VII
Yucca Flats, Malone thought, certainly deserved its name. It was aboutas flat as land could get, and it contained millions upon millions ofuseless yuccas. Perhaps they were good for something, Malone thought,but they weren't good for _him_.
The place might, of course, have been called Cactus Flats, but the cactiwere neither as big nor as impressive as the yuccas.
"I knight thee Sir Andrew...."]
Or was that yucci?
Possibly, Malone mused, it was simply yucks.
And whatever it was, there were millions of it. Malone felt he couldn'tstand the sight of another yucca. He was grateful for only one thing.
It wasn't summer. If the Elizabethans had been forced to drive in closedcars through the Nevada desert in the summertime, they might havestarted a cult of nudity, Malone felt. It was bad enough now, in whatwas supposed to be winter.
The sun was certainly bright enough, for one thing. It glared throughthe cloudless sky and glanced with blinding force off the road. SirThomas Boyd squinted at it through the rather incongruous sunglasses hewas wearing, while Malone wondered idly if it was the sunglasses, or therest of the world, that was an anachronism. But Sir Thomas kept his eyesgrimly on the road as he gunned the powerful Lincoln toward the YuccaFlats Labs at eighty miles an hour.
Malone twisted himself around and faced the women in the back seat. Pastthem, through the rear window of the Lincoln, he could see the secondcar. It followed them gamely, carrying the newest addition to SirKenneth Malone's Collection of Bats.
"Bats?" Her Majesty said suddenly, but gently. "Shame on you, SirKenneth. These are poor, sick people. We must do our best to helpthem--not to think up silly names for them. For shame!"
"I suppose so," Malone said wearily. He sighed and, for the fifth timethat day, he asked: "Does Your Majesty have any idea where our spy isnow?"
"Well, really, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said with the slightest ofhesitations, "it isn't easy, you know. Telepathy has certain laws, justlike everything else. After all, even a game has laws. Being telepathicdid not help me to play poker--I still had to learn the rules. Andtelepathy has rules, too. A telepath can easily confuse another telepathby using some of those rules."
"Oh, fine," Malone said. "Well, have you got into contact with his mindyet?"
"Oh, yes," Her Majesty said happily. "And my goodness, he's certainlydigging up a lot of information, isn't he?"
Malone moaned softly. "But who _is_ he?" he asked after a second.
The Queen stared at the roof of the car in what looked likeconcentration. "He hasn't thought of his name yet," she said. "I mean,at least if he has, he hasn't mentioned it to me. Really, Sir Kenneth,you have no idea how difficult all this is."
Malone swallowed with difficulty. "_Where_ is he, then?" he said. "Canyou tell me that, at least? His location?"
Her Majesty looked positively desolated with sadness. "I can't be sure,"she said. "I really can't be exactly sure just where he is. He does keepmoving around, I know that. But you have to remember that he doesn'twant me to find him. He certainly doesn't want to be found by the FBI... would you?"
"Your Majesty," Malone said, "I _am_ the FBI."
"Yes," the Queen said, "but suppose you weren't? He's doing his best tohide himself, even from me. It's sort of a game he's playing."
"A game!"
Her Majesty looked contrite. "Believe me, Sir Kenneth, the minute Iknow exactly where he is, I'll tell you. I promise. Cross my heart andhope to die--which I can't, of course, being immortal." Nevertheless,she made an X-mark over her left breast. "All right?"
"All right," Malone said, out of sheer necessity. "O.K. But don't wasteany time telling me. Do it right away. We've _got_ to find that spy andisolate him somehow."
"Please don't worry yourself, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "YourQueen is doing everything she can."
"I know that, Your Majesty," Malone said. "I'm sure of it." Privately,he wondered just how much even she could do. Then he realized--forperhaps the ten-thousandth time--that there was no such thing aswondering privately any more.
"That's quite right, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said sweetly. "And it'sabout time you got used to it."
"What's going on?" Boyd said. "More reading minds back there?"
"That's right, Sir Thomas," the Queen said.
"I've about gotten used to it," Boyd said almost cheerfully. "Prettysoon they'll come and take me away, but I don't mind at all." He whippedthe car around a bend in the road savagely. "Pretty soon they'll put mewith the other sane people and let the bats inherit the world. But Idon't mind at all."
"Sir Thomas!" Her Majesty said in shocked tones.
"Please," Boyd said with a deceptive calmness. "Just Mr. Boyd. Not evenLieutenant Boyd, or Sergeant Boyd. Just Mr. Boyd. Or, if you prefer,Tom."
"Sir Thomas," Her Majesty said, "I really can't understand thissudden--"
"Then don't understand it," Boyd said. "All I know is everybody's nuts,and I'm sick and tired of it."
A pall of silence fell over the company.
"Look, Tom," Malone began at last.
"Don't you try smoothing me down," Boyd snapped.
Malone's eyebrows rose. "O.K.," he said. "I won't smooth you down. I'lljust tell you to shut up, to keep driving--and to show some respect toHer Majesty."
"I--" Boyd stopped. There was a second of silence.
"_That's_ better," Her Majesty said with satisfaction.
Lady Barbara stretched in the back seat, next to Her Majesty. "This iscertainly a long drive," she said. "Have we got much farther to go?"
