Death's No Antidote Page 8

  “But what happened to…to the girl?”

  “Oh, she’s being taken care of,” she answered vaguely. “So if you’re coming to Russia with me, you’d better get used to calling me Svetlana.

  “My name is Svetlana Kemerovo.”

  *

  “Where the hell are we going now?” asked Ritchie.

  “Search me,” replied Gruber.

  “Well, wherever it is, we’re well-equipped for whatever it is we’re supposed to do,” said Ritchie, screwing round to look into the back of the van. “That’s what I like about our organisations. We’re always working in the dark.”

  “And I’m driving in the dark,” said Gruber. “If you don’t stop yapping and let me concentrate, we won’t be working any place any time.”

  The battered-looking old van rushed on through the night. Despite its appearance, it could match almost anything on the road for speed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Can I have a cigarette?” asked Dingle.

  Gunney looked up from his cards.

  “Give him one, Turner.”

  Turner stood up and threw his cards on to the table.

  “Count me out anyway,” he said, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and walking to the bed where Dingle was still tied.

  “I’d rather have one of my own,” said the SS(O)S agent.

  He looked at his suit hanging behind the door. They’d stripped him to his underwear while he was still unconscious last night, before tying him to the bed.

  “Too bad,” said Turner, unfastening Dingle’s left wrist and handing him a cigarette. “It’s this or nothing. Yours might be bugged for all we know.” He flicked on his lighter.

  Dingle inhaled the tobacco smoke deeply. He could jab the lighted end of the cigarette into Turner’s face, he thought. But what good would it do? His right arm and his legs were still bound — and there would still be two other men to deal with.

  He looked at his suit again. If only he could get at the pocket…

  He shivered.

  “Can’t I have my jacket on? I’m bloody cold.”

  “No you can’t,” said Gunney.

  “We’ve heard about clothes with gadgets sewn into them,” added Chance.

  “You’ve been reading too many spy stories,” said Dingle.

  “Get a blanket and throw it over him if he’s cold,” Gunney told Turner. “I’ll see you,” he added to Chance.

  Dingle looked at his watch and felt a surge of frustration. Six o’clock already. It had been dark for an hour and the heavy curtains were drawn. Dawes would be back soon — and so far there hadn’t been the slightest opportunity to escape.

  He looked again at his jacket.

  *

  Jones and Williams sat at opposite sides of the loft opening, their legs hanging down into the garage.

  “It’s six o’clock and dark enough,” said Williams. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t go into the house now. We could take them by surprise and get Jim out in no time.”

  “I know, Willie,” answered Jones. “But just think it out. It isn’t only Jim we want; we’ve got to get the films as well. The chances are that Dawes has them — he wouldn’t leave important items like that with those three apes — and Dawes isn’t here yet. We don’t want him to be alerted so that he can escape with the films.”

  “If we went in now, we’d reduce the opposition for when Dawes does arrive,” argued Williams.

  “I’ll grant you that. But he might get back just as we’re dealing with his three mates — and that could make it awkward. Apart from that, we don’t know how they’re operating. Dawes might be in regular telephone contact with the house to make sure everything’s all right at this end. If he smelt a rat he wouldn’t be back. We can’t risk losing those films, boyo.”

  *

  Dawes was supremely confident. He swung off the A20 at Ashford to take the B road through Ham Street and Ivychurch to New Romney.

  “We’ll save a few minutes this way, Colonel,” he said. “It’s ten to six already.”

  “Yes. The sooner I renew my acquaintanceship with Mr. Dingle the better I shall be pleased. I am most anxious to learn how he came to know about Mr. Croome-Pugglesley’s efforts on our behalf.”

  Colonel Fu Chang-sui’s voice was light and rather high-pitched; his English precise and accentless.

  “I haven’t liked using you so openly,” he went on. “Your undercover work is invaluable to us and it seems foolish to expose you to risk. But in a matter as important as the DNA File I had no choice. I hope that you haven’t been…what do you call it? …blown by Mr. Croome-Pugglesley.”

  “I don’t see how he could blow me. He only met me once, and I didn’t tell him my name. If you think he might have contacted the authorities, forget it. He’s too scared for his own neck to do that.”

  “It would be quite out of character, I agree,” the Colonel conceded. “But there still remains the fact that Dingle knew exactly when and where the wretched man was going to leave the films for us.”

  “I think you’ll find the answer is that SS(O)S have been watching C.P. ever since the Roger Coyle business,” said Dawes.

  “I do so hope you’re right.” The Colonel sighed. “However, we shall soon find out.”

  *

  Marjorie Brett pulled off the road on to the grass verge and stopped.

  “That must have been the place back there.”

  “Yes.” Finn looked at his watch. “Six o’clock. Let’s go and take a look. It seems quiet enough at the moment — and I’m sure we weren’t followed.”

  “Why should we be followed,” asked Harry Brett in sudden alarm. “Who would know about us?”

  “We weren’t followed,” said Susan. “I’ve been checking on that.”

  “Of course we weren’t,” said Finn. “But it pays to play safe Harry. Remember that. Now Marjorie and I will go and carry out a reconnaissance. The rest of you wait here.”

