by John Glasby
The man’s eyes were hard and flinty, as they were in most of the men who worked outside of Russia. They knew that they were under observation every minute of the time, their actions watched closely and noted, every detail about them filed away somewhere for future reference and if there was the slightest failure associated with their work, they could expect immediate recall to Russia, with its attendant punishment. All of this went through Carradine’s mind as he glanced up at Donovsky.
As if feeling his glance on him, the other turned his head sharply, drew back his lips and said thinly: “You may not find the work here to your liking, Señor Perez. It will be a little more specialised than any which you have carried out in the past. However, the rewards of success are great and we are almost nearing completion of the major project.”
Was there a hint of defensiveness in the other’s tone? Perhaps he had found out that all of the credentials given for Perez had checked and the higher powers here had decreed that he was to be treated with a certain amount of deference according to his status. Carradine was not aware how highly he had been rated by the men in London whose job it had been to provide him with a background which would stand up to expert probing. He knew they would have done their best to give him such a professional background as to afford him as much freedom as possible on this site, always assuming that the Reds were prepared to treat scientific men in such a way that those who were able to give them the most help could expect certain privileges. Since there was no way off the site for any of the workers or scientific men recruited from the South American countries, until the project was completed and the Reds were sure that it was safe for them to disclose the whereabouts of the launching site, there was a strong possibility that they might be a little more lax with their information than otherwise.
“I think I’ve seen enough already to tell me that whatever it is you are building, it’s something on a very large scale. Evidently, since virtually everything^ is underground, where it cannot be seen from the air, this is a project you do not wish others to know of. Am I right?”
“Certainly. It is as well if the world at large knows nothing of this until we are in a position to tell them.”
“Then from that I gather it has a tremendous military value. I can think of no other reason for going to all of this expense and trouble.” Carradine felt on safe ground talking to the other in this way. Had he tried to pretend that he knew nothing of what was happening here, above what had been told him on the plane coming across from Montevideo, it would have increased the other’s suspicions of him.
Donovsky nodded. “Obviously you have a great many questions to ask and although I can answer many of them, they will be answered by Lieutenant-General Vozdashevsky, the Head of Operations here.”
Carradine allowed himself a quick lift of his eyebrows. To Donovsky, the expression of surprise would be because of the mention of such a high-ranking officer at this lonely place. The truth was that the surprise in Carradine’s mind came from the mention of the name, not the rank of the man who was Head of Operations here. Vozdashevsky! Here was a man close to the top in Moscow, in charge of everything here. If he had needed it, this was sufficient testimony to the importance which Moscow placed on this project. He knew quite a lot of Vozdashevsky’s background, although he had never met the man face to face. He did not know of any British agent who had. Now it seemed, he was to be accorded that doubtful privilege.
Donovsky led him along a short passage which evidently connected two of the long tunnels he had seen earlier. A steel door in the side of the passage was partly open and through it, he had a glimpse of the long operations room which he had seen before being escorted to his quarters. There was still plenty of activity in evidence.
Donovsky paused in front of a section of the passage, thumbed a concealed switch. A smooth metal section slid noiselessly to one side. Donovsky’s face was still and impassive as he motioned Carradine inside. Stepping through, he found himself in a well-appointed office. The highly-polished desk gleamed in the diffuse light which came from a trio of overhead lamps, set close to the ceiling. Behind the desk, sat Lieutenant-General Vozdashevsky. Carradine felt his mouth go dry for a second, and the muscles of his jaw stood out under the skin as he stared across at the other. The completely bald head shone in the light, the forehead so high that the skull appeared to be domed. The lower lip was thrust out in an almost petulant expression and the cold eyes looked stolidly at Carradine as he advanced towards the desk.
Vozdashevsky placed the tips of his long, tapered fingers together and eyed him over the pyramid formed. The nails were immaculately cut and polished and everything about him suggested a man who prided himself in his outward appearance. His face was hard and unyielding, the face of a man accustomed to giving orders and having them carried out without question. A very dangerous man indeed.
“Do you wish to smoke, Señor Perez?” The other spoke politely, the accent very pronounced. He pushed a packet of cigarettes across the top of the polished desk.
“Thank you.” Carradine took one, leaned forward as the other flicked a lighter and applied the flame to the end of the cigarette. He drew the smoke down into his lungs as he straightened up. Not once did the other remove his gaze from his face, the eyes unblinking.
