"Yes, as a matter of fact it has been referred to that way."

Napoleon leaned forward towards Peter, lifted the flap of his coat, and looked intently at his waistband. The guards had their hands on their weapons, but Peter merely glanced down. "What are you doing, Mr. Solo?"

"Looking for your utility belt."

The Thrush scarcely batted an eye. "Oh," he said. "I only wear that when I'm in my bat costume."

And he turned and started towards the stairs, motioning the guards to follow him. Napoleon was seized again and hustled off, followed by a passive Zoltan and a complaining Hilda.

As they started, Napoleon scowled after him. "Five thousand Thrush agents in Europe," he muttered aloud, "and we had to be captured by a wiseacre."

Chapter 15: "My Sense Of Humor Will Be The Death Of Me Yet."

Somehow Napoleon's primary emotion was one of relief. He was captured and Thrush was getting away with a fortune; and he had failed in his assignment to bring the murderer of Carl Endros to justice. But his beliefs had been vindicated—there really was a logical, rational explanation behind the whole thing. There were no vampires, no werewolves; only good old Thrush, up to its unusual tricks. And once again Napoleon felt he was on a solid footing with the universe.

Besides, all was not lost. Illya was out there in the darkness somewhere, and rescue would be forthcoming. In fact, the canny Russian had probably taken the suggestion and hurried back outside to call for assistance. A small army could be flown in from Bucharest in the next few hours, and Thrush would not get another ounce of this gold.

Meanwhile, they were being taken up a flight of stone steps. The fluorescent lights overhead were spaced economically, but there was more than sufficient illumination to keep the steps safe.

They climbed what seemed to be several hundred feet but was probably no more than the equivalent of eight or ten stories. As they climbed, their host continued talking.

"I really thought the idea of starting a vampire scare was a bit of inspiration. We needed to keep the local citizenry indoors at night so our flights would remain unobserved, and to keep them away from the castle. They're so terribly superstitious that it was easy. Two lower-echelon workers in another satrap of Thrush were discovered taking advantage of our organization and materials for their own personal profits, and were ordered executed. It was no less than fitting that their deaths should serve to repay the trouble they had cost. Wasting lives is as foolish and inefficient as wasting anything else that can be made to work for you.

"So we had them killed, dressed them in local working clothes, and drained their blood. Then the bodies were left where they would be found and start rumors. It was really quite simple. We had not counted on the credulity of the authorities—the idea of their believing in these rumors to the extent of actually sending someone to investigate never occurred to me. As I am sure you are aware, the greatest strength a real vampire would have in this modern time would be the fact that no one would believe he existed."

He smiled to himself. "Perhaps we feel a certain amount of kinship. Certainly there are few people outside of high-level circles who really believe Thrush exists. As a result we can accomplish many things which would otherwise be beyond our abilities. Disbelief is the strongest shield anyone can have."

"How much longer does this go on?" asked Napoleon under his breath.

"The stairs or the monologue? A few more minutes. They will end simultaneously, I promise you."

"Good. I came here to be captured, not talked to death."

The Thrush smiled tolerantly. "Bear with me, Mr. Solo. It is seldom we allow a captive to carry information about us to the rest of the world. You three will have that privilege."

"Forgive my curiosity, my friend," said Zoltan, "but why release us? Are we not enemies?"

"That is of no importance. Friends and enemies are alike to Thrush. We have no reason to kill you. When our operation is done here we will be far beyond anyone's reach. This is why we did not kill you before this. Our only goal was to frighten you—to lower your efficiency, keep you running around in the forests with nothing material to work on while we completed our liberation of the treasure."

He shrugged. "U.N.C.L.E. agents are like wasps—if you kill one, you'll have the whole nest after you."

Napoleon raised his eyes from the floor and saw the end of the stairs ahead. "Your calculations were a little off," he said. "You should have known better than to kill Carl Endros."

Almost on cue, cutting off his last word by a fraction of a second, the howl of a hunting wolf floated eerily between the rock walls.

The Thrush looked back down the stairs and frowned. "Franz," he said to Hilda's guard, "was that ahead of us or behind us?"

"Could not tell, sir," said the guard. "Echoes."

"Klaus can take care of the girl—you look ahead. Don't worry about shooting the damned beast; we've got dozens of them."

Franz snapped a salute and hurried up the stairs and out of sight. During the silence that ensued, Peter said casually, "I had wondered about the security of those pens. I hope no more than one is loose—they have been a great expense to the organization."

There was another pause. Napoleon looked at his two guards, each a couple of inches taller than himself. "I suppose you two are Hans and Fritz?"

One of them permitted himself a flickering expression of surprise, and both looked at Peter. He in turn looked closely at Napoleon. "How did you know that?"

Napoleon covered his surprise with a little shrug and a smug smile. "Oh, after all," he said, "U.N.C.L.E. isn't entirely without resources." He looked up the stairs consideringly. "What do you think had happened to your scout?" He threw a glance out of the corner of his eye at Peter, whose eyes narrowed.

"Franz," he called. "Do you find him?"

There was no answer. Peter looked around, and then said, "Come. We cannot stand on the stairs forever. Klaus—Fritz—have your weapons at ready."

They started cautiously up the last few steps. As Napoleon's head came above the level of the floor he looked down the long hall that stretched off into darkness ahead of them. There was a single light at the top of the stairs, and no other.

A moment later the seven of them stood in a little group in a pool of light, surrounded by two stone walls and darkness. Peter was distinctly nervous by this time. "There must have been a power failure," he said. "This light is on the emergency circuit. But with that wolf prowling around somewhere..."

Somewhere ahead of them came a low, menacing growl. Peter looked quickly around, saw the flashlight clipped to Zoltan's belt, and seized it. Its beam flickered around the corridor. A few crates were stacked there, and a few statues. There was nothing living in sight. But the growl sounded again.

Peter spun about, and flashed the light back down the stairs they had just ascended. And as he did so, Hans gave a little sigh as his gun clattered from his limp hand to the floor. With a rustle of uniform and a loose-limbed thump, he fell to join it.

The Thrush leader looked down at his guard, an expression of fear growing in his eyes. Fritz let go of Napoleon and was standing a few feet back, gripping his sidearm tensely and eyeing the U.N.C.L.E. agent suspiciously. Peter looked at him too.