The Genghis Khan Affair Read online

  THE GENGHIS KHAN AFFAIR

  BY Robert Hart Davis

  From the Great Wall of China to the brooding, silent Kremlin, THRUSH had sent its grim final ultimatum: “Stop U.N.C.L.E., kill Solo and Illya and we rule all Asia. Let them escape and we die to a man!”

  ACT I

  HOME IS WHERE THE THRUSH FLIES

  The mass of humanity that is the Crown Colony of Hong Kong seems to have a double center on either side of Victoria Harbor at the two slips of the Star ferries. The southern center is in Chung Wan, on the island of Hong Kong itself. The northern center is the slip near the railway terminus on the mainland in Kowloon.

  From the Kowloon slip the teeming mainland section of the colony spreads out along such streets a Canton and Chatham Roads until it thins out in the heights and the open country toward the Red Chinese border to the north.

  Here, at the border, the grim and unsmiling soldiers of The People’s Republic of China stand watch before their buildings with the white signs and red stars. Between these two points there are many large houses once owned by the colonial rulers. They are still largely owned by the same people, who are no longer rulers but tend to still rule. On a night in the late fall of 1966, one of these large houses was a blaze of light. The house itself was a Victorian structure with balconies, and French doors that opened out into spacious grounds thickly overgrown with the semi-tropical vegetation.

  Every few moments another car drove up to the main entrance: black Rolls-Royce limousines; Cadillac limousines; ancient Daimlers; the dull-brown military staff cars.

  The people who left these cars, to be greeted by butlers, footmen, and their distinguished hosts in evening dress, were resplendent in white ties and tails, evening dresses, and uniforms dazzling with the ribbons of medals. Even the civilians wore shining decorations on colored ribbons.

  This glittering gathering filled the house and spilled out through the French doors to stand in chattering groups on the stone terrace that surrounded the house on all sides. Some of the guests even stood on the lawn between the house and the thick undergrowth.

  The event was a diplomatic party for the elite of Hong Kong’s foreign corps and colony. The host was a high British official, a tall man in full evening dress with the order of The Garter on his chest. The guest of honor was a very different man.

  Dr. Li Po Shue was a small slender man with the inscrutable face of the Orient, and the polished manners of a life-long diplomat and man of wealth. Dr. Li’s face showed no emotion at all as he chatted in the main ballroom with two American staff officers. But his black eyes glittered and betrayed two facts: one, that he was strangely nervous; and, two, that his mind was really not on the party.

  Dr. Li was a vice-president of the Republic of China, better known as Nationalist China, or by its enemies, as Chiang’s Formosan regime. In this capacity, Dr. Li was a man of great importance to Hong Kong, and was being handled very gingerly by both the British and American officials.

  Despite the evidence of his eyes, Dr. Li was smiling and apparently at his ease in the gay gathering. The eyes that turned to watch him all through the room seemed pleased and satisfied that Dr. Li was enjoying himself.

  All but the eyes of one man.

  This man was a young man of average height, slim, and with a dark mustache. Dressed in evening clothes, the young man seemed the picture of a rising young diplomat in the American service. He wore thick horn-rimmed glasses, held a martini, and chatted brightly with some of the younger women.

  Many people watched him, and smiled. He was a most impeccable young diplomat. Serious but not too serious, and obviously enjoying the association of his superiors. The older men had noted, approvingly, that the young diplomat talked easily and at length but said nothing either serious or stupid.

  “Surely you see the need for recognizing the Communist Chinese,” a tall, British diplomat said to the young American.

  “I see your need,” the young man said. “But our need is not yet clear. There are problems.”

  So the young man talked.

  But his eyes were on Dr. Li Po Shue.

  He talked, drank, flirted, smiled, and his eyes never really left Dr. Li. He was expert. There were few if any in the crowded room who were at all aware that he had any special interest in the Chinese Vice President. No one noticed that he was never far from Dr. Li.

