Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine Annual, No. 3, 1973

Desiree exploded, “Sam, the man on the phone wanted you! He wanted Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder! His only trouble was he didn’t know you! He didn’t know whether you were male or female! I admit that female bit threw him off stride, but he bought it! And, point, Sam — the man wanted to warn you about a plot against your life!”

“You said the man who shot at you was not the man who called. How do you explain that, young lady?”

“I suspicion that your friend was somehow discovered. I have a hunch he now is dead. I think a substitute was sent to Eighth and Crowly. I think the substitute was supposed to kill me.

“Sam, the hierarchy of our foe is not stupid. The hierarchy knows you, knows you are a man. Only the henchmen might be uninformed, might make the mistake your friend did. But not the hierarchy. And the hierarchy, in this case, attempted to make a good hand out of a bad hand. A card had been put face up on the table. They were forced to call the hand. They did. They sent someone else to meet me, knowing damned well who I am. If the gunman had been successful it would have left you a sitting duck.”

“Imaginative,” Sam breathed in wonder.

“Imaginative? The guy who shot at me wasn’t imaginary!”

“Miss Fleming,” he said, suddenly turning serious, “do you actually want me to believe that some unknown persons intend to kill me?”

“It’s exactly what I want you to believe!”

“Why now? Why has there never before been an attempt to—”

“Because,” she said, forcing patience, “these people probably just discovered what you and your pals are up to.”

“I can’t believe that. No one really knows what we have.”

“No one has to. All they have to know is that you do have something.”

He pushed at his glasses. “We weren’t sure ourselves until ten days ago.”

“Sam, the word gets around. Don’t be naive. Look at Holly, my boss. He doesn’t know what you have, yet he knows that you have something. He knows that it is a new weapon. He knows the name of the project is TX.”

“He was told.”

“All right. Look at me. See how much I know? See how much the other agents know? Two days ago we didn’t. Today we do. Because Holly passed the information along to us. The same information can get bandied around until it reaches other people, too.

“They don’t have to know anything. All they need is a hint that something big is in the wind. All they need is a name dropped here and there, a name of someone who is a part of this big something that could be disastrous to them.”

“But this is all very hush-hush.”

“Was,” Desiree corrected.

“Only fifteen, perhaps sixteen, people know anything! We who have worked on TX, the military, your man Holly, you agents, the Secretary of—”

“Enough,” said Desiree flatly. “Enough people to have the word get out. Sam, you’ve got to call this thing off. You and probably some of the others are in personal danger.”

“No,” he said bluntly.

Desiree stared at him. Suddenly she left the couch and went to the telephone. Sam was with her instantly. He clamped a firm hand on hers, forced the receiver back into the hook.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Holly has to know.”

“No.”

Again he surprised her. He took her shoulders and he sent her stumbling across the room. She swelled. “Sam, I’m warning you. I can take you so fast you’ll think you’ve been hit by an army.”

“If we don’t meet tomorrow, we will on a later day,” he said. “Where and when doesn’t matter. If our enemies know now, they’ll know then. We’re all here now. We’re assembled. The meeting is set. We can have it finished in an hour. That’s all, Miss Fleming. One hour.

“The military will buy or they won’t. If they do, no one is going to kill all six of us. Attempts may be made, but some of us will escape. If the military doesn’t buy, myself and my two scientists counterparts are expendable anyway.”

“Holly has to know!”

Desiree waited for his leap at her. But he stood his ground, protecting the telephone. He used a stiff forefinger to poke the black-rimmed glasses back up his nose. Desiree took a step toward him.

“Hold it, Desiree—”

“Sam?”

The threats hung in the room. Then suddenly he seemed to concede. His shoulders sagged. He looked down at the carpeting, he shuffled and he moved away from the telephone.

“All right,” he said in a subdued voice, “you win.”

Desiree Fleming stood rooted in surprise for a moment, and then she leaped for the telephone. He was behind her. She began to dial the special Washington number. She had dialed the fourth digit when she heard the hiss of indrawn breath. She looked over her shoulder. She had just enough time to see the extended hand, the chopped blow sweeping down to her neck — then there was only blackness.

When Desiree came awake, she had a pounding headache and the sensation that her wrists were bound. She twisted up on her side. At least her feet were free and she knew that she was on a bed. She stretched her neck and looked over her head. What looked like severed lamp cords held her wrists against the bedposts. Desiree struggled.