Seek and Destroy Read online

  Kronovitch had looked up as she had stood a few feet from the seat, had then motioned her to sit beside him.

  “Comrade Veronova.” His voice held the sharp tone of authority. “I have recently received the reports on the work you have done for the organization since you have been in this country. Evidently, you are highly thought of in Moscow.”

  Valentina had felt a sudden sense of relief flood through her, so great that for a moment she had felt certain it must have been apparent to the other, and he might have started wondering why she could have felt guilty. “Thank you, Comrade Kronovitch.”

  “There is no need to thank me. We now need you for an extremely important mission, one which must not fail. You understand that, it must not fail."

  “I understand.”

  “You will have a very heavy responsibility. There is a British agent coming out here with orders to destroy our organization, particularly a part of it which it working with certain military installations outside Uruguay, some live hundred kilometres from here. At the moment we do not know his identity, but that will be known to us before he arrives and you will be informed of it, so that you may meet the plane and take him into the city. He will be staying at the Hotel Uruguayo and a room has been arranged for you on the same floor as that which had been booked for him.”

  “And the nature of my assignment, Comrade?” Valentina had sensed danger at that very moment, but with an effort of discipline had managed to control it, to hide it successfully.

  “You will meet this man, gain his confidence, make him believe that you are a woman intent on having a good time. On the evening of the first day in Montevideo, you will take him to this address.” He passed a tiny slip of paper to her. “We will do the rest.”

  Now, eight days later, in her room at the rear of the hotel she stood with her hands on the ledge of the window, resting her weight on her arms, trying to steady her thoughts. At the moment they refused to do what she wanted them to do. This man she had met, Steve Carradine, had not been what she had expected at all. She had been so used to the type of Russian man in the M.G.B. that she had expected him to be the same. Her mind was in a ferment and she tried desperately to remind herself that this was no time for personal things to enter into consideration. Carradine was an enemy of Russia. It was her duty to help in destroying him. She did not doubt that if he guessed at her true identity, he would do the same to her as she had been ordered to do to him, to lure him to his death. It was a time to be hard, to disclaim all romantic notions, all sentimentality.

  Holding the menu in front of him, like some strange kind of weapon, the waiter led the way through the couples in the restaurant, to the table on the low balcony overlooking the main floor. The orchestra in the distance was playing one of the latest dances and every table seemed to be occupied by sun-tanned men and women, expensively dressed. Placing a smaller version of the menu he carried in his hand in front of them, the waiter snapped his fingers, bringing the wine waiter over at a rush. While Carradine ordered the wine another man hovered discreetly in the background waiting to take their order. Inwardly, Carradine felt slightly amused at everything that was happening. He had seen nothing more of those two men in the black sedan since that glimpse he had had of them early that morning. Evidently they had wanted to make sure that they knew where to find him whenever they wanted him; now they could be relying on the girl.

  The meal was excellent, perfectly set off by the wine. The girl chattered gaily on every topic under the sun, the perfect companion. At times it was difficult for him to believe that she could possibly be an agent working for Russia. But his suspicions seemed too well founded for him not to believe it.

  They finished their coffee. Carradine lit a cigarette, proffering the silver case to the girl, smiling a little as she shook her head slightly. "I must confess, Valentina, that your taste in restaurants certainly appeals to me. That was one of the best meals I’ve ever had.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.” Her smile was warm and for a moment her face bore a serious expression. Then she brightened, went on: “But I promised you some excitement after this, did 1 not? Fortunately we do not have far to go. The night is warm. Shall we walk and leave my car here.”

  The warning bell went again in Carradine’s mind, but he nodded his head in agreement. It was clear that all this was simply the first part of the come on. Well, if that was the case, let it come. It might give him the lead he so desperately needed.

  They walked slowly, side by side, along the spacious street. As the girl had said, the night was warm and the stars overhead held a soft glow. The trees were in full blossom and their scent hung heavy in the still air. Turning off the main street, they entered a narrower one, paused at the top of a small flight of stairs that led down below the level of the street. Light spilled from the windows of the room. Following the girl down the steps, Carradine thought about his suspicions concerning the girl, his feeling that she might be leading him into a trap even now But he had seen no sign of either of the two men since they had left the restaurant itself. So if that was so, where were they?

  Blinking in the harsh glare of light in the long, low-ceilinged room, he looked about him with interest. Even at that early hour, the place seemed to be unusually crowded. Card tables were spaced evenly around the room and there were several roulette wheels in operation.

  “I promised you some entertainment, some excitement, Steve,” said Valentina softly. She spread a hand expressively. “This is it. What do you think of it?”

  “Certainly it’s impressive” He looked around him.