  The evening wore on. The party grew more animated; dinner was served and finished. The dancing began, and the older men drifted into groups, where the conversation became more serious. The tall British host turned just before midnight to find Dr. Li to ask a question.

  Dr. Li Po Shue was gone.

  The British official frowned. He wondered where he could have gone. But he shrugged it off, and returned to his conversation.

  It was at just that instant that the young American with the mustache and glasses also noted the absence of Dr. Li Po Shue. His reaction was different and immediate.

  A trifle too abruptly he broke off his conversation and walked quickly from the room out through the French doors. Once in the grounds he broke into a run. He reached the thick bushes and plunged into them, heedless of his elegant evening clothes.

  He tore through the thick vegetation, a strange-looking pistol suddenly in his hand. The pistol had appeared as if by magic from beneath his clothes, proving, again, that the young man was more than he seemed.

  He ran like a man who knew where he was going, but was not sure what he would find.

  He neared the edge of the vegetation around a large open space. He slowed, moved more cautiously. There was a noise to his left.

  He whirled just as a giant figure seemed to rise up out of the ground. He had a glimpse of a contorted Chinese face, red-rimmed black eyes, and a long, wicked knife. Then the man was on him.

  The giant lunged and seemed to enfold the smaller, slimmer man in evening clothes. A cry of vicious triumph came from the big Chinese.

  The cry never finished. The giant gave a strangled choke; his head seemed to snap back as the slim man struck him under the chin with the heel of his hand. Then the giant hurtled through the air to crash at the base of a tree.

  Stunned, the giant Chinese still managed to struggle up.

  The strange pistol in the hands of the slender man spat once with a sharp, hissing sound.

  The giant collapsed instantly.

  The slender man in evening dress continued out into the open space that was filled with the cars of the guests.

  He crouched low as he moved across the cars. Near the far side of the mass of cars, close to the exit, he stopped and peered out from behind a black Daimler. What he saw made his eyes narrow.

  Dr. Li Po Shue stood there with three other men. They were all Chinese. They spoke quickly, looked back toward the house, and then Dr. Li nodded his head abruptly. The four men all climbed into the black car they stood beside. The car started.

  The slender young man turned and ran silently to a small black sports car parked carefully in a place where it could quickly leave the parking lot. He jumped into the small car, and drove off behind the big black car.

  He pressed a button on the dashboard of the car and put on a pair of tinted glasses. He smiled. There were no visible lights on his car, no signs of headlights. The car was dark, yet the black car ahead was clearly visible.

  The button he had pressed had turned on special infra-red headlights, and the glasses he wore showed the infra-red beams of light as clear as if they were headlights. He had no trouble following the black car while not being seen himself.

  But he had other troubles.

  He drove with one hand and raised his right hand to his mouth. There was a heavy ring on his finger. He touched it with his th
umb, spoke into the ring.

  “Sonny here, come in Control Central. Sonny to Control Central.”

  A dry, quiet voice seemed to speak in the car. “Control Central. This is Waverly, Mr.---uh---Solo. You have a report?”

  “Dr. Li Po Shue has left the party,” Napoleon Solo said into the radio-ring. “He is with three other Chinese in a black car driving north from Kowloon. He left without being seen or making his official departure. I was attacked by a man apparently on guard.”

  “North, you say?” Waverly’s dry voice said. “It would seem that our information could be correct. Remain in pursuit, Mr. Solo. I repeat---do not lose Dr. Li.”

  “No matter where he goes?” Solo asked.

  “No matter where Mr. Solo. On his present road he will have to cross the border at point seven---if he crosses. If necessary, you will cross the border also. Is that clear?”

  “Very clear,” Solo said drily.

  “Good. Uh---be careful, Mr. Solo.”

  There was a faint edge of amusement in the voice from the tiny ring radio as Solo clicked off the transmission. He settled behind the wheel of his car and looked ahead. The black car was moving fast---and steadily northward.

