by John Glasby
He thought momentarily of Merton, lying there in that room, thought of the manner in which he had died, and there was no compassion whatever in his mind as he jerked back on the other’s neck. The man uttered a little cry, a faint bleat of agony. Then his body collapsed limply in Carradine’s grasp. Releasing his hold on the other, he got to his feet as the man dropped on to his face in the dirt. He lay quite still, unmoving, his neck broken. Glancing about him, Carradine saw that there was no movement in the whole length of the alley. Evidently there had been only the one of them. He had obviously been sent out to carry out this job with orders to wait in case anyone else showed up and tried to contact Merton. If that happened, then this person, too, was to be eliminated.
For a second, he stared down at the shape on the ground, then turned and walked quickly and noiselessly out of the long alley, into the boulevard. By daylight, there would be no trace of that man back there. When he failed to make an appearance at their headquarters in the city, wherever that might be, someone would be sent out to check on him and his body would be quickly and quietly removed, snatched from sight before the police, or anyone else started asking awkward questions around town.
Slowly, he made his way through the moonlit, deserted streets* More than ever before, the feeling of evil and danger, grew in his mind. By the time he reached the Hotel Uruguayo, he felt oddly worried. Things were beginning to get out of control. If he had been able to force that man to talk, he might know a little more of what was going on inside the Red organisation. He might even have been able to get a few details of what their plans were for him. By now, they must be getting pretty desperate about him. They had failed once, twice counting tonight, and they could not be sure how much he had learned from Merton, before they had finally succeeded in silencing the other.
It was just possible, though, he reflected, as he stripped and stood under the cold shower in the bathroom, that he could turn this to his own advantage. Desperate men were inclined to do rash things, to make mistakes which cool-headed men never did. It only needed them to make one mistake and he might have them just where he wanted them. In the meantime, he would have to lay his plans with care, and get himself accepted as a workman at this secret building site where the launching base was being prepared.
Back in the bedroom, he checked that the coat which he had thrown over the mirror was still in position, that not a single glimpse of what went on in the room would be visible to the men, waiting and watching on the other side. How long before they realised that it was not something wrong with the mechanism of the mirror, but that he had tumbled to their trick, he did not know. Even when they did find out, there would be very little they could do about it. It was unlikely that they would enter the bedroom when he was out and mend the Instrument. On the other hand, they might place some other concealed microphone here, hoping that he would be too flushed with the victory of having discovered the mirror that he would fail to look any further and in particular that he would not check things twice.
The telephone on the bedside table rang softly. He stared at it for a moment, then went over and picked it up. “Room one-three-six,” he said quietly.
“Steve.” Valentina’s voice. “I was looking for you earlier this evening. I thought you might have liked to have gone out to dinner with me. But you were nowhere about. I think it mean that you didn’t tell me you were going out.”
“I’m sorry, Valentina. But something important came up and I couldn’t postpone it.”
“Then why don’t I come across and have a drink now?" There was the slightest trace of coquetry in her voice. “There’s more than an hour left yet and I feel I must have someone to talk to for a little while.”
“All right. I’ll have a drink mixed by the time you get here.”
There was a soft click as the receiver on the other end of the line was replaced in its cradle. He put his own phone down, sat for a moment turning things over in his mind. Now why had she suggested a talk at this time of night? And had she really wanted to go out to dinner when she had come looking for him, or had she been trying to keep watch on him. It must have irked when she had been unable to find him anywhere and she had realised that he had slipped through her fingers. How could that be explained to her superiors? He tied his tie in a loose knot, surveyed himself in the mirror of the dressing table. He tried to put these dark suspicious thoughts concerning the girl out of his mind. He had been almost convinced that morning at breakfast that she had had no part in these intrigues. But now, all of his earlier suspicions about her came back to him with a rush. There were so many little, unexplainable things which just did not seem to fit in with the general picture she wished to convey to him, little things which jarred whenever he tried to think of them objectively. He went over to the window and pulled the curtain a little on one side, feeling the cool night air swirl briefly around him. He looked at the watch on his wrist. It was nearly eleven o’clock.
The soft knock on the door sounded just as he had finished mixing a cocktail and he went over and opened the door. Valentina came in, smiling up at him. She wore a yellow dress, with a wide black belt around her slender waist. Her hair was in a loose knot and her eyes surveyed him gravely as he stood on one side to let her in. Closing the door behind her, he watched her every movement as she walked into the room. He saw the quick look that she threw in the direction of the mirror on the wall. Then she had turned and there was a look of puzzled bewilderment on her delicate features.
“Why have you done that, Steve?”
“Done what?” he inquired innocently. He looked down at the cocktail shaker in his hand. “I thought you wanted a drink and someone to talk to.”
“I mean the mirror. You’ve put a coat over it. Surely you can’t be as averse to your own reflection as that.”
“Not exactly. But it’s one of my idiosyncrasies. I don’t like too many mirrors in a room. The one on the dressing table is enough for me.”
