Randall Garrett

“ Malone began to feel as if he were involved in the Athanasian Creed. "I don't think the spies are the real spies," he said stubbornly. "I mean the spies we're all looking for."
"Do you mean to stand there and tell me," Burris went on inexorably, "that you take the word of spies when they tell you about their own activities?"
"Their confessions—"
"Spies can lie, Malone," Burris said gently. "As a matter of fact, they usually do. We have come to depend on it as one of the facts of life." ”

“ Las Vegas was definitely sliding downhill at the moment, Malone thought.
The glitter of polished gold and silver ornaments, the low cries of the various dealers and officials, the buzz of conversation, were all the same. But under the great dome, Malone told himself sadly, you could almost see the people leaving, one by one.
"No money around either," the bartender said. "Except maybe for a few guys like yourself. I mean, people take their chances at the wheel or the tables, but there's no big betting going on, just nickel-dime stuff. ”

“ Malone spent ten minutes dressing himself magnificently in hose and doublet, slash-sleeved, ermine-trimmed coat, lace collar, and plumed hat. By the time he presented himself at the door to the Throne Room he felt almost cheerful. It had been a long time since he had entered the world of Elizabethan knighthood over which Her Majesty held sway, and it always made him feel taller and more sure of himself. He bowed to a chunkily-built man of medium height in a stiffly brocaded jacket, carrying a small leather briefcase. ”

“ Malone spent a second or two digesting O'Connor's reply. "Well," he said at last, "I'm not sure that's what I meant. I mean, I'm not sure I meant to ask that question." He took a breath and decided to start all over. "It's not like a mob," he said, "with everybody all doing the same thing at the same time. It's more like a group of men, all separated, without any apparent connections between any of the men. And they're all working toward a common goal. All doing different things, but all with the same objective. ”

“ Malone said. "You've just found out something new about her, that's all."
Boyd nodded. "So," he said, "you found out something new about Luba. Like, maybe, she's ninety years old?"
"No," Malone said. "Nothing like that. Just—something." He remembered Queen Elizabeth's theory of politeness toward superiors: people, she'd said, act as if they believed their bosses were superior to them, but they didn't believe it.
On the other hand, he thought, when a man knows and believes that someone actually is superior—then, he doesn't mind at all. He can depend on that superiority to help him. ”

“ Malone said.
"Was he thinking about things or were things thinking about him?"
"Really, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said, "you do think about the silliest notions when you don't watch yourself."
Malone blushed slightly. "Anyhow," he said after a pause, "what was the argument about?"
"Willie says you aren't here," Her Majesty said. "He can't detect you at all. Even when I let him take a peek at you through my own mind—making myself into sort of a relay station, so to speak—Willie wouldn't believe it. He said I was hallucinating." ”

“ Malone blinked and looked around him. There were a lot of people still on the streets, but they didn't look like normal New York City people. They were all curiously tense and wary, as if they were suspicious not only of him and each other, but even themselves. He caught sight of several illegal-looking bulges beneath men's armpits, and many heavily sagging pockets. One or two women appeared to be unduly solicitous of their large and heavy handbags. But it wasn't his job to enforce the Sullivan Law, he told himself. Especially while he was on vacation. ”

“ The cab, on Second Avenue and Seventeenth Street, stopped for a traffic light. Malone felt an itch in the back of his mind, as if his prescience were trying to warn him of something; he'd felt it for a little while, he realized, but only now could he pay attention to it.
The door on the driver's side opened suddenly, and so did the door next to Malone. Two young men, obviously in their early twenties, were standing in the openings, holding guns that were plainly intended for immediate use.
The one next to the driver said, in a flat voice: "Don't nobody get wise. That way nobody gets hurt. ”

“ Mitchell straightened up as if somebody had jabbed him with a pin. The screwdriver waved wildly in the air for a second, and then pointed at Malone. "That's impossible," Mitchell said in a flat, precise voice. "Simply impossible. It doesn't have a pig-Latin circuit. It can't possibly—" He blinked and seemed to see Malone for the first time. "Oh," he said. "Hello, Malone. What can I do for you?"
Malone smiled, feeling a little victorious at having got through the Mitchell armor, which was almost impregnable when there was a job in hand. ”

