The Russian's attitude was really amazing. Bob Milton had taken some steps back, admiring the game. The young man spoke with a serene assurance, and the others were listening. Amazing, yes, and tense.
-We'll clear the trap door, defuse the bomb. But when we'll force the door open, one way or another...
He ended with an explicit gesture. They remained silent for awhile.
-Mr Solo? Mr Solo?
He was supposed to be a man of action. Though, for... well, a few hours, probably, he had done... nothing. Nothing but breathing sparingly, hopelessly. But now...
-Mr Solo?
The shrill voice betrayed the man's tension. Napoleon Solo sneered silently. He suspected that Weber might be flattening himself against the wall, listening for his prisoner's move. Time. The time was the key. The man didn't want to waste time. Outside, the Uncle agents, the blond Russian, his « partner » were obviously putting him in check.
-You won't fool me, Solo!
Solo? It lacked courtesy. Some trouble, Mr Weber?
-If he's there, all we have to do is to go out and...
-No, of course not! Think of the consequences!
Bob Milton looked daggers at the other, as he shouted his head off.
-But...
-He's watching us. Do you think he'll give himself up?
The other shrugged his shoulders, and replied petulantly, defying the older man.
-Firstly, we should report to Mr Waverly, I am sure he'll...
-We should, but we won't. We cant.
The blond Russian's outrageous remark caught again everyone's attention. He was looking at them, with a quite apologetic air. The angry man clenched his fists, but Illya Kuryakin pointed at his pocket.
-Try.
-Do you like fireworks, Mr Solo? Yes, probably. Unfortunately, you won't see this one...
Keep silent.It was just a provocation. Was it? The Uncle agent gave up any further thought of it. Weber was somewhere, next to him, on the other side of this wall. He could watch the warehouse, the Uncle agents. The place was booby-trapped, but Napoleon Solo trusted his fellow agents, especially this Russian partner of his, whose file mentionned some intresting details. Jules Cutter, THE Jules Cutter, himself, had kept the Russian recruit to instruct the explosive and demolition class... Weber's plan wouldn't work that well. His friends needed time. Time he could give them. The dark haired man took a deep breath.
-Why?
He heard an unpleasant relieved sniggering.
-Back among the living you are, Mr Solo?
-Why? You got me, you could have got rid of the others...
-Ah, yes, you want to know... Okay, I'll act fair and square.
Fair and square?
He knew that he should have cut directly to the point, but the man's face was worth the effort. He was staring at his useless communicator, stupidly.
-What's the matter with the communicator? Nobody can...
The Russian cut in softly.
-Weber can. I told you. I know him, I met him in London. He's a wizard at this.
-So, we're cornered? That's what you're saying? No escape?
Illya Kuryakin bit his lips, his stern look giving way to a smile, both mischievous and childish?
-I wouldn't say that. I've a plan.
-You're... well... you're an offering. You know, a proof of my talent, a token of faithfulness.
-Some knick-knack fot the US Thrush leaders, in order to seduce them?
-Ts ts ts, Mr Solo, Knick-knack? No, of course not. You aren't knick-knack. Though...
He paused and sniggered again.
-Though, really, it hadn't been so difficult to trap you. With all due respect, of course.
The man sounded so self-satisfied. Napoleon Solo pursed his lips. Weber was right.
-And icing on the cake, I am just going to kill two birds with one stone! More than two birds... You, Napoleon Solo, some Uncle agents, and... Mr Kuryakin. My old friend Illya Kuryakin... That's more than knick-knack!
He paused again.
-I think that they've found the trapdoor, and, probably, the booby-trap. The first one. I trust Uncle agents, they'll defuse it. Then, they'll force the door open, one way or another, and... Bang, Mr Solo!
-A plan?
Illya Kuryakin was looking at them, trying to read them. Doubt, wariness, hope, trust...
-Two of you will go out, as innocently as possible, openly. They'll use a communicator, and display surprise, relief. Then, they'll report to Mr Waverly, registering uncertainty, showing the warehouse ignoring the dilapidated tank.
Bob Milton frowned.
-But...
-No, listen to me. Two agents checking their communicators outside, that's logical. Weber will choose to wait and see. By the way, Mr Waverly will be informed... The booby trapped door being here, the others are going to take shelter behind those debris. They'd be convenient shields.
-And?
-And our friend is expecting a blast. We wouldn't disappoint him...