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

no, they don't," Kettleman said. "That's what makes it so funny. You see, the warehouse is deserted, but it's kept in good repair; there are bars on the windows, and it's protected by all sorts of alarm systems and things like that. So none of the others can use it. Only the Spooks. You can't get in without a key, not at all."

      "But do the Spooks—" Malone began.

      "Oh, no," Kettleman moaned. "They don't have a key. At least, that's what the other ... social groups say. The Spooks just ... just melt through the walls, or something like that."

      "Mr. Kettleman," Malone said, "where is this warehouse?"

      "I shouldn't be telling you this," Kettleman said.

      Malone sighed. "Please. Mr. Kettleman. You know we're working for the good of those boys, don't you?"

      "Well, I—"

      "Sure we are," Malone said. "So you can tell me."

      Kettleman blinked behind his glasses, and moaned a little. Malone waited with his hands tense in his lap. At last Kettleman said: "It's on West Street, near Chambers. That's downtown." He gave Malone an address. "That's where it is," he said. "But you won't ... do anything to the boys, will you? They're basically good boys. No matter what. And they—"

      "Don't worry about it, Mr. Kettleman," Malone said. "We'll take care of the Spooks."

      "Oh," Kettleman said. "Yes. Sure."

      He got up. Malone said: "There's just one more thing, Mr. Kettleman."

      "Yes?" The big man's voice had reached the high, breathy pitch of a fife.

      "Do you have any idea what time the Spooks usually meet?"

      "Well, now," Kettleman said, "I don't really know. You see, the reason I wanted to tell you all this was because Lieutenant Lynch was checking up on all those boys yesterday, and I thought—" He stopped and cleared his throat, and when he began again his voice had dropped almost to a whisper: "Well, Mr. Malone, I thought, after all, that since he was asking me questions ... you know, questions about where they were, the Spooks I mean, and all of that ... since he was asking me questions—"

      "Yes?" Malone said.

      "I thought perhaps I ought to tell you about them," Kettleman said. "Where they were, and all of that."

      Malone stood up. "Mr. Kettleman," he said in his most official voice, "I want you to know that the FBI appreciates what you've done. Your information will probably be very helpful to us, and the FBI certainly commends you for being public-spirited enough to come to us and tell us what you know." He thought for a second, and then added: "In the name of the FBI, Mr. Kettleman—well done!"

      Kettleman stared, smiled and gulped. "My goodness," he said "Well." He smiled again, a little more broadly. "One has one's duty, you know. My, yes. Duty." He nodded to Malone.

      "Of course," Malone said, going to the door and opening it. "Thanks again, Mr. Kettleman."

      Kettleman saw the open door and headed for it blindly. As he left he flashed one last smile after Malone, who sighed, shut the door and leaned against it for a second.

      The things an FBI agent had to go through!

      When he had recovered, he opened the door again and peered carefully down the hallway to make sure Kettleman had gone. Then he left the interrogation room and went down the hall, past the desk sergeant, and up the stairs to Lieutenant Lynch's office. He was still breathing a little hard when he opened Lynch's door, and Lynch didn't seem to be expecting him at all. He was very busy with a veritable snow flurry of papers, and he looked as if he had been involved with them steadily ever since he had left Malone and Kettleman alone downstairs.

      "Well," Malone said. "Hello there, lieutenant."

      Lynch looked up, his face a mask of surprise. "Oh," he said. "It's you. Through with Kettleman?"

      "I'm through," Malone said. "As if you didn't know." He looked at Lynch for a long minute, and then said: "Lieutenant—"

      Lynch had gone right back to his papers. He looked up again with a bland expression. "Yes?"

      "Lieutenant, how reliable is Kettleman?" Malone said.

      Lynch shrugged. "He's always been pretty good with the kids, if that's what you mean. You know these social workers—I've never got much information out of him. He feels it's his duty to the kids ... I don't know. Some such thing. Why do you ask?"

      "Well," Malone said, "what he told me. Was he kidding me? Or does he know what he's talking about? Was what he said reasonably accurate?"

      "How would I know?" Lynch said. "After all, you were down there alone, weren't you? I was up here, working. If you'll tell me what he said, maybe I'll be able to tell you whether or not I think he was kidding. But—"

      Malone placed both his palms on the lieutenant's desk, mashing a couple of piles of papers. He leaned forward slowly, his eyes on Lynch's bland, innocent face. "Now look, Lynch," he said. "I like you. I really do. You're a good cop. You get things done."

      "Well, thanks," Lynch said. "But I don't see what this has to do with—"

      "I just don't want you trying to kid your buddy-boy," Malone said.

      "Kid you?" Lynch said. "I don't get it."

      "Come on, now," Malone said. "I know that room was bugged, just as well as you do. It was the sensible thing for you to pull, and you pulled it. You've got the whole thing recorded, haven't you?"

      "Me?" Lynch said. "Why would I—"

      "Oh, cut it out," Malone said impatiently. "Let's not play games, O.K.?"

      There was a second of silence.

      "All right," Lynch said. "So I recorded the conversation. Kill me. Crucify me. I'm stealing FBI secrets. I'm a spy secretly working for a foreign power. Take me out and electrocute me."

      "I don't want to fight you," Malone said wearily. "So you've got the stuff recorded. That's your business."

      "My business?"

      "Sure," Malone said cheerfully, "as long as you don't try to use it."

      "Now, Malone—" Lynch began.

      "This is touchy stuff," Malone said. "We're going to have to take a lot of care in handling it. And I don't want you throwing raids all over the place and mixing everything up."

      "Malone, I—"

      "Eventually," Malone said, "I'm going to need your help with these kids. But for right now, I want to handle this my way, without any interference."

      "I wouldn't think of—"

      "You wanted information," Malone said. "Fine. That's all right with me. You got the information, and that's O.K., too. But if you try to use it before I say the word, I'll ... I'll talk to good old Uncle John Henry Fernack. And he'll help me out: he'll give you a refresher course on How To Be A Beat Cop. In Kew Gardens. It's nice and lonely out there now, Lynch. You'd love it."

      "Malone," Lynch said tiredly.

      "Don't give me any arguments," Malone said. "I don't want any arguments."

      "I won't argue with you, Malone," Lynch said. "I've been trying to tell you something."

      Malone stepped away from the desk. "All right," he said. "Go ahead."

      Lynch took a deep breath. "Malone, I'm not trying to queer your pitch," he said. "If I were going to pull a raid, here's what I'd have to do: get my own cops together, then call the precinct that covers that old warehouse. We don't cover the warehouse from here, Malone, and we'd need the responsible precinct's aid in anything we did down there."

      Malone said: "Well, all I—"

      "Not only that," Lynch said. "I'd have to call Safe and Loft, and get them in on it. A warehouse raid would probably be their baby first of all. That means this precinct, the warehouse precinct, and the Safe and Loft Squad, all together to raid that warehouse.