"Not too far," Malone said. "We ought to be there soon."
"I ... I'm sorry for the way I acted," Barbara said.
"What do you mean, the way you acted?"
"Crying like that," Barbara said with some hesitation. "Makingan--absolute idiot of myself. When that other car--tried to get us."
"Don't worry about it," Malone said. "It was nothing."
"I just--made trouble for you," Barbara said.
Her Majesty touched the girl on the shoulder. "He's not thinking aboutthe trouble you cause him," she said quietly.
"Of course I'm not," Malone told her.
"But I--"
"My dear girl," Her Majesty said, "I believe that Sir Kenneth is, atleast partly, in love with you."
Malone blinked. It was perfectly true--even if he hadn't quite known ithimself until now. Telepaths, he was discovering, were occasionallyhandy things to have around.
"In ... love--" Barbara said.
"And you, my dear--" Her Majesty began.
"Please, Your Majesty," Lady Barbara said. "No more. Not just now."
The Queen smiled, almost to herself. "Certainly, dear," she said.
* * * * *
The car sped on. In the distance, Malone could see the blot on thedesert that indicated the broad expanse of Yucca Flats Labs. Just thefact that it could be seen, he knew, didn't mean an awful lot. Malonehad been able to see it for the past fifteen minutes, and it didn't lookas if they'd gained an inch on it. Desert distances are deceptive.
At long last, however, the main gate of the laboratories hove into view.Boyd made a left turn off the highway and drove a full seven miles alongthe restricted road, right up to the big gate that marked the entranceof the laboratories themselves. Once again, they were faced with thearmy of suspicious guards and security officers.
This time, suspicion was somewhat heightened by the dress of thevisitors. Malone had to explain about six times that the costumes werepart of an FBI arrangement, that he had not stolen his identity cards,that Boyd's cards were Boyd's, too, and in general that the four of themwere not insane, not spies, and not jokesters out for a lark in thesunshine.
Malone had expected all of that. He went through the rigmarole wearilybut without any sense of surprise. The one thing he hadn't beenexpecting was the man who was waiting for him on the other side of thegate.
When he'd finished ide
ntifying everybody for the fifth or sixth time, hebegan to climb back into the car. A familiar voice stopped him cold.
"Just a minute, Malone," Andrew J. Burris said. He erupted from theguardhouse like an avenging angel, followed closely by a thin man, aboutfive feet ten inches in height, with brush-cut brown hair, roundhorn-rimmed spectacles, large hands and a small Sir Francis Drake beard.Malone looked at the two figures blankly.
"Something wrong, chief?" he said.
Burris came toward the car. The thin gentleman followed him, walkingwith an odd bouncing step that must have been acquired, Malone thought,over years of treading on rubber eggs. "I don't know," Burris said whenhe'd reached the door. "When I was in Washington, I seemed to know--butwhen I get out here in this desert, everything just goes haywire." Herubbed at his forehead.
Then he looked into the car. "Hello, Boyd," he said pleasantly.
"Hello, chief," Boyd said.
Burris blinked. "Boyd, you look like Henry VIII," he said with only thefaintest trace of surprise.
"Doesn't he, though?" Her Majesty said from the rear seat. "I've noticedthat resemblance myself."
Burris gave her a tiny smile. "Oh," he said. "Hello, Your Majesty.I'm--"
"Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI," the Queen finished for him."Yes, I know. It's very nice to meet you at last. I've seen you ontelevision, and over the video phone. You photograph badly, you know."
"I do?" Burris said pleasantly. It was obvious that he was keepinghimself under very tight control.
Malone felt remotely sorry for the man--but only remotely. Burris mightas well know, he thought, what they had all been going through the pastseveral days.
Her Majesty was saying something about the honorable estate ofknighthood, and the Queen's List. Malone began paying attention when shecame to: "... And I hereby dub thee--" She stopped suddenly, turned andsaid: "Sir Kenneth, give me your weapon."
Malone hesitated for a long, long second. But Burris' eye was on him,and he could interpret the look without much trouble. There was only onething for him to do. He pulled out his .44, ejected the remainingcartridge in his palm--and reminded himself to reload the gun as soon ashe got it back--and handed the weapon to the Queen, butt foremost.
She took the butt of the revolver in her right hand, leaned out thewindow of the car, and said in a fine, distinct voice: "Kneel, Andrew."
Malone watched with wide, astonished eyes as Andrew J. Burris, Directorof the FBI, went to one knee in a low and solemn genuflection. QueenElizabeth Thompson nodded her satisfaction.
She tapped Burris gently on each shoulder with the muzzle of the gun. "Iknight thee Sir Andrew," she said. She cleared her throat. "My, thisdesert air is dry--Rise, Sir Andrew, and know that you are henceforthKnight Commander of the Queen's Own FBI."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Burris said humbly.
He rose to his feet silently. The Queen withdrew into the car again andhanded the gun back to Malone. He thumbed cartridges into the chambersof the cylinder and listened dumbly.
"Your Majesty," Burris said, "this is Dr. Harry Gamble, the head ofProject Isle. Dr. Gamble, this is Her Majesty the Queen; Lady BarbaraWilson, her ... uh ... her lady in waiting; Sir Kenneth Malone; and King... I mean Sir Thomas Boyd." He gave the four a single bright impartialsmile. Then he tore his eyes away from the others, and bent his gaze onSir Kenneth Malone. "Come over here a minute, Malone," he said, jerkinghis thumb over his shoulder. "I want to talk to you."
