Skyprobe

by Philip McCutchan

  Shaw finished a roll and politely Thixey tried to press him to another. He refused.

  “Quite sure, old man?” Thixey was solicitous.

  “Absolutely certain, thank you,” Shaw felt a strong desire to laugh; the country-house atmosphere was too ridiculous. He stirred his coffee.

  “Smoke?”

  “Thank you. . ."

  Thixey held out a gold case. Shaw took a Sobrania Virginia. Thixey flicked a lighter; smoke drifted up from his own cigarette, widened into an early sunbeam coming through the tall, elegant window where Moss stood. The girl was still watching Shaw, looking at him now over the rim of her cup as, somewhat noisily, she drank tea. Rudolf Rencke was in the background, just sitting quietly and looking his pasty, unhealthy self. Thixey smiled and asked, “Surprised to see me, old man?”

  Shaw gave a hard laugh. “Simply to say yes seems a totally inadequate answer—old man.”

  Thixey grinned and leaned back in his chair. He glanced across at the American, Horn, who was still by the door and holding the silenced revolver aimed between Shaw’s shoulder-blades. Breakfast wasn’t really quite the happy, carefree party Thixey was trying to make it seem—the gun spoilt the atmosphere. Moss, too, was keeping a hand loosely inside his double-breasted jacket, ready to reach into the shoulder-holster that showed as a slight bulge in the cloth. Thixey said, “Yes, I quite understand, of course. It must seem awfully odd to you. Don’t be shy in front of my friends,” he added. “They know who I am and what my job is. My British job, I’m referring to.”

  “What about your other job, Thixey, the one that fits with all this?” Shaw waved a hand around the room, taking in the company. “How did you get hitched up with a man like Rencke?”

  Thixey laughed. “Not so fast, my dear chap! All will become crystal clear in due course—”

  “What are they paying you for this, Thixey? Or have they got a file on you, held somewhere safe . . . complete with compromising photographs, perhaps?”

  Thixey didn’t like that; his mouth thinned for a moment, then he relaxed again and smiled. “My dear old man, there’s nothing like that at all! I assure you, I never get myself into compromising situations of that sort. I’m here of my own free will entirely, and—”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “That’s what I’m coming to if you’ll give me a chance. Mossy, a little more coffee, please.” Thixey held out his cup; Moss came away from the window, took the cup and refilled it. Thixey drank a little, then went on. “There’s one thing I must tell you. I know your reputation, Shaw—I know you’ve got yourself out of extremely tricky situations before now. At the moment you’ve got one thing in your mind, and that is, to 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 immense amount of trouble if you accept the inevitable.”

  Shaw said steadily, “All he told me was what I’ve indicated by inference already—that Skyprobe IV was under threat. And if I were you, Thixey, I’d get out from under very fast indeed, because if anything does happen to the capsule, it means war. You can take that as definite.”

  “We’ll skip the good advice, old man, if you don’t mind. Is that really all Spalinski said?”

  “Yes, that’s all.”

  “I wonder, old man—I wonder if it was!” Thixey stared at him thoughtfully. “You know . . . it’s rather important we establish whether or not you’re telling the truth. You see, somehow or other Spalinski had got hold of the whole story—”

  “I assumed that. If he hadn’t, he would hardly have come to England to talk, would he?”

  “I imagine not, indeed.” Thixey blew smoke. “I’m afraid we can’t possibly take your unadorned word, old man. You’ll have to have a little prompting . . . you agree, of course, Rencke?”

  “I agree very much indeed,” Rencke said softly. “I think it is of little use to keep the velvet glove too long, my friend.” His moist red lips, sensual lips, hung open a little as his glance strayed towards the Australian girl, Beatty. “Yes, it is time we allowed the young lady to see what she can do.”

  “Very well,” Thixey said in an equable tone. “Hands, please, gentiemen.”

