Free Skyprobe by Philip McCutchan

find out all you can from me and then get away in one piece so you can pass it on to Whitehall. That’s your form, isn’t it? This time, if I were you, I wouldn’t even begin to reckon the odds because, believe me, they’re all against you. For a start, if you try anything now, our friends with the guns will rip you apart before you’ve moved out of your chair. And I’m as ready to shoot as they are. Next: you can’t get out of the cellar once we put you back in. If you even try to, an alarm system blasts off where one of us can hear it twenty-four hours a day. So be reasonable. We don’t want to have to kill you, old man, but I do want you to understand that if we have to, we will, without any hesitation whatsoever.”
    “We, Thixey?” Shaw looked into the man’s eyes. “Just who do you mean when you say ‘we’? And what have ‘we’ planned for Skyprobe IV, Thixey?”
    There was an immediate reaction from the others. The girl’s eyes went blank and she looked down quickly at her cup. Moss’s body jerked and the hand went deeper into the jacket, looking as if it were about to come out with the gun, like a lucky dip. Behind Shaw, the American could be heard sucking in a long, whistling breath. Rencke’s heavy square face, suffusing, lost its pastiness and his fists clenched on the table. Only Thixey remained completely unmoved and at ease, his long, well-kept fingers carrying the Sobranie to his lips and his eyes sardonic, amused, even mischievous beneath the fine head of hair. He asked casually, “What do you know about Skyprobe IV, old man?”
    Shaw said, “I asked you the question first, Thixey.'”
    The girl came to life then. She said sharply, “Watch out. He’s on to something, Hilary.” The accent was Australian—Sydney, Shaw fancied.
    “Nonsense, Beatty!” Thixey gave a light laugh, a laugh of amusement, and once again brushed his cuff with his hand. “We know he met Spalinski, after all.” He paused, drew on his cigarette deeply, filling his lungs and then letting the smoke drift out in twin streams through his nostrils. “We think perhaps you’ll tell us exactly how much Spalinski was able to pass on to you. Are you going to do that, old man?”
    Shaw said briefly, “It’s not very likely, is it?”
    “You may change your mind, you know.”
    “We’ll see about that. Is this why you had me brought here, Thixey?”
    “Partly, yes. Naturally, we had to get hold of you once you’d met Spalinski—if it hadn’t been for that, old man, we probably wouldn’t have bothered with you, as a matter of fact—but there are certain other things we’d rather like to know before we put our plans into effect. Just because you happen to be here, you know.” Thixey flicked ash off his cigarette. “We’d like to know what Spalinski told you, and what you’ve passed to your chief and Washington—and what action is being taken on it. If you wonder why I can’t find that out for myself through my official position, the answer is that I’m currently enjoying a well-earned long leave overseas and can’t be got at. That being the case, to contact my office or my colleagues just now would look a trifle curious, and would undoubtedly lead to all kinds of awkward questions being asked.”
    Shaw said, “I see. Well—Spalinski didn’t, in fact, tell me anything, so you’re dead unlucky, Thixey. Your man got him before he could talk.” He looked across at Rencke. “It was you, wasn’t it, Rencke?”
    Rencke smiled; his eyes held a look of warmth. “Yes,” he said. “I killed Spalinski.”
    “Fetters, too?”
    “Yes, also Fetters.” He looked and sounded happy about it. Quite clearly, the act of killing gave him pleasure for its own sake.
    Thixey said, “Rencke’s terribly efficient, you know.” There was an odd note in his voice. “Now tell me, Shaw: what exactly did Spalinski say? Come on, old man—you can tell us that! Spalinski’s dead already, and you’ll save yourself an