  *

  “Shall I stop here?” asked Gruber.

  “Yes, you’d better,” said Ritchie. “There was a layby a few yards back. Reverse into it.”

  The NSA man backed the van into the lay-by, switched off the engine and dowsed the lights.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  His companion from the FBI didn’t answer immediately. He appeared to be listening intently. Then he said:

  “We’ll wait a couple of minutes, then I’ll go and have a look-see.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Light flooded the garage, hit the ceiling and overflowed into the loft, exposing the rafters.

  Jones and Williams, lying flat and peering down through the cracks between the floorboards, felt exposed. Then the car’s headlamps went out, leaving them momentarily blinded. A door slammed.

  “Wait a minute, Colonel. I’ll switch the light on so you can see your way.”

  Jones recognised Dawes’s voice. Then, in the harsh glare of the naked bulb, he saw Fu Chang-sui climb out of the car.

  “I won’t stay long, Colonel. I’ll take you to Dingle and get Turner to fix some food for you, then I’ll leave for Heathrow. I’d like to get there as soon as possible because, when I’ve refuelled, I’ve arranged for the mechanics to check the aircraft. We don’t want anything to go wrong.”

  “Indeed we don’t. You’ll be back here to pick us up soon after midnight?”

  “That’s right.”

  The two men were at the garage door now, and Dawes switched out the light.

  “Good. Now take me to Dingle. I can’t wait to see him again. I’m sure he’ll be…”

  The voices faded into the darkness outside.

  “Well, what do you make of that?” whispered Williams.

  “A Chink,” replied Jones softly. “We thought they were behind all this, but this is the first proof we’ve had. He must be the boss man.”

  “Did you recognise him?”

  �
��No. They all look the same to me anyway. Did you?”

  “No. But he seems to know Jim. What now? Are we going in to bust up the party?”

  Jones considered the question.

  “Not yet. There are five of them and only two of us. They might win.”

  “For Pete’s sake Glyn! We can’t keep putting it off. We’d at least have the element of surprise on our side.” He paused and then added: “Or shall I slip off and phone for reinforcements?”

  “No, don’t do that. Something might happen while you were away — and then it would be five against one. I think we’d better play it safe. Don’t forget, the films are the main objective. We’ve either got to get them back; or destroy them.”

  “So?”

  “So if we go into the house we’ll be in trouble straight away. We don’t know the layout of the place. We don’t even know which room Jim is in. And we don’t know which of them has the films.”

  “I should think the Chinese has them, if he’s the boss.”

  “Possibly. Although they might be hidden somewhere in the house until they’re ready to leave.”

  Williams sighed. “All right, so what’s your latest brilliant idea in strategy?”

  “You heard what Dawes said. He’s flying to Heathrow, then he’s coming back just after midnight to pick up the Chinese chap. It’s a racing certainty that when the Colonel comes out to board the plane, either he or Dawes will be carrying the films.”

  “I see,” said Williams slowly. “You mean we take them when they come outside?”

  “That’s it. That way everything will be on our side. We can take them by surprise when they step out of the lighted house into the dark. If they try to make a fight of it we can pick them off easily. They won’t have a clue where we are. There’s plenty of cover in the garden; bushes all over the place. They’ll probably think they’re surrounded by a bloody army.”

  Williams was convinced.

  “Okay. We’ll give it a try.”

  “That’s the spirit boyo. Now shine a light and let’s check over the equipment you brought with you. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  *

  The jet raced down the runway and then left the ground at a steep angle. As soon as it had taken off, the runway lights were dowsed.

  Finn, standing in the bushes behind the hangar, turned to his companions.

  “There he goes. Those lights were useful. They should have given you a good idea of the line of the runway. You know where to go now?”

  The others nodded.

  “Julian, Susan and I will be stationed in a row along the bottom of the runway while you and Marjorie stay at this end,” said Harry Brett.

  “Correct. And then?”

  “Then we three will join you near the plane as soon as it lands while Marjorie moves over to guard the main gate and make sure we’re not interrupted.”

  “Good. Now we’ve quite a wait on our hands, so we might as well sit in the car. We’ll be warmer and more comfortable there.”

  *

  “Who the hell do you suppose was in that plane?” asked Ritchie.

  “Search me boy,” said Gruber.

  “I wish I knew what was going on around here,” the FBI agent said.

  “Me too. Although I’ve a feeling we’ll be finding out before long. One thing I’m certain about,” the man from NSA went on, “we were right to worry about the safety of the DNA File.”

  “Yeah. These goddamn Limeys…” Ritchie placed a wad of gum in his mouth and carefully put the wrapping back in his pocket… “their Intelligence services are about as secure as a suspender from my fat Aunt Jemima’s cast off corsets.”

  “You’ve said it, Son. I reckon their inefficiency is matched only by those blockheads in the pickle factory,” agreed Gruber, who detested his CIA rivals. “So what’s our next step?”

  “I’ll keep watch here,” said Jason Ritchie. “You take a look at our friends. If they seem settled for a bit, come back here.”

  “Right.”

  “And bring the gear with you out of the van. I think we’re going to need it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “My dear Mr. Dingle, how nice to meet you again.”