* * * * *
Malone climbed out of the car and went around to meet Burris. He feltjust a little worried as he followed the Director away from the car.True, he had sent Burris a long telegram the night before, in code. Buthe hadn't expected the man to show up at Yucca Flats. There didn't seemto be any reason for it.
And when there isn't any reason, Malone told himself sagely, it's a badone.
"What's the trouble, chief?" he asked.
Burris sighed. "None so far," he said quietly. "I got a report from theNevada State Patrol, and ran it through R&I. They identified the men youkilled, all right--but it didn't do us any good. They're hired hoods."
"Who hired them?" Malone said.
Burris shrugged. "Somebody with money," he said. "Hell, men like thatwould kill their own grandmothers if the price were right--you knowthat. We can't trace them back any farther."
Malone nodded. That was, he had to admit, bad news. But then, when hadhe last had any good news?
"We're nowhere near our telepathic spy," Burris said. "We haven't comeany closer than we were when we started. Have you got anything? Anythingat all, no matter how small?"
"Not that I know of, sir," Malone said.
"What about the little old lady ... what's her name? Thompson. Anythingfrom her?"
Malone hesitated. "She has a close fix on the spy, sir," he said slowly,"but she doesn't seem able to identify him right away."
"What else does she want?" Burris said. "We've made her Queen and givenher a full retinue in costume; we've let her play roulette and pokerwith Government money. Does she want to hold a mass execution? If shedoes, I can supply some congressmen, Malone. I'm sure it could bearranged." He looked at the agent narrowly. "I might even be able tosupply an FBI man or two," he added.
Malone swallowed hard. "I'm trying the best I can, sir," he said. "Whatabout the others?"
Burris looked even unhappier than usual. "Come along," he said. "I'llshow you."
When they got back to the car, Dr. Gamble was talking spiritedly withHer Majesty about Roger Bacon. "Before my time, of course," the Queenwas saying, "but I'm sure he was a most interesting man. Now when dearold Marlowe wrote his 'Faust,' he and I had several long discussionsabout such matters. Alchemy--"
Burris interrupted with: "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but we mustget on. Perhaps you'll be able to continue your ... ah ... audiencelater." He turned to Boyd. "Sir Thomas," he said with an effort, "drivedirectly to the Westinghouse buildings. Over that way." He pointed. "Dr.Gamble will ride with you, and the rest of us will follow in the secondcar. Let's move."
He stepped back as the project head got into the car, and watched itroar off. Then he and Malone went to the second car, another FBILincoln. Two agents were sitting in the back seat, with a still figurebetween them.
With a shock, Malone recognized William Logan and the agents he'ddetailed to watch the telepath. Logan's face did not seem to havechanged expression since Malone had seen it last, and he wondered wildlyif perhaps it had to be dusted once a week.
He got in behind the wheel and Burris slid in next to him.
"Westinghouse." Burris said. "And let's get there in a hurry."
"Right," Malone said, and started the car.
"We just haven't had a single lead," Burris said. "I was hoping you'dcome up with something. Your telegram detailed the fight, of course, andthe rest of what's been happening--but I hoped there'd be somethingmore."
"There isn't," Malone was forced to admit. "All we can do is try topersuade Her Majesty to tell us--"
"Oh, I know it isn't easy," Burris said. "But it seems to me--"
By the time they'd arrived at the administrative offices ofWestinghouse's psionics research area, Malone found himself wishing thatsomething would happen. Possibly, he thought, lightning might strike, oran earthquake swallow everything up. He was, suddenly, profoundly tiredof the entire affair.
VIII
Four days later, he was more than tired. He was exhausted. The sixpsychopaths--including Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth I--had been housed ina converted dormitory in the Westinghouse area, together with fourhighly nervous and even more highly trained and investigatedpsychiatrists from St. Elizabeths in Washington. The Convention of Nuts,as Malone called it privately, was in full swing. And it was every bitas strange as he'd thought it was going to be. Unfortunately, five ofthe six--Her Majesty being the only exception--were completely out ofcontact with the world. The psychiatrists referred to them in worriedtones as "unavailable fo
r therapy," and spent most of their timebrooding over possible ways of bringing them back into the real worldfor a while.
Malone stayed away from the five who were completely psychotic. Theweird babblings of fifty-year-old Barry Miles disconcerted him. Theysounded like little Charlie O'Neill's strange semi-connected jabber, butWestinghouse's Dr. O'Connor said that it seemed to represent anotherphenomenon entirely. William Logan's blank face was a memory of horror,but the constant tinkling giggles of Ardith Parker, the studied andconcentrated way that Gordon Macklin wove meaningless patterns in theair with his waving fingers, and the rhythmless, melodyless humming thatseemed to be all there was to the personality of Robert Cassiday weresimply too much for Malone. Taken singly, each was frightening andremote; all together, they wove a picture of insanity that chilled himmore than he wanted to admit.
When the seventh telepath was flown in from Honolulu, Malone didn't evenbother to see her. He let the psychiatrists take over directly, andsimply avoided their sessions.