  Napoleon Solo sighed. It looked like a long night. He began to peel off his mustache, revealing the handsome and youthful face that could have belonged to almost any rising young businessman or diplomat. But it did not belong to any simple young executive.

  It belonged to Napoleon Solo, Chief Enforcement Officer, Section-II (Operations and Enforcement), United Command for Law and Enforcement---better known as U.N.C.L.E.

  And it was on U.N.C.L.E. business that Napoleon Solo now drove north from Kowloon toward the border of The People’s Republic of China.

  The business of saving the world from some new and deadly danger.

  TWO

  The distant low line of darker shadows in the night were the hills of Kwangtung Province. The faint curve of silver was the Sham Chun River. Ahead, Solo knew, was the iron-railed bridge where the goods train crossed between Hong Kong Colony and the first buildings of The People’s Republic.

  The black car suddenly turned off the highway. Solo nodded. He had not expected them to drive straight up to the border posts. Not because The People’s Republic would not let them through, because he had a good idea who the three unidentified Chinese belonged to, which side they were on. No, it was the Hong Kong guards Dr. Li Po Shue and his friends did not want to meet---if U.N.C.L.E.‘s information was correct.

  Solo followed the black car cautiously off the highway. He had to be more careful now, and yet had to follow more closely or risk losing the car. It was not a situation that the U.N.C.L.E. agent liked, but there was nothing else he could do.

  It was certain that Dr. Li and his companions would cross the border---if they crossed---at a point on the Sham Chun River. And Solo would have to cross with them!

  The agent continued to drive down the dark dirt side road with one hand, while he prepared his special pistol with his right hand. His quarry would have a crossing arranged, and would have friends waiting for them. All Solo would have was himself.

  Suddenly he saw the black car stop ahead.

  He braked sharply, and at the same instant heard an explosion and felt his car lift into the air. His ears rung, the pressure almost bursting his ear drums. For a second he was aware of being suspended in mid-air, car and all, and then the car crashed down, tilted, shivered and came to rest.

  For a split second Solo sat in the car. In that second he mentally checked himself---no damage.

  In the next second he was out of the car and into the thick underbrush that bordered the narrow dirt road. His mind worked calmly. Either he had hit a mine, or they had spotted him and used some kind of grenade or bazooka. A mine was not likely here on the Hong Kong side, especially since the road was narrow, and the black car had passed unscathed.

  No, it had to have been an attack, which meant that he had been spotted---and also meant that they would be coming to find him soon.

  In the bushes Napoleon Solo peered out. His car lay leaning in a ditch at the side of the dirt road. It had been blown some ten feet. Only the specially-built protective flooring had saved Solo. A small crater in the road showed where the explosion had occurred.

  And shadows moved along the road.

  Shadows with rifles.

  Solo watched the figures approach the wreck of his car. A light shined from behind them and a voice called softly. In the light Solo saw the men were Red Chinese soldiers!

  A squad of Red soldiers on the Hong Kong side of the border. Which meant that the Red Chinese considered Dr. Li Po Shue very valuable. It also meant that the soldiers would be extra wary and extra ruthless. They would want no witnesses alive to tell what was happening.

  Solo watched until the squad was near the wrecked car, and then slipped away into the underbrush. He heard their muttered exclamations behind him when they found the car empty. They would fan out and look for him. But they would not expect him to go where he was going.

  He circled and move ahead toward where the black car was parked in the road.

  Other soldiers stood guard beside it. To the right of the road, some hundred yards ahead now, he saw faint shadows going down toward the Sham Chun River.

  Solo followed as fast as he could while remaining silent. Splashes ahead on the river showed that a boat was moving into shore. Solo slid down the hill and reached the edge of the river. He saw the shadowy figures that waited as the boat moved in.

  Solo gripped his pistol. He had to make up his mind in a hurry. He did not want to stop Dr. Li---not yet. And his orders were to follow Dr. Li wherever he went. He nodded to himself and moved forward. He crouched and waited until the figures on shore had all entered the boat. Then, as the boat pushed off, he ran forward in a low crouch to catch hold and be towed across the river.