  Most of the upper class citizens of Montevideo seemed to be there. By day they would be on the very elite beach, or yachting beyond the harbour. At night, they came here to unwind, to lose a few thousand dollars, or perhaps gain a few hundred. It all depended on one’s luck. They moved towards the nearest roulette table. The girl seated herself in one of the few vacant seats and Carradine took up his position at her shoulder Buying chips, the girl placed them on the table in front, of her.

  “What is your lucky number, Steve?" she asked in a low, warm voice.

  “Seven,” he said softly.

  “Then tonight I shall see if it brings me luck.” Reaching out one slim hand, she placed a small stack of the coloured chips on seven, sat back.

  Carradine narrowed his eyes a little. There was five thousand dollars in that tiny pile of chips. And she was letting it all ride on seven! Now where did a girl like this get that kind of money to throw around? Unless he had been mistaken about her all the time and her father was some kind of millionaire. Somehow, he did not think that could be it. She had too much reliance in her character for the usual playgirl of the upper class; was too self-confident.

  The wheel slowed, the ball dropped into the seven compartment. Valentina gave a delighted cry as further chips were thrust towards her. “You brought me luck, Steve,” she said excitedly,

  “I wouldn’t try it too far if I were you,” Carradine said. “It seldom works a second time.” But it did, and a third. By this time there was a sizeable pile of chips of various colours and shapes in front of the girl. Carradine glanced down at her as she drew them in towards her, her arms enfolding them. Now, it would be the time for the big payoff. He was not quite sure why she had been allowed to win all of this money, for he felt absolutely certain that the odds against the number seven coming up three times in succession like that were so fantastically remote as not to be worth considering at all. There was something more at the back of this. Maybe it was an act on the part of the management, to pick out a beautiful woman, let her win some money like this, knowing that it would undoubtedly draw the crowds to the table — for news of a big win spread like wildfire through a place such as this — and then the odds would turn against her. She would lose everything m the next few spins.

  Carradine said softly, keeping his eyes on her: “Stop now, Valentina, while you’re still ahead. Take the chips and let’s get out of here.”

&nb
sp; “But you don’t understand. Steve,” she said, her eyes shining brightly in the overhead lights. “This isn’t the first time I have been here, but every other time I lost. Now that my luck has turned and I’m winning, you want me to give up and —” She paused, bit her lip, seemed to realize that everyone, including the croupier, was waiting for her to place her bet. The wheel was ready to spin, would the tiny ball drop into the seven compartment again?

  “You’re right, of course. Steve,” she said abruptly, pushing back her chair. “But this is a lot of money. I wonder, would you be good enough to pick up the car and bring it round to the door while I change the chips?” She held out the car key for him.

  “Of course.” Carradine felt the taste of the tiny victory in his mouth. He guessed that he would not be popular for this act but that did not concern him in the least. Taking the ignition key, he made his way slowly towards the door, among the card tables. He was aware of the man standing close to the door watching him through narrowed eyes. Very slowly, Carradine reached his right hand into the inside pocket of his suit, but it did not touch the top of the metal cigarette case reposing there, instead it remained close to the gun under his coat. His half-closed eyes flickered around the room for an instant, eyed the watching man again. Then he had brushed past the other, out of the door, climbing the steps up to the dark street. He had half-expected the door to open behind him while he was half-way up the steps, but it remained closed and he began to feel that there was no danger from that source. Had he been guessing wrongly all the time? Perhaps the girl was innocent of all the charges he had mentally brought against her. If that were so, he would apologize to her in due course as soon as a suitable opportunity arose. In the meantime he would enjoy her company and wait until the FBI agent contacted him. Until he met up with the other there was very little he could do. He needed all of the up-to-date information he could find. He needed to know more about this man Henkel who had supposedly been taken by the Reds. When he had that in his mind it might be possible for him to fit bits of the jigsaw together, to see if there was any recognizable picture on the canvas.

  He reached the car at the side of the restaurant, opened the door and slipped in behind the wheel. Twisting the key in the starter, he listened for a moment to the soft, contented purr of the engine, depressed the clutch, closed his fingers around the gear lever and at that precise moment, a thickly-accented voice from somewhere low down on the rear seat said in his ear. “Drive back to the club, Mister Carradine, as you were asked, but don’t try to perform any heroics on the way.” The cold touch of the muzzle of the pistol against the back of his neck warned him, better than words, of the futility of doing this.

  He drove the car slowly along the main street, then turned left into the narrow side-street. The houses on either side were in darkness. Shadows seemed to lie over them like a thick blanket. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed the yellow light that came from the room where the card games and the roulette were still in progress. He thought he saw the girl waiting on the steps as he drove up, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Stop the car here,” said the harsh voice. “No, don’t try to turn round!” The muzzle of the gun dug a little deeper into the flesh of Carradine’s neck. “Get out on to the pavement and stand quite still. There is a silencer on this gun and I shall not hesitate to use it.”

  Carradine knew that the other meant every word he said.

