by John Glasby
It was twenty minutes later when the Lieutenant came into the office. He gave Carradine and the girl a strange look, then said: “Well, we just got the reply from Washington. Seems that your story checks out in every detail. They’re sending a couple of men down for Cornish. In the meantime, we’re to hold him here and see that nobody gets to him, not even his lawyer. This must sure be something really big.”
“Far bigger than you can possibly imagine,” Carradine told him wearily. He stood up. “Will you be wanting us any longer?”
“No, you can go now.” The other nodded. He turned on his heel, then said: “By the way, I have news for you from the Institute. My men found two men there. One was dead, shot through the chest. The other was in one of the storerooms at the back. He was unconscious. They have taken him to hospital. We’ll question him when he comes round.”
“And the third man?” Carradine asked.
“There was no sign of him,” said the other apologetically. “We found only the two. Either he recovered before my men arrived, or there was someone there who took him away.”
“I see.” Carradine bit his lower lip. So Minden was still free, out on the loose somewhere. It gave him a little shiver in the pit of his stomach.
CHAPTER 6 - DEW LINE NORTH
It was getting dark outside. Dean leaned forward in his chair and switched on the desk lamp in front of him. The ring of light threw his face into sharp relief. There were two thick files on the desk and he opened one of them, sat staring down at the first white sheet of paper for a long moment before speaking.
In the chair opposite him, Carradine crossed his legs and waited. This was the first time he had seen the other since he arrived back in New York almost three days earlier. During that time, he had spent his waking hours trying to discover as much as he could about the man called Minden. There had, unfortunately, been very little. The CIA seemed to have little on the other and it was evident that he had covered his tracks well, had worked undercover, subtly and unobtrusively.
Yet in all of the time he had been in the States, he must have been accumulating information, some from secret Government documents obtained by devious means from all over the country.
There had been several sensational spy cases during the past few years. Carradine had known some of them from first-hand knowledge where the ripples formed by the repercussions had flowed across the Atlantic to England. Yet in not one single incident, had this man’s name been brought out.
No wonder these men had been able to boast that the West had very little time before the Red Dragon struck in force. When that time came, the consequences were too terrible to contemplate. Clearly, China had bided her time well, staying out of the international limelight, leaving most of the spectacular successes to the Russians.
How little they really understood the Oriental mind. Even since the days of Genghis Khan, these people had thought and acted with a different kind of patience to the people of the Western hemisphere. They could afford to allow generations to pass before they made their move. That was the real danger, the one they had to face up to now.
Dean looked up. “The fact that Minden managed to slip through our fingers has altered things considerably, made them far more difficult for us than they might otherwise have been,” he said softly. “However, the fact that you would recognise him again is a help.”
Carradine placed the tips of his fingers together. He said: “While I’ve been in New York, I’ve been turning the various details of this case over in my mind and something that the man who guarded me in the storeroom said has stuck in my mind.”
“Oh, what was that?”
“He said that the Red Dragon organisation is like an octopus. We could cut off the tip of one tentacle—meaning himself and Cornish with their hired killers—and still not damage the rest of the creature. He also said that action down at Socorro was merely a feint.”
“You attached some importance to that remark?”
“Not at first. But the more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to believe that he really thought there was no chance of escape for me and he was telling the truth. Embellishing it a little, perhaps.”
“I suppose that you’ve made up your mind, what it’s all about then.”
“Yes.” Carradine nodded. “I’ve been doing a little research on my own behalf, just filling in my time. It seems to me that if these people really wanted to put your defensive system out of action, then their target would not be down there in New Mexico, the furthest point from Redland. It will be much closer to the frontier than that.”
Dean grunted noncommittally. “Go on,” he said very softly.
“Where is your top secret front-line defensive system? Less than fifty miles from the Russian frontier, right on top of the world.”
“The Dew-Line system?”
“Exactly.” Carradine sounded definite. “Of course not the early system you set up some years ago. The top-secret missile and listening post you’ve got in the Arctic.”
For a moment, the other allowed an expression of surprise to gust over his features. Then the impassive look returned. “How in God’s name did you learn about that?”
Carradine smiled at the other's momentary discomfiture. “There are ways and means of getting information, particularly in my line of business,” he said easily. “But seriously, doesn’t it seem to you that this is where they must strike. The other bases you have are of only secondary importance compared with this one. And before you dismiss the possibility out of hand, just remember that we’re dealing with an extremely well-organised group of men who will stop at nothing. We used to think that the Russian organisation was good, but believe me, they’re nothing compared with the little lot that we’ve bumped up against now.”
“And if you are right in this assumption of yours—what would be your next move?”
“I’d like permission to go there,” Carradine said.
“To Station K?” This time the other was unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
“That’s right. Do you think you can swing it with them?”
Dean snorted. “Surely you're not serious. All the men who we have there were checked and double-checked.” He tried to sound convincing.
