The Secret Enemy (A Steve Carradine Thriller)

by John Glasby

  Flicking the lighter, he applied the flame to the end of the cigarette, inhaled deeply with a sigh of such obvious enjoyment that Kreznikov actually smiled broadly, made to say something.

  Blowing the smoke out of his mouth, Carradine turned the lighter over in his hand, his thumb resting on the short arm of metal. Swiftly, he clicked it again. The thin, colourless spray of liquid struck the guard full in the face. He reeled back, throwing up an arm as he was temporarily blinded. Even though he had known what to expect, Carradine felt a faint sense of surprise at the speed with which the chemical worked. Choking and gasping, the other went down onto his knees, the gun falling from suddenly nerveless fingers as he tried to claw at his eyes. Ignoring him now, knowing there was nothing to fear from him at the moment, Carradine moved towards Kreznikov. The man was standing absolutely motionless, taken completely by surprise at what had happened. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but the yell died in a gurgling moan as the spray hit him in the face. His eyes were screwed up in the broad, fleshy face, his mouth open, revealing broken teeth, the tongue thrusting forward as the vapour of the chemical, inhaled into his lungs, paralysed the respiratory muscles.

  Ignoring the pain of returning circulation in his legs, Carradine jumped over the two convulsed, twitching bodies and ran up the stone steps. At the door, he paused, pressed himself up momentarily into it, still clutching the cigarette case in his hand. Deftly, he turned the initialled monogram on the front. There was a soft click and the long blade of the knife flicked out like the tongue of a striking snake. He had planned for a man to be watching Ubyenkov but, as he stepped through into the long stone chamber with the huge generator set in one corner, humming out its endless rhythm of power, he saw that there were two men with the slight figure of the professor. It was too late to go back for one of the guns in the other room.

  He lunged forward, came upon the two guards before they were aware of his presence. They had been expecting nothing. Both were taken by surprise. The first man swung round, was seconds too late. Carradine’s fist, holding tightly onto the case, thrust forward beneath the man’s upraised arm. The blade was slid between his ribs without any resistance and the man collapsed with a high-pitched wailing cry that was terrible to hear.

  The man gave a convulsive twist as he pitched to the uneven floor and the move jerked the knife from Carradine’s hand. Before he could recover himself, the other guard was on him. Not pausing to use any gun he may have had on his person, the other threw himself forward, hands reaching out to Carradine’s throat. The fingers curled around his neck, the thumbs against the windpipe, pressing down with all of the man’s strength behind them. Through the haze that wavered in front of his vision, Carradine saw the terrible face, the lips drawn back in a bestial smile, all teeth, eyes wide and glaring. Forced back by the other’s superior weight, Carradine lashed out with the toe of his shoe, felt it strike the other’s shin just above the left knee, but for all the effect that it had on the man he might just as well have saved himself the effort. The fingers tightened on his throat and it was impossible for him to draw air down into his oxygen-starved lungs. The bright light that hung suspended from the roof blurred, seemed to sway in a wide circle as his stupefied vision began to fade.

  His scrabbling fingers clawed for the man’s wrists, strove to pull them apart, but the other held on grimly, forcing him back until he was jammed tightly against the rugged stone wall, an out-thrusting knob of rock pressing painfully into the small of his back just above the kidney.

  Nails tore at his flesh as the man increased the pressure. There was a roaring in his head that drowned out the noise of the generator and the harsh rasp of their breathing. Then, suddenly, the grip of the hands around his throat loosened. There was a dull thud, a sickening crunch and the body that was holding him down fell away. Strangling on his own breath as he strove to draw it into his lungs, Carradine blinked his eyes. Tears blinded him for an instant and it was impossible for him to see anything through the red blur that danced in front of his eyes. Slowly, his vision cleared. The guard lay slumped at his feet, arms and legs outspread. There was a dull smear of blood on the back of his head. A short distance away, the professor stood staring with a look of stupefied amazement at the heavy piece of rock he held in his right hand.

