"Lead the way, if you want to move faster," Illya retorted. "Just remember, this thing has just made its first flight in over thirty years. I want to be sure the catwalk is really there before I step on it."

Another tremor silenced them. Illya paused to cut another slit and peer out for a second. "They're lifting," he announced.

At that moment the engines came to life, and the agents could feet the gentle forward movement that passed for acceleration in a dirigible. They moved along the catwalk again until they reached a main frame which apparently coincided with the location of the control gondola. Here there was a ladder, running from the keel to, they hoped, a catwalk at the top.

Illya inspected the ladder briefly, then stepped out on it and began to climb. Napoleon followed.

"We aren't likely to run into any crew members, are we?" Napoleon asked. "I feel somewhat exposed out here."

"Not likely. There's very little need to inspect the gas bags in flight, normally, and since they seem to be running with a skeleton crew, they'll probably have little time for such niceties."

The climb took less than a minute and was relatively quiet. Now that the dirigible was moving forward, the tremors had subsided and the upper catwalk seemed a steady platform. They could see a single, dim light bulb glowing about a hundred feet toward the stern. The outer covering was visible through the girders only a foot over their heads.

"What do these valves that we're supposed to be finding look like?" Napoleon asked.

"My dirigible lore doesn't go that far. Presumably they look like valves. They'd have to be pretty big—perhaps several inches across. And they would have to be attached to either electric wires or control cables so they could be operated from the control room. Electric operators would be my guess, but I couldn't say what a German engineer in the 1920's would pick. They should be located fairly close to the catwalk so they could be inspected."

"If they're very far from that light just ahead, we're going to have to feel for them."

"If we don't find them soon, we can start stabbing at the gas bags, and— Did that light flicker just then?"

As if it had been waiting for them to give it a cur, the light went out. Both agents froze in their tracks, then slowly turned to look back along the catwalk. There was not even a distant glow.

"Why should they black out the ship in flight?" Napoleon asked.

"They don't normally. Must be an electrical failure. Can you hear the engines?"

Napoleon listened form a second. "I think so. If the failure is in the control gondola, do you suppose the OTSMID is dead, too?"

"We'll see. Don't jar me in the next minute," Illya said. There was the sound of metal on metal, then a series of cutting noises.

Illya's voice came again. "There's no light at all outside, and the moon was out when we got in here. The OTSMID must still be functioning."

Napoleon thought for a moment. "We'd better give up on finding the valves. Let me strike a match and we'll see about puncturing a few gas bags." He pulled a battered matchbook from his pocket, extracted a match, carefully felt for the striking surface, and deftly scraped the match head across the surface.

Nothing happened.

Muttering about Central American matches, Napoleon located the striking surface again, in preparation for a second attempt. Just as he touched the match to the striking surface, pain shot through his fingers. Stifling a yell, he dropped it and shook his hand violently.

"That thing was lit!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper.

"Lit?" Illya's voice came from a foot away. "You're sure?"

"My fingers are sure."

Illya thought for a second. "I'm tempted to ask what does it all mean, but I suspect that I know."

Napoleon agreed. "The OTSMID is working and the nullifier isn't. Does that suggest anything to you?"

"It suggests we aren't going to locate the gas valves."

Napoleon considered the situation. "I think it's worth a gamble. If the nullifier comes back on, the chances are that we will either be in control of the ship, or we won't have gotten far enough along to be trapped. And if we could get control of the ship..."

"Let's get moving, then. Reaching the control gondola without seeing it will be a problem. Keep feeling for that ladder; if we miss it we're stuck up here." On their hands and knees, the agents crawled along the catwalk, feeling the empty space to their right every few inches to make they could touch the ladder when they came to it.

Once they reached the ladder, it was no more difficult to descend in the total blackness than it had been to ascend in the light. As they reached the relatively firm footing of the keel, they could hear the buzz of excited conversation coming from the area of the stern. Over of the general turmoil, they could make out two or three voices coming from almost directly beneath them. No words could be distinguished.

"There they are," Napoleon whispered. "How do we get at them?"

"There should be a hatch near the bottom of the ladder," Illya whispered back. "Feel for it. If we can find it, it should let us down just back of the control room where they had the OTSMID."

Both agents dropped to their knees and began running their hands rapidly around the surface of the keel. "Here it is," Napoleon said after a few minutes.

Illya crawled across the Napoleon and ran hand down Napoleon's arm until he felt the break in the metal that outlined the hatch.

"When we drop," Napoleon said, "you stay where you land, and flatten anyone who comes in or out. I'll take care of the men inside. Don't move any further than you can help; my only advantage will be that I know that anyone I run into is an enemy."

"And after we've seized the ship?"

"As long as we can keep anyone from turning the nullifier back on, we'll have plenty of time to decide what to do. Those paratroops back there aren't going to jump blind." He twisted the latch and lifted the trap door.

As the trap door opened, Hunter's voice came booming through. "When are you going to get that thing fixed, anyway?"

Another voice, which both agents recognized as McNulty's replied. "I don't know. The only one who knows this thing is Dr. Morthley, and we left him back at headquarters. All I can do is keep reducing power to the field; I'm not even sure it was the attempt to expand the field that did the damage. For all I know, Morthley sabotaged the machine somehow."

"You were the one who told Forbes you could operate this rig," Hunter said accusingly.

"I said I knew how to work the controls; I didn't say Morthley had given me a course in field maintenance and repair. If you want to try your hand at running this thing by feel, come on over."

There was the sound of someone coming down the steps that led up and back to the main cargo and passenger area of dirigible. "Who's that?" Hunter asked.

"Sanders," came the reply. "The boys back there are still worried, but I told them if an old man like me wasn't afraid of the dark, they didn't need to be." He cackled. "They'll jump when you give the word. When are you going to get the lights back on, anyway?"

Napoleon waited until sanders' voice passed beneath him, then dropped through the hatch as quietly as possible. He moved forward to get out of Illya's way, then stopped to listen. Sanders' question started Hunter and McNulty quarreling again and Sander, from the sound of the breathing, had stopped moving at the same time he stopped talking. Behind him, Napoleon heard a light thud, presumably Illya dropping to the gondola deck. Evidently Sanders heard it, too. "Somebody back there?" he inquired. Napoleon thought about the muzzles of the invisible Ithaca swinging to cover his stomach, and quickly stepped to one side and began to creep forward. At this range, even if Sanders shot blind, he might very well get both U.N.C.L.E. agents. A twin load of buckshot was nothing to fool with. It seemed, however, that Sanders wasn't the nervous type. Napoleon heard him shuffle his feet as he changed position, and then he remarked to the world at large, "There must be some big rats on this ship. I just heard one."