Read Online Skyprobe by Philip McCutchan - Free Book Online Page B

Thixey deviated? That background of his didn’t lead a man towards Communism—or could it, perhaps? The stately home—Thixey’s home was Weltham Hall and he was by way of being the local squire, or would have been in the more spacious days of duck shooting that he’d spoken of—Eton and Sandhurst and the Brigade of Guards, followed by absorption into high-level security and all that that entailed, could have produced some kind of inner rebellion, a revulsion of the spirit. It had happened before. And agents, of all people, had the best opportunities of making the wrong sort of contacts—they had to, simply in the line of duty. Thixey could have been seduced by cash or promises—he probably wasn’t exactly wealthy according to his standards—or by threats, after an indiscretion? One thing was clear: Shaw had been brought, if not right to the heart of whatever was being planned against the American space mission, then at least pretty close to it; for Hilary St. George Thixey, if he was one of the other side, must, by the very nature of his British standing and his professional knowledge, be one of the bigger boys in the set-up. They would hardly employ a top British security man as tea boy.
    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