  “I had to hit him,” he said in a low, hushed voice. His English was far from perfect, but understandable. “Otherwise he would have killed you.”

  “There was nothing else you could do.” Carradine nodded, caught the other by the arm and hurried him away from the spot. “But now we must get out of here before someone decides to come along and see what is happening.”

  Two brightly-lit underground rooms, one filled with the most bizarre equipment that Carradine had ever seen. What a pity there was no way of destroying all of this. But time was precious and his instructions had been to get Ubyenkov out of the country. Everything else had to be secondary. He did not doubt that Kreznikov and his henchmen would come after them in a very short time. Beyond the second lighted room, they found themselves facing a wide, dark tunnel that led downward into the rock beneath the ruins. Was it the same one along which he had climbed with Nerim?

  Coolly, unhurriedly, he urged the other forward. There was sweat on the man’s face and he was breathing heavily. It was not going to be easy for Ubyenkov to keep up this pace for long, but there was no other choice open to them. It was run or be caught. He guessed that the other would be fully aware of the consequences of being caught.

  There was a thin twittering in the darkness on either side of them as they ran along the dark tunnel. Not a glimmer of light showed and they kept a tight grip on each other as they ran, stumbling and falling over the uneven ground. By the time they reach the end of the tunnel, their legs and arms were bleeding in several places where they had crashed on to the sharp rock. In front of them, there was a pale purple glow, a little lighter than the rocky walls which still hemmed them in.

  Now minutes were precious. No time to waste making up his mind which track they ought to take. It had been clear from the very beginning that a man in Ubyenkov’s condition would never be able to tackle that twisting winding ledge, that hideous descent around the great bulging overhang. They would have to take the usual track down the slope and trust that they reached the bottom before any of Kreznikov’s men came after them.

  There was no sign of the moon when they came out into the open air. Behind them, the walls of the castle loomed dark and forbidding against a clear, star-strewn heavens. And swiftly, without pausing or breaking their stride, they ran for the wide track that led down from the castle. Ubyenkov’s breath was rasping harshly in his throat, but he kept manfully on, matching strides with Carradine.

  They reached a turn in the track. Carradine threw a swift glance over his shoulder. Was that a light that had suddenly appeared in one of the glassless windows of the castle? He tried to make it out more clearly, but could not be sure. If it was, then it was more than likely that their escape had been discovered, that Kreznikov or that killer of his had recovered from the paralysing effect of the tear gas that he had used on them, that already the orders were being given. Even here in Balchik, he and Ubyenkov would not be safe. Not only would the Red killers be after them, but Kreznikov would not hesitate to inform the police authorities of what had happened and they would have them on their trail too. Somehow, they had to get out of Balchik. It might just be possible that Nerim’s men would help him by creating a diversion to cover their escape, even if they had to know that Nerim himself was dead. Inwardly, Carradine no longer doubted this. Somehow, the other had been forced to tell Kreznikov and his men of Carradine’s identity and once he had done that, he would be of no further use to the enemy. They would kill him with as little thought as they would of swatting a fly.

  Now they were running along the track very close to the cliff edge. Down below them, the dull waters of the Black Sea lay like a dark mirror, reflecting very little from their depths. Ubyenkov stumb
led, would have fallen had not Carradine instinctively tightened his grip on him. Even as he helped the other to his feet, there came an unmistakable sound from up the hill behind them. A car engine starting up. They would be on them in less than two minutes. Far below, it was just possible to make out the clustered lights of Balchik. Too far for them to hope to reach it in time.

  He stared about him swiftly. There was, perhaps, only one chance. Close at hand lay a heap of large, tumbled boulders, scattered at random on the far side of the track. Urgently, he shouted to Ubyenkov: “Help me to get those rocks into place. Quickly!”