Carradine persisted. “I was asked to come here to help you. Perhaps some of my methods may seem a little unorthodox, but I’ve found in the past they usually get results.”
“Do you have any suspicions at all to go on? Apart from what this man said?”
“Yes, I have.” Carradine pointed to the smaller of the two files in front of the other. “It’s all in there if you care to read through it.”
“Suppose you give me the condensed version,” suggested Dean. Sitting back, he stared fixedly at Carradine.
Carradine grinned. There was just the possibility that the other had read all through that file during the previous night—Carradine had sent it through to him the day before—and knew every word of its contents.
“Very well. First of all, there was an accident with one of the snowcats. Fell into a crevasse, killing the three occupants. Two of the men were your agents and the third happened to be one of the top-most nuclear scientists on the station. That happened two years ago. Then there was the mysterious breakdown with one of the main reactors they have there for supplying heat and warmth for the station. It almost put them out of action completely and it certainly put back the operational date by six months. Lastly, two of the main stores containing electronic equipment were destroyed by a fire which broke out under circumstances which have not yet been satisfactorily explained.”
“You appear to have done your homework extremely well and conscientiously. I must admit that when these events are taken together, there does appear to be a case against coincidence.”
“Then you will pull a few strings?”
Dean was silent for a long moment, “I’ll do what I can. This may take a few days.”
“We may not have that long,” Carradine said seriously. He c
ould feel a little of the tension balling up inside him as he got to his feet, the interview at an end.
*
The plane droned high above the brown and green earth some fifteen thousand feet below them. To the north, Carradine could just make out the tall, rearing peaks of the range of mountains and ahead of them, there was the smooth, flat whiteness of snow, glaring in the sunlight that flooded the ground. He sat in the bucket seat of the Air Force plane and watched the snow-covered ground inch closer to them. In spite of their air speed, they were so high and the ground here stretched away in an almost endless sea of brown, green and white that even minutes of flying seemed to make no visible impression on the distances concerned.
“Coffee, sir?” inquired the voice at his elbow.
Carradine turned. The young Air Force sergeant held the tray out to him. There was a mug of steaming coffee on it and a small plate of biscuits.
“Thanks, I could certainly use this.” He accepted the tray gratefully, balancing it on his knee. Sipping the scalding coffee, he said: “How long before we arrive at our destination?”
The sergeant glanced at his watch. “Another forty minutes. We were delayed a little when we had to skirt around an electrical storm. When you’re as far north as this, anything like that can play hell with the magnetic compass. Apart from the effect it could have on the plane itself. We usually try to avoid these storms if at all possible.”
“Why couldn’t we fly direct to Station K?” Carradine asked.
“Afraid that isn’t possible. There’s a plane twice a week making this trip from the forward base. They’ll get you a seat on it. We just do the routine run out to Alaska.”
“I understand.” Carradine settled himself deeper in his seat, striving to discover a position that would give some comfort to his long, angular body. Obviously the seats had not been designed with the comfort of the passenger in mind.
The sergeant went back into the cabin. Carradine caught a glimpse of the pilot seated behind the controls, earphones clamped on his head. Then the curtain dropped back and he was alone once more with the monotonous drone of the powerful engines in his ears to keep him company and the thin, high-pitched keening of the wind around the fuselage. Down below, they had left the tundra behind them and there was only snow with an occasional patch of brown to break the monotony. A bleak and strangely forbidding country, he reflected as he finished the coffee and chewed on the biscuits. Yet no doubt it was much to be preferred to the north where Station K was situated. He had gathered a few details of the station from the files in New York.
Evidently virtually all the base was under the ice, with only a small handful of wooden huts on the surface. The complement of the place was over five hundred men when it was fully manned, but at the moment there were less than two hundred there, most of them scientists and military personnel. Atomic reactors provided them with most of the essential comforts of home. There was no doubt that it had been a tremendous feat of military engineering and that it would be one of the first targets for an organisation such as the Red Dragon. Yet there was still the nagging little thought at the edge of his mind that he may, after all, had made a mistake and those three disturbing incidents had been nothing more than the long arm of coincidence.
He closed his eyes, tried to relax. The odd mixture of smells that seemed always to be present inside a military plane which were never there in one of the large luxury airliners, assailed his nostrils, making him feel a trifle queasy in the pit of his stomach.
The minutes passed with an agonising slowness as far as Carradine was concerned. Then, off in the distance, he made out the cluster of buildings, standing out starkly against the background. For a moment, the plane seemed to be turning away from them, heading off in a totally different direction. Then he noticed the runway about a quarter of a mile from the buildings and at almost the same instant, the plane came in on its downward glide, swinging slowly to align itself with the runway.
There was a prickling, unpleasant sensation in Carradine’s ears as they lost height. The undercarriage locked itself into place with a faint jar. Then the ground was rushing up to meet them. He closed his eyes instinctively for a second as the snow seemed ready to engulf them, to reach up and snatch at the belly of the plane, dragging it down totally out of control.
