The Secret Enemy (A Steve Carradine Thriller)

by John Glasby

  The fat man was coming forward out of the shadow now, still unaware that he had been seen, that death was on its way to him. Less than forty metres away, he stepped momentarily to the edge of the narrow pavement, body bent forward lightly. There was something in his right fist and in that same instant, he saw Nerim, brought up his arm. There was a savage spurt of orange flame from the gun in his hand, the faint pop of the silence, and the leaden smack of the bullet striking the wall as Nerim flung himself sideways. Even as he went down, the Bulgarian drew back his hand, flung the knife in a glittering arc through the air.

  There was a tinkle of metal hitting the wall. Then the dark shadow of the fat man moved, back to the alley from where he had appeared. The hollow clatter of his feet on the cobbles faded swiftly as he ran. Jumping Nerim’s sprawling body, Carradine ran to the end of the alley, his Luger in his fists. In front of him, the alley stretched away like a river of midnight, but there was no sign of the man. Reluctantly, he went back to Nerim, helped him to his feet.

  “Are you hurt?” Carradine asked tightly. He felt an edge of anger blur his voice, anger at the fact that the fat man had got away.

  Nerim smiled grimly, tight-face. He brushed the dirt off his clothes with his hand, then went forward and picked up his knife from where it lay on the pavement, examined it carefully, then slid it back into his belt. “I’m all right, my friend. I thought I had him, but he was too quick for me. I suppose he’s gone?”

  “He could be a kilometre away by now,” Carradine affirmed. “We have no chance of catching him now, even if we had the time. But I doubt if we’ll be troubled by him tonight.”

  “You’re right,” agreed the other. “It’s a pity, but we cannot wait and waste time looking for him. Let us go on to the castle.”

  They left the town, took the winding path that led up the steep, rocky slope. The waters of the Black Sea glimmered faintly in the pale moonlight. Over their heads, the stars were out in their thousands, swarming across the dark velvet of the sky. Carradine moved up the slope as quickly as his feet would carry him, stumbling occasionally where a moon-thrown shadow hid a treacherous rock.

  “Slowly, my friend,” said Nerim quietly. “To hurry now could be fatal.”

  With an effort, Carradine forced himself to move more cautiously. In the moonlight, he could just make out the tall, sky-rearing ruins of the castle, perched like some antediluvian monster on top of the high crags. On one side of it, the ground plummeted away in a sheer precipitous slope so that the castle appeared to be hanging eternally on the edge of the abyss, needing only a faint puff of wind to send it dropping down into the soft swell of the Black Sea.

  They came on the shallow, worn stone steps five minutes later and Nerim motioned Carradine up them bringing up the rear. Halfway up, there was a glimmering of water and they splashed across a swift-running stream that ran down the mountainside. In the moonlight, it was difficult to make out which were shadows and which were razor-edged gullies, where a man could snap his ankle like a rotten twig if he put a foot wrong.

  Suddenly, Nerim was beside him, breathing heavily from the exertion, and his eyes glittering brightly in his head, his teeth just showing as a faint gleam in his shadowed face. “It is quite a long climb. There is, of course, a track which goes all the way up, but that is the way they will watch. Very few know of this way into the castle. I discovered it myself when I was only a small child and since then I have prided myself that no one else knows of it. But we must be careful now. The rocks and stones are slippery with moss and very treacherous. One slip and you will go over the side and down into the sea.”

  Carradine threw a quick glance downward, immediately looked up again. He had not realised they were so close to the edge now, and they had somehow wound around in a spiral, the narrow track twisting outward until it came around a broad outcrop of stone almost directly beneath the castle ruins. When Nerim had said that no one bothered to watch this way up, he could see why the other had been so sure. Only a fool would attempt this climb in broad daylight. At night, with only a faint flooding of yellow moonlight, it was almost suicidal.

