Eric Russell - Three to Conquer

Riley raised an eyebrow in false surprise. “Everybody knew he was wanted, but nobody’s been told what for. Judging by that reaction, the reason must have been mighty serious. So where’s the sense in all the secrecy?”

“Don’t ask me. I have no say in government policy.” Harper made a gesture of bafflement. “You know how the top boys sometimes love to be mysterious.”

The other grunted in disdain.

Now then, this was it, the critical play. It had to be done delicately, like handling dynamite. One slip and there’d be an explosion of wild action, with Norris and the others caught by surprise. Thank goodness Moira was out of it.

With a deceitfully reminiscent air, Harper went on, “It’s possible that Langley really was cracked in the head. If so, I don’t like it. Everyone has pet fears, and I’ve got mine.”

“Such as what?”

“When I was a small child I was afraid of big black dogs. Now that I’m older, I have a violent revulsion toward mental disease; I fear loonies.” He pulled a face, nerved himself and made the move. “What scares you the most?”

By God, he got it! He got it clearly and vividly, as only a lifelong terror can be pictured. What’s more, he felt sure that he recognized it—not by its form, but by its brutal nature. And it was here, on Earth, waiting around and ready for use. He had to tighten his mouth to prevent himself from shouting aloud.

Standing up, Riley frowned at him and asked in taut tones, “What makes you ask me that?” And his mind followed on with, “ A while ago he said that talk was of no avail, that he was busy and had work to do. Yet he’s been maintaining the conversation ever since. He has been prompting me repeatedly, and I’ve had to keep avoiding his leads. Nevertheless he appears satisfied with answers that I’ve been careful not to give. How can that be?”

The enemy mentality was searching with swiftly mounting alarm. Telepathy was completely outside its experience, nothing like it having been encountered in its native habitat. But when an astute mind fails to solve a problem on the basis of recorded data, and steps right outside of experience to seek a solution within the imagination, anything is possible.

At any moment, Riley was going to conceive the formerly inconceivable.

Then would come the eruption.

Casually scratching under one arm in order to have fingers near the gun, Harper said, “I don’t know why I asked you. I’m not in the least interested. If you feel touchy on the subject, you can attribute my question to mere yap. I’ve been doing too much of that, considering the jobs waiting to be done. Go away and let me tend to my business.”

He failed in his attempt to divert the thought-stream into another direction.

“He has a weapon there,” it flowed on. “ I have seen him carrying it many a time. He has his hand on it, and cannot conceal his tenseness. He would not be like that if he knew nothing. Therefore he knows something, in spite of all my attempts to hide it.” A puzzled pause, then, “ I came in the role of an old friend. Yet he makes ready to deal with me for what I am.”

Grinning at him, Harper withdrew the hand, used it to scratch his head instead. It was a mistake.

“By the Great Black Rock of Karsim, he can hear my thoughts!”

The desk went over with a crash that shook the floor as Harper dived headlong across it and grabbed the hand which Riley was digging into a pocket. Something small, oval and metallic lay in the pocket but did not come out.

Voicing a loud oath in no known language, Riley used his free hand to try to haul Harper from the pinioned one. He was a powerful man with a huge grip that had clamped itself unbreakably on many a struggling felon. Hauling with irresistible strength, he was caught unaware when Harper went willingly with the pull and helped it further. The unexpected co-operation sent him teetering on his heels, at which point Harper shoved with all his might.

Together they fell to the floor, with Harper partly on top. Riley’s eyes were aflame, his features crimson as he fought to beat off his opponent long enough to get at the object in his pocket. Pinning him down was like trying to fasten an enraged tiger to the earth.

A thick-knuckled fist landed squarely on Harper’s mouth and brought a spurt of blood from split lips. The sight of it created a horrible eagerness in Riley’s features. He redoubled his efforts to throw the other off, heaving tremendously and keeping his gaze on the blood.

Panting as he strove to maintain his position of vantage, Harper caught a knee-thrust in the stomach, whooshed expelled breath, spat crimson drops and hoarsed, “No you don’t, you!” He released his hold on Riley’s wrist, got a two-handed grip on his neck and dug thumbs into his windpipe.

At that point Norris jumped through the doorway, gun in hand, and bawled, “Break it up I Break it up, I tell you!”

Riley heaved with maniac force, tossed Harper off his middle, kicked at his head as he rolled aside and missed. He shot upright, glaring at Norris and showing complete disregard of the gun. He made a motion toward his pocket, came down flat before he could touch it as Harper twisted on the floor and snatched the feet from under him.

Clutching each other afresh, the two threshed around with bodies squirming and legs flailing right and left. A tall filing cabinet shuddered under their impact, rocked forward, toppled and flung a shower of business papers across the office. The telephone leaped from its rack; two bottles of ink and one of paste added themselves to the mess. The combatants continued to fight fiercely amid the litter.

Rausch and two more agents appeared just as Norris firmed his lips and stepped forward, determined to end the battle. The four made a concerted rush that swept Harper aside and got Riley good and tight. They dragged him upright.

Sweating profusely, Riley stood in their grip, forced righteous indignation into his face and declaimed with plausible resentfulness, “The man’s gone completely mad. He attacked me without warning, and for no reason at all; there must be something wrong with him.”

It was said with such a natural air that Norris had a moment of wondering whether Harper had gone bad right under his nose and despite all their precautions.

“Feel in his pocket and see what he’s got,” suggested Harper. Sitting on the edge of the upended desk, he dabbed his bleeding lips with a handkerchief.

Norris did that, produced a grenade, examined it. “Army model, same as Baum used.” He gazed hard-eyed at Riley. “Funny sort of thing for a police officer to carry around, isn’t it?”

“He’s not a police officer any more,” Harper put in. “And he isn’t Riley either. Rush him down to the Biological Research Laboratory; they need him there at once.”

These words created a sudden frenzy in the prisoner. His arms were held but his legs were not. He kicked Norris in the middle, tore loose, tried to snatch the grenade. Norris bent forward, doubled with agony, but held onto it. Riley pulled at him, gobbling and foaming, making strange whining noises and working his features almost out of recognition.

An agent sapped him. Riley rocked dazedly, let his hand hang. The agent slogged him again, a vicious crack devoid of mercy. Riley collapsed like an empty sack; he lay with eyes closed, his lips shut and breathed with eerie bubbling sounds.

“I’ve no time for belly-kickers,” said the agent.

Norris straightened himself painfully, his face white and strained. He held out the grenade. “Take it away someplace where it can do no harm.”

“Same applies to the owner,” Harper reminded. “Tie him up so he can’t choke himself with his own fingers, and get him to the Bio Lab.”