The Spy in the Elevator

by Donald E. Westlake

He grinned bitterly, with one side of his mouth. "Of course. The damn fools! Spy! What do you suppose I'm going to spy on?"

He asked the question so violently and urgently that I knew I had to answer quickly and well, or the maniac would return. "I—I wouldn't know, exactly," I stammered. "Military equipment, I suppose."

"Military equipment? What military equipment? Your Army is supplied with uniforms, whistles and hand guns, and that's about it."

"The defenses—" I started.

"The defenses," he interrupted me, "are non-existent. If you mean the rocket launchers on the roof, they're rusted through with age. And what other defenses are there? None."

"If you say so," I replied stiffly. The Army claimed that we had adequate defense equipment. I chose to believe the Army over an enemy spy.

"Your people send out spies, too, don't they?" he demanded.

"Well, of course."

"And what are they supposed to spy on?"

"Well—" It was such a pointless question, it seemed silly to even answer it. "They're supposed to look for indications of an attack by one of the other projects."