  The sheer steepness of the slope now was frightening. It took a great deal of concentration not to look down. A loose stone, rattling down from the rocks started Carradine’s heart thumping in his chest, hammering against his ribs until it felt as though it must surely burst. Very slowly, a metre at a time, they climbed up the slope. It was a climb such as Carradine had never made before, such as he knew he could never make again. This was insane, he told himself fiercely. There had to be a better and easier way up than this. Good God, they were climbing the sheer wall of the cliff, while below them, almost directly beneath, the breakers were hammering on the jagged teeth of the black rocks that glistened wetly in the moonlight.

  A few metres away to his right, Nerim went up hand over hand, finding handholds and toeholds where none seemed to exist, hauling himself now over the smoothly swelling convexity of an overhang, edging along a narrow ledge that could barely be seen. They reached a wider portion of a ledge and Nerim wormed his way over to where Carradine sat, with his back to the smooth rocks, the palms of his hands pressed tightly against it on either side of his body, his feet dangling over the edge in empty space. He felt anything but secure or comfortable.

  “Not much further to go now, my friend. Perhaps fifty metres. Then there is an easy stretch before we move into the castle.” He grinned, as though the whole affair was one huge joke, something to be savoured and enjoyed.

  Carradine looked up at the stretch above him speculatively, nodded in silence. He wiped his sweating forehead. There was no time for any more.

  Nerim began to work his way cautiously along the ledge. Above them, the looming, tessellated walls of the great castle lifted in the moonlight, towering more than a hundred feet into the clear air. The ledge was narrow, not more than three metres wide at its broadest, tapering off into the gloom on either side. Worse still, a little later, it seemed to vanish altogether and Nerim’s shadowy figure had disappeared around a sharply out-thrusting impassable barrier.

  Back to this wall of rock, Carradine was forced to stand on his heels, his hands outspread, the palms inward against the cliff, pressing in to it in order to maintain his precarious balance. But in less than two minutes he had somehow managed to follow the other around, out to where the rock sloped upwards, angling a little to the right. He felt bitterly cold now and there was a stiff breeze blowing in off the Black Sea and the sharp edges of the rocks bit cruelly into the calves of his legs and his hands. The climb had been a nightmare, more difficult and exhausting than he had expected, looking up at it from below. But the moonlight had been deceiving. It had tended to smooth out the contours, to make them seem smoother than they actually were.

  Deliberately, he forced his mind away from the aches and pains in his limbs, from his body's insistent demands for rest. Somehow, Nerim was moving up and he knew that he must follow. His shoulder muscles were afire with agony by the time he reached the top and felt Nerim’s hands come down, grip his wrists tightly and pull steadily, easing him over the top where the crumbling earth crushed and broke under him. His breath rasped in great gulping inhalations into his heaving lungs and for an interminable moment, he seemed to be hanging by his fingertips over the lip of the cliff. Then, slowly, he moved out on to the broad stretch of open ground, lay quite still, forcing feeling and life back into his bruised body.

  Nerim waited patiently until he sat up, then said in a soft whisper: “Are you ready to go on?”

  He nodded, swallowed thickly. “Let’s go,” he said harshly. Straightening his legs, he hosted himself forward, off the ground, arm straight, palms still on the dirt in front of him, his head lifted. Then he stopped, hissed the faint warning to the other; but it had not been needed. Nerim, too, had seen the shadow that had moved suddenly. Thirty, maybe forty metres away, close to the edge of the tall ruins, the dark shape at slowly straightened, detached itself from the wealth of dark shado
ws that grew beneath them castle walls. It was advancing slowly in their direction.

  There could be no mistake now. Tall and square, it was a man – a guard in all probability, for there could have been no one else at this time of the night – and because of this castle’s reputation the other would undoubtedly be doubly cautious. For the first two or three seconds, the two men lay absolutely motionless. The other had not seen them, but he was suspicious, his head turning this way and that into the thinly keening wind, striving to catch again the faint sounds that had obviously attracted his attention.

