The Secret Enemy (A Steve Carradine Thriller)

by John Glasby

  Not one of the cars they had passed just outside that tiny village. He felt sure of that. Neither of those two cars would have been capable of the speed at which this one was clearly travelling. Now there was an urgent question in his mind, one which might have to be answered very quickly.

  He turned his head back to speak to the girl, but she forestalled him.

  “I know,” she murmured quietly. “I’ve just seen them in the mirror. What do you think? Some of Kreznikov’s men?”

  “It could be. If it is, they seem to be gaining on us steadily.”

  “I know. And we’re running short of petrol again. Maybe we should have filled a can with us the last time.”

  “How far before we can get any more?”

  The girl pursed her lips. “Mezotur is the next place of any size. We should be there in fifteen minutes. Here’s hoping that we find some place open this time of night.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HUNGARIAN RHAPSODY

  The twin lights, glaring now in the darkness, rising and falling in tune to the unevenness of the road, were much closer now. In spite of the fact that they were driving over the plain, it was tricky, undulating ground and in front of them were occasional ugly patches of midnight shadow which might have been breaks in the road, forcing the girl to drive carefully, to check on the brakes at all of them. Slowly, but inexorably, the car at their backs was overhauling them.

  “We’ll never make it to Mezotur,” he said after a few moments of tense silence. “They’re coming up much too fast now. Whoever it is driving that car he certainly knows the road.”

  “We may be wrong about them,” Francesca said tautly. She spun the wheel sharply and they skidded around a bend that loomed up on them suddenly. The wind was a keening moan about the car now. There was a straight stretch in front of them, which should allow them a good turn of speed, but it did not last long. The girl muttered something under her breath as the headlights, probing in front of them, picked out the climbing stretch of road that spiralled up the side of a low hill. No hope of driving fast up there. One wrong turn, one uncontrolled skid, and they were finished!

  “You’d better think of something fast,” Francesca said, leaning forward a little, peering through the windscreen. “They can’t be more than a kilometre away now. They’ll catch us within the next five minutes, long before we get to Mezotur.”

  Turning in his seat, he threw a quick glance behind him, over Ubyenkov’s shoulder. He noticed the other’s white, strained face, then forgot it as he saw the flickering headlights of the other car, glinting off the rocky banks of the road, suddenly spring into view around a corner just below them. He pulled himself a little more upright in his seat. There was no longer any doubt at all in his mind as to who those men were.

  The car lurched drunkenly as they swung around another hairpin bend. The girl was handling it beautifully and he felt a wave of thankfulness for the fantastic road-holding qualities of the car.

  “Do you know this stretch of road at all?” he asked tightly.

  “No. I’ve used it twice, but that’s all.”

  “We’ve only got one chance,” he said thinly. “I thought I spotted the lights of a village just ahead, close to the top of the hill. There may be a side road leading off this one. Even if it’s only a cart track it will do.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “As soon as we reach the village, slow down. This road twists and winds so much that the chances are we’ll be out of sight of those men back there. If there is a side road leading off, drive into it and switch off all your lights, and the engine.”

  “And if there isn’t any side road?”

  Very slowly, Carradine said: “Then we’ll have to try to fight them off. With just the one gun, we don’t have much chance, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, but it’s the only chance we have. These people have to stop us and they won’t worry about waking up the village.”

  There was a wide looping curve directly in front of them. As they swung round it, they saw the small cluster of lights less than a quarter of a kilometre away. Maybe a dozen or so houses, Carradine thought. The odds were fantastically against them. Even if they were lucky. Even if there was a narrow alley into which they could drive and their pursuers missed them in the dark, it would only delay things for a little while. Sooner or later, those men would realise that they had been tricked. Then all they had to do was lie in wait for them somewhere along the road into Szolnok. But that was somewhere in the future. With effort, he concentrated all of his attention on the immediate problem.

  The girl pressed down on the brake as they approached the village. It was bigger than Carradine had thought, the main road snaking up through it, on to the top of the hill, then down the other side. Glancing back, he saw that the other car was out of sight, somewhere behind the bend.

  “There!” Carradine shouted suddenly. He pointed to their left. The dark shadow of an opening between two of the low-roofed houses showed briefly as the headlights moved across it. The girl swung the car without a word. Tyres screeched on the road as they roared in the sharp turn. They scraped between the walls of the houses with scant inches to spare. Reaching forward, Francesca snapped off the lights and then switched off the ignition.

  Carradine thrust open the door, felt it grate against the nearby wall. Somehow, he managed to squeeze through it. “Wait here,” he snapped thinly. He edged his way along the side of the car, the rough wall scraping his arms and legs. Crouching down just inside the opening, the automatic in his right hand, he waited, holding his breath. Would this desperate plan succeed? In a few minutes that other car would come roaring through the village. Would they be driving fast enough to pass them before they realised there was an opening there? He tensed. In a few seconds, he would know.