“You will forgive me if I smoke one of my own,” said the other, leaning back in his chair. “I have never been able to accustom myself to the Western type of cigarettes. I prefer the papyrossi.” As he spoke, he opened a small packet and took out the long slender cardboard tube of the Russian type of cigarette, squeezed it between his fingers a little, then inserted it in his mouth and lit it with a flourish. “Please sit down, Señor Perez.” He indicated the chair which had been placed conveniently a little to one side of the desk. As he lowered himself into it, Carradine noticed that he was in direct line of the light from the lamp on the corner of the desk, the light shining into his eyes. If the other had noticed this, if it had been done deliberately, he gave no outward sign.
Donovsky had taken up his position close to the door, standing straight with his back to the wall. His flat eyes were fixed on Carradine’s profile, almost as if he were trying to remember if he had ever seen him before. With an effort, Carradine put the uneasiness out of his mind, tried to concentrate on the man seated behind the desk. It seemed probable that every senior member of the staff here would be subjected to some form of interrogation such as this.
Although it was soon obvious that neither man intended to take any notes during this interview, but there would be a microphone hidden away somewhere and everything that was said would be recorded. The room had the impression that it had been wired for sound. There might even be a camera tucked away somewhere, focused on him, picking out every flicker of emotion, every show of expression, that flickered across his face.
“I understand that you are a mining engineer, Señor Perez. If that is so, then you may be extremely useful to us. Not, of course, that this is the type of work you are used to carrying out, but your knowledge of engineering could be of great help to us. In this project, we have been forced to bring several of our own technicians with us, but the more we can recruit from the neighbouring countries, the more quickly we will be able to complete our work. In addition to this, there will be the need to have men here permanently to maintain the installations.” He paused, delicately flicked the half-inch of grey ash from the tip of the papyrossa, then thrust it back between his lips once more. “You will have realised the full significance of everything you have seen so far. We are building a launching site for intercontinental ballistic missiles which are already here and will soon be equipped with atomic warheads. Once that is done, we shall be in a position to challenge the United States in this area.”
Vozdashevsky paused to allow the full implications of his words to sink in. Glancing across the desk, he studied Carradine’s face, watching closely for his reactions to the news.
“And the United States? What will their reaction be once they
know of this?”
Vozdashevsky spread his hands in a meaningful gesture. He shrugged his shoulders slightly. “By the time they know of this little project of ours, it will be too late for them to do anything, but accept the position as gracefully as possible. Naturally, they will not like it. But for some years now, we have been forced to accept American bases in Turkey, right on our very doorstep. There are other American and British bases all around the Soviet Union.” His face hardened and there was a brief glitter in his eyes. His voice had risen in pitch. Almost, thought Carradine with a faint inward sense of amusement, as if he had been delivering a speech to a full-dress meeting of the Praisidium.
As if he had suddenly realised the full melodrama of the situation, he lowered his voice as he went on. “We have been working to a very strict schedule here and everything has gone as planned. The missiles themselves have been brought into the country under the very noses of the American Navy and even now, they suspect nothing.”
Carradine allowed a little flicker of apprehension to cross his well-trained features. “But you said they would be equipped with atomic warheads. Does that mean these are here, on the site?”
Vozdashevsky eyed him closely for a second. The fingers around the papyrossa tensed a little. Then he smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "I see that you are a very clever man, Señor Perez. You do not like the idea of having nuclear weapons on the site where you are working?” His teeth flashed in the light as she smiled broadly.
Carradine gave a quick nod of his head. "I have seen pictures of Hiroshima and Nagasaki,” he explained. "They were terrible. If there should be an accident of any kind, it could mean—” He broke off, giving the impression that the consequences of such a disaster were too terrible for his mind to contemplate.
"The possibility of any accident can be dismissed,” said Vozdashevsky quietly, positively. "Our scientists have been working with these weapons for many years. They have learned how to handle them. They cannot explode unless they are primed and this will not be done unless the necessity arises in the future. At the moment, you may sleep soundly. The warheads are not yet on the site. Soon, they will arrive, but your work will not be connected with them in any way. Our own specialists will deal with them under conditions of top security. Your work will be confined to the maintenance of the equipment here and the site itself.”
“I understand.” Carradine flicked the ash from his cigarette. He felt an inward sense of relief at the news that the warheads had still not arrived. It gave him the chance to find out where they were at present and with luck, how they were to be got into the country. It stood to reason that they would not try to bring them openly into the country, and it would be virtually impossible to smuggle anything as intricate and large as a nuclear device through the Customs. Evidently they had some way of getting it here which they considered to be foolproof. He could not imagine them trying it, unless they were sure of success.