  He was near the boat, about to slip silently into the river, when a voice called urgently from the hill above. A voice that shouted in Chinese.

  Napoleon Solo crouched at the edge of the river.

  A blinding light suddenly went on in the stern of the boat.

  The river and the shore were illuminated like day.

  Solo crouched in the full glare of the light---a strange figure in evening clothes with a pistol in his hand.

  There were shouts from both the boat and the hill above.

  Solo was caught. He could not follow the boat now. He turned swiftly and dove into the cover of the bushes. But he knew how slim his chances were. He was blocked from the river, and they were all over the hill above him. It would be almost impossible to get up the hill without being seen or heard.

  But he had done the impossible before.

  Low, he moved carefully through the bushes and up the hill at an angle to the left. It was the most dangerous path, and the one they would least expect him to take. He hoped it was the one they least expect.

  He heard them all around him in the night. They had lights. Which meant that they could not look for long: the patrols of the Hong Kong Colony would see them.

  All he had to do was reach the flat land near the road. Then he---

  Napoleon Solo froze. Three Communist soldiers stood directly in his path. In the next instant they saw him. He hurled himself into thicker cover as they opened fire.

  Bullets clipped the brush, snapped and crackled like a swarm of angry wasps over his head. On his belly he crawled and fell into a deep depression. His left arm burned and he realized that he had been hit. The fall into the depression twisted his ankle, the pain sharp through the ankle.

  But he crawled on along the depression that had turned out to be a small and almost totally hidden gully. He heard the noise of his attackers behind him. He smiled, and started to rise to test his ankle.

  A Red soldier stood directly above the ditch a few feet from him. The soldier looked down, rifle pointed. Solo raised his pistol.

  “You wouldn’t have time, Napoleon,”
a voice said. “Tsk, tsk. You botched this one.”

  Solo slowly lowered his pistol. The soldier jumped down into the ditch. A small, slender man with black Chinese hair, and Oriental eyes, and a yellowish skin and the clipped accents of a British-trained voice.

  “Illya!” Solo said. “How did---?”

  “Waverly contacted me, of course. I rather expected you to make some dazzling approach. You disappointed me,” Illya Kuryakin said. The small, Russian, Number Two man of U.N.C.L.E. Section II grinned through his Chinese disguise. “Is that small man Dr. Li?”

  “I followed him here.”

  “We’ll, he’s over the border now. So at least we know that he is defecting back to the Reds.”

  “I’ve got to follow him,” Solo said.

  “Not now. They’re all watching for you. I’ll have to take over. Report to Waverly that---“

  The small, disguised Russian stopped. Solo listened, too. Trucks were coming along the dirt road.

  “The Hong Kong patrols,” Illya said. “Scream!”

  “What?” Solo said.

  “Scream---loud! Make it good. Gurgle, too.”

  Napoleon Solo screamed.

  Illya fired his rifle three times, grunted some vicious oath in Chinese, and leaped to the top of the gully. Solo screamed again, groaned, and lay in the gully.

  Feet pounded in the night. Solo heard the other Red soldiers run up. He heard guttural words in Chinese, and heard Illya tell the others that he, Illya, had killed the spy---the dog of a spy. One voice wanted to look---the officer, no doubt. Solo tensed. Then he heard Illya say that a man hit three times does not live---and the Hong Kong patrols were approaching.

  There was a tense moment, and then the Red soldiers moved away toward the river. Solo waited for a few minutes, then stood and climbed out of the gully. In an instant he was surrounded by men in British uniforms.

  “Hold it! Right there!”

  Solo raised his hands. Lights shone on him and revealed him in his evening clothes. Solo smiled politely.

  “I seem to have lost my way,” the U.N.C.L.E. agent said. “Is there a party around somewhere?”

  They stood there and stared at him.