"Thank you. We are considered dangerous, too."

"I hope so," said Napoleon, but he had cut off his microphone before he said it. Then he turned to his friends. "Well," he said, "if the sky were clearer, we could see a most exciting aerial battle...."

"Here comes our copter," said Illya. "They're below the cloud cover."

As they watched, the Thrush helicopter climbed gracefully into their field of view and soared away into the sky. The U.N.C.L.E. craft, smaller and wider, sailed over the wall, and then started to climb after them. Lights flickered around the sides of the Thrush copter, and a few seconds later the crackle of machine-gun fire drifted down to the audience below.

The smaller copter shot up and engaged the other in fairly close-range combat. Darkness hid them half the time, but the flashes of gunfire were visible from both. The U.N.C.L.E. helicopter leaped about in the air like a hornet—hovering, darting in and out, diving, side-slipping, and always presenting the narrowest target to its larger, slower enemy.

But the Thrush craft seemed to have the advantage in firepower. There were at least two machine guns firing, the tracers making a flickering V from the belly and tail of the craft with the point dancing around the U.N.C.L.E. copter.

It was a touch and go battle high in the cold mountain night, with the snow clouds pressing low above the peaks, and the resolution of it was to remain a mystery. The Thrush copter suddenly began climbing again, and in half a minute it had been lost to sight in the clouds. The U.N.C.L.E. pilot followed it up, and then he was gone too.

Napoleon brought his gaze reluctantly back to ground level, and rubbed his neck. Then he looked around. "Do you smell something?" he said, to no one in particular.

Hilda lifted her nose and sniffed. "Smoke?" she suggested.

Illya looked sharply down the corridor between crates. "Smoke. They're trying to drive us out by setting fire to the boxes. I think they know they're done for now, and want to take us with them. We'll have to stick it out here as long as we can," he said grimly. "If we break into the open, we'll be shot down."

The fire spread only slowly, but they had to retreat from it. There were only two ways to go—to the wall of the castle or towards the open courtyard. To the wall there would be no escape—in the open there was always a chance.

Then they heard a roaring of motors overhead, and looked up. Three more helicopters swung into sight over the wall, and started to descend. Napoleon whipped out his transceiver and called to them. "Solo here—watch out for Thrush rifleman under cover. We're back here near the fire, so you can shoot everywhere else."

"What are you doing, Solo—lighting a beacon so we can find the place?" asked the voice from the landing party. "We've got radar, after all."

"It was a cold night," said Napoleon. "We're about out of sausages, but we have some marshmallows left if you care to join us for dessert."

The three helicopters settled into the courtyard with a great roaring of wind and thunder of engines. As they sputtered and died, an amplified voice ordered, "Throw out your guns and surrender. You are covered, surrounded, and outnumbered. Coöperate and you will not be killed."

There was a pause, and Napoleon looked over the top of the crates. One by one, rifles were being pushed out into the open, and joined by men in gray uniforms, with raised hands.

Then there was a whistling in the air, far above them, and they looked up. Out of the clouds a helicopter was falling—out of control, windmilling weakly. It was coming down far too fast, spinning blades holding it back only slightly. The fuselage was turning, nose down. It grew larger and larger, and then flames began to show along its side. It would miss the courtyard, it would miss the castle—then it seemed to swing to one side, and a moment later it disappeared beyond the wall.

There was a second of absolute silence, and then a long tearing crash as it ripped through trees and plowed into the side of the mountain. Then there was a muffled explosion, and a flare of light against the sky as the fuel tanks burst and detonated.

Then every eye was turned skywards again, looking for the victor. After many seconds the other helicopter appeared, motor roaring, and sank swiftly towards the anxious audience. It was small and round—the U.N.C.L.E. helicopter.

As it landed in the midst of the watchers, it could be seen to be riddled with bullet holes through the fuselage. But the pilot leaned out and gave a "thumbs up" sign as he cut the motor.

Just at that moment there was another sound, which was more felt than heard. The ground shook, and the deepest rumble came from beneath their feet. Four seconds later clouds of dust erupted from the door and the mouth of the conveyor tunnel. Illya looked at it, and this time it was Zoltan who spoke first, his voice a whisper of shock.

"They have blown it up," he said, with the sound more of disbelief than of rage or surprise. "They have blown it all up, and collapsed the caves."

Then another figure stepped into the courtyard, hands raised, but with an expression of triumph on his face. It was the Thrush they knew as Peter.

All four then started across the courtyard towards him, but Zoltan reached him first. Before the Count could speak, Peter anticipated him.

"Yes," he said. "It is gone. It is buried under thousands of tons of rock, and you will never recover it. The charges were planted to destroy every trace of our work, but they were ready. And when it became obvious we had been defeated, I detonated them. It should have been ours—no one else will ever profit from it."

And then the U.N.C.L.E. agents were all around them, and handcuffs were being clamped on gray-clad wrists, and Peter was led away with the rest while Zoltan looked around at his castle.

"Is this to be mine again?" he asked. "Now that the pestilence is removed?"

"If you want it," said Napoleon. "You'll have to check with Colonel Hanevitch, but I don't think Thrush's claim will be recognized by the local courts."

"But have a check made of the foundations," said Illya practically. "That explosion couldn't have done them any good."

* * *

The following evening, their last in Pokol, they saw Peter for the last time in the inn, which had been established as Operations Command Post pro tem. The Thrush was in handcuffs and under guard when they spoke to him, but he was unhumbled by his condition.

"Just a few questions remain," Napoleon said to him. "I don't intend to stay awake nights worrying if you don't tell me, but I'd like to know just how you controlled those wolves. We've got the radio receiver, but how was it handled?"

"You could figure it out for yourself easily enough," said Peter generously. "The transmitter was in the helicopter, and the entire situation on the ground was monitored by infra-red floodlights and scanners. Each wolf was sensitive to two frequencies—a general one, and a group frequency so we could direct some of them one way and some another."

"What about your own appearance as a vampire?"

"The fangs were simple tooth caps; the cloak was designed to unfold as a bat's wings. The rest was simply acting ability." The Thrush smiled smugly.

"But you were shot at...."

He gave Napoleon a patronizing look. "Surely you've heard of bulletproof vests? There was an element of chance involved—you might have missed my body and hit me in the head, for instance—but you are all good enough shots that I figured I would be safe."