by John Glasby
“If you think I intend to tell you anything about this, then your stupidity is greater than I gave you credit for,” Carradine said through tight lips.
Cornish smiled. “There, my friend, you are quite wrong. We are serious men, our business too is extremely serious. Your bodily health means absolutely nothing to us. When we have finished with you, you will be of no use whatever to anyone. We shall accordingly dispose of you by one of several methods open to us and there will be nothing whatever to point to us. So you see, it will be useless for you to resist us and also will simply mean prolonging the agony for yourself.”
“Aren’t you taking a bit of a gamble, hoping to torture me here?” Carradine asked. “Surely there must have been dozens of other places, far more private that would have suited your purpose far better.”
“Believe me, no one will think of looking for you here,” said Minden, in precise, clipped tones.
“This storeroom is used exclusively by me,” Cornish explained. “We shall be quite undisturbed. Besides, we know several methods of extracting the truth from a man. This should not take long. Then you will be removed and all trace of you will have vanished from this world. If they ever do find your body, I assure you that it will not be for a very long time, and by then it will be totally unrecognisable.”
“You seem to have thought of everything, don’t you?”
“Of course. We try to allow for every possibility. That is why, in the end, we shall destroy the West. Victory belongs to the strong, the utterly ruthless. That is why you will eventually be defeated, no matter what you do.”
“You seemed extremely unsure of yourself during our last meeting,” Carradine reminded him. “Were you wondering what your bosses in the Red Dragon might do once they discover that it was a simple matter for us to locate you? Are you still wondering just how much we really know about you and how close we are to destroying you and your organisation?”
“If there is any slight doubt in my mind on that point,” murmured the other, “then it will be put at rest within the next few minutes.”
The big man pushed himself away from the wall at a signal from Minden, came forward with a singleness of design that sent a little tremor racing through Carradine’s body. Cornish stepped back, regarded him contemplatively.
Minden glanced curiously at Carradine for a moment as though expecting him to start talking, then nodded curtly. “Begin,” he said harshly.
The big man stepped behind Carradine, where it was impossible for the other to see him. There was a faint movement behind the chair. An arm came into sight of the edge of Carradine’s vision. There was the faint flicker of light on the bare knife blade. Then it moved down, sliced easily through the cloth of his sleeve without touching the flesh of his arm. Another quick motion and his sleeve fell away.
A pause, then the tip of the blade touched his cheek. There was a strangely cold bite of razor-sharp steel on skin. A thin scratch appeared from which blood began to well slowly, congealing in tiny, isolated drops.
The pain was nothing compared to what had gone before, but it was a knowledge of what would continue that lifted the small hairs on the back of Carradine’s neck, churned his stomach muscles into a hard, jangled knot.
Minden said something in a guttural tones. The knife was withdrawn swiftly. Speaking in English once more, he said: “You still refuse to talk?”
“Yes.” Carradine spat the single word at him.
“Very well. We have plenty of time. Besides, we learn a lot from seeing how long a man can withstand a particular brand of torture. Interrogation is like everything else, subject to change according to circumstances.”
Carradine closed his eyes for a moment. The next second he was jerked sharply upright as the probing fingers of the man at his back squeezed into one of the nerves spots at the base of his neck. The pain that shot through him was so excruciating that for a fraction of a second it threatened to pass beyond the limit of human endurance. He almost blacked out with the sheer agony of it, but for him the blessing of unconsciousness failed to come. He remained aware of the pain as the other skilfully applied pressure to other points throughout his body, moving from one part to another with a practised hand.
It was obvious that this man knew his job far better than anyone else that Carradine had ever come up against. Desperately, he tried to breathe more slowly, forcing air out of his lungs each time he exhaled, hoping by this means to numb himself, to blur the endings of his nerves, but it made little effect on the pain.
“Stop.”
Carradine scarcely heard the word. Not until the awareness that the pain had ceased penetrated his numbed mind, did he realise that Minden had moved forward a couple of paces. The other’s hand reached out, grasped him by the hair, pulling his head back, staring down into Carradine’s slitted eyes.
“Why prolong this agony, my friend?” he asked, in a faintly purring tone. “All you have to do is answer some of our questions and it will all stop. Then you will be able to rest.”
“Go to hell,” Carradine muttered hoarsely. “I’ll tell you nothing.”
“Such a pity,” murmured the other. He released his hold so that the other’s head slumped forward on to his chest once more.
There were more squeezings, more blows on his body. In the end, it seemed incredible that he would still be alive, let alone conscious throughout it all. His skull felt as if it were on the point of bursting. He tried to yell, to scream, anything to ease the pain that went on and on...
How long it went on for, it was impossible to tell. Gradually, however, the accumulation of blows had its inevitable effect. The flickering darkness that had been hovering around the edges of his brain swept in. His head went forward on to his chest and this time, when the big man swung the straight edge of his stiffened hand against his back, there was no response.
