Blueprint for Destruction (A Steve Carradine Thriller)

by John Glasby

  “Carstairs may have intended doing that himself,” suggested Venders.

  “Perhaps. But is a chance we can’t afford to take. I suggest that the sooner we get to the transmitter, the better.”

  *

  Muffled up in the thick furs—for he had insisted on accompanying the party, Carradine stared out into the deep velvet blackness of the Arctic night. A million stars seemed to glitter brilliantly in those stygian depths and beneath them, the snow took up the pale light, reflected it, threw it back into the sky and into the eyes of the men who emerged one by one after the tunnel into the open. The wind had died completely. Everywhere, there was a deep silence that went beyond anything that Carradine had ever experienced before. It stretched clear from one distant horizon to another, pressing down on them with an intensity that could be felt..

  Venders moved up beside him, peered at him from behind the goggles he wore. His face was a pale grey blur under the thick furry hood. He pointed a gloved finger towards the huts in the distance, placed his head close to Carradine’s and said loudly: “Take a look. See the light there?”

  Carradine nodded. There was indeed a light, standing out starkly against the blackness on all sides. There was only a pale glow, gleaming through a small square window in one of the huts and in the daylight it would have been lost but in this all-pervading darkness, it stood out clearly.

  “That’s the transmitter room,” Venders said. “Looks as though you were right after all. He’s got a pal in there.”

  “Probably waiting for him to arrive with news,” Carradine said tensely. “My bet is that the transmitting channel is open, that he’s in constant touch with his home base—wherever that may be.”

  Venders nodded, motioned to the small party of men, determined men, all armed with automatic rifles. Brinson was taking no chances on this man getting away, Carradine thought grimly.

  They made their way over the smooth snow. It would have been easier to take one of the snowcats, but in this silence, the sound of the powerful engines would have been heard for miles. Had there been a blizzard blowing they would have taken that chance for the howling, shrieking wind would have drowned out any lesser sound. The ice sloped up sharply to the plateau on which the huts were situated. Reaching a spot twenty yards from that which showed the light, Venders motioned his men to take up their positions so that the hut was completely surrounded. Carradine watched the way in which the men moved with a singleness of design that indicated that they must have done this sort of thing before. When they were in place, not a mouse could have got out of the hut without being seen.

  Hefting his rifle into his right hand, Venders moved towards the closed door. A faint crack of light showed just beneath it. Carradine followed close on the other’s heels. He had no idea how many men there might be in there, one or half a dozen, each willing to sell his life dearly, knowing that if they failed, their fate would be far worse than a quick death from a bullet.

  Venders paused outside the door, motioned Carradine over to the other side to cover him, then lifted his foot and kicked the door in with a savage thrust of his boot. It crashed back on splintered hinges. Slightly off-balance, Venders half-fell into the room, jerking up the barrel of the rifle as he did so.

  The man seated behind the transmitter whirled swiftly. There was the glint of light on the automatic which appeared as if by magic in his right hand. Carradine held his breath as he fired instinctively, the Luger jerking against his wrist. The man uttered a sharp cry as the heavy weapon went flying from his smashed fingers, ending up in the corner of the room.

  Venders moved forward, yanked the other man to his feet. “Carlsen,” he said dully. “So you’re in this dirty business. One of the last men I would have expected.”

  “You know nothing,” snarled the other through lips thinned back over his teeth. He cradled his bloodied hand against his stomach, holding it with the other.

  “We know enough,” Carradine said tautly. “Your friend Carstairs, or whatever his name was, is no longer with us. He made his play—and failed. Just as you have.”

  The other said nothing, staring sullenly at the men gathered about him.

  Carradine said very softly: “I don’t suppose you’ll talk willingly. Your kind don’t. But we have ways of getting the truth out of you.”

  “You’ll get nothing from me,” said the other viciously.

  “We’ll see.”

  *

  Three hours later, with a couple of straight bourbons inside him, Carradine sat back in the chair in Brinson’s office, feeling more relaxed than at any time since he arrived there. And yet there was something curiously wrong about everything. He was unable to put his finger on it, but it was, nevertheless, nagging at him relentlessly.

  “You look like a man who has something on his mind, rather than one who should be feeling extremely pleased with himself,” observed Brinson, leaning forward and pouring more bourbon into the other’s glass.

  “Just a feeling,” Carradine said, jerking his mind back to the present.

  “You think we didn’t get them all?” For a moment, there was a note of apprehension in Brinson’s tone.

  “I think we got all the men on the station,” Carradine said with conviction. “But it seems to me that both Carstairs and his accomplice had been forewarned about me, yet my coming here was supposed to be top secret.”

  “The men at the Alaska airbase knew,” Brinson pointed out.

  “I don’t think that is the answer. This operation must have taken these two some time to arrange. If it had been someone at the airbase, they would have had about twenty-four hours at the most. I doubt if that would have been long enough.”

