Enemy of the State by E. C. Tubb

Author:E. C. Tubb
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Authentic
Published: 1956-11-03T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Yendle had been arrested at 14:00 hours. He had been under arrest for five hours when John had arrived. The initial interview, the preparation and testing of the suspect had taken four hours. Yendle had been unconscious for ninety minutes. John had a mounting uneasiness that time was running out. He stared grimly at the suspect.

Yendle was no longer enjoying himself. The discomfort of the room, the vitiated air, the drugs injected into him had all worked to reduce his euphoria. A red patch on his cheek where Mark had slapped him seemed to cause him trouble. He kept touching it, shocked that he had felt the pain and had not lost consciousness. This time, when John offered him a cigarette, he took it more as a man thankful for small favors than with his previous air of cocky condescension.

"All right, Fred," said John. "Now I want you to talk. I'm not going to ask you where you planted the bomb, so you don't need to watch your answers." He smiled. "Let's make a game of it. If you answer, then I'll chalk up a mark. Ten marks and you get a cigarette. If you don't answer, then Captain Weston will hit you." His smile became wider. "You can't run away from the pain now, Fred, and it will hurt. When is the bomb due to blow?"

"I don't know."

Mark stepped forward, his hand lifted. John shook his head.

"You mean that, Fred? You really don't know?"

"That's what I said."

"Good, one mark. Who gave you the bomb?"

"I don't know. I mean it," said Yendle hastily. "I don't know. I picked it up from a check-baggage depository."

"When?"

"Late last night." Yendle looked bewildered. "I think it was last night."

"At what time?"

"About ten."

"Where?"

"Houston, Texas. It was in one of those transient depositories at the bus station on Baynard Avenue."

"What did you do then?"

"I caught a train."

"To where?"

"To..." Yendle hesitated, then cringed as Mark came towards him. "I can't remember. I..."

Mark swung his hand.

It wasn't pretty and it wasn't nice, but it had to be done. John watched impassively as the captain slapped Yendle with a vicious one-two to either cheek. The blows, in themselves, were not too serious, but the mental effect they were having on the suspect was equivalent to a psychic explosion. He could be hurt. He didn't want to be hurt. The only way he could stop being hurt was to talk—but he dared not answer the question.

He compromised. "To Albuquerque."

"Albuquerque!" Mark halted the downswing on his hand. "Doctor, we've got it!"

John refused to be excited.

"Then what did you do?"

"I walked around for a while and then caught another train."

"To where you were arrested?"

"Yes."

"How much was the fare from Houston to Albuquerque?"

"I..." Yendle swallowed. "Fifty dollars."

"What time did you arrive?"

"At dawn." Yendle volunteered more information. "I had breakfast at a diner and looked around before catching my train."

"Is that where you left the bomb?"

"I..." Yendle hesitated. "Yes."

"Where did you leave it?"

"In..." Yendle swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "In the cloak room of a hotel.

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