“It was a necessary murder and very carefully planned,” he informed me. “The man who was killed was the S.M.U.T. agent in charge of activities in Russia. It was he who manipulated the smuggling of useless contraceptives and foodstuffs prepared with diseased goats’ milk into Poland and Hungary and Russia itself. Indeed, he was the reason that I was created in your image. It was a stroke of genius. We didn’t want his death to look deliberate. That would have alerted his cohorts in the Communist countries. They would have gone underground, and it would have been very difficult to punish them. By making it look as if an American agent murdered him, attention was diverted from us. You, Steve Victor, were the culprit they were seeking. Even the Philippine police are looking for you for the murder. And S.M.U.T. has no idea that we have infiltrated their very headquarters.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said drily.
“Don’t be bitter. As I said before, the time has come for us to work together. Now that we know who the real head is, we can destroy S.M.U.T. once and for all.”
“How? We’re slightly outnumbered, aren’t we?”
“Yes. But I’ve made certain arrangements. Made them thanks to you, by the way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Last night while you were unwittingly creating a diversion for me by drawing off the guards with your presence in the goat pen, I stole some explosives S.M.U.T. had stored in one of the other sheds and planted them where they’ll do the most good. All that remains to destroy this place thoroughly—-this house, the lab, all of the buildings—is to detonate them. The mechanism for that is in the cellar of this house. That’s where I’ve been hiding. Now, will you cooperate?”
“With you pointing that gun at me, I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“Please don’t let that disturb you. It’s just a precaution. No more than a habit, really.”
“Why not try to break it?”
“Later perhaps. We’ll see.” He motioned me out of the room and toward the stairs. “Lead the way, Mr. Victor.”
“You have the advantage over me,” I remembered. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“In our business, a man may have many names. Don’t you find it so?”
“Maybe. But what do I call you? Hey, you?”
“You can call me by the name I go by in this particular operation.” There was a jeering note in his voice.
“What’s that? ”
“Stevkovsky. Viktor Stevkovsky.”
“Oh, that’s very cute,” I reacted. “Did you think it up all by yourself? ”
“No. I had help. But why are you annoyed?”
“Who steals my face steals trash,” I paraphrased, “but who Bolshevizes my good name—”
“You’re too sensitive.” He prodded me through the door and down the steps to the cellar.
We were in for a surprise. As we turned left at the bottom of the stairs, a figure started for us from the right. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a gun raised. I gave Stevkovsky a hard shove to one side and jumped the other way myself. The bullet from the rifle whistled between us.
Stevkovsky reacted so fast that for a split second I thought he was going to shoot me. But he didn’t. He was right on target as he fired. The man with the rifle pitched forward on his face.
Still keeping me covered, Stevkovsky led the way over to the fallen body. He stuck his toes under it and flipped it over. The man was dead.
I recognized him as one of S.M.U.T.’s Filipino guards. I’d seen him rummaging among the goats the night before.
“Why would they post a guard down here?” Stevkovsky was puzzled.
“Search me.”
“He wasn’t here last night, or earlier this morning. I was hiding out here all that time, and I know.”
“He came from over that way.” I pointed across the cellar. “Let’s have a look.”
Stevkovsky nodded assent. We strode toward the far wall. There was a section that was partitioned off there, probably a coal bin or something like that. There was a door on it with a chain across it. A stout lock held the chain in place. Stevkovsky motioned me to stand back. He fired two shots and the lock fell apart.
He wasn’t taking any chances. He indicated that I should go through the door first. A man stood up from the floor where he’d been huddled as I entered. He was a bloody mess. It was Bruce.
“I’m glad to see you.” He greeted me, smiling around the marks of the beating he’d taken.
“Who is this?” Stevkovsky demanded.
“I’m not sure,” I answered honestly. “But he’s on our side. I’m sure of that much.”
Bruce was looking from one to the other of us in confusion. “I know one of you is Steve Victor,” he said. “But which one? ”
“I am,” I told him. “My companion here is a Russian agent who also happens to be fighting S.M.U.T.”
“No kidding?” Bruce grinned. “Well, this is a real, all-out international effort, isn’t it? You’re an American. He’s a Russian. And I’m an Ethiopian.”
“You are an Ethiopian agent?” Stevkovsky asked.
“Check.”
“How do we know you’re telling the truth? Why should Ethiopia be interested in S.M.U.T.?”
“Because S.M.U.T. is too damned interested in Ethiopia,” Bruce told him. “They’ve been spreading their damned Malta Fever there with foreign aid products made from goats’ milk. You think only Russia and the U.S. have something to fear from S.M.U.T.? You’re wrong. Every country in the world—large and small—is threatened.”
“I can’t think of any good reason why I should trust you,” Stevkovsky told him.
“I can,” I interjected quickly. “He damn near got killed fouling up some of S.M.U.T.’s plans before. And then he didn’t give me away when he could have.”
“How did he foul up their pans?” Stevkovsky asked skeptically.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Just what did you do?” I asked Bruce.
“I radioed Tahiti to put Plan B into effect.” He grinned.
“What is Plan B?” Stevkovsky asked.
“That’s the emergency plan by which S.M.U.T. scuttles itself,” Bruce explained. “By activating it, I brought all other programs to a halt in the Pacific area. A whole shipment of food containing Malta Fever germs will be jettisoned en route to Australia. All S.M.U.T. personnel from Manila to Easter Island will cease their activities and disperse. All equipment and codes will be destroyed. The whole operation will be disbanded. As a matter of fact, by this time it probably already is.”
“But why would they accept such an order from you?” Stevkovksy wanted to know.
“Because they didn’t know it was from me. They think it was authorized by Dr. Palaro. I used the code designation of the head of S.M.U.T. And then I destroyed the radio transmitter so they couldn’t countermand the order even if they found out I issued it. What’s more, I destroyed their code book, too.”
“That’s true,” I assured Stevkovsky. “I saw it. He did everything he says he did. He’s on our side.”
“Very well. But it is of no use to destroy the legs without destroying the head as well. So let us do it.” He waved with his gun toward the other side of the cellar.
“Why is he holding a gun on us?” Bruce whispered as we crossed the basement. "
“He’s got a very suspicious nature,” I told him.
A few moments later we emerged into the outside air, Bruce and I carrying the detonation equipment, Stevkovsky following behind. “Is this what you Commies call sharing the labor?” Bruce wisecracked as he struggled with the heavy detonator.
Stevkovsky ignored him. “We’ll have to do this in three stages,” he explained. “First the building with the lab and the goat pens, because that’s most important. Then the sheds. Then the main house.”
He’d strung his wire out to the rise overlooking the shed. We crawled up to it without being seen, then stopped to get our breath. Peering down at the L-shaped structure, I saw something and pointed it out for my two companions. Dr. Palaro, Leslie, Mavis, and Hanson were all just entering the door leading to the lab section of the building.