“ The thug at the front of the car had barely realized what was happening by the time it was all over. Automatic reflexes turned him away from the driver and toward the source of danger, his gun pointing toward Malone. But the reflexes gave out as he found himself staring down a rifled steel tube which, though hardly more than seven-sixteenths of an inch in diameter, must have looked as though a high-speed locomotive might come roaring out of it at any second. ”

“ Sir Kenneth said. "Then the operators of this strange force, whatever it may prove to be, must have some interest in allowing the spies' confession?"
"Maybe," Malone said. "Let's leave that for later. To get back to the beginning of all this: it seems to me to follow that the accidents and errors which have caused all the confusion throughout the world happen because somebody's mind is changed just the right amount at the right time. A man does something he didn't intend to do—or else he forgets to do it at all." ”

“ O'Connor said, "I might think of various examples: the actions of a mob, for example, or the demonstrations of the Indian Rope Trick, or perhaps the sale of a useless product through television or through other advertising." Again his face moved, ever so slightly, in what he obviously believed to be a smile. "The usual name for such a phenomenon is 'mass hypnotism,' Mr. Malone," he said. "But that is not, strictly speaking, a psi phenomenon at all. Studies in that area belong to the field of mob psychology; they are not properly in my scope." ”

“ It would be nice to go somewhere with a bad influence—a bad influence, he amended, with a good figure—and forget all about his job, about the spies, about telepathy, teleportation, psionics and everything else. It might be restful.
Unfortunately, it was impossible.
"What's this business about a static explosion?" Boyd said.
"Don't ask silly questions," Malone said. "A static explosion is a contradiction in terms. If something is static, it doesn't move—and whoever heard of a motionless explosion?"
"If it is a contradiction in terms," Boyd said, "they're your terms." ”

“ Malone ushered Her Majesty through the unmarked door of the observation chamber, made sure that the panel and phone were in working order, and went out. He stepped into Interrogation Room 7 trying hard to look bored, businesslike and unbeatable. Boyd and four other agents were already there, all standing around and talking desultorily in low tones. None of them looked as if they had ever had a moment's worry in their lives. It was all part of the same technique, of course, Malone thought. Make the prisoner feel resistance is useless, and you've practically got him working for you. ”

“ Malone said reflectively, "I agree with you. It's positively awful. And I think we might as well give it up. After all, we don't need your testimony. The other two are enough; they'll get maybe ten years apiece, but you're going to get the chair."
"I will not sit down," Brubitsch said firmly. "I am innocent. I am innocent like a small child. Does a small child commit a murder? It is ridiculous."
Boyd picked up his cue with ease. "You might as well give us your side of the story, then," he said easily. "If you didn't commit any murders—"
"I am a small child," Brubitsch announced. ”

“ Her Majesty looked up. "That's a fine idea," she said.
"But God helps those," Malone said, "who help themselves. And we're going to help ourselves. Mostly with facts."
"All right," Boyd said. "So far, all the facts have been a great help."
"Well, here's one," Malone said. "We got one flash each from Brubitsch, Borbitsch and Garbitsch while we were questioning them. And in each case, that flash occurred just before they started to blab everything they knew. Before the flash, they weren't talking. They were behaving just like good spies and keeping their mouths shut. ”

“ Burris said instantly, "that a spy ring could be as utterly inefficient as the one described in those confessions?"
"Lots of people are inefficient," Malone said.
"Not spies," Burris said with decision. "Do you really believe that the Russians would send over a bunch of operatives as clodheaded as these are pretending to be?"
"People make mistakes," Malone said weakly.
"Russian spies," Burris said, "do not make mistakes. Or, anyhow, we can't depend on it. We have to depend on the fact that they're operating at peak efficiency, Malone. ”

“ Confusion is fun in a comedy—but in the pilot of a plane or an executive of a nation....
ack in his room, Malone put on a fresh shirt, checked the .44 Magnum in his shoulder holster, changed jackets, adjusted his hat to the proper angle, and vanished.
He had, he'd realized, exactly one definite lead. And now he was going to follow up on it. The Government was apparently falling to pieces; so was business and so was the Mafia. Nobody Malone had heard of had gained anything. Except Mike Sand and his truckers. They'd beaten the Mafia, at least. ”

