Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine Annual, No. 3, 1973

The Persuaders by George F. Bellefontaine

He knew a lot, the gentle old professor. Too much to stay alive. One night, when there was no moon, men would...

* * *

The street was dark and in the distance Malcolm Stone could hear laughter, singing and the sharp crack of fireworks. He wondered what it was like to enjoy all that is Spain during the summer fiesta and then he concerned himself with the lighted window across the street. Beyond that window was the man he had trailed for three solid weeks — from West Germany to Switzerland; through France, across the border and finally to this small village forty kilometers south of Valencia.

It was the end of the line. The man had been in that room for two days now, and although it had been a difficult and tiring journey, Stone knew the toughest part was yet to come.

He sighed, straightened his wide shoulders and started across the narrow street, then up the stone steps, two flights, through an open door and down a long hall to the door at the far end. He tested the knob. It turned. He shoved hard and the door flew open.

“Professor Hermann Muntz, I presume.”

Malcolm closed the door behind him and then fixed his gaze on the professor, who was kneeling on the bed, edging his back closer to the wall until he could go no farther. He was a thin little man with white hair and a good start on a white beard. He didn’t look as though he were capable of discovering a new formula for a monstrous bomb, but be had.

Professor Muntz trembled as he said, “There must be some — some mistake. I am not Herr Muntz.”

“Come, come, Professor. I’ve been three steps behind you since you crossed the border from France.”

“Who... who are you?”

“Malcolm Stone.”

“You sound American.”

“I’m an agent, Professor. I have orders to take you back.”

“I do not believe you.”

“Very well,” Stone said. “Your name is Hermann Muntz, a professor of physics. Your wife died six years ago. Your son was killed when the Russians entered Berlin at the close of the war. You escaped to the West and taught at several universities until your colleagues coaxed you into scientific research.

“Up until three weeks ago you were working at the defence research laboratory in Stuxbourg. Then you left a brief note saying you were finished. After that you disappeared. Would you like to hear more about yourself?”

“No,” the professor said, his eyes lowered. “How did you find me so soon?”

“I’m an expert at my job, Professor. You’re an amateur when it comes to covering your trail. You didn’t even lock the door to this room.”

Malcolm Stone turned and slid the latch into place.

“I will not go back, Mr. Stone. Ever.”

“Do you mind?” Malcolm asked as he lowered his tired body into a chair facing the bed. He fished inside his jacket and produced a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to the old man, who declined, and then lit one for himself. “We can’t leave a man like you on the loose, Professor.”

“Please... please go away. Pretend you did not find me. I am sick of that world back there. I want to be a human, a simple man among simple people. Please go away, Mr. Stone.”

“I can’t. You were working on a theory, Professor, a formula for a bomb so powerful it makes the H-Bomb look like a firecracker. That’s why I can’t leave you on the loose. Surely you can understand what would happen if you fell into the wrong hands. They’d get the formula from you, by torture if necessary—”

“I destroyed the formula, along with all my notes.”

“It’s still in your brain, Professor. There are ways of extracting information from the brain. You’re a scientist: you should know that. If the wrong people possessed your bomb, they could force the rest of the world into submission under the threat of annihilation. As long as you’re roaming around, the free world can’t feel secure.”

“I belong to myself, not the free world.”

“When you developed that bomb, you no longer belonged to yourself.”

“I curse the bomb! It was wrong from the beginning, but I was disillusioned into thinking that freedom cannot exist unless it is backed with power. That is why I developed my theory. Then I saw it, a mass of figures on paper and I realized the suffering and death it could bring about. I had created it. Me, a man who could not harm a living creature.

“I once killed a bird, accidently with my car. It took me three days to get over it. I do not want to destroy or be a party to destruction. I am old, tired, and wish to enjoy the few years I have left.”

“Professor, there are foreign agents on your tail at this very moment. They’ll stop at nothing to get that formula.”

“That is a chance I will have to take, Mr. Stone.”

Malcolm knew the old man could be obdurate. He wasn’t going back.

“I’ll have to call my superiors.”

The professor pointed to the telephone on a table near the door. “It comes with the flat. I asked the owner to have it removed. But it is still working.”