Isaac Asimov - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Vol. 73, No. 3. Whole No. 424, March 1979

“We like to think we’re a bit more sophisticated than that,” I said. “Sit down, Stenback.”

He moved to stand beside Beth Hilley. She touched his hand possessively and not without fear. I flicked the gun in his direction and he eased past the arm of the couch and sat down next to Beth Hilley. He wasn’t a bad-looking man. There was a jaded professorial cynicism about him — the kind of weltschmertz that sometimes appeals to women: they see immediately through the bitter veneer and convince themselves that beneath it is a sensitive being who needs coddling and protecting.

I said, “We need to have a little talk.”

Myers snarled. “What do you want to talk for? Let’s get it over with.” He cocked his revolver. It made a nasty sound in the room.

“Patience,” I told him. To Stenback I said, “My associate favors brute force but I suspect we’d all prefer to avoid that.”

It was the old two-cop dodge: the good cop offers you a cigarette, the bad cop slaps it out of your mouth. After a while you begin to look on the good cop not as your jailer but as your friend.

I sat down facing them and placed my revolver on the tabletop in front of me to free my hands so that I could take out my wallet and flash it at them. “My name is Charles Dark. Security officer with the United States Government.”

I heard Myers’ melodramatic sigh of exasperation.

Stenback wasn’t falling for it. “You’ve got no jurisdiction here,” he said coolly.

Beth Hilley leaned forward to read my ID laminate. “Charles Dark. A new name for our list, Iwan.” She favored me with an icy smile.

I returned it in kind. “Now that you’ve demonstrated your fearlessness shall we get down to business?”

Stenback yawned. “What business?”

“You’re an entrepreneur,” I said. “You publish at a profit. Suppose we sweeten it?”

They looked at each other with cynical amusement. It was clear there was an attachment between them — a strong bond.

I said, “For every week’s issue in which you refrain from publishing the name of an American agent, a payment of ten thousand dollars.”

“Australian dollars?”

“American if you prefer.”

The woman laughed. “They think they can buy anyone off. Isn’t it just like them?”

I said, “How about it, Stenback?”

“I’m glad to know how much Judas money you’re willing to offer me. Of course my answer is no. Did you think I’d be that easy to bribe? I can’t compromise the people’s right to know.”

“Good for you,” Myers said. “That’s all we wanted to know, ain’t it, Charlie? Let’s get it done.”

Beth Hilley reached for Stenback’s hand.

Myers spoke again, the snarl increasing. “I told you it would be a waste of time, Charlie.”

“In conscience,” I said wearily, “we had to offer them the option.” I stood up and went over to the side of the room to get out of the line of fire; I put my back to the wall and shoved my hands in my pockets. “You can change your minds, of course. My associate — well, I’m afraid he enjoys rough and tumble. Regrettable but there you are. We’re forced by people like you to employ people like him. Actually I detest the young oaf. I’d hoped to one-up him by denying him his pleasure.”

Myers turned angrily toward me. His revolver rode around in my direction. “You fat old buzzard. I’ve had all I can take of your sanctimonious—”

It was the distraction Stenback must have been praying for. He pounced on the .32 revolver that I had left lying on the table; in an instant it was in his fist and roaring.

In that confined space the blasts were earsplitting. My jaw went agape. Deafened, I saw Myers spin wildly around and slam against the wall. The gun dropped from his fingers. He clutched at the wall and slid down, leaving a wet red smear on the plaster. His shoes drummed the floor and reflex made him curl up; then he went still.

My hand belatedly whipped out of my pocket with the flat automatic pistol I’d concealed there. I leveled it at Stenback’s profile. “Drop it. Now!”

He hesitated. His revolver was still aimed at Myers, who lay in an untidy heap. The woman sat wide-eyed, motionless.

I spoke quickly. “I won’t kill you unless you force me to defend myself.”

It wasn’t so much that he believed me; it was that I had the drop on him. By the time he could turn his gun through the ninety-degree arc toward me I could put two or three bullets into him. He’d been a soldier; he knew that.

Slowly he lowered his arm to his side and let the revolver drop to the carpet.

“Smart,” I observed. “Kick it to me. Gently.”

When he complied I got down on one knee and picked up the .32 by inserting my ballpoint pen into its muzzle. When I stood up I flapped the automatic toward him. “Sit down, sit back, relax.”

He sank onto the divan and leaned back warily. I dropped the .32 into my jacket pocket and sidled around toward Myers, keeping my automatic trained on Stenback and Beth Hilley; knelt by Myers and laid my fingers along his throat to test for a pulse. There was a good deal of blood. I removed my hand and stood, grunting with the effort. “He’s dead.”

“Self-defense,” Stenback snapped.

“Sure.” I gave him a crooked smile. “Who’s going to believe that?”

I saw realization grenade into Beth Hilley. She clutched his arm in fear.

I looked down at Myers. “Everybody knows you two had it in for the C.I.A. Now you’ve murdered a C.I.A. agent. Man, you’ll be a hundred and five before they let out out into the light of day again. Both of you,” I added, looking up sharply at the woman. “It’s felony murder — she’s as guilty as you are. And I’ll testify to that.” Then I gave it a slow chilly smile. “Come to think of it you’ve done me a couple of favors. I never could stand the punk. I’m glad you’ve taken him out — they’ll never stick me with him again. And you’ve done my job for me. The assignment was to stop you from publishing the rest of those names. You can’t publish in a prison cell.”

Beth Hilley sat up straight. “But we can still talk. We can talk in court and we can talk to our lawyers and they can talk to the press. We can still make those names public. Then what happens to you, superspy? It’s a black mark on your record, isn’t it?”

I regarded her with suspicion. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the punk had a point. Maybe I’ve got no choice.” I lifted the automatic.

“Wait.” She stared at me.

Stenback seemed mesmerized by Myers’ huddled body. Then he looked up at me, at my pistol.

Beth Hilley gripped his hand tighter. He didn’t pull away. He seemed to have shrunk; it was the woman’s strength that supported both of them.

She said, “You wanted to make a deal with us. All right, we’ll take the deal.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Beth. With the evidence I’ve got now? I’ve got Stenback’s fingerprints on the murder weapon. Not to mention my own testimony.”

“But you still can’t stop us from revealing the names of your agents. Only Iwan and I can do that.”

I contrived an indifferent expression. I picked up Myers’ unused revolver and dropped it in my pocket for safekeeping; it balanced the weight of the .32 in the other pocket. Then I went toward the phone, the guns dragging my jacket down.

She watched me pick up the receiver before she spoke. “Wait a minute.”

“For what?”

“Let us go. We’ll leave the country. You’ll never hear from us again. We’ll never publish those names.”

“How do I know that, lady?”

“If we ever reveal the names,” she said shrewdly, “you’ll find us. Nobody can hide from you people. You’ll find us and kill us, or you’ll have us extradited and brought back to Australia to stand trial for murdering that man.”