“ Malone said helpfully.
"And the city police—they're right here in the city, they're O.K. I know them, they know me, nothing goes wrong. Get what I mean?"
"The sheriff's office is the worst, though?" Malone said.
"The worst is nothing compared to those boys," the cabbie said. "Believe me, every time they can make life tough for a cabbie, they do it. It's hatred, that's what it is. They hate cabbies. That's the sheriff's office for you."
"Tough," Malone said. "But the roadblock—what was it for, anyhow?" ”

“ O'Connor looked miffed. The temperature of the room seemed to drop several degrees, and Malone swallowed hard and tried to look ingratiating and helpful, like a student with nothing but A's on his record.
Before O'Connor could pick up the thread of his sentence, Malone went on: "What I mean is something like this. Picking up the mental activity of another person is called telepathy. Floating in the air is called levitation. Moving objects around is psychokinesis. Going from one place to another instantaneously is teleportation. ”

“ The idea of all of them sabotaging the machines they worked on, Malone thought, was a tough one to take, too. But it had the advantage of making some sense. People, he told himself dully, will do nutty things deliberately. It's harder to think of them doing the same nutty things without knowing it.
"Well," he said at last, "however it turns out, we'll get to the bottom of it. Frankly, I think it's being done on purpose."
"So do I," Fred said. "And when you find out just who's making the technicians do such things—when you find out who gives them their orders—you let me know." ”

“ Luba's smile broadened. "I'd like one," she said. "And since you're a wealthy cookie manufacturer—"
"Be my guest," Malone said. "On the other hand, why not buy your own? Since they're free as long as you're in the gambling room."
The bartender had approached them silently. "That's right," he said in a voice that betrayed the fact that he had memorized the entire speech, word for word. "Drinks are free for those who play the gaming tables. A courtesy of the Great Universal."
He delivered a Martini and Luba drank it while Malone finished his bourbon-and-water. ”

“ Mike Sand and his truckers, they tried to high jack a shipment coming through out on the desert. Now, the Trucker's Union is old and experienced, maybe, but not as old and experienced as the Mafia. It figures we can take them, right?"
"It figures," Malone agreed. "But you didn't?"
Palveri looked doleful. "It's like a curse," he said. "Two boys wounded and one of them dead, right there on the sand. The shipment gone, and Mike Sand on his way to the East with it. A curse." He sucked some more at the cigar.
Malone looked thoughtful and concerned. "Things are certainly bad," he said. ”

“ Burris said after a second.
"I don't see anything about computer-secretaries," Malone said.
"The Russians," Burris began slowly, "are not stupid, Malone. You believe that, don't you?"
"Of course I believe it," Malone said. "Otherwise we wouldn't need an FBI."
Burris frowned. "There are still domestic cases," he said. "Like juvenile delinquents stealing cars inter-state, for instance. If you remember." He paused, then went on: "But the fact remains: Russians are not stupid. Not by a long shot." ”

“ Malone said.
"The subway is on strike since last week," the cabbie said. "The buses are also on strike. This means that everybody is using a car. They can make it faster if they wish to walk, but they use a car. It does not help matters, believe me."
"I can see that," Malone murmured.
"And the cops are not doing much good either," the cabbie went on, "since they went on strike sometime last Tuesday."
Malone nodded, and then did a double-take. "Cops?" he said. "On strike? But that's illegal. They could be arrested."
"You can be funny," the cabbie said. "I am too sad to be funny." ”

“ Malone considered. "No," he said at last. "It's just that when a nutty one comes along, we get it."
"That's what I mean," Boyd said. "I wonder why that is."
Malone shrugged. "It takes a thief to catch a thief," he said.
"But these aren't thieves," Boyd said. "I mean—they're just nutty." He paused. "Oh," he said.
"And, two thieves are better than one," Malone said.
"Anyhow," Boyd said with a small, gusty sigh, "it's company."
"Sure," Malone said.
Boyd looked for an ashtray, failed again to find one, and walked over to flip a second cigarette out onto Washington. ”