  But now that the first shock of discovery was over, Carradine’s mind was working clearly again. To go on now would be suicidal. The faintest movement would be instantly seen by the other. At night, as Carradine well knew, averted vision was by far the more acute and the sentry might catch any sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.

  If that happened, the other would only have to turn his head and it would be the end. Even in the darkness, with only a faint trace of moonlight now touching the top of the cliffs, their silhouettes would be easily discernible against the skyline.

  Bending his head, he whispered to Nerim: “Stay here, wait until I get into the rocks and then try to cause a diversion.”

  “What are you going to do?” murmured the other. There was a flash of white teeth in his shadowed features. “Perhaps with my knife I may – ”

  “No! Too far.” Carradine shook his head slightly. “Besides, you’d have to get to your feet to throw it with any chance of hitting him.”

  For a moment, he thought the other intended to argue, then the other nodded. Gradually, every movement as smooth and controlled as possible, his breath easing in and out of his lungs, Carradine slithered forward over the rough, uneven ground. Still the shadowy figure was advancing, making for a point very close to the rocks where Carradine meant to be. Another twenty-five metres to go. Even as he crawled forward, Carradine knew that he could never make it in time. The other was moving too quickly now. Then, sharp against the wind, came the sound of something striking rock over to his left. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw the man whirl abruptly, head twisting round, peering off into the rocks near the base of the castle wall. Nerim must have seen the danger and thrown a stone into the rocks to distract the other’s attention. When the man’s back was turned, Carradine thrust himself forward with a powerful heave of his legs, wriggled out of sight among the jumble of boulders that lay strewn in front of him. By the time the man in the greatcoat had turned, evidently convinced that it had been nothing more than a loose stone falling from above, he was well out of sight in the rocks.

  In the pale shaft of yellow moonlight, he caught a glimpse of the face under the soft hat; an off-white, straining face. Clear the man had no liking for his task here. Carradine remembered some of the tales which were rife in this part of the world concerning these old, and ruined castles and knew that if the other was as superstitious as the vast majority of the folk here, then the thoughts that would be running through his mind at that moment, were far from wholesome ones. Every faint sound would bring a brief wash of terror to his mind.

  The setting moon, just visible, now throwing a sickly glow over everything. The wild rocks that looked down on the rolling waters of the Black Sea; and above all, dominating the scene, the old castle, legend-haunted, filled with the ghosts and the black terror that was enshrined in this place. Slowly, gauging his time and distance, Carradine waited. The man came on, made to move past his hiding place, then stopped in mid-stride as Nerim uttered a low whistle. Instantly, the other spun, had his back to Carradine.

  For a moment, the man stood stock still, clearly trying to estimate the origin of the sound. Then his hand moved into the pocket of the coat, brought out a snub-nosed automatic, the metal glinting in the faint light. He had taken only a single step forward when Carradine moved, cat-footed, out of the rocks. The other seemed to have a brief flash of insight, but the warning that someone was behind him, had barely reached his brain, he had only just begun to turn, when Carradine was on him. There was a sudden explosive gasp from the man as Carradine’s boot hit him just behind the right knee. Before he could utter a further sound, the straight edge of Carradine’s hand hit him just behind the ear. It was not a killing blow, delivered with just the right amount of force to knock the other unconscious. He would be out for some hours now.

  Quickly, he stopped, hooked his hands under the other’s armpits, straightened, and hauled him out of sight among the rocks. Soon, perhaps, some of his companions might start looking for him and it was essential that he should not be found to soon.

  “Is he dead?” Nerim asked dispassionately.

  “No.” Carradine shook his head, staring down at the unconscious man. “He’s probably fighting for the same thing as we are. If he’s one of the men helping Ubyenkov then there is no reason to kill them.” It was part of Carradine’s work to kill people, but he was always glad when there was no real necessity to kill. This man would come round in a few hours with nothing worse than a sore neck.

  The darkly shadowed ruins swallowed them up a few moments later. Nerim led the way more quickly now. It was obvious from his movements that he knew every twist and turn in these passages which had been hewn out of the solid stone beneath the castle. Reaching the end of one of them, he paused, crouched down on his knees, motioning Carradine to do likewise.

