The Greatest Works of Randall Garrett. Randall Garrett

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СКАЧАТЬ swallowed hard. Malone ignored him.

      "Now, just look at him," Boyd said. "He certainly doesn't look like the head of a spy ring, does he?"

      "Of course he doesn't," Malone said. "That's probably why the Russians used him. They figured nobody would ever look twice at a fat slob like this. Nobody would ever suspect him of being the head man."

      "I guess you're right," Boyd said. He yawned, which Malone thought was overacting a trifle. Brubitsch saw the yawn, and one hand came up to jerk at his collar.

      "Who'd ever think," Malone said, "that he plotted those killings in Redstone--all three of them?"

      "It is surprising," Boyd said.

      "But, then," Malone said, "we know he did. There isn't any doubt of that."

      Brubitsch seemed to be turning a pale green. It was a fascinating color, unlike any other Malone had ever seen. He watched it with interest.

      "Oh, sure," Boyd said. "We've got enough evidence from the other two to send this one to the chair tomorrow, if we want to."

      "More than enough," Malone agreed.

      Brubitsch opened his mouth, shut it again and closed his eyes. His lips moved silently.

      "Tell me," Boyd said conversationally, leaning down to the fat man. "Did your orders on that job come from Moscow, or did you mastermind it all by yourself?"

      Brubitsch's eyes stirred, then snapped open as if they'd been pulled by a string. "Me?" he said in a hoarse bass voice. "I know nothing about this murder. What murder? I know nothing about it."

      There were no such murders, of course. But Malone was not ready to let Brubitsch know anything about that. "Oh, the ones you shot in Redstone," he said in an offhand way.

      "The what?" Brubitsch said. "I shot people? Never."

      "Oh, sure you did," Boyd said. "The others say you did."

      Brubitsch's head seemed to sink into his neck. "Borbitsch and Garbitsch, they tell you about a murder? It is not true. Is a lie."

      "Really?" Malone said. "We think it's true."

      "Is a lie," Brubitsch said, his little eyes peering anxiously from side to side. "Is not true," he went on hopefully. "I have alibi."

      "You do?" Boyd said. "For what time?"

      "For time when murder happened," Brubitsch said. "I was someplace else."

      "Well, then," Malone said, "how do you know when the murders were done? They were kept out of the newspapers." That, he reflected, was quite true, since the murders had never happened. But he watched Brubitsch with a wary eye.

      "I know nothing about time," Brubitsch said, jerking at his collar. "I don't know when they happened."

      "Then how can you have an alibi?" Boyd snapped.

      "Because I didn't do them!" Brubitsch said tearfully. "If I didn't, then I must have alibi!"

      "You'd be surprised," Malone said. "Now, about these murders--"

      "Was no murder, not by me," Brubitsch said firmly. "Was never any killing of anybody, not even by accident."

      "But your two friends say--" Boyd began.

      "My two friends are not my friends," Brubitsch said firmly. "If they tell you about murder and say it was me, they are no friends. I did not murder anybody, I have alibi. I did not even murder anybody a little bit. They are no friends. This is terrible."

      "There," Malone said reflectively, "I agree with you. It's positively awful. And I think we might as well give it up. After all, we don't need your testimony. The other two are enough; they'll get maybe ten years apiece, but you're going to get the chair."

      "I will not sit down," Brubitsch said firmly. "I am innocent. I am innocent like a small child. Does a small child commit a murder? It is ridiculous."

      Boyd picked up his cue with ease. "You might as well give us your side of the story, then," he said easily. "If you didn't commit any murders--"

      "I am a small child," Brubitsch announced.

      "Okay," Boyd said. "But if you didn't commit any murders, just what have you been doing since you've been in this country as a Soviet agent?"

      "I will say nothing," Brubitsch announced. "I am a small child. It is enough." He paused, blinked, and went on, "I will only tell you this: no murders were done by our group in any of our activities."

      "And what were your activities?" Malone asked.

      "Oh, many things," Brubitsch said. "Many, many things. We--"

      The telephone rang loudly, and Malone scooped it up with a practiced hand. "Malone here," he said.

      Her Majesty's voice was excited. "Sir Kenneth!" she said. "I just got a tremendous burst of static!"

      Malone blinked. Is my mind acting up again? he thought, knowing she would pick it up. Am I being interfered with?

      He didn't feel any different. But then, how was he supposed to feel?

      "It's not your mind, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "Not this time. It's his mind. That sneaky-thinking Brubitsch fellow."

      Brubitsch? Malone thought. Now what is that supposed to mean?

      "I don't know, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "But get on back to your questioning. He's ready to talk now."

      "Okay," Malone said aloud. "Fine." He hung up and looked back to the Russian sitting on his chair. Brubitsch was ready to talk, and that was one good thing, anyhow. But what was all the static about?

      What was going on?

      "Now, then," Malone said. "You were telling us about your group activities."

      "True," Brubitsch said. "I did not commit any murders. It is possible that Borbitsch committed murders. It is maybe even possible that Garbitsch committed murders. But I do not think so."

      "Why not?" Boyd said.

      "They are my friends," Brubitsch said. "Even if they tell lies. They are also small children. Besides, I am not even the head of the group."

      "Who is?" Malone said.

      "Garbitsch," Brubitsch said instantly. "He worked in the State Department, and he told us what to look for in the Senate Office Building."

      "What were you supposed to look for?" Boyd said.

      "For information," Brubitsch said. "For scraps of paper, or things we overheard. But it was very bad, very bad."

      "What do you mean, bad?" Malone said.

      "Everything was terrible," Brubitsch said mournfully. "Sometimes Borbitsch heard something and forgot to tell Garbitsch about it. Garbitsch did not like this. He is a very inflamed person. Once СКАЧАТЬ