"We'll get on now," his guide was saying. "We cross the border at a very small custom post on a back road. There's only two night men on duty, and they'll be half-dead from sleep now. I'd like to get there before they start freshening up to meet the six o'clock relief."

"Yes," Kuryakin snarled, "but how the devil—?"

Placing a finger on his lips, the other walked a few paces to one side and parted a screen of bushes. Hidden by the leaves, a half-ton delivery van stood facing the road. On its sides, Illya could just make out lettering announcing the name of a firm of electrical suppliers in Linz.

"They're used to seeing this crate go through," the little man said. "At this time of night, it should be a piece of cake! They'll hardly look in the back... but we've taken precautions, just the same. Look at this..."

He opened the rear doors. In the small delivery space were two half-dismantled television sets, a few old-fashioned radios, a brand-new electric cooker, and a huge refrigerator.

"The refrigerator is empty," he continued. "All the shelves and so on have been taken out. When we get near the border, you can get in there, just in case. But until then, you'll be okay here in the back. I'll tip you off just before we get there." He handed the Russian into the van and then, with a curt nod, slammed the doors, ran around to the cab, and started the engine.

A moment later, they in their turn bumped out onto the road and sped on their way.

In the black interior, Illya made himself as comfortable c he could among the rattling, banging, bouncing items of electrical ware. The longer he could stay out of that refrigerator the better!...

But after that things started to happen rather quickly. As a prologue, Kuryakin took the baton transceiver from his breast pocket and pulled out the telescopic antenna. Thumbing the send switch, he bent his lips close to the tiny microphone aperture and spoke over the clattering of the little van.

"Hello?" he said. "Hello... Kuryakin to Solo. Channel open. Kuryakin to Solo. Channel open. Kuryakin to Solo—come in, please…"

Chapter 12

The Advance Of Napoleon

"THANK GOD you've come in," Solo said. "I was beginning to get worried!" He rolled over in bed, holding the transceiver above the sheets, and switched on the lamp standing on the bedside table. The hands of the travel clock beside it pointed to three-twenty-two.

"Listen, Napoleon," Kuryakin's voice came faintly from the miniature speaker. "I may have to cut out at any moment. Do you read me?"

"I read you," Solo said. He turned off the light and snuggled down into the bed again, taking the transceiver below the covers. "You are aware that it's between three and four A.M., I suppose?"

"I haven't time to joke, Napoleon."

"Then why call me at this hour, for heaven's sake? Not that it isn't good to hear your Slavic voice."

A chuckle floated from the baton. "I'm sorry about that. This is the first chance I have had. Listen—I've made contact. They've taken me on."

"What! But that's great, Illya—that's fine!" Solo was siting up again, reaching for a pencil and a notepad, feeling for the light.

"I'm being taken to Zurich. At the moment I'm in a small truck somewhere near the Austro-Czech border. We're heading for Linz."

"Have you come all the way in the truck?"

"No. I started out from Prague in a furniture van. With furniture."

"Okay. Seen much of the organization?"

"A girl in Prague. The driver of this truck. That's all."

"Never mind. It's a start. I'll contact Waverly and tell him. In the meantime, I'll try to join up with you, okay?"

"Yes, I think that would be best, Napoleon. If we could work it so that I was on the inside, as it were, and you were nearby, on the outside...

"We'd stand some chance of getting the complete low down on the setup? I agree. Look—when will you arrive in Zurich? Tomorrow afternoon?"

"I should think so. We have three frontiers to cross—the Austro-Czech, the Austro-German and the German-Swiss. And don't forget that I am supposed to be an escaped murderer; so in my adopted role all three should prove equally difficult. The people taking me, that is to say, do not only have to be careful getting me through the so called Iron Curtain."

"I see what you mean," Solo said. "Tell you what, Illya— I'll grab a rented car at dawn and come to meet you."

"How will you know where I am? I mean, we're supposed to be heading for Zurich, but all kinds of things could—"

"Sure, I know. I'll head generally east and south, but we'll keep in touch on the transceivers. I've got a DF/7 with me, so I can get a fix on your position every time we speak. That way I can keep a constant check on your whereabouts."

"Very well, Napoleon. You'd better call me at fixed… No! On second thought, you'd better not call me at all. The transceiver might bleep at an awkward moment."

"Like when you were crossing a frontier? You could always hand the thing to the customs man and say, 'It's for you!'... No, I see the point, though. Okay, we'll do the don't-call-us-we'll-call-you bit. When do you want me to stand by for your calls?"

"Every three hours, I should think. Starting between ten and eleven. Then between one and two, and so on. If I miss out on one, listen for me at the next. Right?"

"Right, Colonel!"

"And Napoleon—don't forget to make with the fixes, eh? As an illegal—er—cargo, I may have to travel most of the way cooped up somewhere. And I may not know within hundreds of miles where I am."

"Okay," Solo said. "Take it easy, boy."

"I think I must go now, Napoleon. We are slowing down. It may be because the frontier is near."

"Off you go, then. Let the Don flow quiet to the sea."

"What was that?"

"A quotation. Let it pass. It means 'I'll be listening at ten.'"

Solo went back to sleep until six o'clock. At eight, having showered, shaved, checked out of the hotel, and hired a car, he was on the Sint Pietersstraat.

Hendrik van der Lee was already at work, covering a huge sheet of paper with hieroglyphics as he held the telephone clamped to one ear. He waved Solo to a seat and went on talking.

"… from the Rembrandtsplein, did you say? And then out on the Arnhem motor road?... Yes, of course. But look, boy, we have to make sure... Very well, then; you do that. But remember you have to have witnesses who saw her leave... Sure I will, then. But first see what the chambermaid has to say, eh?..."

Eventually he replaced the instrument on its cradle and turned to Solo with a crooked smile. "Hello, you," he said. "You wouldn't believe the trouble we have. There's this little fellow, a military attaché of one of the Latin American countries. They want the lowdown on his private life—but, sure, the man's so active; moving from girl to girl from place to place so fast that my people cannot tell whether it's a miss or a missile he's after!"

"My heart bleeds for you," Solo said. "Can I please use your shortwave transmitter again to call Waverly?"

"You can that. Though it'll be a rare shock to the dear fellow, I doubt not."

Solo shook his head. It would be just after two in the morning in New York. "Waverly never goes to bed before half-past one or two," he said. "With luck I'll get him before he's got his head down for the night!"