Queen Elizabeth I, on the other hand, he found genuinely likeable.According to the psych boys, she had been--as both Malone and HerMajesty had theorized--heavily frustrated by being the possessor of atalent which no one else recognized. Beyond that, the impact of otherminds was disturbing; there was a slight loss of identity which seemedto be a major factor in every case of telepathic insanity. But the Queenhad compensated for her frustrations in the easiest possible way; shehad simply traded her identity for another one, and had rationalized asingle, over-ruling delusion: that she was Queen Elizabeth I of England,still alive and wrongfully deprived of her throne.
"It's a beautiful rationalization," one of the psychiatrists said withmore than a trace of admiration in his voice. "Complete and thoroughlyconsistent. She's just traded identities--and everything else shedoes--_everything_ else--stems logically out of her delusional premise.Beautiful."
She might have been crazy, Malone realized. But she was a long way fromstupid.
The project was in full swing. The only trouble was that they were nonearer finding the telepath than they had been three weeks before. Withfive completely blank human beings to work with, and the sixth QueenElizabeth (Malone heard privately that the last telepath, the girl fromHonolulu, was no better than the first five; she had apparentlyregressed into what one of the psychiatrists called a "non-identitychildhood syndrome." Malone didn't know what it meant, but it soundedterrible.) Malone could see why progress was their most difficultcommodity.
Dr. Harry Gamble, the head of Project Isle, was losing poundage by thehour with worry. And, Malone reflected, he could ill afford it.
Burris, Malone and Boyd had set themselves up in a temporary officewithin the Westinghouse area. The director had left his assistant incharge in Washington. Nothing, he said over and over again, was asimportant as the spy in Project Isle.
Apparently Boyd had come to believe that, too. At any rate, though hewas still truculent, there were no more outbursts of rebellion.
* * * * *
But, on the fourth day:
"What do we do now?" Burris asked.
"Shoot ourselves," Boyd said promptly.
"Now, look here--" Malone began, but he was overruled.
"Boyd," Burris said levelly, "if I hear any more of that sort ofpessimism, you're going to be an exception to the beard rule. One morecrack out of you, and you can go out and buy yourself a razor."
Boyd put his hand over his chin protectively, and said nothing at all.
"Wait a minute," Malone said. "Aren't there any _sane_ telepaths in theworld?"
"We can't find any," Burris said. "We--"
There was a knock at the office door.
"Who's there?" Burris called.
"Dr. Gamble," said the man's surprisingly baritone voice.
Burris called: "Come in, doctor," and the door opened. Dr. Gamble's leanface looked almost haggard.
"Mr. Burris," he said, extending his arms a trifle, "can't anything bedone?" Malone had seen Gamble speaking before, and had wondered if itwould be possible for the man to talk with his hands tied behind hisback. Apparently it wouldn't be. "We feel that we are approaching acritical stage in Project Isle," the scientist said, enclosing one fistwithin the other hand. "If anything more gets out to the Soviets, wemight as well publish our findings"--a wide, outflung gesture of botharms--"in the newspapers."
Burris stepped back. "We're doing the best we can, Dr. Gamble," he said.All things considered, his obvious try at radiating confidence wasnearly successful. "After all," he went on, "we know a great deal morethan we did four days ago. Miss Thompson has assured us that the spy isright here, within the compound of Yucca Flats Labs. We've bottledeverything up in this compound, and I'm confident that no information isat present getting through to the Soviet Government. Miss Thompsonagrees with me."
"Miss Thompson?" Gamble said, one hand at his bearded chin.
"The Queen," Burris said.
Gamble nodded and two fingers touched his forehead. "Ah," he said. "Ofcourse." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "But we can't keep everybodywho's here now locked up forever. Sooner or later we'll have to letthem"--his left hand described the gesture of a man tossing away a wadof paper--"go." His hands fell to his sides. "We're lost, unless we canfind that spy."
"We'll find him," Burris said with a show of great confidence.
"But--"
"Give her time," Burris said. "Give her time. Remember her mentalcondition."
Boyd looked up. "Rome," he said in an absent fashion, "wasn't built in adaze."
Burris glared at him, but said nothing. Malone filled the conversationalhole with what he thought would be nice, and hopeful, and untrue.
"We know he's someone on the reservation, so we'll catch himeventually," he said. "And as long as his information isn't getting intoSoviet hands, we're safe." He glanced at his wrist watch.
Dr. Gamble said: "But--"
"My, my," Malone said. "Almost lunchtime. I have to go over and havelunch with Her Majesty. Maybe she's dug up something more."
"I hope so," Dr. Gamble said, apparently successfully deflected. "I dohope so."
"One more crack out of you...."]
"Well," Malone said, "pardon me." He shucked off his coat and trousers.Then he proceeded to put on the doublet and hose that hung in the littleoffice closet. He shrugged into the fur-trimmed, slash-sleeved coat,adjusted the plumed hat to his satisfaction with great care, and gaveBurris and the others a small bow. "I go to an audience with HerMajesty, gentlemen," he said in a grave, well-modulated voice. "I shallreturn anon."
He went out the door and closed it carefully behind him. When he hadgone a few steps he allowed himself the luxury of a deep sigh.
