Randall Garrett

“ He looked tough, as if he had spent all of his life trying to persuade other people that he was young enough for the handball tournament. When he saw Malone, his eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn't say anything.
"Commissioner," Malone said, "I called to ask you to do me a favor."
There was caution hidden in the calm and quiet voice. "Well," Fernack said, "what is it, Malone?"
"Can you have all the robberies for a given period run through the computer?" Malone said. "I need some dope." ”

“ Nobody else that I know of has ever figured out a way to teach psionics—at least, not on that level. But Mike has."
"He's a good boy," Dorothea said. "Basically."
"Fine," Malone said. "Anyhow, if that were true, then the notebook was some sort of guide. And if he tried to teach you the technique, then you had to have a notebook, too. Clear?"
"Perfectly," Dorothea said, "so what do you want me to do?"
"Teach me," Malone said.
There was a silence.
"That's silly," Dorothea said. "How can I teach you something I can't do myself? Besides, how do you know you have the Talent?" ”

“ He was going to find the robot-operated car—or whatever it turned out to be.
The doctor, Malone noticed, was whistling "Greensleaves" under his breath as he worked. That, he supposed, was the influence of the bohemian folk singers of Greenwich Village. But he put the noise resolutely out of his mind and concentrated on the red Cadillac.
It was one thing to think about a robot car, miles away, doing something or other to somebody you'd never heard of before. That was just theoretical, a case for solution, nothing but an ordinary job. ”

“ Mike Fueyo was the first to speak. "Don't vanish yet!" he snapped. "Let's see who it is."
The internal dissent among the Silent Spooks disappeared as if it had never been, as they faced a common foe. Once again, they fell naturally under Fueyo's leadership. "If it's cops," he said, "we'll give 'em the Grasshopper Play we worked out. We'll show 'em."
"They can't fool with us," another boy said. "Sure. The Grasshopper Play."
It was cops, all right. Lieutenant Lynch ran up the stairs waving his billy in a heroic fashion, followed by a horde of blue-clad officers.
"Where's Malone?" ”

“ No car in the world—not even a Cadillac—can get away with beaning Kenneth J. Malone!
Malone was not quite certain that he agreed with Burris' idea of a self-operating car, but at least it was something to work on. A car that could reach out, crown an investigator and then drive off humming something innocent under its breath was certainly a unique and dangerous machine within the meaning of the act. ”

“ Kettleman said, "working on an individual basis with these—social groups that the adolescents have formed. It's my job to make friends with them, become accepted by them, and try to turn their hostile impulses toward society into more useful, more acceptable channels."
"I see," Malone said, feeling that something was expected of him. "That's fine."
"Oh, we don't expect praise, we social workers," Kettleman said instantly. "The worth of a good job well done, that's enough for us." ”

“ But, he told himself, it would have to be a good one.
"Nobody expects a car to drive itself down a highway," Burris said.
"That's right," Malone said. "That's why it's all impossible."
"So," Burris said, "it would be a natural hallucination—or illusion, anyhow—for somebody to imagine he did see a driver, when there wasn't any."
"O.K.," Malone said. "There wasn't any driver. So the car couldn't have gone anywhere. So the New York police force is lying to us. It's a good explanation, but it—"
"They aren't lying," Burris said. "Why should they? I'm thinking of something else." ”

“ Mike Fueyo's sister—dresses fit to kill, like a high-fashion model. And the Grito kid—"
"Wait a minute," Malone said. "From what you tell me, this isn't just a little extra money. These kids must be rolling in the stuff. Up to their ears in dough."
"Listen," Lynch said sadly. "Those kids spend more than I do. They do better than that—they spend more than I earn." He looked remotely sorry for himself, but not for long. "Every one of those kids spends like a drunken sailor, tossing his money away on all sorts of things."
"Like an expense account," Malone said idly. Lynch looked up. ”

“ Mike roared.
"You ain't telling me to shut up!" (That was the third voice. Malone thought; possibly Ramon Otravez.)
"Me either!" Silvo yelled. "You think you're a great big-shot, you think you're king of the world!"
"Who figured out the Vanish?" Mike screamed. "You'd all be a bunch of bums if I hadn't showed you that! And you know it! You'd all—"
"Don't give us that!" Silvo said. "We'd have been able to do it, same as you. Like you said, anybody who's got talent could do it. ”