  The faint glimmer of powerful headlights reflected on the walls of the houses on the opposite side of the road showed in the darkness. In a second or so, the car would enter the village. The glow brightened. He heard the roar of the supercharged engine. That in itself told him more of the occupants of the car than anything else. There were very few cars with engines like that in Hungary. The secret police had a few and it was likely that Kreznikov and men such as him had also.

  That ear-shattering roar rose to a sharp crescendo. The note changed as the car moved between the houses, the sound thrown back and magnified by the walls. He tightened his grip on the gun in his hand, the finger across the trigger, bar-straight and tensed. In a few more seconds, he thought tautly, a few more metres.

  There was the sound of the gears being changed down. Was the driver suspicious? Had he swung around the corner further down the road in time to see their tail-light vanish abruptly? Had he guessed what must have happened? The car drew level with him. The light reflected from the houses illuminated its interior with a pale glow, enabling him to see the man sat behind the wheel. For a moment, there was a faint sense of shock in Carradine’s mind.

  The first thing that struck him forcibly was that there was only one man in the car. He had been expecting Kreznikov to send at least half a dozen men after them. The second flash realisation, coming a few seconds after the first, increased the tension in his mind, confirmed the fears which had been boiling up inside him. There was no mistake. The glow of the reflected light had been bright enough for him to recognise a round face, the hard, cruel mouth, the wide, square shoulders hunched forward over the wheel. The man he had first seen in the dining room of the hotel in Tamariu, a few seconds before he had been called to the phone, the man he had seen again in that little dingy alley in Balchik!

  *

  A lot had depended on how fast the other was going. Carradine had gambled on him driving like a bat out of hell in the attempt to catch them before they reached Szolnok, and it had come off. He got slowly to his feet as the roar of the powerful engine faded swiftly into the distance. The red tail-lights winked briefly, then vanished as the car drove over the top of the hill. How far the other would go before he realise
d that he was no longer following the scent, it was impossible to guess. Carradine did not believe that they could fool this man for long. He might decide to retrace his steps, or wait for them somewhere along the road. He might even lie in wait in Mezotur.

  Francesca was still seated behind the wheel of the car. She had lit a cigarette and the pale orange glow was the only speck of light that illuminated the interior. It touched the lines of her face with shadow as she drew deeply on it, highlighting the cheekbones and the delicate structure of her features. As he slid into the seat beside her, she said softly, “Well, what happened? Has it gone on?”

  “I think so.” He nodded, took one of the cigarettes from the slender golden case. For a moment, his thumb brushed over the embossed monogram on the front and he felt a trace of grim tension in him. Would he ever have to use this thing again? he wondered. Flicking the lighter, he lit his cigarette, pulled the smoke down into his lungs gratefully.

  “We will give him a few minutes and then drive on into Mezotur.” Sitting back, he turned things over in his mind. He said softly: “I’ve been considering the situation, Francesca. I don’t think it would be wise to try to take the plane out from Vienna. That’s the way they will be expecting us to go.”

  She turned to stare at him in surprise. “But what other way is there? We can’t possibly motor all the way across Europe.”

  “No, I realise that.” There was a trace of impatience in his tone. “We must take the train out to Paris.”

  “The Orient Express. But they always watch that. If it isn’t for smugglers, it’s for people like us. I’ve been warned on several occasions never to take that train. It’s far too risky.”

  “Nevertheless, we must take that risk. I admit that it isn’t as easy or as quick as taking the plane, but if our friends do try to follow us, we’ll have a better chance of spotting them and doing something about it.” His words fell into a quiet hush. Even the professor had fallen silent in the back seat.

  “I don’t like it,” persisted the girl. “By catching a plane for Vienna, we could be in Paris in two hours. It would take us almost two days on that train. The odds against us would be increased a hundred times.”

  “Not at all,” said Carradine harshly. “But we must have a chance to find out what these men are doing.” He tried to read the expression on her face. There was no clue there as to the nature of her thoughts. She smoked on the cigarette for a few more moments and then turned down the window and tossed the stub out into the darkness.

  She hesitated, then seemed to make up her mind. Reaching forward, she switched on the ignition, backed the car out on to the main road again, spun the wheel and went through the village, her face set in a tight mask. Carradine sat back, wondering what he had said to upset her like that?

  She did not seem to be the kind of girl who was so afraid of these people that she had to act in this way simply because he had suggested going on the train through Europe.

  Maybe he had spoiled her plans for getting Ubyenkov back to France, for getting the Deuxieme Bureau to question him first. If that was the case that was just too bad, but he had his own orders and he intended to follow them to the letter. He reminded himself to be careful when they reached Paris.

  Glancing sideways at the set of her jaw, he wondered if she was already scheming hard, looking for some way to turn the tables on him.

  They found a garage open in Mezotur, filled up the tank and as an added precaution, took with them a jerry can filled to the brim with petrol. The town was still ablaze with light and although there was some traffic on the roads, there was no sign of the black car which had been following them most of the way until they had thrown it off.

