Free 15 - The Utopia Affair by David McDaniel Page B

sealed within a larger opaque envelope, and printed Curley Burke on the front. The old mechanic could be trusted to hold it without explanation, and would know enough to deliver the contents to Dodgson if anything happened to Illya.
    To make sure it didn't would be nearly half his job. His policy must be one of covert interference unless something otherwise unblockable made the sacrifice necessary, and in that case he could at least reveal the assassins as he did so. He'd been told emphatically in New York, "Don't Make Waves." Which prevented him from killing them at once, and made his own secrecy even more important.
    Illya opened his eyes after this moment of thought and saw that twenty minutes had passed by the desk clock since he had closed them. His legs were slightly stiff and his clothes clung to him uncomfortably. He rose, yawned widely, and put his electronic devices neatly in their nests. His alarm would go off in five hours, and today had been a long day. Bed waited, and his raveled sleeve of care badly needed knitting.
     
    The next day was Wednesday, and Illya's duties for the day included the main dining hall. Switching the light bulbs was refreshingly easy, and the bug dropped into a safe pocket in his apron. It went from there to his locker half an hour later, and he picked it up there at the end of the afternoon shift before returning to his quarters.
    He spent some time patrolling the corridor near the assassins' room until he had assured himself that both were out and likely to be gone for a while. When the hall was empty, he tested his master key and found it to work perfectly. In a moment he stood inside the darkened apartment, listening intently for any sound indicating discovery.
    After a slow count of twenty, he extended his left arm far out to his side and flicked on the pencil flashlight he held. It drew no attack, and he swiveled the ghostly beam around the room. The double was a mirror reversal of his own single, with almost twice as wide a main room and a sofabed where one of them would sleep. The wall bracket fixture between the door to the bed room and the door to the bathroom seemed the best; centrally located, turned on by the switch at the door, it would probably be connected most of the time the room's occupants were present and awake.
    Working quickly, the flash gripped in his teeth, Illya tilted the shade back and extracted the bulb it concealed. His other hand brought up the substitute and screwed it into place with brisk movements of his wrist. The shade was carefully replaced, with an exact eye matching the angle at which it had been found. He stepped back, checking his work critically, and decided it was acceptable. He turned and took two steps towards the door.
    The sound of a key in the lock froze him where he stood for an instant, then sped his movements. An attack would tell them their cover had been blown, even if he could escape unrecognized himself. There was no other door in the apartment, and no windows. The air vents would scarcely admit his head. He knew of a certainty there was no other way out than the way in. He also knew that he could hide in the shower stall in the bathroom or the closet in the bedroom; whoever was returning would be slightly more likely to go first to the former. Also the latter would muffle any sound he made rather than amplifying it, and be a less exposed position, though farther away from the door.
    This data had been correlated in one professional corner of his mind during the minutes since he had entered the room; now the decision went directly to his muscles almost as a reflex. He spun silently and sprinted for the bedroom door. He pushed aside the alternate uniforms and leisure clothes as he heard the outer door open and saw by reflection the front room lights go on. Listening intently as he crouched in the dimness of the closet, a slight smile crossed Illya's face—he would probably have a chance to hear in person the same sounds his newly