“ Her expression changed a trifle. She did not actually soften, but Malone could feel the gratitude lurking behind her eyes as if it were afraid to come out. She nodded gravely and said nothing at all. He stepped away, and she closed the door without a sound.
He stood staring at the door for a few seconds. Then he turned and punched the elevator button savagely. ”

“ Then Lynch's voice was back: "Sergeant McNulty says they're on the top floor, Malone," he said. "Can't tell how many for sure. But they're talking and moving around."
"It's a shame these things won't pick up the actual words at a distance," Malone said.
"Just a general feeling of noise is all we get," Lynch said. "But it does some good."
"Sure," Malone said. "Now listen carefully: Boyd and I are going in. Alone."
Lynch's voice whispered: "Right."
"If those mikes pick up any unusual ruckus—any sharp increase in the noise level—come running," Malone said. ”

“ Malone said.
"Well," Leibowitz said, and chuckled, "quite large enough to locate without trouble, at any rate. They're very hard to conceal. And the leads from the brain to the power controls are even easier to find—comparatively speaking, of course."
"Of course," Malone said.
"All the brain does, you see," Leibowitz said, "is control the mechanism that steers the car. But it takes real power to steer—a great deal more than it does to compute the steering." ”

“ There didn't seem to be any purpose to the car thefts. They hadn't been sold, or used as getaway cars. True, teenage delinquents sometimes stole cars just to use them joyriding, or as some sort of prank.
But a car or two every night? How many joyrides can one gang take? Malone thought. And how long does it take to get tired of the same prank?
And why, Malone asked himself wearily for what was beginning to feel like the ten thousandth time, why only red Cadillacs?
Burris, he told himself, must have been right all along. The red Cadillacs were only a smoke screen for something else. ”

“ For three days, now, this area has been haunted by the Silent Spooks. They've been stealing everything they could carry off! They've got the whole city in an uproar!"
"Well," Malone said. "Not exactly. The papers—"
"I know," Burris said. "You've kept it out of the news. That's fine, and I appreciate it, Malone. I really do. But I can't sit around and appreciate it much longer. You've got to get those boys!" He bounced off the desk and stood up again. "The longer they keep this up," he said, "the harder it's going to be to square everything with the courts. Those kids may end up getting killed! ”

“ Malone leaned against the back wall of the phone booth and lit a cigarette.
"Andy Burris called me less than half an hour ago," Fernack said.
"Oh," Malone said.
"That's right," Fernack said. "Good old Burris of the FBI. And he told me this was a National Security case. National Security. It's your baby, Malone, because Burris wants it that way." He snorted. "So don't worry about me," he said. "I'm just here to co-operate. The patriotic, loyal, dumb slave of a grateful government."
Malone blew out a plume of smoke. "You know, John Henry," he said, "you might have made a good FBI man yourself. ”

“ A warehouse raid would probably be their baby first of all. That means this precinct, the warehouse precinct, and the Safe and Loft Squad, all together to raid that warehouse. Malone, would I pull a raid at this stage, if I had to go through all that, without knowing what I was going to find down there?"
"Oh," Malone said.
"If those kids can just appear and disappear at will," Lynch said, "I'm not going to pull a raid on them, and end up looking like a fool, until I've got some way of making sure they're there when the raid goes through." ”

“ Malone said.
"Very peculiar indeed," Kettleman said. "My, yes. All of the other ... ah ... social groups are afraid of them."
"Big, huh?" Malone said. "Big, strong boys who—"
"Oh, my no," Kettleman said. "My goodness, no. All of the Spooks are rather slight, as a matter of fact. They've got something, but it isn't strength."
"My goodness," Malone said tiredly.
"I doubt if—in the language of my own groups—any one of the Spooks could punch his way out of a paper bag," Kettleman said. "It's more than that."
"Frankly," Malone said, "I'm inclined to agree with you. ”

