A Spaceship Named: 45 Sci-Fi Novels & Stories in One Volume. Randall Garrett

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      And it had all started so simply, too. Malone remembered very clearly the first time he had had any indication that red Cadillacs were anything unusual, or special. Before that, he'd viewed them all with slightly wistful eyes: red, blue, green, gray, white or even black Cadillacs were all the same to him. They spelled luxury and wealth and display and a lot of other nice things.

      Now, he wasn't at all sure what they spelled. Except that it was definitely uncomfortable, and highly baffling.

      He'd walked into the offices of Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI, just one week ago. It was a beautiful office, pine paneled and spacious, and it boasted an enormous polished desk. And behind the desk Burris himself sat, looking both tired and somehow a little kindly.

      "You sent for me, chief?" Malone said.

      "That's right." Burris nodded. "Malone, you've been working too hard lately."

      Now, Malone thought, it was coming. The dismissal he'd always feared. At least Burris had found out that he wasn't the bright, intelligent, fearless and alert FBI agent he was supposed to be. Burris had discovered that he was nothing more or less than lucky, and that all the "fine jobs" he was supposed to have done were only the result of luck.

      Oh, well, Malone thought. Not being an FBI agent wouldn't be so bad. He could always find another job.

      Only at the moment he couldn't think of one he liked.

      He decided to make one last plea.

      "I haven't been working so hard, chief," he said. "Not too hard, anyhow. I'm in great shape. I—"

      "I've taken advantage of you, Malone, that's what I've done," Burris said, just as if Malone hadn't spoken at all. "Just because you're the best agent I've got, that's no reason for me to hand you all the tough ones."

      "Just because I'm what?" Malone said, feeling slightly faint.

      "I've given you the tough ones because you could handle them," Burris said. "But that's no reason to keep loading jobs on you. After that job you did on the Gorelik kidnapping, and the way you wrapped up the Transom counterfeit ring ... well, Malone, I think you need a little relaxation."

      "Relaxation?" Malone said, feeling just a little bit pleased. Of course, he didn't deserve any of the praise he was getting, he knew. He'd just happened to walk in on the Gorelik kidnappers because his telephone had been out of order. And the Transom ring hadn't been just his job. After all, if other agents hadn't managed to trace the counterfeit bills back to a common area in Cincinnati, he'd never have been able to complete his part of the assignment. But it was nice to be praised, anyhow. Malone felt a twinge of guilt, and told himself sternly to relax and enjoy himself.

      "That's what I said," Burris told him. "Relaxation."

      "Well," Malone said, "I certainly would like a vacation, that's for sure. I'd like to snooze for a couple of weeks—or maybe go up to Cape Cod for a while. There's a lot of nice scenery up around there. It's restful, sort of, and I could just—"

      He stopped. Burris was frowning, and when Andrew J. Burris frowned it was a good idea to look attentive, interested and alert. "Now, Malone," Burris said sadly, "I wasn't thinking about a vacation. You're not scheduled for one until August, you know—"

      "Oh, I know, chief," Malone said. "But I thought—"

      "Much as I'd like to," Burris said, "I just can't make an exception; you know that, Malone. I've got to go pretty much by the schedule."

      "Yes, sir," Malone said, feeling just a shade disappointed.

      "But I do think you deserve a rest," Burris said.

      "Well, if I—"

      "Here's what I'm going to do," Burris said, and paused. Malone felt a little unsure as to exactly what his chief was talking about, but by now he knew better than to ask a lot of questions. Sooner or later, Burris would probably explain himself. And if he didn't, then there was no use worrying about it. That was just the way Burris acted.

      "Suppose I gave you a chance to take it easy for a while," Burris said. "You could catch up on your sleep, see some shows, have a couple of drinks during the evening, take girls out for dinner—you know. Something like that. How would you like it?"

      "Well—" Malone said cautiously.

      "Good," Burris said. "I knew you would."

      Malone opened his mouth, thought briefly and closed it again. After all, it did sound sort of promising, and if there was a catch in it he'd find out about it soon enough.

      "It's really just a routine case," Burris said in an offhand tone. "Nothing to it."

      "Oh," Malone said.

      "There's this red Cadillac," Burris said. "It was stolen from a party in Connecticut, out near Danbury, and it showed up in New York City. Now, the car's crossed a state line."

      "That puts it in our jurisdiction," Malone said, feeling obvious.

      "Right," Burris said. "Right on the nose."

      "But the New York office—"

      "Naturally, they're in charge of everything," Burris said. "But I'm sending you out as sort of a special observer. Just keep your eyes open and nose around and let me know what's happening."

      "Keep my eyes and nose what?" Malone said.

      "Open," Burris said. "And let me know about it."

      Malone tried to picture himself with his eyes and nose open, and decided he didn't look very attractive that way. Well, it was only a figure of speech or something. He didn't have to think about it.

      It really made a very ugly picture.

      "But why a special observer?" he said after a second. Burris could read the reports from the New York office, and probably get more facts than any single agent could find out just wandering around a strange city. It sounded as if there were something, Malone told himself, just a tiny shade rotten in Denmark. It sounded as if there were going to be something in the nice, easy assignment he was getting that would make him wish he'd gone lion-hunting in Darkest Africa instead.

      And then again, maybe he was wrong. He stood at ease and waited to find out.

      "Well," Burris said, "it is just a routine case. Just like I said. But there seems to be something a little bit odd about it."

      "I see," Malone said with a sinking feeling.

      "Here's what happened," Burris said hurriedly, as if he were afraid Malone was going to change his mind and refuse the assignment. "This red Cadillac I told you about was reported stolen from Danbury. Three days later, it turned up in New York City—parked smack across the street from a precinct police station. Of course it took them a while to wake up, but one of the officers happened to notice the routine report on stolen cars in the area, and he decided to go across the street and check the license number on the car. Then something funny happened."

      "Something funny?" Malone asked. He doubted that, whatever it was, it was going to make him laugh. But he kept his face a careful, receptive blank.

      "That's right," Burris СКАЧАТЬ