* * * * *
Then he went outside and across the dusty street to the barracks whereHer Majesty and the other telepaths were housed. No one paid anyattention to him, and he rather missed the stares he'd become used todrawing. But by now, everyone was used to seeing Elizabethan clothing.Her Majesty had arrived at a new plateau.
She would now allow no one to have audience with her unless he wasproperly dressed. Even the psychiatrists--whom she had, with a carefulsense of meiosis, appointed Physicians to the Royal House--had to wearthe stuff.
Malone went over the whole case in his mind--for about the thousandthtime, he told himself bitterly.
Who could the telepathic spy be? It was like looking for a needle in arolling stone, he thought. Or something. He did remember clearly that astitch in time saved nine, but he didn't know nine what, and suspectedit had nothing to do with his present problem.
How about Dr. Harry Gamble, Malone thought. It seemed a little unlikelythat the head of Project Isle would be spying on his ownmen--particularly since he already had all the information. But, on theother hand, he was just as probable a spy as anybody else.
Malone moved onward. Dr. Thomas O'Connor, the Westinghouse psionics man,was the next nominee. Before Mal
one had actually found Her Majesty, hehad had a suspicion that O'Connor had cooked the whole thing up to throwthe FBI off the trail and confuse everybody, and that he'd intendedmerely to have the FBI chase ghosts while the real spy did his workundetected.
But what if O'Connor were the spy himself--a telepath? What if he wereso confident of his ability to throw the Queen off the track that he hadallowed the FBI to find all the other telepaths? There was anotherargument for that: he'd had to report the findings of his machine nomatter what it cost him; there were too many other men on his staff whoknew about it.
O'Connor was a perfectly plausible spy, too. But he didn't seem verylikely. The head of a Government project is likely to be amuch-investigated man. Could any tie-up with Russia--even a psionicone--stand against that kind of investigation? Malone doubted it.
Malone thought of the psychiatrists. There wasn't any evidence, that wasthe trouble. There wasn't any evidence either way.
Then he wondered if Boyd had been thinking of him, Malone, as thepossible spy. Certainly it worked in reverse. Boyd--
No. That was silly.
Malone told himself that he might as well consider Andrew J. Burris.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridic--
Well, Queen Elizabeth had seemed pretty certain when she'd pointed himout in Dr. Dowson's office. And even though she'd changed her mind, howmuch faith could be placed in Her Majesty? After all, if she'd made amistake about Burris, she could just as easily have made a mistake aboutthe spy's being at Yucca Flats. In that case, Malone thought sadly, theywere right back where they'd started from.
Behind their own goal line.
One way or another, though, Her Majesty had made a mistake. She'dpointed Burris out as the spy, and then she'd said she'd been wrong.Either Burris was a spy or he wasn't. You couldn't have it both ways.
Why couldn't you? Malone thought suddenly. And then something Burrishimself had said came back to him, something that--
_I'll be damned_, he thought.
He came to a dead stop in the middle of the street. In one sudden flashof insight, all the pieces of the case he'd been looking at for so longfell together and formed one consistent picture. The pattern wascomplete.
Malone blinked.
In that second, he knew exactly who the spy was.
A jeep honked raucously and swerved around him. The driver leaned out tocurse and remained to stare. Malone was already halfway back to theoffices.
On the way, he stopped in at another small office, this one inhabited bythe two FBI men from Las Vegas. He gave a series of quick orders, andgot the satisfaction, as he left, of seeing one of the FBI men grabbingfor a phone in a hurry. It was good to be _doing_ things again,important things.
Burris, Boyd and Dr. Gamble were still talking as Malone entered.
"That," Burris said, "was one hell of a quick lunch. What's Her Majestydoing now--running a diner?"
Malone ignored the bait. "Gentlemen," he said solemnly, "Her Majesty hasasked that all of us attend her in audience. She has information of theutmost gravity to impart, and wishes an audience at once."
Burris looked startled. "Has she--" he began, and stopped, leaving hismouth open and the rest of the sentence unfinished.
Malone nodded gravely. "I believe, gentlemen," he said, "that HerMajesty is about to reveal the identity of the spy who has beenbattening on Project Isle."
The silence didn't last three seconds.
"Let's go," Burris snapped. He and the others headed for the door.
"Gentlemen!" Malone sounded properly shocked and offended. "Your dress!"
"Oh, _no_," Boyd said. "Not now."
Burris simply said: "You're quite right. Get dressed, Boyd ... I mean,of course, Sir Thomas."
While Burris, Boyd and Dr. Gamble were dressing, Malone put in a call toDr. O'Connor and told him to be at Her Majesty's court in tenminutes--and in full panoply. O'Connor, not unnaturally, balked a littleat first. But Malone talked fast and sounded as urgent as he felt. Atlast he got the psionicist's agreement.
Then he put in a second call to the psychiatrists from St. Elizabethsand told them the same thing. More used to the strange demands ofneurotic and psychotic patients, they were readier to comply.
Everyone, Malone realized with satisfaction, was assembled. Even Burrisand the others were ready to go. Beaming, he led them out.
* * * * *
Ten minutes later, there were nine men in Elizabethan costume standingoutside the room which had been designated as the Queen's Court. Dr.Gamble's costume did not quite fit him; his sleeve ruffs were halfway upto his elbows and his doublet had an unfortunate tendency to creep. TheSt. Elizabeths men, all four of them, looked just a little likemoth-eaten versions of old silent pictures. Malone looked them over witha somewhat sardonic eye. Not only did he have the answer to the wholeproblem that had been plaguing them, but _his_ costume was a stunning,perfect fit.