“ Lynch said. "I can see a piece of it, if no more. The Fueyo kid vanishes mysteriously—never mind all that about you getting him out of the interrogation room by some kind of confidential method. There isn't any confidential method. I know that better than you do."
"I had to say something, didn't I?" Malone asked apologetically.
"So the kid disappears," Lynch said, brushing Malone's question away with a wave of his hand. "So now I hear all this stuff from Kettleman. And it begins to add up. The kids can disappear somehow, and re-appear some place else. Walk through walls?" ”

“ All we want to do is talk to them for a while."
"All right," she whispered back.
"They can vanish any time they want to," Malone said, "so there's no reason for them not to listen to—"
He stopped suddenly, listening. Over the shouting, screaming and cursing of the kids, he heard motion on the floor below.
Cops?
It couldn't be, he told himself. But when he took out his radiophone, his hands were shaking a little.
Lynch's voice was already coming over it when Malone thumbed it on.
"... So hang on, Malone! I repeat: we heard the ruckus, and we're coming in! We're on our way! Hang on, Malone!" ”

“ And it didn't damage the kids any."
Dorothea relaxed in her chair and looked around at the hotel room walls with contentment. "Mike seemed pretty normal—except that he had that awful trapped feeling."
Malone handed her one of the filled glasses with an air. He was beginning slowly to feel less like the nervous, uncertain Kenneth J. Malone and more and more like good old Sir Kenneth Malone. "I can see why he felt trapped," he said. "If a guy's been unhampered by four walls all the time, even for only a year or so, he's certainly going to feel penned in when he's stopped from going through them. ”

“ Kettleman stared, smiled and gulped. "My goodness," he said "Well." He smiled again, a little more broadly. "One has one's duty, you know. My, yes. Duty." He nodded to Malone.
"Of course," Malone said, going to the door and opening it. "Thanks again, Mr. Kettleman."
Kettleman saw the open door and headed for it blindly. As he left he flashed one last smile after Malone, who sighed, shut the door and leaned against it for a second.
The things an FBI agent had to go through!
When he had recovered, he opened the door again and peered carefully down the hallway to make sure Kettleman had gone. ”

“ Malone said hopelessly. "If we're going to do anything, let's get started."
Twelve hours later, Kenneth J. Malone was sitting quietly in a small room at the rear of a sporting-goods [Pg 126] store on upper Madison Avenue, trying to remain calm and hoping that the finest, most beautiful and complete hunch—only now it wasn't a "hunch" any more, he reminded himself; now it was prescience—was going to pay off. With him were Boyd and two agents from the Sixty-ninth Street office. They were sitting quietly, too, but there was a sense of enormous excitement in the air. ”

“ Malone said. "The driver of the Cadillac was killed. In a fire like that—"
"Don't jump to conclusions, Malone," Burris said. "Wait. When the prowl car boys got to the scene, there was no sign of anybody in the car. Nobody at all."
"In the heat of those flames—" Malone began.
"Not enough heat, and not enough time," Burris said. "A human body couldn't have been destroyed in just a few minutes, not that completely. Some of the car's metal was melted, sure—but there would have been traces of anybody who'd been in the car. Nice, big, easily-seen traces. ”

“ Malone was a little unwilling to let go, at first. But Sam was stronger than he looked. He convoyed the FBI agent carefully to the rear door of the prowl car, opened it and levered Malone gently to a seat inside, just as Bill said: "So with the cut and all, we figured he ought to go over to St. Vincent's. You people were already on the way, so we didn't bother with ambulances."
The driver snorted. "Next time you want taxi service," he said, "you just call us up. What do you think, a prowl car's an easy life?"
"Easier than doing a beat," Bill said mournfully. ”

“ Malone. I've only heard rumors."
"Well," Malone said, "rumors might—"
"Rumors are a very powerful force among my groups, Mr. Malone," Kettleman said. "I've learned, over the years, to keep my ear to the ground, as it were, and pay very close attention to rumors."
"I'm sure," Malone said patiently. "But what did this particular rumor say?"
"Well," Kettleman said, and stopped. "Well," he said again. And at last he gulped and got it out: "Magicians, Mr. Malone. They say the Spooks are magicians—that they can come and go at will. Make themselves invisible. All sorts of things. ”