Read Online The Reproductive System (Gollancz SF Library) by John Sladek - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Sladek
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hoped.
In the lobby, Suggs bought a postcard depicting snake charmers in the market, Dar El Fna, and a stamp. ‘Dear Madge,’ he wrote. ‘Still having wonderful time, though I miss you and Susie. Love, Bubby.’ He mailed it at the desk.
Scotty, his partner, sat in the only comfortable chair in their room, reading an Arabic newspaper. ‘Did you get it?’ he asked, without glancing up. Suggs nodded as he locked the door. ‘Good man. Haroun give you any trouble?’
‘A little. I had to kill him.’
‘That’s tough. We could have used him. What happened?’
‘Tell you as soon as I get the report made out, Scotty.’ Divesting himself of the jelaba and loosening his tie, Suggs sat down at the portable and rolled in a triplicate form.
‘Item : one bullet, .375 calibre,’ he typed. ‘Date used; 1 June, 196–.’ He went on, typing slowly, taking a certain pride in his neat spacing. When he had finished, he brought out the half-photo and showed it to Scotty.
‘He was going to sell
them
the other half,’ Suggs explained.
The other looked surprised. ‘Them? I thought Vovov was working alone on this.’
‘Not any more. This is too big for just Vovov. They know as well as we do what’s going on here—that this Brioche is an astronaut—that France means to put him on the moon. They’ve brought in their top man, Vetch. Maybe to check on his subordinate, or maybe to ringer this Brioche.’
‘How do you know Vetch is in town?’
Suggs wagged a finger playfully. ‘Oh, I have my spies, I have my spies,’ he said. ‘But what worries me is, have they
already
got the other half of this? Do they know what Marcel Brioche looks like?’
‘Are you sure he’s the man?’
Suggs nodded. ‘We’ve got to contact him before they offer him—the moon.’
Neither man smiled. They lapsed into a thoughtful silence, each trying to unravel the mystery surrounding the half-picture.
—Why had Haroun offered him only half a picture? Suggs wondered. It didn’t make sense, if he had intended to sell the other half to the Russians. Perhaps he only had meant to hold it back for more money. Haroun was too smart to try selling to both sides.
But there were other things that did not make sense. What of the crowd of urchins—they had recognized him through his disguise as an American ! Could they have stolen the other half of the picture? What kind of pictures had
they
been trying to sell him? He recalled their grimy, skinny hands clutching at him—could they have picked his pocket? Perhaps, on the other hand, they had been trying to warn him of something—of the location of the rocket, for example. What was it they had said about gulls? ‘You want gull?’ But Marrakech was in the middle of the desert, hundreds of miles from any gulls ! It was a code, then, but a code for what, he could not imagine. He was about to ask Scotty, when something, a gleam of scrutinizing eye, arrested him. What was Scotty thinking about?
—Scott watched his partner watching him. Yes, there was guilt in Suggs’s face, real guilt and worry. He had killed today, almost for no reason. Then too, he was reticent about his sources of information. How had he found out what the Russkies were up to? What was going through his mind now? Scott was glad he had taken the precaution of tucking his gun down the side of his chair earlier.
—If the urchins had seen through his disguise, Suggs reasoned, only one person could have tipped them off—the only person who knew about his visit this afternoon—Scotty ! His partner in the CIA for nine fantastic years !
Suddenly, Suggs knew fear. Was Scotty hiding a gun behind that Arab paper? Well, there was always the typewriter. Its carriage could fire a single shotgun shell—Scotty had probably forgotten that.
It seemed incredible that Suggs’ partner could have sold out, but he must have done so. To whom? Suggs wondered. Not to the Russians, or he’d have known about Vetch. Was he, then, working for
In the lobby, Suggs bought a postcard depicting snake charmers in the market, Dar El Fna, and a stamp. ‘Dear Madge,’ he wrote. ‘Still having wonderful time, though I miss you and Susie. Love, Bubby.’ He mailed it at the desk.
Scotty, his partner, sat in the only comfortable chair in their room, reading an Arabic newspaper. ‘Did you get it?’ he asked, without glancing up. Suggs nodded as he locked the door. ‘Good man. Haroun give you any trouble?’
‘A little. I had to kill him.’
‘That’s tough. We could have used him. What happened?’
‘Tell you as soon as I get the report made out, Scotty.’ Divesting himself of the jelaba and loosening his tie, Suggs sat down at the portable and rolled in a triplicate form.
‘Item : one bullet, .375 calibre,’ he typed. ‘Date used; 1 June, 196–.’ He went on, typing slowly, taking a certain pride in his neat spacing. When he had finished, he brought out the half-photo and showed it to Scotty.
‘He was going to sell
them
the other half,’ Suggs explained.
The other looked surprised. ‘Them? I thought Vovov was working alone on this.’
‘Not any more. This is too big for just Vovov. They know as well as we do what’s going on here—that this Brioche is an astronaut—that France means to put him on the moon. They’ve brought in their top man, Vetch. Maybe to check on his subordinate, or maybe to ringer this Brioche.’
‘How do you know Vetch is in town?’
Suggs wagged a finger playfully. ‘Oh, I have my spies, I have my spies,’ he said. ‘But what worries me is, have they
already
got the other half of this? Do they know what Marcel Brioche looks like?’
‘Are you sure he’s the man?’
Suggs nodded. ‘We’ve got to contact him before they offer him—the moon.’
Neither man smiled. They lapsed into a thoughtful silence, each trying to unravel the mystery surrounding the half-picture.
—Why had Haroun offered him only half a picture? Suggs wondered. It didn’t make sense, if he had intended to sell the other half to the Russians. Perhaps he only had meant to hold it back for more money. Haroun was too smart to try selling to both sides.
But there were other things that did not make sense. What of the crowd of urchins—they had recognized him through his disguise as an American ! Could they have stolen the other half of the picture? What kind of pictures had
they
been trying to sell him? He recalled their grimy, skinny hands clutching at him—could they have picked his pocket? Perhaps, on the other hand, they had been trying to warn him of something—of the location of the rocket, for example. What was it they had said about gulls? ‘You want gull?’ But Marrakech was in the middle of the desert, hundreds of miles from any gulls ! It was a code, then, but a code for what, he could not imagine. He was about to ask Scotty, when something, a gleam of scrutinizing eye, arrested him. What was Scotty thinking about?
—Scott watched his partner watching him. Yes, there was guilt in Suggs’s face, real guilt and worry. He had killed today, almost for no reason. Then too, he was reticent about his sources of information. How had he found out what the Russkies were up to? What was going through his mind now? Scott was glad he had taken the precaution of tucking his gun down the side of his chair earlier.
—If the urchins had seen through his disguise, Suggs reasoned, only one person could have tipped them off—the only person who knew about his visit this afternoon—Scotty ! His partner in the CIA for nine fantastic years !
Suddenly, Suggs knew fear. Was Scotty hiding a gun behind that Arab paper? Well, there was always the typewriter. Its carriage could fire a single shotgun shell—Scotty had probably forgotten that.
It seemed incredible that Suggs’ partner could have sold out, but he must have done so. To whom? Suggs wondered. Not to the Russians, or he’d have known about Vetch. Was he, then, working for
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