Minden stepped forward, lifted the closed eyelids and peered down into still eyes. Then he felt professionally for the pulse in the left wrist. Letting Carradine’s hand drop limply, he said shortly: “He’s lost consciousness. We can do nothing more until he comes round.” Glancing at the big man, he said: “Stay here and keep an eye on him. We will resume the interrogation later.”
*
Very slowly, Carradine opened his eyes, then closed them almost at once as the sunlight half-blinded him, increasing the terrible pain that beat through his forehead. He moved his arms slowly. They were still free. His legs were tied, however. For a moment, he waited, not moving, listening intently. He could hear nothing in the room, opened his eyes and turned his head very slowly.
The round, moon-face of the big man stared impassively at him. The other was seated in one of the other chairs, his legs thrust out straight in front of him, one hand resting in his lap. The thick fingers were wrapped around the butt of an automatic pistol.
Licking his lips, Carradine said harshly: “You think I can have a drink of water?”
“I guess so.” The other eyed him wearily for a moment as if suspecting a trick, then went over to the small sink in one corner of the room, picked up a cracked tumbler, filled it with water and brought it over to him, keeping the pistol trained on him, his finger hard on the trigger. Carradine sipped the water slowly. It tasted of earth, but it eased the pain in his throat as it went down. He set the tumbler on the floor beside him. The thought of throwing it into the other’s face had occurred to him, but with his legs tied to the chair, there would have been no chance at all of grabbing the gun.
“You may be able to kill me,” Carradine said, forcing himself to speak slowly and quietly. “but that’s as far as you will ever get. Minden is quite wise to be worried by how much I know, and what we’re ready to do against you. We know all about the Red Dragon, who the members are, where they meet. I didn’t come here alone. Every movement I’ve made has been traced and reported back to New York and Washington.”
“You’re lying,” said the other flatly. “They know so little about us that it can only be the small gr
ain of the truth. Your secret service believes that because they arrest a few spies, they have justified their existence. If they only knew what is really happening under their very noses—”
“Suppose you tell me,” said Carradine sarcastically. “We know all about Minden and Cornish. It was easy to find them both, and to tie them in with the theft of secret documents from the missile defence sites in New Mexico.”
“You know so very little. The Red Dragon is like an octopus. You may cut off the tip of one tentacle, but the rest the remains. And for America, indeed for the whole of the West, the time is running out very quickly. Naturally, we are interested in the missile sites in this area, but these are of only secondary importance. Shall we say a feint on our part.” The lips drew back in a grim smile.
Carradine started. Just what did the other mean by that? Was their main attack directed in some other direction? “Aren’t you afraid that by telling me all this, you may be jeopardising your entire efforts?”
“That would only be the case if there was any chance at all of you living to give any of this information to your colleagues. Unfortunately, as far as you’re concerned, the chances of that are exactly nil.”
In the ensuing silence, Carradine heard the sound of footsteps approaching the closed door of the store room. The big man got smoothly to his feet, moved over to the door.
There came a sharp rap on the door. The big man turned the handle, opened it, still keeping his gaze on Carradine. There was a dull sound, no louder than a gloved fist striking a punch bag. For a long second after that, there was no other sound at all in the room. Then, suddenly, for no apparent reason, the big man folded at the knees, flopped forward on to his face into the room.
For a moment, Carradine stared stupidly at the man lying on the floor with his arms out flung, the shaft of sunlight streaming in through the curtainless window glinting off the smooth barrel of the pistol which lay few inches this from his outstretched hand. It was almost as if his curled, clawing fingers were striving to reach it across the wooden floor.
Then a pair of slender legs came into sight, stepping delicately over the inert body. Slowly, scarcely able to believe his eyes, Carradine lifted his gaze and fought to focus it on the girl as she closed the door behind her, then came quickly towards him, going down on one knee as she wrestled with the knots of the cord binding his ankles.
“Candy!” he said, still scarcely comprehending. “I don’t know how on earth you got here, but thank God you came in time. What did you hit him with?”
“This,” said the girl. She picked up the length of heavy wood that lay on the floor beside her. “It was the only thing I could find,” she said unashamedly. “You don’t think I hit him too hard?”
“Perhaps. But if you did it was something he deserved.” He got to his feet, felt the girl put an arm around him as he swayed, would have fallen, but for her presence. The blood rushed pounding to his head, but he shook off the feeling with a savage, grim determination. At any moment now, the rest of these men might return. They had to get out of this place while they still had the chance.
Carradine had no idea how he was able to stay upright as he moved in the direction of the door. As he edged forward, his head swimming, his foot kicked against something hard. Staring down at it, he noticed the heavy automatic the big man had dropped. Bending, ignoring the sharp pain that jarred along the top of his skull, he picked it up, checked it expertly, then thrust it into the waistband of his trousers. At least he had a gun now. If they did run into those other characters there was a chance.
They made their way quickly along the corridor. Reaching the far end, Carradine turned to Candy. “Do you know the layout of this place at all?”
“Yes,” she whispered back. “I worked here for a couple of months during a semester. Just stick with me and we’ll be outside in a couple of minutes.”