"Now, I want you men to let me handle this," Malone said. "I know justwhat I want to say, and I think I can get the information without toomuch trouble."
One of the psychiatrists spoke up. "I trust you won't disturb thepatient, Mr. Malone," he said.
"Sir Kenneth," Malone snapped.
The psychiatrist looked both abashed and worried. "I'm sorry," he saiddoubtfully.
Malone nodded. "That's all right," he said. "I'll try not to disturb HerMajesty unduly."
The psychiatrists conferred. When they came out of the huddle one ofthem--Malone was never able to tell them apart--said: "Very well, we'lllet you handle it. But we will be forced to interfere if we feel you're... ah ... going too far."
Malone said: "That's fair enough, gentlemen. Let's go."
He opened the door.
It was a magnificent room. The whole place had been done over in plasticand synthetic fibers to look like something out of the SixteenthCentury. It was as garish, and as perfect, as a Hollywood movieset--which wasn't surprising, since two stage designers had been hiredaway from color-TV spectaculars to set it up. At the far end of theroom, past the rich hangings and the flaming chandeliers, was a greatthrone, and on it Her Majesty was seated. Lady Barbara reclined on thesteps at her feet.
Malone saw the expression on Her Majesty's face. He wanted to talk toBarbara--but there wasn't time. Later, there might be. Now, he collectedhis mind and drove one thought at the Queen, one single powerfulthought:
_Read me! You know by this time that I have the truth--but read deeper!_
The expression on her face changed suddenly. She was smiling a sad,gentle little smile. Lady Barbara, who had looked up at the approach ofSir Kenneth and his entourage, relaxed again, but her eyes remained onMalone. "You may approach, my lords," said the Queen.
Sir Kenneth led the procession, with Sir Thomas and Sir Andrew closebehind him. O'Connor and Gamble came next, and bringing up the rear werethe four psychiatrists. They strode slowly along the red carpet thatstretched from the door to the foot of the throne. They came to a halt afew feet from the steps leading up to the throne, and bowed in unison.
"You may explain, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said.
"Your Majesty understands the conditions?" Malone asked.
"Perfectly," said the Queen. "Proceed."
Now the expression on Barbara's face changed, to wonder and a kind offright. Malone didn't look at her. Instead, he turned to Dr. O'Connor.
"Dr. O'Connor, what are your plans for the telepaths who have beenbrought here?" He shot the question out quickly, and O'Connor was caughtoff-balance.
"Well ... ah ... we would like their co-operation in further researchwhich we ... ah ... plan to do into the actual mechanisms of telepathy.Provided, of course"--he coughed gently--"provided that they become ...ah ... accessible. Miss ... I mean, of course, Her Majesty has ...already been a great deal of help." He gave Malone an odd look. Itseemed to say: _what's coming next?_
Malone simply gave him a nod, and a "Thank you, doctor," and turned toBurris. He could feel Bar
bara's eyes on him, but he went on with hisprepared questions. "Chief," he said, "what about you? After we nail ourspy, what happens ... to Her Majesty, I mean? You don't intend to stopgiving her the homage due her, do you?"
Burris stared, openmouthed. After a second he managed to say: "Why, no,of course not, Sir Kenneth. That is"--and he glanced over at thepsychiatrists--"if the doctors think--"
There was another hurried consultation. The four psychiatrists came outof it with a somewhat shaky statement to the effect that treatmentswhich had been proven to have some therapeutic value ought not to bediscontinued, although of course there was always the chance that--
"Thank you, gentlemen," Malone said smoothly. He could see that theywere nervous, and no wonder; he could imagine how difficult it was for apsychiatrist to talk about a patient in her presence. But they'd alreadyrealized that it didn't make any difference; their thoughts were an openbook, anyway.
Lady Barbara said: "Sir ... I mean Ken ... are you going to--"
"What's this all about?" Burris snapped.
"Just a minute, Sir Andrew," Malone said. "I'd like to ask one of thedoctors here--or all of them, for that matter--one more question." Hewhirled and faced them. "I'm assuming that not one of these persons islegally responsible for his or her actions. Is that correct?"
Another hurried huddle. The psych boys were beginning to remind Maloneof a semi-pro football team in rather unusual uniforms.
Finally one of them said: "You are correct. According to the lateststatutes, all of these persons are legally insane--including HerMajesty." He paused and gulped. "I except the FBI, of course--andourselves." Another pause. "And Dr. O'Connor and Dr. Gamble."
"And," said Lady Barbara, "me." She smiled sweetly at them all.
"Ah," the psychiatrist said. "Certainly. Of course." He retired into hisgroup with some confusion.
Malone was looking straight at the throne. Her Majesty's countenance wasserene and unruffled.
Barbara said suddenly: "You don't mean ... but she--" and closed hermouth. Malone shot her one quick look, and then turned to the Queen.
"Well, Your Majesty?" he said. "You have seen the thoughts of every manhere. How do they appear to you?"
