Supermind Part 55

Malone kept walking.

In just a few steps, he would be close enough so that a bullet aimed at him from the house hadn't a real chance of missing him.

And it didn't have to be bullets, either. They might have set a trap, he thought, and were waiting for him to walk right into it. Then they would hold him prisoner while they devised ways to...

To what? He didn't know. And that was even worse; it called up horrible terrors from the darkest depths of Malone's mind. He continued to walk forward, feeling about as exposed as a restaurant lamb chop caught with its panty down.

He reached the steps that led up to the porch, and took them one at a time.

He stood on the porch. A long second pa.s.sed.

He took a step toward the high, wide and handsome oaken door. Then he took another step, and another.

What was waiting for him inside?

He took a deep breath, and pressed the doorbell b.u.t.ton.

The door swung open immediately, and Malone involuntarily stepped back.

The owner of the house smiled at him from the doorway. Malone let out his breath in one long sigh of relief.

"I was hoping it would be you," he said weakly. "May I come in?"

"Why, certainly, Malone. Come on in. We've been expecting you, you know," said Andrew J. Burris, director of the FBI.

15

Malone sat, quietly relaxed and almost completely at ease, in the depths of a huge, comfortable, old-fas.h.i.+oned Morris chair. Three similar chairs were cl.u.s.tered with his, around a squat, ma.s.sive coffee table made of a single slab of dark wood set on short, curved legs.

Malone looked around at the other three with a relaxed feeling of recognition: Andrew J. Burris, Sir Lewis Carter, and Luba Vasilovna Garbitsch.

"That mind s.h.i.+eld of yours," Burris was saying, "is functioning very well. We weren't entirely sure you had actually located us until you pulled into that driveway."

"I wasn't entirely sure what I was locating," Malone said.

"And so it's over," Burris said with a satisfied air. "Everything's over."

"And just beginning," Sir Lewis put in. He drew a pipe from an inside pocket and began to fill it.

"And, of course," Burris said, "just beginning. Things do that; they go round and round in circles. It's what makes everything so confusing."

"And so much fun," Lou said, leaning back in her chair. She didn't look hostile now, Malone thought; she looked like a cat, wary but content. He decided that he liked this Lou even better than the old one. Lou, at home among her psionic colleagues, was even more than he'd ever thought she could be.

"More what?" she said suddenly. Burris jerked upright a trifle.

"What's more what?" he said. "d.a.m.n it, let's stick to one thing or the other. As soon as this thing starts mixing talk and thought it confuses me."

"Never mind," Lou said. She smiled across the table at Malone.

Malone jerked a finger under his collar.

"What made you decide to come here?" Sir Lewis said. He had the pipe lit now, and blew a cloud of fragrant smoke over the table.

Malone wondered where to start. "One of the clues," he said at last, "was the efficiency of the FBI. It hit me the same way the efficiency of the PRS had hit me, while I was looking at the batch of reports that had been run off so rapidly."

"Ah," Sir Lewis said. "The dossiers."

"Dossiers?" Burris said.

Sir Lewis puffed at his pipe. "Sorry," he said. "I thought you had been tuned in for that."

"I was busy," Burris said. "I can't tune into everything. After all, I've only got one mind."

"And two hands," Malone said at random.

"At least," Lou said. Their eyes met in a glance of perfect understanding.

"What the h.e.l.l do hands have to do with it?" Burris said.

Sir Lewis shrugged. "Tune in and see," he said. "It's an old joke; but you'll never really adjust to telepathy unless you practice."

"d.a.m.n it," Burris said, "I practice. I'm always practicing. This and that and the other thing--after all, I am the director of the FBI.

There's a lot to be done."

Sir Lewis puffed at his pipe again. "At any rate," he said smoothly, "Mr. Malone had requested some dossiers on us. On the PRS, myself, and Luba. They arrived very quickly. The efficiency of that arrival, and the efficiency he'd been noting about the FBI ever since he began work on this case, finally struck home to him."

"Ah," Burris said. "You see? The FBI's a full-time job. It's got to be efficient."

"Of course," Sir Lewis said soothingly.

"Anyhow," Malone said, "Sir Lewis is right. While every other branch of the government was having its troubles with the Great Confusion, the FBI was ticking along like a transistorized computer."

"A good start," Sir Lewis said.

"Darn good," Burris said. "Malone, I knew I could depend on you.

You're a good man."

Malone swallowed hard. "Well, anyway," he said after a pause, "when I saw that I began to remember a few other things. Starting with a couple of years ago, when we first found Her Majesty, remember?"

"I'll never forget it," Burris said fervently. "She knighted me.

Knight Commander of the Queen's Own FBI. What a moment."

"Thrilling," Malone said. "But you got to Yucca Flats for your knighting awfully quickly, a little too fast even for a modern plane."

"It had to be done," Burris said. "Anyhow, I've never really liked planes. Basically unsafe. People crash in them."

"But you wouldn't," Malone said. "You could always teleport yourself out."

"Sure," Burris said. "But that's troublesome. Why bother? Anyhow, I'd been to Yucca Flats before, so I could teleport there--a little way down the road, where I could meet my car--without any trouble."