"Is Forbes around? McNulty seems to be bossing the show."

"They said Forbes had gone on ahead, wherever that is. Apparently he trusts McNulty to move the dirigible."

Napoleon signed and lay back on his bunk. "You don't happen to have a file or a tiny hacksaw in your shoe, do you?"

"I don't even have a shoe." Illya wiggled his toes in proof. "McNulty may drop an occasional sandbag, but he is extremely efficient when it comes to searching people."

"Yes, I found that out, Too. I suppose our best bet is to catch up on our rest. We'll want to be at our best when we reach our destination."

* * *

They reached their destination after dark on the fourth day of travel. The dirigible, with invisibility field off and engines silent, drifted slowly downward into a clearing on a tropical plateau near a range of mountains. In the light from a few electric bulbs and dozens of torches scattered around the clearing. Napoleon and Illya could see one large building and several smaller structures. Men on the ground grabbed for lines dangling from the dirigible's descent, but their tugging was enough to maneuver the aerial giant so that it settled with its nose and control gondola near the large building and its length stretched along an open area which appeared to have been recently hacked out of the tropical forest.

"San Sebastian!" Napoleon exclaimed, recognizing the large building below them as the fortress-like three-story structure which was Thrush headquarters in that country. The smaller buildings had been used as barracks for the Thrush mercenaries fighting in the Army of Liberation of Ferdinand Pessina.

There was a light tremor as the bumping bag under the control gondola came to rest on the roof of one of the barracks. The soldiers scurried about with the lines, looking for convenient hitching posts. With no mooring mast available, the ropes were fastened to whatever buildings and trees they would reach. Seconds later, the door to Napoleon's and Illya's room opened and McNulty, Hunter, and a crew member entered. At a gesture from McNulty, the crewman stepped forward and released them from their bunks, while Hunter stood watchfully, gun in hand. Using one of the pairs of handcuffs, he fastened Napoleons right wrist to Illya's left.

"I suppose you've recognized our destination," McNulty said. "I understand you two were here once before and escaped. You may find it harder to do, this time."

Napoleon shrugged. "We do our best."

"I don't think your best will be good enough. Now that I'm here with the dirigible, San Sebastian will belong to Thrush in a matter of hours, with a minimum of blood, sweat and tears—I don't mind the blood but I object to work through that ridiculous idealist, Pessina."

"McNulty, you talk too much," said Hunter.

"That's all right." McNulty smiled at the two U.N.C.L.E. agents. "You wouldn't repeat anything I've said, would you? Now then, you should know the way to the cells in the headquarters building; they'll constitute your home away from home until Forbes gets a chance to question you. Walk slowly and try not to think too much about escape. I hate to see people disappeared."

Chapter 12

"I Never Sabotaged a Dirigible Before"

Napoleon and Illya sat gloomily in their cell. They had occupied the same cell less than two weeks before, but then they had been equipped with a coil of thin, tough wire with which to saw through the bars, shirt buttons which were in reality tiny gas grenades, and other well-tested U.N.C.L.E. equipment. Now they had nothing but their hands and wits.

"I wonder what the San Sebastian contingent has been up to since we left." Napoleon asked.

"Dirigible watching, I hope," Illya replied.

"I'm amazed Thrush didn't move their headquarters after we escaped. It seems careless of them to remain after their security had been breached. For that matter, I'm surprised that El Presidente hasn't flattened the place; he does have an air force."

"Of dubious loyalty," Illya pointed out. "Quite possibly, however, El Presidente doesn't know about this place. Mr. Waverly wasn't at all happy about supporting El Presidente; perhaps he still hopes to get Pessina out from under Thrush domination. In which case..."

"Spare me the speculation on Mr. Waverly's methods of intrigue," Napoleon broke in. "I'm content to realize that he usually knows what he's doing, even though I seldom do."

"In any case," Illya continued, "remember that Latin America has been having a population explosion second to none. Really good bases in isolated areas are getting hard to find; except in the Amazon Basin, isolated areas are hard to find. Quite possibly they haven't moved because they don't have any place to move to, and they feel capable of protecting this place. They certainly know that they have far more men in San Sebastian than we do, and I doubt if they worry much about El Presidente getting this far from Cerro Bueno."

There was a metallic sound and a small object dropped into the cell. Illya picked it up and discovered it was a miniature grapnel, a twin to the one he had been using, attached to a length of monofilament line. He peered out the cell window, but could see nothing. He looked at Napoleon.

"I suggest," said Napoleon, "that we haul it in and see if there is anything on the other end."

There was: a bundle so large that Napoleon had some trouble in wedging it between the bars. Most of the bulk consisted of two sets of native clothing. Inside the clothing were various small metallic items, including knives, a picklock and a pen-type tear gas gun, and a not reading, "The guard will be called away in ten minutes. Meet me behind the northwest barracks in fifteen." It was unsigned.

Napoleon smiled in satisfaction. "Apparently one reason why Thrush headquarters has not been molested is that the local U.N.C.L.E. group prefers infiltration."

"Luckily for us," Illya said, beginning to strip off his clothing. Napoleon looked with some distaste at the ragged native pants and shirt, but followed suit. After changing clothes, he applied himself to the lock of the cell, and was rewarded by hearing it click open. Carefully keeping the door closed, he turned to Illya, who was stuffing his discarded clothing under the blanket that covered the bunk. Illya looked up and shrugged. "So it's an old trick; do have any better suggestions?"

After a moment's consideration, Napoleon walked over and stuffed his clothing under the blanket on the upper bunk.

"What's the guard doing?" Illya asked.

"Sitting on a chair near the head of the stairs, with a shotgun on his lap. He seems to be reading something; he's certainly not paying any attention to the cells." He walked back to the cell door. "He's gone. Let's move."

They eased the cell door open as quietly as possible, slipped through, and eased it shut again. Napoleon hesitated a moment, then relocked the door. Their cell was midway down the corridor. As they recalled from their last incarceration, there was only one stairway to the floor; the guard had been sitting in front of it. They hastened down the corridor, noting that the other cells were empty. The stairway was similarly empty, and they hastened down to the second floor of the building. From here they had a choice of exits.

"I suggest the back way," said Napoleon, and they hurried down a long, bare hall.

"The place seems remarkably deserted," remarked Illya as they reached the rear stairway.

"Yes, I've been wondering about that. It wasn't this easy the last time, even with the gas grenades." Napoleon halted suddenly as a pair of Thrushes ran past the foot of the stairway. He peered around the corner to find the lower hall bristling with activity, and drew back. "Now we know where everybody is. I wonder what stirred them up?"