Carradine moved out into the wider corridor that opened up in front of them, then stopped, pushing the girl close against the wall behind him. A door had opened and three men stepped into sight. Recognition was immediate. Minden, Cornish and the thin man. They walked towards them in a loose bunch. Swiftly, Carradine looked about him. The nearest door was several yards away, too far for them to reach before the others came around the corner.
“We’re cornered,” he hissed sharply. “Stay behind me.”
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I know exactly what to do.”
“You’re to stay out of range if there's any shooting,” he said tightly. “These men won’t stop at killing you.”
“I want them dead, all of them.”
In that instant, it came to him that there was something far more than mere chance about her finding him so fortuitously. But there was no time to think about that now. The three men were less than ten feet away. As yet, they did not suspect their presence just around the corner. Acting on impulse, Carradine twisted the winder of the watch on his wrists, pressed it slightly. There was a faint click, and then the slender needle was protruding from the watch-face, like the sting of a wasp, but ten times as deadly.
Gripping the pistol tightly in his right hand, he stepped out into the corridor in full view of the men. The expression of surprise on Minden’s and Cornish’s faces was clearly visible. The thin man’s face showed nothing and in that moment, Carradine had the inescapable feeling that he was the most dangerous of the three.
Hold it right there,” he said, the gun swinging smoothly in his hand to cover them all.
Minden said slowly, not once taking his eyes off Carradine: “If you think that you will be able to get out of this building, then you’re wrong. We are all armed and you won’t be able to shoot the three of us before one of us gets you.”
“No? Then which of you wants to be the first to get a bullet?” He saw Cornish lick the corner of his mouth at that, knew that in spite of the way in which he had spoken back then the store room, believing himself to be in complete control of the situation, the man was still a coward at heart. He would certainly not go for any hidden gun, even if he was carrying one. He was not quite as sure about Minden.
He decided to take care of him first. With a quick gesture of the gun, he waved the German forward. Minden hesitated for a second, then stepped towards him, keeping his eyes fixed on the gun now, expecting to be either shot or clubbed with it. Carradine waited until the other was close enough, then swung his arm. But it was his left arm that moved, taking Minden completely by surprise. The watch caught him on the wrist. For a second, the other stared down surprise at the tiny speck of blood that had formed on the small puncture. Then he lifted his head, looked up at Carradine, made to say something, but before he could force a word out, his face drooped slackly, the mouth falling open, the eyes turning up so that only the whites showed in the dim light. He dropped in a loose heap at Carradine’s feet.
Before the limp body had hit the ground the thin man made his move. He had evidently been waiting for something to momentarily distract Carradine’s attention. The snub-nosed gun came up from the holster beneath his arm. And then it dropped, clattering to the floor, as the man went back, driven on to his heels by the impact of the slug in his chest. Swinging his glanced back to Cornish, Carradine saw the astonished look of horror on the other’s face, the stunned fear that blotted out every other emotion.
“Now turn around and walk out ahead of us,” Carradine ordered tersely. “I don’t know how many more of you there are wandering around on the loose in Socorro, but this time, I'm taking no chances. Once I’ve handed your over to the authorities I’ll send them back for the others.”
*
“I’ve been into this remarkable statement of yours, Mr. Carradine,” said the Police Lieutenant quietly. “I must admit that it sounds somewhat fantastic. After all, Albert Cornish is one of our most respected citizens. He has been working on occasion for the Government and I’ve heard nothing said against him.” He paused, frowning. “However, I have sent a message through to CIA, Washington. The
reply should be back within half an hour. Until then, I suggest that you have a seat in the other office. I’ll let you know the minute we get word from Washington.”
“Thank you.” Carradine nodded, glanced across at the girl, then got to his feet and went through into the other office, lowering himself gratefully into one of the chairs. His body felt like a mass of bruises, each contributing individually to the overall ache that was even worse than the pain he had experienced.
He glanced across at Candy where she sat demurely in the other chair. Taking out a cigarette, he lit it, blew smoke into the air, then said: “Now perhaps you’ll explain to me how you happened to be there just at the right moment.”
“You don’t think it happened by chance?”
He shrugged. “I might have thought that at first, but not after what you said when those three men started towards us.” He paused, eyed her shrewdly. “Just why did you want them killed?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“No? The way I have it figured, you knew that Cornish was doing something crooked, even if you don’t know just what it was.”
For a moment, he thought she intended to deny it. Then: “My father worked at one of the missile sites. He was driving home one night when another car forced him off the road. His briefcase containing secret documents were stolen and he was dead when he was eventually found the next morning. Cornish and Minden killed him. I know they did.”
“Then why didn’t you go to the police with this information? Let them handle it from there instead of trying to do it yourself?”
“Do you think they would have believed me? It would have been my word against Cornish’s. You have just seen for yourself what they think of him. If the CIA in Washington don’t come up with a good enough answer to that call, you’ll discover for yourself just how well your word stands up against Cornish’s. He’s got a lot of standing and several very influential friends in Socorro.”
Carradine forced himself to relax. The girl’s story made sense. He only hoped that the call, which he had been allowed to make on his own account, through the coding section directed to Dean, would also start things moving from the New York end.
