Solo guessed that some of her reaction was to the violence she had been a part of only a few minutes before, and decided it would be a good thing for her to clear it out of her system. But on the other hand, there were a few more things to be done.

He helped her to her feet, and got her over to the couch. She slumped there, tear-drops staining the dark cloth until it seemed the same color as the rug around the body of the old man, who still lay where he had fallen in her defense.

Meanwhile, Napoleon was busy dragging the rest of the bodies into the room. Neatness is a virtue, he thought to himself as he arranged them along the wall in order of size. Besides, if we left them out in the hall, some bellboy would stumble over them eventually, and he might not understand at all. He stopped to consider this thought. I wonder, he said to himself, if I might not be getting a little callous towards death.

His next action was to check in with home base. Channel D put him in direct communication with Waverly, by way of an automatic local relay station and the nearest communications satellite, where it was beamed to New York, multiplexed on an apparently innocent carrier. It was a matter of seconds before the familiar gruff voice inquired impatiently as to what the problem seemed to be.

Solo gave him a complete report on the attempted— and half successful—assassination. By the time he had finished, the whole situation was clearer in his own mind for having been verbalized. His receiver was silent for several seconds.

"Your promise to MacKendricks makes it awkward," came the voice at last. "It would be simpler to take the girl and leave all the bodies behind. Can you get his body out undetected?"

"It'd be easier if I have some help, sir. And it appears now there's nothing in this that directly affects the local office, so I'd like your permission to call them in. I'll need some fairly complex investigating facilities too, to trace Schneider. And then there's the Sleeping Beauty, too. I doubt if the local law would know what to do with him."

"Permission granted," said the voice over seven thousand miles of ocean. "Those photographs haven't been seen here yet—find out if this girl knows anything about them."

Suzie was staring at the little silver tube, tear-streaks drying unnoticed on her cheeks. Now she sat up and held out a hand. "Here," she said unsteadily. "Let me talk to him."

She fumbled with it for a moment, locating the microphone. "Hello?" she said tentatively.

"Who is this?"

"My name is Suzanne Danz, of Chicago. I was on the Paxton Merchant when she was attacked and sunk by an unknown power. Mister MacKendricks saved my life then, and he saved it again today."

"I helped," said Napoleon under his breath, but she didn't hear.

"What are these photographs?" Waverly asked.

"I took almost a whole roll of pictures with a telephoto lens just before the ship was blown up. They were of a big rocket being launched from an island. Mac and Kurt were the only ones who knew the position we were at when we saw the rocket. Kurt stayed on the ship until the Captain ordered him off just before the bomb hit. We thought he'd been killed too but Mac saw him floating in the oil slick and pulled him in and we were just able to get him breathing again—we thought he had been killed by the concussion but Mac saved his life too and now he's dead and they shot him..."

Her voice was rising in pitch and she was breathing harder. Napoleon reached forward and gripped her arm hard. She stopped short and squeezed her eyes tight shut.

"Look," he said intently. "You've had a rough time, and it may be a while before it's all over. But you're as safe as you can be now. Mac is dead, but he died the best way a man can. And the best thing you can do now is stay calm and help us all you can. Okay?"

She nodded mutely, but didn't open her eyes. Napoleon gently removed the transmitter from her clenched fist.

"Mr. Waverly? Sorry for the interruption. A touch of reaction. Send Illya down as soon as those pictures come in. I'll get in contact with U.N.C.L.E. Capetown and give them a song-and-dance about but why I'm here without their knowledge. Anything else?"

"Nothing, as long as you continue to justify my faith in you. You can take care of yourself. Do so."

"Thank you, sir." Why was it Waverly always made an explicit statement of his confidence when conditions were worst? Oh well, it usually worked, and that was justification enough.

He thumbed the call button again, and requested Channel L.

Forty-five very busy minutes later he and Suzie were sitting in a neatly furnished office. The single survivor of the unsuccessful attack was being received downstairs by U.N.C.L.E.'s medical technicians, and prepared for a thorough interrogation which he would not even remember the next day. Also downstairs was the body which had once belonged to John Calvin MacKendricks, awaiting disposal in accord with his last wishes.

Upstairs Suzie Danz leaned back in a metal chair and addressed a microphone. "Well, we found Kurt Schneider floating in the oil, and after we pulled him in we looked around for a while, but there wasn't anybody else. And I guess that was about all."

"All right," said Napoleon. "What happened after that?"

"Nothing much. Well, the boat was stocked for eight, but we didn't have a radio. So we put up the sail and went south until Mac and Kurt thought we were in the main shipping lane, and then drifted around for seven days until we were spotted and found. Kurt took command, with Mac as his first mate, and set up food and water rationing. We had enough for another four days when the Ballyshannon took us aboard."

She smiled suddenly. "I lost everything except for my camera and my lenses and film. And I've got about six rolls of life in a lifeboat. I used a wide-angle, mostly, and I photographed just about everything. Maybe I can sell it to Life or National Geographic. I sent the film off after we got here, except for the roll I shot of the missile taking off. Mac took that. He said it was very important that it got directly to the right people, and he'd be sure it did." She looked at Napoleon. "I guess you're the right people."

Napoleon nodded. "We're going to need your help to find the other men who were in that lifeboat with you. Are you willing to work with us for a while?"

"I'm willing to go anywhere and do anything, for as long as it takes to get whoever is behind this. They murdered that ship and everybody on her, and they murdered Mac and tried to get me too. I'll say I'm willing to work with you!"

"Good." He leaned forward, stopped the tape recorder, and picked up the handset of a telephone with a flashing light in place of its dial. As he did so the light stopped flashing.

"Solo.... Good. Who's missing?" He scowled. "Figures. What about the other three?" He covered the mouthpiece momentarily and addressed Suzie. "Three of your shipmates have been traced already. Schneider is the only one we don't have a line on yet." He turned back to the telephone. "Good. Go ahead."

He repeated aloud, for her benefit: "Archie Gunderson signed on the Miyako Maru, bound for Hong Kong. We can meet him there. Alexei Kropotkin shipped out two days later for Rio de Janeiro on the Duke of York. Waleed al-Fadly..." His face fell slightly, but he continued: "... is beyond our reach. He was found knifed in an alley by the waterfront just last night. We'll have to move quickly to get to Gunderson and Kropotkin before the other side does." He addressed the telephone again. "Keep trying to trace Schneider. He's apparently the only one who can give us that location now.