Blueprint for Destruction (A Steve Carradine Thriller)

by John Glasby

  “Now we’ll get down to business,” the Chief said. Glancing at Carradine, he added seriously: “Tell me, are you tired of sitting around here while your colleagues are having the time of their lives all over the globe? I understand what it’s like for someone of your temperament. If you are, then I think we may have an assignment for you which you’ll like.”

  Carradine raised his brows a little. “Indeed, sir.”

  “Yes. Though what I have in mind is, I'm afraid, a little out of the ordinary, even for us.”

  Carradine sat back in his chair. He had thought that by now, he was used to any surprises that the other might spring on him, but he had the feeling, had had it ever since the call had come through to his office for him to go up to see the Chief, that this was something a little different from anything he had done before. “I must confess that I had already guessed that much, sir.”

  “Good. Then I’ll leave Forbes here to tell you as much as we know already. It isn’t much, but it will give you an idea of what has been asked of us.”

  Forbes cleared his throat, then began: “Briefly, this is what happened. You know that the Americans have set up several defensive posts around the country, as well as having some abroad, both here, in Europe and along the Red frontier with Turkey. The whereabouts of some of these are well known in certain circles, they’ve been there for so long now that everybody knows of their existence. The Americans don’t mind, really. It takes people’s eyes off the real thing, the secret bases they don’t want anybody to know a thing about.”

  Carradine leaned forward a little, interested. “But now somebody does know something about them and the Yanks are worried. Is that it?”

  Forbes hesitated, then he shrugged. “Exactly. Naturally, they are extremely worried.”

  “I can understand that. But what does it have to do with us?”

  “Strictly speaking—nothing. Normally, we would keep out of it. They have, however, now asked for our help.”

  Carradine looked suitably surprise. From the edge of his vision, he noticed the faint glitter in the Chief’s eyes. “Why should they do that? They have their own men in this field.”

  Forbes nodded. “That is quite true,” he said in his faintly pompous tone. “Unfortunately, they have already lost three of their best men and it’s beginning to look as though their agents are two well-known to be of any real value in this particular task.”

  “Then I take it that there is a very well organised group working in America, far better than anything they’ve come across before.”

  Forbes was about to speak when the Chief interjected. “This Organisation must have been in existence for several years to build up such a network of good men throughout the country. It’s all the more surprising that the FBI have heard nothing of them until a few months ago. Evidently they’ve been prepared for one purpose only, to get this vital secret information as quickly and efficiently as possible. The way they have been working so far indicates that unless they’re stopped very soon, they will be completely successful.”

  “Is there any lead to go on? Do we know the identity of any of these agents?”

  “Unfortunately—no.”

  “I see.” Carradine shrugged his shoulders. That presented some difficulties.

  “I wonder if you do,” the Chief went on. “Usually, with a job like this, we know at least one of their men. I suppose that if the Russians were behind this, the same might apply. Americans are quite good at keeping an eye on anyone they suspect even slightly in their country, big as it is.”

  Carradine felt his fingers grip the sides of the chair a little more tightly, although he gave no other outward sign of his surprise. “Then we can take it that the Reds are not at the back of it, sir?” he inquired politely.

  “Oh, sorry, my boy. Didn’t I mention it?” There was a faintly apologetic note to the other’s voice. “We’re pretty certain, not one hundred percent, but near enough as makes no difference, that the Red Chinese are at the back of this.”

  “Oh Lord,” muttered Carradine fervently.

  “Exactly. We may even need His help before we're through with this one.”

  Carradine sighed. The way the other said it, it sounded almost like a prayer and in all of his career, his dealings with the Chief, he had never known the other talk like this.

  “Does it make you feel apprehensive?”

  “A little, sir,” Carradine replied.

  “Fine.” The other beamed at him. “I always believe that a man who says he’s neither apprehensive or afraid when facing an assignment such as this, is either a liar or a fool, and I have no time for either.” He looked at Carradine thoughtfully for a long moment, he observed: “I think you’ll do. You have had a reasonable spell behind the desk. If I keep you there too long you’ll become rusty and of no further use to me.” A pause, then: “I take it you're willing to take the job?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Excellent.” He knew, inwardly, that he could not have chosen a better man. Carradine’s file was known intimately to him, as were those of every other agent under his command. Everyone had been hand-picked and intensively trained. Their work was not always the exciting, romantic life that people outside tended to believe it to be. Danger and death were their constant elbow companions. Each time a man went out on a mission, he wondered himself, whether he would ever see that man alive again. Or whether the agent would simply vanish from the face of the earth, never to be seen or heard of again.

  It was a risk these men took willingly. This was their life, and so very often it turned out to be a dirty, evil thing. One had to fight evil and tyranny with similar weapons and quite often, it involved innocent people, doing disagreeable things that any self-respecting man would normally shun completely.

  “When do I leave, sir?”