“I have studied your past history,” went on the other smoothly, tapping a long forefinger against the thin file in front of him. “It makes very interesting reading. You belong to no political party, indeed you appear to have an aversion to all forms of politics. This has something to commend it. Whether or not you agree with our form of Communism, you seem to be a man with a feeling for his country and I’m sure that you want to see it take its real place in the world. For too long, the peoples of the South American states have been downtrodden by the capitalistic countries. They have been looked upon as the poor relations, poor both economically and scientifically. But with our help, that can all be changed and I feel sure that a man with your education and background will be one of the first to realise this. It is our intention to help countries such as yours, particularly militarily, in order that you might have more say in the councils of the world. Only this way, will you cease to be exploited.”
Carradine nodded, but said nothing, knowing that the other had more to say, that he would go on without any prompting.
“You will find that conditions here are austere. They could scarcely be otherwise, considering that we are more than fifty miles from the nearest outpost of civilisation and those fifty miles are covered by some of the densest jungle in the world. However, you will find that your quarters provide you with all of the necessities of life. During the next few weeks, while you are working here, you will be kept under constant surveillance. This may be irksome, but it is absolutely necessary. Perhaps later, you will be granted certain privileges. I should, at this point, warn you against trying to get away from here. Several men have been dissatisfied with conditions on the site and have tried to get away. None have succeeded. If you looked, you might find the remains of some of them in the jungle, not far from here. Others were shot by the guards. I tell you this, in case you should be tempted to emulate them. Believe me, it is not worth the risk.” The smile was back on his lips, but it was a death’s-head grimace, with no warmth in it and the eyes held a look of warning which was clearly visible.
He slapped his palm on the top of the file in front of him. “I’m sure you will be happy working with us, Señor Perez. That is all.”
Carradine paused, then got slowly to his feet, leaned forward and stubbed out the butt of the cigarette. Outside, in the corridor, he asked Donovsky, “Does the Lieutenant-General see everyone before they start work here?”
“Only those who will occupy senior positions in the organisation,” said the other quietly. He turned and smiled almost pleasantly. “Your file gives you as clean a bill of health as we can expect.” He hesitated, then went on as though speaking in great confidence. “Those men the Lieutenant-General spoke of, who were shot by the guards. I would not think too much about them if I were you. They were fools. They did not stop to think what the consequence of their actions might be and that is the mark of a man who does not care whether he lives or dies. I have had experience in life and death. Sometimes, I have to give the orders which result in men being executed. It is not easy. Being an executioner can often result in a sickening for the work. It is my profession, to originate the chain of events which results in a man dying. Shall we say that I am like a surgeon. Whenever I see something which threatens a project such as this, it is my duty to cut it out, to eradicate it completely before it has a chance to spread. A surgeon often has to remove a particular organ, not so much because it is diseased, but because its presence in the body threatens the life of the patient. That is how I look on myself.”
For a moment, Carradine wondered why the other was telling him all of this, unburdening his feelings on to him in this way. Could it be that Donovsky was getting sick of murder, of slaughtering innocent men whose only desire was to leave this place? Or had the other some deeper, more sinister, motive for confiding in him? Maybe he considered that if Carradine was something different to what he seemed to be on the surface, the best way to find this out would be to worm his way into his confidence. He felt a little twinge of grim amusement. Even in Russia, he thought inwardly, whenever an executioner began to lose interest in his work, they soon found another man to do his job and the first thing this man did, was to execute the former executioner.
Donovsky took him into the large underground control room. Standing beside him, Carradine let his keen gaze wander unobtrusively over the work in progress there. Electricians were wiring the complex mechanisms along one side of the room, some were computers, electronic equipment which would guide the missiles as they were launched, taking control of the rockets from the moment they were readied for firing, down through the ticking seconds of countdown, to blast-off and then continuing to make the minute adjustments to their courses once they were in the air, heading for their distant targets. Delicate servo-mechanisms were in the final stages of completion. Other pieces of equipment, whose function he did not recognise, were in various stages of completion.
A tall, dark-haired man came over from one side of the room as Donovsky crooked a finger. There was a polite nod of greeting. “You will work for the tim
e being with Karafio. He will tell you everything you need to know. At the end of the working period, you will return to your quarters. Meals will be brought to you there.” Turning on his heel, the other walked away without a backward glance. Carradine watched him go for a moment, then turned his attention to the man beside him.
Karafio said quietly. “You will be one of the new men who came on the plane this morning.”
“That’s right.” Carradine gave a quick jerk of his head. “I asked for a job in Montevideo. I was under the impression that I would be working for the Aroyo Mining Corporation, but this is something I hadn’t bargained for, I’m afraid. I know very little about electronics.” He waved a hand towards the banks of instruments and computers.
The other laughed easily. “Don’t let this worry you too much. You will soon get used to them. They can be a little overpowering at first sight, but very soon, you will find yourself working with them as if you had been used to them all of your life.”