She shrugged nonchalantly, seemed to dismiss the matter from her mind as she walked over to the couch, sat down, looked up at him, then patted the seat beside her. “Come and talk to me, Steve,” she said softly, provocatively. “I’ve been lonely all day with no one to talk to.”
“I’ll mix the drinks first,” he said, smiling. “Business before pleasure. Or don’t you have that motto in Russia.”
“Of course.” Her smile was devoid of any emotion. She lit a cigarette and leaned back, one arm resting across the back of the couch. “What did you do tonight that was more important than having dinner with me?”
Although her tone was light and bantering, he thought he detected a note of serious inquiry in it. “I thought that you were here mainly on pleasure.”
“I only wish that were true. Unfortunately, I’m here mostly on business. My firm sent me out here to keep a general eye on their affairs. That means that I shall make my headquarters here in Montevideo, but that I may often have to leave and go out into the country.”
She pouted, her lower lip pushing forward a little. “Just when I thought that you and I were going to get on very well, you tell me that you may be leaving soon. Not too soon, though, I hope.”
“Very soon, I’m afraid.” Carradine brought the glasses over to the couch, handed one to her, then sat down on the cushions beside her. The faint perfume of her hair came to him as she leaned a little closer to him. Her face was incredibly beautiful. Carradine examined it coolly and she lowered her glance a moment later, a faint red flush suffusing her cheeks.
“When do you have to go?” she asked softly.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” he said, sipping the drink. “It depends on whether I can get in touch with my associates in the country. It could be that they cannot find time to talk to me right away. In which case, I shall be only too pleased to have dinner with you every possible night.”
She smiled at that, looked at him over the rim of her glass. Her expression was serious. “I should like that, Steve.” She raised her glass. “Here’s to a v
ery long and flourishing friendship between us.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Night Holds Danger
It was the afternoon of the next day.
During the morning, Carradine had checked out as much as was known of the Aroyo Mining Corporation. On the face of things, it appeared to be a legitimate concern, operating various small, but apparently rich, mines in the outer reaches of Uruguay. The office was situated in one of the industrial estates on the outskirts of Montevideo, had been registered is the normal way, and would, he felt sure, bear the closest scrutiny from any of the Government Departments. If Merton had been correct with his information, these people had been devilishly clever and thorough in their work. Nothing here to connect in any way with what was going on five hundred miles to the west.
After taking a bath and shower, Carradine changed his clothes. He toyed with the idea of taking his gun or not, finally deciding to leave it. He had no intention of fighting his way into the secret building sites. There was only one way to get in which offered any chance of success, as one of the native workmen, hired by the Aroyo Mining Corporation. Certainly his command of the language, inherited from his Spanish mother, would be sufficient for him to pass muster.
Ten minutes later, he rang the desk of the hotel, informed the receptionist that he would be leaving Montevideo on business for possibly a week or a fortnight, but that he wished his room to be kept for him, that he was leaving most of his luggage behind. Once these arrangements had been made, he left the floor by the fire escape and was down in the street at the rear of the Hotel Uruguayo within two minutes, unseen by anyone in the hotel, unrecognisable now from the hundreds of other men in the street, the clothes he wore perhaps a little shabbier than most, the wide-brimmed straw hat pulled well forward, shading the tanned, aquiline features. The long-bladed knife was still strapped to his wrist, the shoes he wore, a little heavier and thicker than normal, each housing a razor-sharp blade, but this difference would only be noticed on extremely close examination, by someone who knew what he was looking for.
He followed his route of that morning, when he had made his way to the suburb of Montevideo to examine the registered offices of the Aroyo Mining Corporation from a distance. Now it was time for the last lap. Outwardly, he was just another of the hundreds of out-of-work men in the city. The face which looked back at him from the glass of a nearby window was nondescript, so well made up that he had little fear of being recognised, if he should be so unfortunate as to bump into any of the men who had tried to kill him.
The Mining Corporation’s offices, a heavy, ugly sort of building, stood between two taller buildings, both apparently empty and deserted. Possibly by design, Carradine reflected grimly, their owners bought out so that there might be no one close by to keep a watch on any of the activities of the Corporation. He shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to lighten his thoughts. The watchful eyes of the dusty windows held a menacing quality, as if the whole place seemed to be waiting for him to make some wrong move, when the retaliation would be swift and decisive.
Pushing his way through the glass-panelled doors, he went inside. Now, he walked even more carefully than before, eyes watchful and alert. But the air of menace which he had felt outside, had disappeared now. A slender, good-looking woman was seated behind a desk at the end of the short entrance. She glanced up inquiringly as he walked forward, brows lifted slightly, her full lips close together as she eyed him appraisingly.
There was a cream telephone at her right hand, a typewriter in front of her and a shorthand pad close beside her from which she had obviously been typing her notes. At her back, a row of green, metal filing cabinets gave the place an air of respectability. If this was a front to a Communist-dominated organisation, they had certainly spared no trouble to make it seem authentic.
The woman smiled at him politely. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she inquired.