  The chief glanced sideways at Forbes, then looked back. “Arrangements will be made for you to fly out to New York in four days’ time. During the intervening period, I want you to learn everything you can and be sure that you are back up to scratch again. These few months of soft living may have changed you. I don’t want to leave anything to chance.” A broad grin appeared briefly on his fleshy features. “After all, you will have to be on your mettle to prove that we are just as good, if not better, than our counterparts in the FBI.”

  “Upon arrival in New York,” said Forbes quietly, “you will contact a man named Dean. This is his address. The only place where you will make contact with him. You understand?”

  “Perfectly,” said Carradine as Forbes wrote the name and address on a slip of paper, handed it to him.

  “There is a possibility that this enemy organisation which is operating inside America knows of Dean’s existence and more important still, that he is to be your contact.” Forbes looked sad at the prospect. Almost, thought Carradine with an inward smile, as if he were really worried about him. He was not surprised at Forbes’ insistence on the secrecy. Security was one thing that this man lived for. He thought security, dreamed it. He doubted if the Chief was more security conscious. Well, maybe it was just as well that they had a man like Forbes here. Sometimes, it was necessary to curb the natural exuberance of the agents who received their orders from here and went out into the various countries of the world to pit their wits against those who plotted against the peace and security of the world.

  “Since I shall be operating virtually on my own, except for Dean, can you tell me anything of the size of this organisation I shall be fighting?”

  “Huge,” said Forbes quietly. “We know so very little about it that I doubt if anyone in the Western world can give anything but a very vague estimate. But there is no doubt that it has succeeded in spreading its tentacles into every major city in the States.” He shrugged his shoulders uneasily. “For all we know, there may be an odd tentacle or two in this country.”

  “I’m sure that if there were, you would have been the first to hear of it,” put in the Chief calmly. “But we seem to be straying
a little from the point.” His eyes took on their hard, calculating, foxy look. “Frankly, I was not quite sure that it would be a good thing, as far as we were concerned to have one of our agents working like this for the Americans. I think the PM was of the same mind, but there are other factors operating here which need not concern you and it was these, more than anything else, which decided things.”

  “I think I’ve got the full picture now, sir,” Carradine said softly.

  “Good. Remember what I said earlier. See that you’re back in form after your desk job. It’s surprising how soon a man’s reflexes slow to danger point. I know that you’re too good a man to leave anything to chance.” He got to his feet. “In the meantime, I’ll have all necessary arrangements made.” He paused, then said gently, as if a sudden thought had just struck him: “There is one man who may be able to help you before you leave. I suggest that you go along and have a word with him. His name is Sen Yi. He owns a small restaurant in one of the backwaters of London. Not a very prepossessing place from all accounts, but it seems that he fought with the communists against Chang Kai-Shek and was one of their top officials until he discovered he could no longer stomach some of the things they were doing in the name of communism. He managed to slip over the frontier into Hong Kong a couple of years ago, stayed there for eighteen months and then came to England. Apparently he is quite willing to tell as much as he can about the Red Dragon.”

  “That’s the name of the organisation in America, sir?” asked Carradine.

  The other leaned placed his knuckled hands on the desk in front of him. “The Red Dragon is the organisation as it exists inside Communist China today. That which is operating inside America is merely an offshoot of it, but no less dangerous, I’m sure.”

  Carradine’s answering smile was taut and he felt his mind sharpen and quite suddenly, the faint rumble of the distant London traffic down below seemed to be enhanced, curiously magnified, as if he were able to pick out every tiny sound more clearly. This was the first time in his career that he had bumped up against the Chinese and he had the funny feeling that they would prove to be more dangerous, more difficult to assess, than any of the other enemies he had met in the past. It was a little surprising though, that he had not come up against them earlier. Since they had exploded their own atomic bomb—or some weapon in that class, since details were naturally extremely vague—he had been expecting them to move in on the Western capitals, hoping to gain as much information as they could of the defence systems of America and Europe. There had been a curious slackening of the tension between the Russians and the West. Was this to be the prelude to the new menace?

  He sat back, waiting patiently to see if there was anything more. The Chief straightened up.

  “Well, I think that’s all I have for you now, Carradine. You’ll check with Sen Yi as soon as possible.”

  “Can we be entirely sure that he can be trusted, sir?” Carradine asked pointedly as he pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

  Forbes said tautly: “Naturally, we cannot be one hundred percent certain. He may be a double agent, still working for the Communists. He is, however, the only lead we have at present, unless the Americans have succeeded in coming up with something fresh within the last week or so. Watch your step with him and if there are any facts he gives you, which we can verify from other sources, then check on them too. We have had him under close surveillance since he arrived here and he was also watched pretty closely while in Hong Kong.” He twitched his lips into a thin smile, but his face retained its sombre expression. “Naturally we are all aware of the chief characteristic of the Chinese—their infinite patience and inscrutability. At the moment, we must simply play them at their own game.”

  One of the prerequisites of a good agent was the ability to distinguish between a genuine informant and a double agent. Caradine recalled that they had lost some good men because of failure to do this. So far, he had been lucky. But there was always the nagging fear in the back of the mind that luck could be a very fickle goddess.

