Wan, defeated, Howard Ogden sat slumped in his chair. He was a criminal but an intelligent criminal—he was not a fool. He realized that his game was up, that his one chance of survival was to throw himself on the mercy of the powerful man, seated across from him, who promised him mercy. But to achieve that mercy he could no longer wriggle, squirm, lie, make mockery of truth. He must cooperate with every fiber of his being, he must give what was asked of him—total confession. And so Howard Ogden came to a decision.

"Yes," he said. "The truth. The entire truth, so help me."

5. Thunderbolts

THE OLD MAN lit his pipe.

Solo and Kuryakin remained quietly in the background.

"Where would you like me to begin?" asked Howard Ogden.

"I'd like a general idea of what you were doing in South America."

"Well, first I assumed the name Harry Owens. Then I traveled about making contact with the revolutionary forces. Once contact was established, I assisted the Communist partisans, the saboteurs, the raiders, the bandits in the hills."

The Old Man leaned forward. "What are your politics?"

"Mr. Waverly, I have no politics. I'm on the side that pays me."

"Were you well paid, Mr. Ogden?" The Old Man tapped his pipe.

"Not at all. I earned my keep, enough to keep me in food and clothes. The first big job that came my way was this one that brought me back to the States."

"Let's hold that a moment, Mr. Ogden."

"Yes, Mr. Waverly."

The Old Man put down his pipe. Elbows on the desk, he peered across at Ogden, his intent gaze riveting the man's attention. The next question would put Ogden to the proof. Either he would go along in full cooperation, or he would back down.

"Mr. Ogden, for the past two years enormous shipments of arms and armaments have been filtering down to the Communist rebels in the Latin American countries. You were right there in that hotbed, and you're not some little innocent pawn. You know what goes on around you. Now, this question, Mr. Ogden: Who has been making these shipments?"

There was silence for a moment, both men rigid, their eyes locked.

Then Ogden replied. "The firm of Raymond and Langston."

For once the sophisticated Alexander Waverly was completely thunderstruck. In amazement his mouth opened, his jaws hung slack. Then his mouth snapped shut and he took up his pipe but did not smoke it. He held it, moving it in his hands, doing something to cover his utter astonishment.

Raymond and Langston! This was a reputable, reliable armaments company, its offices and show rooms in New York, its factory in New Jersey. Raymond and Langston, a part of an Australian corporation, had been here in the United States for three years, and Waverly himself was acquainted with Mr. Felix Raymond and Mr. Otis Langston.

"Raymond and Langston," said the Old Man, carefully controlling his voice. "And by what method did they accomplish these shipments?"

"Quite simple, Mr. Waverly." Ogden was enjoying his new role. Once he had made his decision, once committed, he was resolved to relate the entire truth to the one man who could persuade the authorities to treat him with mercy. "Raymond and Langston have been diverting arms from normal business and shipping these arms, crated as innocent scrap metal, to supposedly innocent receivers in various ports in South America."

"Shipping

"By freighter."

"Whose freighters? Who owns these ships?"

"Chartered freighters, Mr. Waverly, but they are no part of the operation. They are legitimate freighters. Their captains really believe they are carrying scrap metal. And that is the reason that payment to Raymond and Langston is made in gold and by courier."

The Old Man frowned. "Please explain that, Mr. Ogden."

"Well, if payment were made in cash, the captains of the freighters would become suspicious, since the payment far exceeds the value of the cargo if it were scrap metal."

"Just how is the payment made?" Waverly demanded.

"For each separate shipment there is a separate payment. In gold. Gold in molds of sample machinery parts, then camouflaged with steel or iron plating. And each time a payment is made, it is made by a different courier."

"And how are these couriers chosen?"

"A trusted man is selected by a Communist leader, and this man, always a different man, brings up the two suitcases loaded with the camouflaged gold."

"And for this trip you were selected?"

"That is correct, Mr. Waverly. My first real big job."

"What is your fee? How are you paid for this illegal action?"

"Ten percent of the booty. Ten percent of the stuff I'm carrying. Ten thousand dollars, paid by either Raymond or Langston when I deliver, plus a two-week vacation here in the States, living as a guest in the home of Raymond and Langston."

"Do you know where this home is?"

"No. I know where their offices are."

"Same place," Waverly informed him.

The firm of Raymond and Langston was a three-story house on lower Park Avenue. The main floor was the showroom, the second floor contained the offices, and the top floor was comprised of the apartment of Mr. Raymond and Mr. Langston—and on that floor were also the guest rooms.

"Mr. Ogden, how well do you know either one of the gentlemen—Mr. Raymond or Mr. Langston?"

And now Howard Ogden, alias Harry Owens, fired off his second thunderbolt.

"I don't know them at all. I have never seen either one of them, and neither of them has ever seen me."

The Old Man squinted. "I—I don't understand."

"A part of the cover for the operation. Never the same courier. Always the courier is a total stranger."

"Then how do they know they can trust you?"

"They trust their people in South America who select the couriers."

"But what would stop one like you—a bold adventurer like yourself—from running off with a hundred thousand dollars in gold?"

"Where would we run? Where could we hide? Where in the world could we ever be safe from— T.H.R.U.S.H.?"

6. More Thunderbolts

T.H.R.U.S.H.!

A thrill of anticipation shivered through Alexander Waverly, but he continued his slow, methodical examination.

Yes, Howard Ogden went on, Mr. Raymond and Mr. Langston are a part of T.H.R.U.S.H., sent to the United States by their Australian section. Yes, each time it is a different courier, different papers, different passport. No, Raymond and Langston have no knowledge as to who the courier will be. They depend upon their South American people; they do not risk unnecessary communication.

"But then how would they know, for instance, that you are the courier?"

"I bring the best identillcation in the world—a hundred thousand dollars in gold."

The Old Man lit his pipe and became partially hidden behind wreaths of smoke. But Howard Ogden was not finished. He was fighting prison bars, fighting for years of freedom, fighting for a reduction of the penalties of his crimes.

In South America Ogden had been closely connected to important Communist leaders. He had had their confidence. And now, unasked and greatly to his credit in the lessening of his penalty, he proceeded to offer information that had Alexander Waverly sitting tense and upright in his chair.

"In the basement of their building in New York," Ogden explained, "Raymond and Langston have a smelting plant where they melt down the gold and form it into ingots—gold bullion in the shape of bars. They keep this gold bullion in a vast vault down there in the basement. It is a fireproof steel vault like a bank vault. It is protected by a burglar- alarm system that does three things: First, it sets off a clang in the basement that would immediately frighten off a burglar; second, it sets off a buzz alarm in the apartment of Raymond and Langston; third, it registers on a device in that apartment; that is, if the vault dial is even turned a bit, Raymond and Langston know that someone has been down there tampering with their vault."