Carradine answered her fluently: “I came to see if there was any chance of getting a job with the Corporation.” He went on encouragingly: "I’m a mining engineer by profession, but I’m quite willing to take on any other kind of job.”
“I doubt if we have any work available at the moment, Señor—?”
“Perez. Miguel Perez.”
“Señor Perez, but if you’ll take a seat, I’ll inquire for you.”
“Gracias.” Carradine moved way, took a chair. The girl picked up the receiver, pressed a button on the desk in front of her and spoke rapidly into the telephone, her voice lowered, deliberately it seemed to Carradine, so that he could hear nothing of what she said. Someone at the other end of the line must have given her certain instructions, for as she replaced the receiver in its cradle she smiled broadly, said: “Señor Cleron will see you now. Will you come this way?” She crossed the wide entrance to a door made of carefully blended panels of polished wood and pushed it open for him to go through. There was a dead silence in the room once the door had been closed behind him. Carradine felt it at once. It was not the normal quietness one found in an office such as this, it was the muffling stillness of a room which had been specially soundproofed.
He gave no outward sign that he had noticed anything unusual, stood patiently while the man seated behind the desk looked him over with stony eyes. Carradine looked stolidly back at him. The other was of average height, but his thick-set body made him appear shorter than he really was. His head, set on a bull neck, was topped by a thatch of close-cropped hair and the eyes, set close together, were brown and bulged a little as if trying to thrust themselves from his head. There were circles under the eyes, the skin pouched and the mouth was thin-lipped and tight. Not removing his glance from Carradine, the other placed a cigarette between his lips on the left side of his mouth, flicked the American lighter with an abrupt gesture, then spoke around the cigarette in a tight, clipped voice.
“What is your name?”
“Miguel Perez, Señor.”
“And you say that you are a mining engineer?” The other’s gaze was flat and incurious. Evidently, thought Carradine, he had been listening in to the conversation in the outer room. These people certainly did not seem to miss a trick.
He nodded. “Si, Señor. Unfortunately it is not easy to find work now and —”
“I am not interested in your personal problems, Perez,” said the other, smiling thinly. “At the same time, the Aroyo Mining Corporation has entered on a policy of expansion and we do need labour to continue our work. Our organisation is widespread throughout South America and if you are engaged to work for us I can give no guarantee that it will be either as a mining engineer or in Uruguay. Have I made myself understood?”
“Perfectly, Señor.” Carradine’s face showed no emotion. He felt a little tingle run along his spine. There was little reason now to doubt the truth of what Merton had discovered about this place or the organisation behind it. This man was no Uruguayan. His country of origin lay somewhere behind the Iron Curtain, although he spoke the language with only a barely perceptible trace of accent.
The other went on in his softest voice: “Naturally, we do not engage anyone without a thorough and complete investigation You will give all necessary details to the secretary in the outer office. Each one of these will be checked within the next two hours. At the end of that time, you will return here. You will then be told whether or not we are able to use you.”
Carradine said nothing. It was, for the present, the end of the interview. Turning, he went out of the room. The girl behind the desk in the outer office glanced up, motioned him to sit down in the chair in front of her, pulled a long, printed form towards her, a pen in her right hand.
Now was the time for the questioning, Carradine thought tightly, as he lowered his body into the chair and settled himself comfortably. He could only hope that the background which had been provided for him by London, for use in an emergency such as this, would stand the probing it would receive from these people. It could not have been easy to set up a complete past life wh
ich would check out in every detail.
*****
It was exactly six o’clock that evening when Carradine returned to the offices of the Aroyo Mining Corporation. This time, he was shown directly into the inner room. The squat man drew his lips back from his teeth. An inch of grey ash fell from the end of his cigarette into the silver tray. Expressionless eyes stared at Carradine as he stood in the middle of the room, hands hanging loosely by his sides. It was impossible to tell anything from the other’s face. Had there been some slight mistake in the highly detailed past which had been set up for him? Some small seemingly insignificant point overlooked by the men whose job it had been to provide him with a name, a family, a career in mining technology at one of the universities. His fingers curled a little, ready to reach for the knife placed carefully along his wrist. The muscles of his stomach and chest felt tight under his flesh. Then the other pulled the printed sheet of paper in front of him, gave it a brief, cursory glance and tossed it on one side as if it were of no further use to him.
“You are prepared to work outside Uruguay?” The voice was a snap of clipped syllables.
“Of course.” Carradine nodded his head as casually as he could. “Anywhere.”
“Very well. Everything has been arranged. Transport will be provided to take you, and seven others to the site. Once you arrive there, you may find things a little different from what you expect. You will, however, carry out orders. That is important if you wish to remain working for us.”
Was there a definite threat underlying the last words? A hint, veiled perhaps, but still recognisable, that unless he did as he was told, he would be killed? Carradine smiled inwardly. At least, his Uruguayan background must have checked out for these people and the first hurdle had been successfully passed. From this moment on, he would have to play this mission as he went along.