Her voice contained both tension and relief. "They are all good men,basically--and kind men," she said. "And they believe us. That's theimportant thing, you know. Their belief in us-- Just as you did thatfirst day we met. We've needed belief for so long ... for so long--" Hervoice trailed off; it seemed to become lost in a constellation ofthoughts. Barbara had turned to look up at Her Majesty.
Malone took a step forward, but Burris interrupted him. "How about thespy?" he said.
Then his eyes widened. Boyd, standing next to him, leaned suddenlyforward. "That's why you mentioned all that about legal immunity becauseof insanity," he whispered. "Because--"
"No," Barbara said. "No. She couldn't ... she's not--"
They were all looking at Her Majesty, now. She returned them stare forstare, her back stiff and straight and her white hair enhaloed in theroom's light. "Sir Kenneth," she said--and her voice was only the leastbit unsteady--"they all think _I'm_ the spy."
Barbara stood up. "Listen," she said. "I didn't like Her Majesty atfirst ... well, she was a patient, and that was all, and when shestarted putting on airs ... but since I've gotten to know her I do likeher. I like her because she's good and kind herself, and because ...because she wouldn't be a spy. She couldn't be. No matter what any ofyou think ... even you ... Sir Kenneth!"
There was a second of silence.
"Of course she's not," Malone said quietly. "She's no spy."
"Would I spy on my own subjects?" she said. "Use your reason!"
"You mean...." Burris began, and Boyd finished for him:
"... She isn't?"
"No," Malone snapped. "She isn't. Remember, you said it would take atelepath to catch a telepath?"
"Well--" Burris began.
"Well, Her Majesty remembered it," Malone said. "And acted on it."
Barbara remained standing. She went to the Queen and put an arm aroundthe little old lady's shoulder. Her Majesty did not object. "I knew,"she said. "You couldn't have been a spy."
"Listen, dear," the Queen said. "Your Kenneth has seen the truth of thematter. Listen to him."
"Her Majesty not only caught the spy," Malone said, "but she turned thespy right over to us."
He turned at once and went back down the long red carpet to the door. _Ireally ought to get a sword_, he thought, and didn't see Her Majestysmile. He opened the door with a great flourish and said quietly: "Bringhim in, boys."
* * * * *
The FBI men from Las Vegas marched in. Between them was their prisoner,a boy with a vacuous face, clad in a strait jacket that seemed to makeno difference at all to him. His mind was--somewhere else. But his bodywas trapped between the FBI agents: the body of William Logan.
"Impossible," one of the psychiatrists said.
Malone spun on his heel and led the way back to the throne. Logan andhis guards followed closely.
"Your Majesty," Malone said, "may I present the prisoner?"
"Perfectly correct, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said. "Poor Willie is yourspy. You won't be too hard on him, will you?"
"I don't think so. Your Majesty," Malone said. "After all--"
"Now wait a minute," Burris exploded. "How did _you_ know any of this?"
Malone bowed to Her Majesty, and winked at Barbara. He turned to Burris."Well," he said, "I had one piece of information none of the rest of youhad. When we were in the Desert Edge Sanitarium, Dr. Dowson called youon the phone. Remember?"
"Sure I remember," Burris said. "So?"
"Well," Malone said, "Her Majesty said she knew just where the spy was.I asked her where--"
"Why didn't you tell me?" Burris screamed. "You knew all this time andyou didn't tell me?"
"Hold on," Malone said. "I asked her where--and she said: 'He's rightthere.' And she was pointing right at your image on the screen."
Burris opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He closed it and tried again.At last he managed one word.
"Me?" he said.
"You," Malone said. "But that's what I realized later. She wasn'tpointing at you. She was pointing at Logan, who was in the next room."
Barbara whispered: "Is that right, Your Majesty?"
"Certainly, dear," the Queen said calmly. "Would I lie to Sir Kenneth?"
Malone was still talking. "The thing that set me off this noon wassomething you said, Sir Andrew," he went on. "You said there weren't anysane telepaths--remember?"
Burris, incapable of speech, merely nodded.
"But according to Her Majesty," Malone said, "we had every telepath inthe United States right here. She told me that--and I didn't even seeit!"
"Don't blame yourself, Sir Kenneth," the Queen put in. "I did do my bestto mislead you, you know."
"You sure did!" Malone said. "And later on, when we were driving here,you said the spy was 'moving around.' That's right; he was in the carbehind us, going eighty miles an hour."
Barbara stared. Malone got a lot of satisfaction out of that stare. Butthere was still more ground to cover.
"Then," he said, "you told us he was here at Yucca Flats--after webrought him here! It had to be one of the other six telepaths."
The psychiatrist who'd muttered: "Impossible," was still muttering it.Malone ignored him.
"And when I remembered her pointing at you," Malone told Burris, "andremembered that she'd only said: 'He's right there,' I knew it had to beLogan. You weren't there. You were only an image on a TV screen. Loganwas there--in the room behind the phone."
Burris had found his tongue. "All right," he said. "O.K. But what's allthis about misleading us--and why didn't she tell us right away,anyhow?"
Malone turned to Her Majesty on the throne. "I think that the Queen hadbetter explain that--if she will."
* * * * *
"It's all right," she said. "We do--respect you."
The Queen smiled up at her.
Malone waited. After a second Her Majesty continued.