  *

  With the girl sleeping by his side, Carradine sat behind the wheel and concentrated on staying awake. Through the windscreen he was able to make out the landscape on both sides of the winding road. It was now about two o’clock in the morning according to his reckoning. Without his watch he could make only rough estimates of the time but it had been twelve-fifteen when they had passed through Szolnok and he guessed it was little over fifty kilometres from there to Budapest and the needle of the speedometer had stayed around the forty-five marks most of the way.

  He jerked himself up in the seat, shifting his position in an effort to fight off the weariness in his body.

  Beside him, the girl’s head leaned against his arm, the warmth of her seeping through his coat. Once or twice, his head jerked forward, only for a split second, but long enough for his concentration to relax, to send the car over the very edge of the road. The movement would jerk him awake almost at once, with a cold sweat starting out on his forehead and along his spine and his hands would move almost of their own volition to correct the swing. He screwed up his eyes tight and then opened them again, stifling a yawn. That scientific beating he had taken back there in the castle at Balchik had not made things any easier for him and he had had only a few hours sleep since they had left the coast town and started out on this nightmare journey across Romania and Hungary. Now Budapest lay only a few kilometres ahead of them and God alone knew what further dangers lay in wait for them there. Was that man watching the airport, scanning the passenger lists, ready to move in if they put in an appearance, laying his plans accordingly? If he was, then by God he was going to be disappointed.

  He guided the car around a sharp bend. They ran on between the tall trees of a dense stretch of forest. In places the branches closed in over their heads and made the night even darker than before. Out of the gloomy forest, over a ravine and then they were within sight of the ugly sprawl of Budapest, only a few lights showing at that unearthly hour of the morning.

  *

  It was still dark when the sharp-eyed Yugoslavian officials came aboard the train at the frontier. Most of them were plainclothes men and they examined their papers with a close scrutiny before handing them back apparently satisfied. Carradine sat back in the seat and stared out from the window. By dawn, he estimated, they should be in Zagreb and although it was not an official stopping place for passengers on the Orient Express, the train did wait there for some time before proceeding on its journey into Northern Italy and a little time was all they needed to get on board.

  Once we get there and on board the Orient Express, the worst of it will be passed, he thought to himself, staring at his own reflection in the glass. They had had fantastic luck on reaching Budapest. Leaving the car there, knowing that to continue using it was becoming more and more dangerous as time went on, they had made their way to the main station, to find that a train was already standing on the platform bound for Zagreb. This, Carradine had told the girl, was the kind of luck which came only through good living. He had said it with his tongue in his cheek and she had smiled faintly. He had the feeling that she was still angry with him for altering their plans in his abrupt manner but she had not demurred when they had climbed on board the waiting train. Now both she and Ubyenkov were asleep again. They had the compartment to themselves. Few people seemed to be travelling on this train and although Carradine had leaned from the window and scanned everyone moving along the platform at Budapest, there had been no sign of the man who had been tailing them. He felt a little easier in his mind now. If the other was waiting at the airport, expecting them to take the first available flight for Paris, then he would have a far longer wait than he anticipated.

  The train hammered its way south now, rolling through the Yugoslavian countryside. Through the window, Carradine could see very little of it. An occasional station flashed by, dark and shadowed, accompanied by the red and green lights of signals. But for the most part, they thundered on through the pitch blackness with only of the faint gleam of the light from the coach on the metal rails that ran alongside them.

  Shortly before dawn, the train rattled and jostled its way across points, slowing appreciably. Reaching forward, he shook the girl gently by the shoulder, saw her eyes flick open. For a second she stared about her with no recognition on he
r face, then she pushed herself upright, ran her fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her forehead.

  “Where are we now?” she asked, glancing through the window where the dawn was just painting a grey streak across the eastern horizon.

  “A few minutes out of Zagreb,” he told her. “Better wake the professor. If the Orient Express isn’t in the station, it soon will be.”

  She nodded, turned and shook Ubyenkov’s arm. He stirred, then came awake at once. Outside, they ran alongside a train of wagons in a long siding. Then the station came into view, squat and functional in the pale grey light. With a jolt, the train slid alongside the platform and came to a clanking halt. There was the shrill hiss of escaping steam forward of the train.

  It was going to be another hot day, Carradine thought, standing on the dusty platform, looking up into the brightening sky. The air had a smoky smell as he drew in a great gulp of it, glancing on the platform. A few passengers had alighted and were moving towards the far end.

  They waited on the platform until the last of the other passengers had disappeared. The official at the far gate watched them for a moment, then turned his back. There was a shrill whistle from the locomotive, the hiss of steam and the wheels began to turn as it moved out of the station. As the last carriage passed in front of him, Carradine glanced across the rails, muttered a short curse through tight lips. There, less than fifty metres away, stood the Orient Express, between two lines of locomotives. Of course, since this was not a regular stop the train had been halted in one of the sidings. He caught the girl by the arm, motioned towards the train.

  “There it is,” he said sharply. “Stick close to me and let me do the talking this time.”