  “So it must have been someone in New York or Washington.”

  “Exactly.” Carradine got to his feet. “With your permission, I’d like to have another go at the prisoner. The sooner I get him to talk, the easier I shall feel in my mind.”

  “You don’t have to have my permission for that, Commander,” said the other quietly. “Go ahead with whatever you have to do. If you need any help, just let me know.”

  *

  The cab drew up outside the tall building in New York. Carradine got out, stretched his legs, glanced down at his watch, then paid the driver. He stood for a moment savouring the cool air on the street, staring up at the great concrete and glass erection that stretched up to where the woolly white clouds paced slowly across the deep blue sky. It was a beautiful day for so late in the autumn.

  He felt tense inwardly, but showed none of it outwardly. The Luger nestled warmly against his ribs as he ran up the stairs and into the wide entrance. He knew his way now along the various corridors and up in the sighing elevators. Five minutes after entering the building, he was standing just outside the glass-panelled door of Dean’s office. He rapped sharply with his knuckles. There was a momentary pause, then he heard the sharp command to enter.

  Dean was seated behind the desk as Carradine remembered him. The other gave him a faint look of surprise, then waved a hand to the chair. “I didn’t expect to see you back for another two or three days,” he said genially. “Naturally, I got the preliminary report from Station K. You did a very fine piece of work there.”

  “There were one or two moments when I didn’t feel too sure of myself,” Carradine said, forcing himself to relax.

  Dean raised his bushy brows for a moment. “You surprise me,” he said softly, but with a new note in his tone. “I thought you were the completely self-reliant agent.”

  “That is often the case," Carradine said, nodding his head a little. “But there have been sufficient times in the past when the cards have been stacked against me from the very beginning, for me to be able to recognise a set-up when I find myself right in the middle of it.”

  Dean pursed his lips, pushed his chair a little closer to the desk. “I’m not sure that I follow you,” he said harshly.

  “Someone took the trouble to warn, not only the enemy cell working in Socorro
all about me, but those Red Dragon agents in Station K.”

  “Can you be sure of this?”

  “I think so.” Carradine could feel a faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead, but he tried not to think of the possible consequences if he was wrong. Now he would have to play the hand he had been dealt by fate all the way through to the bitter end.

  Dean nodded his head. “You returned here after arriving back from Alaska?”

  “Not directly. I called at Washington on my way here. One or two points I had to verify.”

  Dean’s eyes seemed to narrow just a fraction. “I’m still a little in the dark. Perhaps you can enlighten me.”

  “It’s quite simple, really," Carradine said. “I’m not sure when I first suspected that every move I made had been given to the Red Dragon in advance. It was in Socorro, I think. I went along to see Cornish, decided to put the fear of God into him, force his hand, make him act rashly, thinking that he was already a suspect, that events were closing in on him.”

  “And it worked perfectly,” put in the other.

  “Not exactly. They made their play before I was ready. It was almost the end for Steve Carradine. Had I not been fantastically lucky, I would have been dead by now or in the same position as that poor devil who was dragged out of the alley in the Bronx. But as I was saying, they knew all about me, were even expecting me. It might have been a coincidence, of course, this mission seems to have been plagued with what seemed like coincidences on the surface. But it wasn’t. They knew all about me. And at Station K, the position was just the same. They were waiting for me—first with a high-powered rifle and then with part of the handrail in the reactor room sawn through. Everything could be made to look like an accident.”

  “And you are now suggesting that one of my men here in New York is in league with the Red Dragon, that he deliberately betrayed you to them?”

  “No.” Very slowly, Carradine shook his head. "”I'm prepared to go even further than that. I know who did it. Perhaps the top agent they have in this country. The man the CIA have been looking for over these past five years, the man they’d give their eye teeth to lay by the heels.”

  “May I ask who he is?”

  Sitting forward a little, giving the impression that he was completely relaxed, Carradine smiled. His muscles were tautly tensed however, and he sat waiting for any movement on the other’s part, any trick. “Really, it’s no use trying to bluff it out any longer. I know that you are playing a double game, working for the Red Dragon, occupying this important position of trust where you can be of the most of value to them.”

  Dean’s face had not changed. There was a tiny muscle twitching in his cheek, but that was all that betrayed the emotions in his mind at that moment. Then, in a very quiet and polite voice, he said: “I’m afraid that these events must have proved too much for you. You have been overtaxed and overworked. Perhaps if I were to have a word on the Transatlantic telephone with your superiors, they might send you on vacation for—”

  “You never give up, do you?” Carradine smiled broadly. “Carstairs was, unfortunately, killed before he could talk, but that other agent was able to give me quite a lot of important information. It included your name. Of course, he had to be persuaded to talk, but we have our own methods, just as you have yours.”

  “You’re lying,” said Dean. “Besides, one word from me would mean the end of you. No one will believe this wild story of yours. Do you seriously think they will?”