  Moss moved and the American moved and a Luger automatic appeared in Thixey’s hand. Suddenly Shaw felt his arms taken in a powerfu
l grip and his hands were forced down on to the table. Thixey reached out to the girl with his left hand and passed her his cigarette. “All yours. Beatty,” he said.

  Beatty took a pull at the cigarette and when the end was glowing really bright and red she leaned across the table till Shaw could see the deep cleft between her breasts. She was very well built in that respect; Shaw kept his eyes and his thoughts steadily on those voluptuous mounds of flesh when the cigarette came down on the back of one of his clenched fists and burned in deep.

  The girl kept it there and leaned right across to take another pull in situ to keep it glowing. Through a mist of pain, the breasts seemed to loom over Shaw like flesh-pink balloons at a children’s party.

  Rencke’s mouth was half-way open now, the over-red lips drawn back in a curious snarl to show the gold teeth nestling among the pearls. Rencke was enjoying this; there was a sweat of consummated sadism on his forehead. Thixey asked, “Well, old man?”

  “Spalinski,” Shaw said between his teeth, “didn’t say a word more. And, if he had, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Well spoken, indeed.” Thixey murmured. “Very British, very old-school-tie and white-man’s-burden and all that, but, like so much else we used to value, it’s also just a trifle old-fashioned these days and extremely foolish as well. Take the fag-end away, Beatty, there’s a good girl.” Beatty did as she was told. Shaw felt the sweat running down his face. The two men still held his arms and Thixey’s Luger was still aimed at the middle of his rib-cage. The American asked, “Don’t intend to leave it at that, Mr. Thixey, do you?”

  There was a barely perceptible pause before Thixey answered easily. “He may be telling the simple truth, you know, Horn. We know Spalinski didn’t have long to talk to him.” He glanced at Rencke. “Right?”

  “Right so far,” Rencke said thickly. “But it is still my belief that Spalinski had time for saying more than Shaw has told us.”

  Beatty said suddenly, “Too flaming right!” She turned to Thixey. “Hilary, Mr. Rencke’s right. Dead right. Don’t you stick yer neck out for this joker. You know the orders.”

  “Of course.” Thixey, Shaw felt, didn’t like the agony angle all that much; he wasn’t basically a sadist like Rencke and Beatty, but he wasn’t strong enough to swim too far against the tide. “All right, we’ll move into Stage Two, then. Tell Kortweiler, Horn.”

  “Okay.” Horn let go Shaw’s arm; so did Moss. Horn dug his gun into Shaw’s spine, hard. “On your feet, Limey.”

  Shaw got up. As he did so, he side-stepped, neat and fast, grabbed hold of Horn and swung the man in front of Ms body, with one hand like a vice on the American’s gun-wrist. He twisted and the gun dropped. Shaw flung Horn smack into Moss, bent quickly and picked up the revolver. Rencke fired and missed by a hair’s-breadth. Then Shaw had both Rencke and Thixey covered, and as Moss and Horn picked themselves up from the floor he backed away to the door.

  Thixey looked undecided as to whether or not to chance beating Shaw to the next bullet, and it was Beatty who decided the issue. As quick as light she had reached inside her skirt and Shaw never even saw the lightweight leather thong flicking through the air towards him before it had wMpped the gun from Ms hand. Beatty jerked the gun towards her and levelled it at Shaw just as Horn and Moss were closing in again.

  After that Thixey took charge.

  “Leave it!” he rapped as the two men looked like starting to rough Shaw up. Then his tone became bantering. “Calm yourselves, gentlemen! Leave it to Kortweiler.” He walked over towards Shaw. “Don’t try that sort of thing again, old man. It really doesn’t pay, you know. Beatty’s a useful girl to have around. She used to work in a circus, hence the handiness with the wMp.” He glanced at the American and said, “Right-ho, Horn.”