  He wondered which of the two men he had spotted this was. The voice did not sound like that of the man who had been seated in front of him on the plane from London.

  Opening the door of the car, he stepped out, stood with his back to the car, heard the rear door open. Then the man was standing directly behind him, but Carradine knew that the other was between him and the car, that he had very little room in which to manoeuvre. As if the other had suddenly realized this, he said sharply: “Move forward, Carradine. Down the steps and then to the right, not into the club itself. We are going to have a little talk, you and I — and I do not want anyone to interrupt us.”

  Obediently Carradine moved forward a couple of paces. His mind was working overtime at that moment. He knew that as soon as the girl put in an appearance any hope he may have had of getting out of this mess would be gone. His reaction was immediate and automatic. There was reason behind it. Stumbling as the muzzle of the gun was thrust into the back of his neck, just behind the left ear, he gave a small cry of pain as his leg went from under him, threw out his hands to steady himself. The man behind him gave a harsh laugh of derision, a laugh that changed quickly to a grunt of agony as Carradine swung sharply, body bent, under the arm which held the gun trained on him. In the same split second he kicked backward with his leg in a coup de karate. The steel-tipped toe of his shoe hit the man in the pit of the stomach. The thin, high-pitched scream that came from between his stretched lips was what Carradine had expected to hear. Before he could recover, before he could suck air down into his tortured lungs, or steady himself, Carradine swung his straightened hand, the edge hardened by long years of using this technique. There was a heavy sickening thud as it struck the other on the side of the head. The momentum of the blow rocked the other on his toes. The gun flew from his paralysed hand, clattered down the steps towards the door of the gambling club. As the man toppled backward, Carradine was on top of him, legs apart and braced on either side of his opponent’s body. The man had gone down on to his knees, face contorted with agony and as he got his thumbs into the nerves on the sides of the other's neck, Carradine was able to see his face for the first time. It was one which he did not recognize. Thin, rat-like, with a long nose, eyes set a little too closely together. Now they were bulging from their sockets as he applied more pressure to the scrawny neck, lips drawn back with the air whistling in and out of oxygen-starved lungs. The man struggled ineffectually, hands upraised, clawing at the backs of Carradine’s hands in an effort to loosen the strangling grip.

  The tongue came out from between his teeth. He tried to make some kind of sound. Whether it was a shout for help, or a plea for mercy, Carradine did not know. He stared down dispassionately into the mottled features, increased the pressure he was exerting.

  There was a soft step on the stone steps behind him. He half turned his head, expecting it to be the girl. His gaze caught a glimpse of a man’s shoe on the pavement just behind him. He heard the sudden intake of air, tried to shift his head, knowing what was undoubtedly coming.

  Then the sky seemed to fall on top of him. Something hit him a crushing blow at the base of the neck and he flopped forward on to the man he had been trying to kill, rolled off the other and lay still on the pavement. A boot crashed into the side of his ribs, but he scarcely felt it.

  Slowly, painfully, consciousness returned, brought in its train a stab of agony. He sucked in a deep breath automatically, and the agony spasm came again. It was strange to find himself still alive, lying on something cold and hard. A light was shining directly into his eves and he screwed them up in a purely reflex gesture. A hand slapped him hard on the side of the face and he tried to fight against it, mouthing something which seemed to make no sense, little more than a mumble through his lips. The hand hit him again. With an effort he turned his head to the left, forced his eyes to remain open. The yellow glare in them went away, the hand stopped hitting him. Instead, he heard a voice saying urgently: “Try to sit up, Mister Carradine. You’ll feel a lot better then.”

  He shook his head slowly, more in astonishment than with any other emotion. The voice held a rich American twang to it, was unlike any of the others he had heard since he had arrived in Montevideo. The quick twist of his head had hurt. For a moment the image in front of his vision blurred, receded, then came up against him so that he blinked and pulled his head back.

  “Who are you?” he asked thickly. There was a rotten taste in his mouth, as if cottonwool had been thrust between his teeth, half choking him.

  “I’ll answer any of your questions later. At the moment I
have to get you away from here Think you can make it to my car? It’s only fifty yards or so on the other side of the plaza.”

  Carradine gritted his teeth, forced his legs to obey him as the other got a hand under his armpit and pulled him to his feet. Blood pounded in his head. Going forward a couple of steps, he nearly passed out. His ribs were a mass of pain and tender, bruised flesh. There had been plenty of kicks aimed there, he thought dully. But why hadn’t those men finished the job while they had been at it? Had this man come along at the wrong time for them, forcing them to leave with their task half-finished?

  Somehow he made it to the car, flopped down gratefully into the seat, leaned back, his head resting on the edge of the seat, his hands loosening the collar of his shirt, sweat on his forehead and body. He did not dare to try to think at the moment. His head was one vast, throbbing ache. The other slid into the car beside him. A moment later the engine roared and the car moved forward.

  CHAPTER THREE