  “Oh, I’m quite sure they will.” Carradine took the heavy Luger from his pocket, the barrel pointed at Dean’s chest. “And perhaps I ought to point out that at this distance, it will be quite impossible for me to miss, especially such a target as yourself.”

  The other hissed something in what Carradine took to be Chinese. Certainly it did not seem to be Russian or any other language that he had ever heard spoken.

  “And what do you expect to do now?” asked the other after a long silence. “You may find it difficult to walk out of here, taking me at gunpoint. There are several of my men in the building. Perhaps they are not Red Dragon agents, for the most part they are fools, but one word from me would be believed.”

  “I’ve already considered that.” Carradine sat back, regarding the other evenly. “We’ll just sit here for a little while. If anyone comes to you, then it will be just too bad.”

  “On the contrary,” said a voice Carradine remembered from a short time before, “you will be the one to walk out of here—and very soon.”

  Minden came into the room from one of the smaller offices. There was a snub-nosed automatic in his right hand and it was trained directly on Carradine. “Now I suggest that you relinquish your hold on that gun, otherwise I shall be forced to use this now. As you may know, it will make very little sound.”

  Reluctantly, Carradine dropped the Luger onto the floor at his feet. There was a broad smile of triumph on Dean’s fleshy features. “The tables are turned, are they not, my impetuous friend?”

  “You must have been at this game for a long time,” Carradine said grudgingly. “You’re too good to have just joined the ranks of these men.”

  “Fifteen years.” There was a touch of pride in the other’s voice. “It may be that our usefulness here is finished now. But somehow, I feel that we shall receive a warm welcome when we return home.”

  “And you think that you will get out of the country?” Carradine asked. “Surely you don’t think I would be fool enough to keep this information to myself.”

  Dean shrugged. “It is really quite immaterial to us whether you have or not. You people are fools. You underestimate us to the extent that you believe yourselves to be the Lords of creation. That is your greatest mistake. When will you learn that our organisation is far better than yours? Our escape route has been in existence for several years, waiting for the moment when we should have to use it.” He shook his head. “No, my friend. You will be dead and we will be on our way and none of your CIA agents will be any the wiser.” Heaving back his chair, he pushed himself to his feet, glanced across at Minden. “You know what to do with our friend,” he said. “Be sure that there is no mistake this time.”

  Carmodine got slowly to his feet as Minden advanced on him. He said quite slowly and deliberately: “I warned you both.” He looked down at the watch on his wrist, twisted the knob slightly, almost unconsciously. “Evidently you’ve forgotten, Dean, that I called at Washington on my way here. I didn’t do that for the sake of my health, you know. I warned the CIA of what I know. My guess is that they will be knocking on this door in precisely ten seconds from now.”

  Minden paused, less than a foot away, the gun still trained on Carradine. He looked uncertainly at Dean.

  “Can’t you see that he’s lying, that he’s just trying to play for time?” snapped the other thickly. “Take him out and—“

  There came a sharp knock on the door.

  Dean stared at it. Minden looked too and in that second, Carradine’s arm moved. It moved only a few inches and Minden gave a yelp as the glass face of the watch struck him on the back of the hand. Savagely, grunting something unintelligible under his breath, he swung back. His fingers tightened on the trigger of the automatic. Then his eyes rolled up until only the whites showed and he collapsed at Carradine’s feet as though pole-axed.

  Behind the desk, Dean lunged forward, scrabbling for one of the drawers. He had it open less than three inches when the side of Carradine stiffened hand hit him just behind the left ear and he continued to fall forward until his head hit hard on the edge of the mahogany desk.

  Almost casually, Carradine walked over to the door and opened it. “They’re all yours,” he said, pointing to the two unconscious bodies in the room.

  *

  When it was all over and Minden had been taken away, when the questioning was over, he made his way down in the gently sighing elevator, through the entrance, stepped out onto the sidewalk. The sky was still a deep blue, but there was a faint chill in the
air and the few clouds he could see in the west were orange-tipped spears. Pulling up the collar of his coat, he began walking slowly along the sidewalk away from the building.

  He scarcely noticed the white car that glided smoothly along the street, followed him for a few moments before stopping near the kerb. Turning his head, he glanced at it curiously, made to move on, then stopped as if thunderstruck.

  “Candy!” He walked quickly over to the car. “How on earth did you get here?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked lightly. “I saw them take those two men away a little while ago. Is that the case closed as far as you are concerned?”

  “I guess so.” He nodded.

  “Then it will be back to London and out of my life, I suppose.”

  “I’m afraid so.” He tried to read what was going on in her mind from the expression in her eyes.

  “How long do you have in New York?”

  “Two, three days perhaps. I’ll send off my report tomorrow.”

  “We could see a lot of New York in three days,” she said, and there was something more serious in her tone. She opened the car door. Carradine hesitated for only a second, then slid in beside her. The engine purred softly as they moved away from the sidewalk and into the stream of early evening traffic.

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