannot afford to give them that excuse by getting involved in a struggle between two power groups."

  "I understand," Waverly said. "You appreciate that I cannot talk freely over a transmission band like this. Either Miss Dancer or Mr. Slate will be returning here at once for a briefing. I will instruct him or her to give you a fun report very soon."

  "Very well," Malcolm said. "I will release them just as soon as I get a full report on the murder attempt tonight."

  After they broke the connection with New York, Malcolm questioned the two U.N.C.L.E. agents closely. Then he asked, "Which of you will be remaining in Hong Kong?"

  April hastily pulled a coin from a small purse in her handbag. "You call it," she said to Slate.

  "Oh, no you don't! I remember that two headed dime you gypped me with in Rio! We'll flip my coin!"

  "Did you ever see such a suspicious man?" April said to the Hong Kong police official. "Okay, Mark, we'll use your coin, but I get to call it."

  "Go ahead," Slate said, pulling out a shilling piece.

  "Heads," she said.

  The coin spun in the air. It fell and bounced off the pavement. April shut her eyes. Slate bent down eagerly. Inspector Malcolm picked it up.

  "Is it---?" April asked.

  "Give my regards to Waverly, Mark!" Malcolm said.

  April let her breath out with a deep sigh of relief. Slate said, "There must be something dishonest in the way you keep winning. It can't all be luck!"

  "Of course it isn't luck," she said. "It is simply justice. I deserve--- Oh! Look out, Mark, Inspector---!"

  Mark Slate whirled at April's warning. He caught the briefest look at a figure across the street. The man was ducking back into an alley. Something was flying through the air at them. There was the crash of a gun behind him. April who had a moment's more warning than Slate and Inspector Malcolm had jerked a gun from her purse.

  April Dancer's quick shot caught the flying package. It exploded in a burst of livid fire!

  TWO

  THE EXTRA HOLE

  April Dancer’s shot smashed into the bomb, knocking it back from its direct aim toward them, but it failed to prevent an explosion. The bomb went off with a terrific burst of fire.

  April threw herself flat on the pavement. Mark Slate ducked, but Inspector Malcolm was too slow. He was knocked back over Slate, blood gushing from a jagged hole torn in his chest by shrapnel from the exploding bomb.

  Slate half raised his h
ead, seeing a target. He saw April suddenly dart forward. A stab of muzzle blast split the darkness at the entrance of the opposite alley.

  The bomber's bullet slammed into the side of the police car, just grazing April. The slug ricocheted off, slamming into the concrete near Mark's head.

  The flying splinters of gouged cement spoiled his aim. His own bullet went wild. April Dancer peered cautiously around the car wheel. The killer's bullet slammed into the tire near her head. She flinched slightly as the air exploded through the ragged puncture, but she did not draw back.

  Suspecting what she was up to, Slate yelled for her to stop acting like an idiot. But she held her stance, presenting a target to draw the killer into shooting again.

  It was a crazy gamble that the killer would miss her while presenting a target she could hit herself.

  There was an anxious moment when nothing happened. Sure now that the bomber had fled down the alley, April pulled herself from under the car. She started to get up and was in too awkward a position to shoot when their assailant made his move.

  "Look out, April!" Slate shouted. The crash of his gun put a solid period to his cry. April fell flat and jerked up her own gun, but held her fire when she saw a dark figure falling face forward out of the alley shadows.

  Mark Slate ran across to the body. April came after him. The bomber lay on his face, arms out spread. A large bloody stain in the center of his back was plainly visible in the weak street light.

  "Get back, April!" Slate's clipped English accent rasped out.

  There was a tone in his voice that made April obey for once. They split, moving in close to the wall so they would not present a target for anyone hidden in the dark alley.

  "What is it, Mark?" April asked in a low voice.

  "I thought I got him," her co-agent replied grimly. "But his wound is in the back. I know I shot at his face, for I caught a glimpse of it as he shot."

  "Then he was shot by an accomplice!" April said.

  "To keep his mouth shut, probably," Slate said.

  "And I didn't see any light down the alley from the opposite end," the girl from U.N.C.L.E. said. "That means it is a blind alley!"

  "You guessed it," Slate said. His tone was light, but it could not entirely cover the steel in his voice. "He's still in there!"