  Desperately, his hands fumbled with one of the large rocks, heaving it over the rough ground, planting it in the middle of the road. He motioned to the other to pull more across, setting them in a slight curve over one half the road, the half further away from the edge of the cliff. The rocks, he knew, were large enough for the driver of the car to spot them as he came around the corner. It was essential the man behind the wheel should see the obstruction just in time. Carradine did not want the car to go straight over the rocks as he knew the distance from the bend to that point was far too short to give the man any chance to pull up. Instinct would take over. He would do what ninety-nine men out of a hundred would do in those circumstances. He would forget completely about the sheer drop to the left. Instead, he would automatically swerve in that direction at the same time taking his foot off the accelerator and ease down on the brake.

  “That’s it,” Carradine said hoarsely. The sound of the car engine was much closer now and a split second later, the great beams of the headlights flashed out, dancing over the rocks as the car bounced its way swiftly down from the castle. “Into the rocks.”

  They crouched down among the rugged boulders that lined the right-hand edge of the track. The car came on inexorably. The light from the searchlight swung around the bend first, than the car, low and black. Carradine caught a brief glimpse of the men in it, there were at least six, possibly seven. Unsuspecting men, not knowing that death lay so close to them, hovering like a black, but invisible shape in the night.

  The driver caught a fragmentary glimpse of the rocks stretched out across most of the track. Through narrowed eyes, Carradine saw him swing hard on the wheel, reacting just as he had reckoned he would. Now the brakes. There was the screech of rubber bleating protestingly on the rock, then the front of the car slewed sideways, and kept on swinging. One of the men in the front of the car had time to fling an arm up in front of his face in a futile attempt to ward off the danger that now loomed terrifyingly upon them. Then the car hurtled out into the darkness beyond the edge of the cliff. There was the savage rending sound of metal striking the outjutting ledges of rock all the way down the sheer side of the cliff. Moving out across the track, stepping carefully as he came to the spot where the wheels of the car had gouged twin tracks through the soft, crumbly earth on the lip of the track, he peered down, aware that Ubyenkov had moved forward and was standing by his shoulder.

  They were just in time to see the car tumble over the rocks at the very bottom the cliff, heading down for the water. Something black and oddly shapeless, like a rag doll, was flung clear, hurled into the water. Then the black shape of the car struck. The sound of the splash reached them seconds later and the white-foamed waves rippled together, covering the submerged car. Five minutes later, the surface of the sea was as calm and as undisturbed as it had been before.

  *

  “You say that Nerim is dead?” The thin-faced man stared at Carradine across the top of the desk, his features white in the pale flickering glow of the single lamp on the desk. “How did he die?” There was little feeling in the voice, no accusation, yet Carradine had the inescapable feeling that somehow the other blamed him for Nerim’s death.

  “I don’t know. There’s a whole nest of Russian agents up there in the castle, led by a man called Aleksandre Kreznikov. We were jumped before we had a chance. Even then I thought they might have been the men who were keeping Ubyenkov here. It didn’t take me long to realise my stupid mistake. They were questioning Nerim and myself individually. I refused to tell them anything, but evidently Nerim told them who I was. I think they must have killed him once they found out that. Kreznikov informed me that they had quite a file on him, that they knew everything there was to know of him.”

  “So he is dead then. What do you want us to do?”

  Patiently, Carradine said: “They sent a car full of men after us when we were on our way down the cliff. We stopped them, rather permanently, I’m afraid. But there will be others. They cannot afford to let us get out of Bulgaria alive. Is there any transport I can have to get us back to Kazanluk?”

  “Yes, there is a car. But whether you will be able to outrun them, I don’t know.”

  “If you could fill it with petrol and let me have it as soon as possible, I’ll have a dammed good try.”

  “Very well. I do not doubt that this is what Nerim would have wished had he been here. I will see to it at once.”

  Carradine sat back in the chair, arms hanging loosely by his side. Across the desk, Ubyenkov stared at him out of dull, opaque eyes.

  “Do you really think you have a chance against these men? You do not realise the full extent of their organisation. It is like the tentacles of a giant octopus. It stretches across all parts of Europe, possibly further. Although you might get me to Paris, you cannot be sure that you are safe even there.”