  “This passage leads up through the old dungeons into the castle proper,” he whispered, his words rustling back at them in eerie echo from the damp, moss-covered walls. “They must have him hidden down here. It would be too open up there and—”

  “Quiet!” hissed Carradine. The rustling silence crowded down on them from every side. Across a passage, there was a skittering sound. Something large and grey and furry came out into the open, perched on top of a fallen stone. Red eyes glared at them from the shadows. A bewhiskered face, narrowed to the snout, appeared in their direction. Then there was another. Carradine felt the muscles of his stomach tighten as the rats came out of their holes, crouched poised in a wide semi-circle.

  “These must have been what you heard,” said Nerim softly. He uttered a sharp bark of a laugh. “This place is running with those little grey creatures. They resent our intrusion here.”

  Carradine sucked in his breath sharply. Ugly little bastards, he thought to himself. He could visualise them crawling over his body. Memories of Edgar Allan Poe crept into his mind and it was impossible for him to thrust them away. This was just the sort of setting he would have relished. Lord Dunsany, Lovecraft – all of them would have been quite at home here.

  Getting to their feet, they walked along the echo-ringing passage, the looming walls broken here and there. Large drops of cold water fell on their heads from the curving roof. There was very little light down there and for the most part they were forced to find their way forward by touch.

  Now the wide passage was coming to an end. Carradine felt the moss-covered wall move away from him beneath his trailing hand. He heard Nerim fiddling behind him.

  “We’re just moving through into the dungeons,” whispered Nerim. “Watch your feet. There are still several of the old instruments of torture left here.”

  Carradine nodded in the darkness. He kept his mouth closed and breathed slowly and easily through his nostrils. If only there was some light so that he could see what he was doing.

  Scarcely had the thought crossed his mind than a glare of light burst into incandescent brilliance all about them. For a long second, he felt utterly paralysed. His eyes were dazzled by the light. He could see nothing that moved or went on beyond that fiery, eye-searing glare. And it was, literally, eye-searing, for there seemed to be heat at the back of it too.

  Instinctively, his right hand dropped for the gun. His fingers closed on the smooth metal of the butt and he tried to drag it clear of the cloth of his pocket.

  Beside him, he discerned Nerim moving forward, going down into an instinctive crouch, the gli
tter of the knife in his hand. Vaguely, he was aware of movement, of wavering shadows that appeared through the bright glare as his pupils contracted painfully. His reaction was automatic. There was very little reason behind it. The shock of what had happened, had robbed him of that. He took one quick step forward, finger tightening on the trigger. Then the whole castle seemed to fall in on him as something hit him hard on the back of the head.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE FOURTH DEGREE

  The harsh light, glaring redly even through closed lids, brought Steve Carradine back to consciousness. He did not move. Keeping his body completely still, he waited while all of his senses came alert like those of an animal. Eyes closed, forcing the lids to remain motionless, knowing that if he was being watched, this would give him away at once, he listened to the noises that went on around him. There was a vague murmur of conversation off in the distance, a sound like a beetle drone that faded and then approached in an oddly disturbing manner, although he guessed that this was due to his physical condition more than to anything else.

  He forced himself to recall the events that led up to him being there. He remembered moving along that stone passage with Nerim close beside him. Then that glaring light which seemed to have come from nowhere and his being hit on the back of the head. After that, there was nothing.

  A bolt of water, icy-cold, struck him in the face. Coughing and retching, he tried to move now, found that his arms were anchored tightly behind his back. Slowly, his eyes and brain cleared. The musty, decaying smell of the deep dungeon hit him forcibly; yet the harsh, glaring light was oddly out of place in this world of dim shadowed walls and age-old antiquity.

  A voice, flat, uninterested, coldly ominous, said from the back of the harsh, actinic light: “Now you will tell me the truth. Who are you? Who sent you here? How much do you know?”