  As he left the room and made his way slowly through the various corridors inside the building, he found himself reflecting more than usual on life and death. It was part of his life, as well as that of his colleagues, to kill. Sometimes it was inevitable, sometimes it was necessary only to make things easier for himself and to ensure his own safety. He had never liked it although there had been men who deserved to die, men who were undeniably evil. Yet with most of them, even telling himself that one man had died so that thousands more might live, did not help to salve his conscience. Perhaps, he thought wearily, as he went out into the bustling streets, that was his one big weakness. He still had a conscience that pricked him now and again.

  CHAPTER 2 - THE RED DRAGON

  It was five o’clock that same afternoon when Carradine turned the corner of the narrow road that led him down into a part of London with which he was only vaguely familiar. It was strange to reflect that he was less than a quarter of a mile from the end of the Strand with its bright lights, its theatres and glittering neon signs. Here was a world of cool dimness, the lights muted, as if reticent to be seen. Carradine was suddenly tense, peering about him. He was halfway along the narrow, winding street before he noticed the pale blue sign over a doorway that was set below the level of the street.

  Making his way slowly, quietly down the stone steps, he paused in front of the door, then pushed it open and went inside. A bell chimed softly in the distance somewhere. A short Chinese appeared as if by magic from nowhere.

  Without a word, the other led the way into the dimly-lit interior, through the tables and to a small alcove set in the far wall. Setting the menu in front of him, he stepped back and waited.

  Carradine scanned the menu, gave his order, handed the card back to the waiter, then said in a quiet tone: “Is Sen Yi available?”

  For a moment, the waiter gave him a nervous scrutiny then nodded, brushed aside the rattling bamboo curtain and disappeared from sight. Carradine sat back and let his gaze wander around the small restaurant. There were few other customers. A couple of rough-looking characters were seated near the low bar at the far end of the room. They had their heads turned up watching him intently, but lowered their eyes and looked away when they saw he had noticed them and was looking in their direction. The others were Chinese from this quarter of London. Like the Indians and Jamaicans, they tended to form themselves into tight little communities, mixing with the population during the daytime, but at night, keeping themselves much to themselves.

  The waiter came back, set the steaming dish of fried chicken and bamboo shoots in front of him, brought a rice wine and then moved away before Carradine could say anything. Shrugging resignedly, he bent over the food and began to eat slowly. It was delicious, cooked as only the Chinese know how.

  He was halfway through it when he became aware that the bamboo curtain had been pushed apart and a man was standing there watching him. How long the other had been there, he did not know. Glancing up swiftly, he stared into the seamed face of Sen Yi. The other was of indeterminate age, could have been anything from forty-five to seventy, he guessed.

  “I understand that you wish to speak with me,” said the other, his tone calm and polite.

  “You are Sen Yi?” Carradine said. It was more of a statement than a question.

  The other gave a grave nod. “That is my name.”

  “Won’t you sit down?” Carradine waved a hand towards the other chair. “I’ve been told that you may be able to give me some vital information.”

  For a second, the other’s mask of inscrutability vanished. Then he moved around the table and sat down, regarding Carradine with the utmost gravity.

  “In what way can I help you?”

  Lowering his voice, Carradine said: “Can we be overheard from here?”

  “No.” Sen Yi gave a slight shake of his head. “It is quite safe.”

  “Good.” Carradine came straight to the point. “I want you to tell me
about the Red Dragon.”

  The other’s eyes narrowed down to mere slits. “The Red Dragon,” he said sibilantly, without the slightest trace of inflection.

  Carradine smiled faintly. “I know quite a lot about you, Sen Yi. About your work in China before you fled to Hong Kong. My informant was quite certain that you could help me.”

  “To my humble perception, it would appear that you are a member of the British Security Service. Am I not correct?”

  “Perhaps it might be that the less you know of this matter, the better,” Carradine said.

  Sen Yi locked his gaze with Carradine’s. “What is it that you wish to know of the Red Dragon?”

  “As much as you can tell me, particularly of that branch which is operating in the West.”

  “There are many secret societies in China—and the Red Dragon is the most deadly and dangerous. The Ruling Party uses it mainly to keep the mass of the people under their control, just as the Nazi Party created and used their Gestapo. They took some of the methods used by both Gestapo and the Kempe-Tai in Japan, modified them to suit their own temperament.”

  “And you actually worked for them before you left China?” Carradine queried.

  “For eight years,” Sen Yi murmured softly. “But you must understand, my friend, that even inside the Red Dragon organisation, there are a multitude of tiny, airtight compartments, each having its own purpose, its own mission to fulfil. Those who work in one section know little, if anything, of the work of others.”

  “I see.” This was what Carradine had half-suspected. It meant that Sen-Yi could probably tell him very little of the American offshoot of the organisation, even if he was willing to do so. “What can you tell me then?”

  “Very little. They are mainly a counter-espionage organisation, but I suspect that the group inside America exists for little more than spying on the American defence sites.”

  “That much we already know. Can you give me any names?”