  Horn got behind Shaw and this time the prod of the gun was full of meaning and intent. Horn ordered him out of the room and once again they headed for the cellar, this time in full possession, with Moss, Thixey and the girl astern of them. Only Rencke remained behind. As they came up to the cellar door Horn pressed a switch outside and they went on down into light. For the first time Shaw was able to take a full, unhurried look at the place. There was something he hadn’t been aware of in the darkness that had followed close on last night’s fall into the coal, or in the faint flickers of daylight through the grille that morning, and this was a heavy manhole cover in the floor of the cellar with, above it, what looked gruesomely like a makeshift gallows.

  Thixey seemed about to say something concerning this gallows when Moss uttered. “Here’s Kortweiler,” he said.

  There was a shuffling sound on the stone steps and Shaw, turning, saw a dwarf descending into the cellar. This dwarf had a long, dead-white face, and enormous hands dangling by Ms sides, and he was dressed entirely in black. Beneath a scalp as bald as Rencke,’s he wore a mask, his eyes reflecting the light, beadily, through the slits. Only the axe was missing from the picture. . . .

  Maybe, Shaw thought, this latter-day executioner was another circus turn, like Beatty.

  * * *

  Already in America certain preliminary precautions had been taken. Units of the United States Sixth Fleet, detailed as the recovery force for the Skyprobe project and standing by in Key West, had been ordered to sea and were proceeding at full speed for the splashdown area in the Caribbean in case the programme should have to be speeded up. Only the Commanding Officers and certain senior specialists in the ships knew that they might be called upon actually to pick up the capsule ahead of time; all other personnel, as well as the Press, had been told that the early movement was merely part of an exercise designed to eliminate any possible hitch in the smooth progress of America’s biggest-ever prestige probe into space. The only exceptions in the lower echelons were those men, including aircraft crews, whose job it would be to operate the equipment that would be watching out for any hostile submarines in the area.

  TEN

  As Kortweiler reached the bottom of the steps Thixey nodded at Moss; Moss and Horn lined up on either side of Shaw. Kortweiler moved round behind and gave him a sudden violent blow in the small of his back while Horn neatly kicked his feet from under him. Moss and Horn grabbed his shoulders and lowered him to the floor of the cellar. While Horn knelt on his chest, Moss looped readymade lengths of rope over his wrists and ankles. These were hauled taut to heavy iron ring-bolts set in the stone floor. Looking detached, Kortweiler moved away.

  Moss looked up. “All ready,” he reported.

  Thixey’s face looked white in the glare from the bare electric blub hanging from the centre of the ceiling. He said, “Right-ho, Mossy,” then addressed Shaw. “Now look here, old man. I do want you to realize we’re going to make you talk. There’s really no sense whatever in your being noble and undergoing a lot of discomfort, because you’re bound to crack in the end. You know that as well as I do. We’re all human, old man.”

  “Don’t put me in the same bracket as yourself. Thixey.” Thixey flushed. “I know what you must think of me. I’m not going to give you a lecture on the philosophies I’ve come to believe in.”

  “Fine. I still haven’t anything to say, though.”

  “Well, it’s up to you, then, old man.” Thixey nodded at the dwarf. “Go ahead, Kortweiler.”

  Kortweiler lumbered forward again, heavy and slow, breath hissing through a broken-down set of teeth. He seemed to be asthmatical. It was impossible to guess his age. He was no more than five foot in height, with a chest like a rum cask in comparison. There was little intelligence in the low forehead, but the beady eyes showed any amount of cunning as they peered through the slits in the black mask. Shaw felt his flesh creep as Kortweiler approached him, moving on soft-soled shoes across the littered floor of the cellar. He stopped six inches away from Shaw. Everyone was watching closely. The girl Beatty had a bead of sweat gathering on her upper lip and her eyes seemed glazed; her breasts rose and fell rapidly. She was enjoying this; Shaw had a feeling that Rencke, who must have been other
wise and importantly engaged, would be sorry to miss whatever was coming next.

  Suddenly, without any warning, without any sound or preliminary movement, without even appearing to bend his knees, Kortweiler jumped.