There was a vague glimpse of a rutted road leading away from the runway in the direction of the huts, of a telephone wire strung between tall poles. Then they were down and there was a soft, scarcely perceptible thump as they landed. Carradine led his breath go in a long, audible sigh.
The curtain was raised and the sergeant came through, a cheerful grin on his face. “I’ll take you over to the base,” he said. “They’ll find you a bed for the night and something to eat.”
“You know when the plane for Station K leaves?”
“Some time tomorrow, I think,” said the other. “The Major will be able to tell you.”
Carradine felt the icy blast of air hit him the instant he stepped down from the plane and followed the sergeant over to the collection of long, wooden huts. It had been warm inside the plane. Now perspiration congealed swiftly on his body, his shirt clinging damply to his back.
There was hot coffee waiting for them inside the small control room, The tall man seated near the window got to his feet as they entered and came forward, hand outstretched.
“You’ll be Commander Carradine,2 he said genially. “I’m Major Allison. I heard you were to arrive over the radio a couple of hours ago. Understand you’ll be flying on to Station K tomorrow.”
“That’s right.” Carradine nodded. He held out his hands towards a stove in the middle of the room. “Tell me, is it as cold as this up there at the forward station?”
“Even worse,” said the other with a broad grin. He filled a mug of steaming coffee, handed it to Carradine. “Better wrap yourself around this. It’ll bring a little of the feeling back into you. We live on the damned stuff here. That and the Scotch which comes in on most of the flights.” He nodded his head towards the window and, glancing out, Carradine was just in time to see half a dozen heavy crates being carried into one of the adjoining huts. He had noticed them when he had been on board the plane, had wondered about them. Now he knew exactly what they were.
“You seem to have most of the comforts of home here,” he observed.
“Most of them,” agreed the other. “The isolation is the worst part as far as the men are concerned. They usually do a one-year term out here before going back home.” He paused, waiting until Carradine had drained the coffee, then went on, giving him a shrewd glance. “I don’t suppose you can tell me why you want to get up to Station K? It’s usually strictly out of bounds except for very exceptional personnel.”
“I can understand that.” Carradine nodded. “I’m afraid I can tell you very little. I’m simply going there to take a look around the place. From what I’ve heard it’s the last word in an early warning system and apart from being a defensive base, it can also be put on an offensive footing in a matter of minutes.”
“So I’ve heard,” said the other dryly. “As for me, I’m glad I'm here and not up there.” He spoke without a flicker of change in his expression. Evidently the Major knew how to play it cool.
“My only concern at the moment is getting there. I had a little difficulty getting the right strings pulled to get me as far as this.”
“I think we can promise to get you there on time tomorrow afternoon,” said Allison quietly. “At least we don’t have to worry overmuch about other planes using the routes in that direction. There are occasions, of course, when severe electrical storms or blizzards can clamp down on everything and when that happens we simply have to sit tight and wait until things calm down again before making a move. Here, near the North Pole, we’re more at the mercy of nature than anywhere else on Earth.”
“I hope nothing like that turns up tomorrow.”
“Shouldn’t think so.” The other shrugged. “The weather seems to
be pretty stable at the moment. Anti-cyclonic. Can’t guarantee what it will be like nearer the pole, of course. But this is the wrong time of the year for the really bad stuff to hit us.” He moved away from the window. “I have to discuss one or two things with the Exec Officer, Commander, if you’ll excuse me. Sergeant Grenson will show you to your quarters. Dinner is at eight-thirty tonight.”
“Thanks, Major.” Carradine followed Grenson out of the hut.
*
When Carradine woke the next morning he was still heavy with sleep, the utter heaviness of a man who has slept for a long time. Throwing back the thick covers on the bed, he glanced at the luminous dial of the watch on the small table. It said eight-fifteen. Outside, it was still dark, with only a few lights to be seen in the direction of the landing strip and the control block. The shape of two military transport planes could just be seen on the narrow perimeter track.
Swinging his legs to the floor, he washed, shaved, then went out into the main dining hall. Two men were seated at one of the tables; they had evidently been on duty all night.
“Is it always dark here at this time of the morning?” Carradine asked.
The taller man grinned. “We’re heading into the winter, sir. Pretty soon, we’ll be shut in all the time.”
“Then I’m glad my stay here won’t be too long a duration.”
“You’re heading up north to Station K, aren’t you?” queried the other man.
“That’s right. Conditions there will be even worse than here, I suppose.” Carradine sat down in the empty chair at the table and a few moments later, a white-coated steward came over, took his order and vanished into the room at the back of the wide mess.
“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” countered the tall man. “Chuck here and I take the plane up there once a week. Things can be pretty awful at times, but once you’re inside the base itself, you’ve got all the luxuries and comforts of home. Believe me, you’ve seen nothing like it. They’ve got a whole goddamn city up there under the ice.”
