Pulp Fiction | The Hollow Crown Affair by David McDaniel

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the Ultimate Computer itself behind him."
    Waverly nodded and pondered Baldwin's words like a riddle. "You carried these with you, I assume."
    "In an attache case. Program tapes copied from limited access areas through my Satrap Satellite, containing data on Strategic Programming, Operational Coding, Basic Field Directives and other topics of practical interest. With the help of the campus computer facility..."
    "... You have a good probability of predicting what direction their future actions will take. Unless they are aware of your possession of the copies."
    "They aren't," said Baldwin simply.
    Napoleon and Illya hurried up beside them, and Napoleon said, "Chandra asked if you'll want your electric cart driven over to Williams or if you'll walk back here. She said if you want it, call her—she's going to stay there and tidy up for a while."
    "Thank you, Mr. Solo. I shall probably want it sent over. The width of the campus is quite a fair walk in one direction."
    "It's nice to see you well, sir," said Illya.
    "I'm feeling refreshed by my return to the academic world, Mr. Kuryakin—and the climate here seems to agree with me."
    Napoleon started to say something almost involuntarily, but caught a fierce look from Illya and bit his tongue.
    They wound along concrete walks past the gray-stone fortress of Converse Hall and came into a newer, larger Quad. Williams Hall, along with its neighbors, backed on its west side facing the older square where stately old trees shed their motley leaves on the deep green grass. Here, in contrast, patches of earth were still bare. The young saplings were scarcely free of their supports, and seemed hardly to know what to do with their foliage now that the weather was turning chill.
    It was Illya, ever alert, who first observed the man in the dark suit following them. Sotto voce , he informed the other members of his party.
    "The one in the ill-fitting brown suit?" asked Baldwin without turning round. "Is he wearing a blue-and-gray striped tie?"
    "I can't tell at this distance," said Illya. "Friend of yours?"
    "Hardly. My friends have better taste, as a rule. No, I suspected him of more than scholarly interest in my activities yesterday."
    "I could let the rest of you go on ahead while I go back to talk to him," the Russian agent offered.
    "That shouldn't be necessary, Mr. Kuryakin. Among my reasonable precautions I have established defensive systems about the campus." He scanned the horizon figuratively, then started off towards Williams Hall again. "Since the curious gentleman is still following us, I shall act on my suspicions." He raised his stick and hailed a hulking young man in a bright green-and-gold windbreaker.
    They passed the time of day and exchanged opinions on the football team's chances for success in the impending season, while Illya and Napoleon shifted their weight from one foot to the other and exchanged murmurs with Waverly. Then Baldwin said, "By the way, Mr. Whalen, I have been hearing rumors about football spies from Crawford Academy. Have any of your friends mentioned this possibility?"
    "Well, I did hear something about that..."
    "I would discount those rumors, myself, but for the fact that the gentleman over there was standing near the practice field yesterday afternoon with binoculars and a notepad. I observed at the time that his tie bore Crawford's colors."
    "You mean the guy in the brown?" Whalen glanced suspiciously over Baldwin's shoulder. "He doesn't look like he belongs around here. Wonder what he's looking for. Maybe I ought to go ask him. Thanks, Dr. Fraser."
    Whalen nodded to the three UNCLE representatives and wandered off at a right angle to their path. Illya glanced at Baldwin. "You just launched a self-directing guided muscle from one of your defense systems, didn't you."
    Baldwin looked pained. "Has it occurred to you, Mr. Kuraykin, that the longer Thrush believes we are ignorant of their surveillance, the better? I understand your thirst for physical

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