  “Colonel Fu. I’m sorry I can’t shake hands with you. I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”

  “Ah! The English sense of humour. I like that.” He smiled as he advanced towards the bed. “So…you won the last battle, but I win the war. Isn’t that an old English proverb?”

  “I don’t know about it being old English…we probably pinched it from Confucius. But the war isn’t over yet, Colonel.”

  “It is for you, my friend. It is for you. I’m taking you back with me to China. We have some unfinished business there. Remember?”

  Dingle remembered. He had been arrested in Canton by Fu’s men — and had escaped while being transported to Peking.

  “I almost lost my job over that affair,” Fu went on. “But we shall discuss the…ah…details of your escape more fully when we are back in China.”

  Dingle looked at the smooth, smiling, gentle face of the Chinaman; and then beyond, into the dark depths of expressionless eyes which no smile could reach. There was no colour contrast between pupils and irises, and the eyeballs were a muddy brown. Evil eyes.

  “You’ll have to get me there first.”

  The British agent smiled back confidently, and Fu seemed to read his thoughts.

  “It will be easy, I can assure you, Mr. Dingle. And if you imagine your friend Jones is going to rescue you, forget it. He was shot last night. If it makes you feel any better, he was shot while trying to…ah…deny us the pleasure of your company.”

  Dingle felt sick.

  “And as I said,” Fu continued, enjoying the moment, “it will be easy to get you out of the country in my colleague’s plane. It’s the way I came in.”

  “You must rate this business as highly important to risk coming here yourself, Colonel.”

  “Risk? There is no risk Mr. Dingle. Your country is so hospitable. Black, brown, yellow…what difference does it make. One more Chinese face here isn’t going to excite any comment or curiosity. Of course, I was careful not to go near our legation. I didn’t want to be recognised by the Special Branch people who watch the place.

  “And naturally we regard this DNA breakthrough as important. So do you and the Americans. So will the Russians, if they know about it.”

  The black eyes began to gleam fanatically as the Chinese continued to speak rapidly.

  “The Americans have discovered it, but they will be reluctant to take it to its logical conclusion. They are too frightened of offending world opinion. But we shall develop it until…” He paused and then added quietly. “Tell me, Mr. Dingle, don’t you think it fitting that the most ancient civilisation on earth should be the one to produce a master race?”

  The final words came out in a malicious hiss, filling Dingle with revulsion. He knew now that, at all costs, he must prevent this man from taking the secrets of the DNA File to China. And he had one hope.

  Once more Fu seemed to read the SS(O)S man’s thoughts. He smiled, in control of himself again.

  “Perhaps I should tell you, Mr. Dingle, that I know you substituted fake films for the ones Mr. Croome-Pugglesley left in his biscuit barrel. My colleague, Mr. Dawes, found the originals in your pocket. I now have them.” He held them up briefly before slipping them back into his overcoat pocket.

  The hope died, but a new resolve was born in Dingle’s mind. He would destroy the films — and himself with them.

  “And don’t imagine you will be able to sabotage the plane during the flight to Albania. You will be drugged.”

  The Chinese colonel’s mind-reading ability was uncanny.

  For the first time, Dingle began to fear the man.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fifteen minutes to midnight. Fully dressed now, but still securely bound, Dingle tensed at the faint s
ound which was growing steadily louder. He saw that the others had noticed it, too.

  Colonel Fu Chang-sui looked at his watch.

  “He’s early.”

  “We’d better put the runway lights on, sir,” said Gunney.

  The plane was overhead now, low, its engines throttled back.

  Fu nodded. “You and Mr. Chance can go and meet Mr. Dawes, but Mr. Turner must stay here with me and keep an eye on our friend.”

  He turned to Dingle as the two men left the room.

  “Not that you’re likely to give us any trouble, eh?” An earlier tension had left the Chinese officer now that the aircraft had arrived. He seemed almost jovial. “You might as well relax Mr. Dingle and resign yourself to the inevitable. In a few hours you will be in Albania. So stop worrying and enjoy the flight.”

  The SS(O)S agent couldn’t deny that he was worried. But he had not yet begun to despair; he was still alert, waiting for the slightest chance to thwart the Chinese plan. “I can hardly expect to enjoy the flight if I’m drugged,” he said.

  “Ah! Perhaps I should explain,” the colonel said. “You will not be given the drug until just before we land at Rome to refuel.

  “We shall not disembark there, so no officials are likely to bother us. But if anyone does board the plane, we have papers to prove that we are technical experts en route to Athens to help Mr. Dawes clinch his sales deal. Mr. Dawes will explain that you have taken a strong sleeping draught because you always feel unwell in an aeroplane.”

  “Which would be true,” said Dingle, who hated flying. He had once been the sole survivor of a Service aircraft crash.

  “I should add,” Fu went on, “that apart from the time we are actually on the ground at Rome, your hands and feet will be tied. You will be carried from this room to the…” he broke off abruptly, listening. “Ah! They’re coming.”

  He looked at the door, smiling a welcome for Dawes.

  *

  Jones and Williams stood outside the garage listening to the aircraft circling above.