"I was afraid that as soon as you found poor Willie you'd send me backto the hospital," she said. "And Willie couldn't tell the Russian agentsany more once he'd been taken away. So I thought I'd just ... just letthings stay the way they were as long as I could. That's ... that'sall."
Malone nodded. After a second he said: "You see that we couldn'tpossibly send you back now, don't you?"
"I--"
"You know all the State Secrets, Your Majesty," Malone said. "We wouldrather that Dr. Harman in San Francisco didn't try to talk you out ofthem. Or anyone else."
The Queen smiled tremulously. "I know too much, do I?" she said. Thenher grin faded. "Poor Dr. Harman," she said.
"Poor Dr. Harman?"
"You'll hear about him in a day or so," she said. "I ... peeked insidehis mind. He's very ill."
"Ill?" Lady Barbara asked.
"Oh, yes," the Queen said. The trace of a smile appeared on her face."He thinks that all the patients in the hospital can see inside hismind."
"Oh, my," Lady Barbara said--and began to laugh. It was the nicest soundMalone had ever heard.
"Forget Harman," Burris snapped. "What about this spy ring? How wasLogan getting his information out?"
"I've already taken care of that," Malone said. "I had Desert EdgeSanitarium surrounded as soon as I knew what the score was." He lookedat one of the agents holding Logan.
"They ought to be in the Las Vegas jail within half an hour," the agentsaid in confirmation.
"Dr. Dowson was in on it, wasn't he, Your Majesty?" Malone said.
"Certainly," the Queen said. Her eyes were suddenly very cold. "I hopehe tries to escape. I hope he tries it."
Malone knew just how she felt.
One of the psychiatrists spoke up suddenly. "I don't understand it," hesaid. "Logan is completely catatonic. Even if he could read minds, howcould he tell Dowson what he'd read? It doesn't make sense."
"In the first place," the Queen said patiently, "Willie isn't catatonic.He's just _busy_, that's all. He's only a boy, and ... well, he doesn'tmuch like being who he is. So he visits other people's minds, and thatway he becomes _them_ for a while. You see?"
"Vaguely," Malone said. "But how did Dowson get his information? I hadeverything worked out but that."
"I know you did," the Queen said, "and I'm proud of you. I intend toaward you with the Order of the Bath for this day's work."
Unaccountably, Malone's chest swelled with pride.
"As for Dr. Dowson," the Queen said, "that traitor ... _hurt_ Willie. Ifhe's hurt enough, he'll come back." Her eyes weren't hard any more. "Hedidn't want to be a spy, really," she said, "but he's just a boy, and itmust have sounded rather exciting. He knew that if he told Dowsoneverything he'd found out, they'd let him go--go away again."
There was a long silence.
"Well," Malone said, "that about wraps it up. Any questions?"
He looked around at the men, but before any of them could speak up HerMajesty rose.
"I'm sure there are questions," she said, "but I'm really very tired. Mylords, you are excused." She extended a hand. "Come, Lady Barbara," shesaid. "I think I really may need that nap, now."
* * * * *
Malone put the cuff links in his shirt with great care. They were greatstones, and Malone thought that they gave his costume that necessaryElizabethan flair.
Not that he was wearing the costume of the Queen's Court now. Instead,he was dressed in a tailor-proud suit of dark blue, a white-on-whiteshirt and no tie. He selected one of a gorgeous peacock pattern from hiscloset rack.
Boyd yawned at him from the bed in the room they were sharing. "Steppingout?" he said.
"I am," Malone said with restraint. He whipped the tie round his neckand drew it under the collar.
"Anybody I know?"
"I am meeting Lady Barbara, if you wish to know," Malone said.
"Come down," Boyd said. "Relax. Anyhow, I've got a question for you.There was one little thing Her Everlovin' Majesty didn't explain."
"Yes?" said Malone.
"Well, about those hoods who tried to gun us down," Boyd said. "Whohired 'em? And why?"
"Dowson," Malone said. "He wanted to kill us off, and then kidnap Loganfrom the hotel room. But we foiled his plan--by killing his hoods. Bythe time he could work up something else, we were on our way to YuccaFlats."
"Great," Boyd said. "And how did you find out this startling piece ofinformation? There haven't been any reports in from Las Vegas, havethere?"
"No," Malone said.
"O.K.," Boyd said. "I give up, Mastermind."
Malone wished Boyd would stop using that nickname. The fact was--as he,and apparently nobody else, was willing to recognize--that he wasn'tanything like a really terrific FBI agent. Even Barbara thought he wassomething special.
He wasn't, he knew.
He was just lucky.
"Her Majesty informed me," Malone said.
"Her--" Boyd stood with his mouth dropped open, like a fish waiting forsome bait. "You mean she knew?"
"Well," Malone said, "she did know the guys in the Buick weren't thebest in the business--and she knew all about the specially-built FBILincoln. She got that from our minds." He knotted his tie with an air ofgreat aplomb, and went, slowly to the door. "And she knew we were a goodteam. She got that from our minds, too."
"But," Boyd said. After a second he said: "But," again, and followed itwith: "Why didn't she tell us?"
Malone opened the door.
"Her Majesty wished to see the Queen's Own FBI in action," said SirKenneth Malone.
THE END
That Sweet Little Old Lady Page 7