  “We’ll be a damn sight safer than we are here,” Carradine declared harshly. “Besides, I know a man in Kazanluk who will give us all the help we need. He has been fighting these men for many years, certainly since the war ended.”

  “Very well. I will go with you. Even though I do not think you will succeed. But there is no other choice open to me. I committed myself the moment I fled from Russia. The moment I gave word of my intentions to one of your men.”

  “In London, they are glad that you did. We need the details of this process of yours urgently. It’s absolutely vital that I get you to London.”

  The other smiled faintly. “It is nice to know that one’s work is appreciated outside his own country,” he said.

  “You’ll have all of the facilities you need once we get to England,” Carradine promised. “Besides there will be – ” He broke off suddenly. There came an abrupt diversion. The door at the far end of the room burst open and someone came in. Carradine swung sharply in his chair, got to his feet in surprise.

  “Steve! I thought it was you. Have you got – ?” Francesca Romano glanced at the man in the other chair, then nodded her head quickly. “I see that you have. Quickly, we must get out of Balchik at once.”

  “I know.” She was the last person Carradine had expected to see, yet it made sense. She had warned him in a friendly way that she had more information than he had, when they had parted in Kazanluk and when she had driven off, she had headed in this direction. But he had beaten her to Ubyenkov. He felt a brief sense of exultation. The rivalry had been of a friendly nature, yet it had been a serious thing. “A car is being got ready to take us to Kazanluk. Once we get there we can – ”

  “Don’t be a fool, Steve.” There was a trace of biting scorn in her voice now. Then her face softened. “I’m sorry. I should have realised that you must have gone through a lot to get him out of there. But the first place they will head for is Kazanluk. You don’t realise how big they are, how they work. They know everything of Volescu and the men working for him. They know that he is a man you’ll turn to for help. You’ll be killed long before you get there. I have my car outside. Come with me and we’ll be across the frontier before dawn. They’ll never catch up with us.”

  It made sense. Carradine was forced to admit that. He cursed himself inwardly for not having considered that before. He would have driven off blindly to Kazanluk and when there was no sign of pursuit, blandly believed himself to be safe while all the time, a message would have been flashed from Balchik to Kazanluk, describing Ubyenkov and himself
in minute detail and there would be a welcoming committee waiting for him, possibly just this side of Kazanluk so that Volescu would not have the chance to interfere and make things awkward for the Reds.

  The thin-faced man who had been standing on one side listening to all this nodded. “It is better that you should do as she says,” he said quickly. “It is your only chance. If those men come here I shall tell them you left for Kazanluk. That is what they are expecting and I think they will believe me.”

  Carradine did not want to hear any more. Seconds, not minutes, were precious now. He followed Francesca out of the warehouse, with Ubyenkov close on his heels. The car was there, waiting. There was no sign of the man who had been with her when they had met on the road outside of Zlatica. She slid in behind the wheel, pressed the starter as they both got in, Ubyenkov in the back.

  Moments later, they slithered away from the dark pavement, out through the maze of narrow streets, then along the main street and headed along a road which was to take them north-west. As they topped a low rise, Carradine caught his last glimpse of the grim, forbidding ruins of the castle, perched on top of the cliff, over to the right. It loomed dark and grotesque in the dimness, just visible in the faint starshine. There was no sign of life there, but in his mind’s eye, he could visualise the activity that was going on there that moment, with Kreznikov issuing his orders, sending out commands. No doubt the other knew the consequences of his failure to hold Ubyenkov once he had him in his hands. No allowance was made for mistakes in Moscow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BETWEEN TURTUCAIA AND OLTENITA

  There was no pursuit. Carradine had been more than half-expecting it and when it failed to materialise by the time they drove through Tolbukhin shortly before three o’clock in the morning, he knew that either the girl had been right in her assumption that Kreznikov would not expect them to head in this direction, or the other had taken no chances and had passed his message along to the frontier which, if his memory served him well, was somewhere between Turtucaia and Oltenita.