The Impossibles Page 26

intriguing ones. Malone sighed, wishing he knewthe answer to even one of them.

  It was somewhat comforting to think that he'd managed to progress alittle, anyway. The kids hadn't meant anybody to find out about them;but Malone had found out about them, and alerted all the cops in town,as well as the rest of the FBI. He knew just who they were, and wherethey lived, and how they performed the "miracles" they performed.

  Anyhow, he knew something about that last item.

  He even knew who had his notebook.

  He tabled that thought, and went back to feeling victorious. Within afew seconds, the sense of achievement was gone, and futility had comein its place. After all, he still didn't know how to catch the kids,did he?

  No.

  He thought about handcuffs some more and then gave up. He'd just haveto try it and see how it worked. And if the teleports took his wristaway he'd--he'd go after them and make them give it back.

  Sure he would.

  That reminded him of the notebook again, and since the thing was beingso persistent, he decided he might as well pay some attention to it.

  Dorothea had the notebook. Malone tried to see himself barging in onher and asking for it, and he didn't care for the picture at all--nomatter how Good Queen Bess felt about it.

  After all, she thought Mike Fueyo was basically a nice kid.

  So what did she know?

  He closed his eyes. There he was, in the Fueyo apartment, talking toDorothea.

  "Dorothea," he muttered. "You filched my notebook."

  That didn't sound very effective. And besides, it wasn't really hisnotebook. He tried again.

  "Dorothea, you pinched your brother's notebook."

  Now, for some reason, it sounded like something covered by the ViceSquad. It sounded terrible. But there were other ways of saying thesame thing.

  "Dorothea," he muttered, "you borrowed your brother's notebook."

  That was too patronizing. Malone told himself that he sounded like acharacter straight out of 3-D screens, and settled himself gamely foranother try.

  "Dorothea, you _have_ your brother's notebook."

  To which the obvious answer was, "Yes, I do, and so what?"

  Or possibly, "How do you know?"

  And Malone thought about answering that one. "Queen Elizabeth toldme," was the literal truth, but somehow it didn't sound like it. Andhe couldn't find another answer to give the girl.

  "Dorothea," he said, and a voice from nowhere added:

  "Will you have another drink?"

  "Damn it," Malone exploded, "that's not the question. Drinks havenothing to do with notebooks. It's notebooks I'm after. Can't youunderstand..." Belatedly, he looked up.

  There was Ray, the barman. "Oh," he said.

  "I just came over," Ray said. "And I figured if you couldn't find yournotebook, maybe you'd like a drink. So long as you're here."

  "Ray," Malone said with feeling, "you are an eminently reasonablefellow. I accept your solution. Nay, more. I endorse your solution.Wholeheartedly."

  Ray went off to mix, and Malone stared after him happily. This wasreally a nice place, he reflected; almost as nice as the City Hall Barin Chicago, where he'd gone long ago with his father.

  But he tore his mind away from the happy past, and concentratedinstead on the miserable present. He decided for the last time that hewas not going to ask Dorothea for the book--not just yet, anyhow.After all, it wasn't as if he needed the book; he knew his own name,and he knew Lynch's name, and he knew the names on the second page.And he didn't see any particular need for a picture of a red Cadillac,no matter how nicely colored it was.

  So, he asked himself, why embarrass everybody by trying to get itback?

  Of course, it _was_ technically a crime to pick pockets, and that wentdouble or triple for the pockets of FBI agents. But Malone toldhimself that he didn't feel like pressing charges, anyhow. And Dorothyprobably didn't make a habit of pocket-picking.

  He sighed and glanced at his watch. It was fifteen minutes of six.

  Now he knew what his next move was going to be.

  He was going to go back to his hotel and change his clothes.

  That is, he amended, as soon as he finished the drink that Ray wassetting up in front of him.

  11

  By the time Malone reached the Hotel New Yorker it was six-twenty.Malone hadn't reckoned with New York's rush-hour traffic, and, afterseeing it, he still didn't believe it. Finding a cab had beenimpossible, and he had started for the subway, hoping that he wouldn'tget lost and end up somewhere in Brooklyn.

  But one look at the shrieking mob trying to sardine itself into theSeventh Avenue subway entrance had convinced him it was better towalk. Bucking the street crowds was bad enough. Bucking the subwaycrowds was something Malone didn't even want to think about.

  He let himself into his room, and was taking off his shoes with agrateful sigh when there was a rap on the door of the bathroom thatconnected his room with Boyd's. Malone padded over to the door, hisshoes in one hand. "Tom?" he said.

  "You are expecting maybe Titus Moody?" Boyd called.

  "Okay," Malone said. "Come on in."

  Boyd pushed open the door. He was stripped to the waist, a state ofdress which showed the largest expanse of chest Malone had ever seen,and he was carrying the small scissors which he used to trim his HenryVIII beard. He stabbed the scissors toward Malone, who shuffled backhurriedly.

  "Listen," Boyd said. "Did you call the office after you left thisafternoon?"

  "No," Malone admitted. "Why? What happened?"

  "There was a call for you," Boyd said. "Long distance, just before Ileft at five. I came on back to the hotel and waited until I heard youcome in. Thought you might want to know about it."

  "I do, I guess," Malone said. "Who from?" Looking at Boyd, amodern-day Henry VIII, the association was too obvious to be missed.Malone thought of Good Queen Bess, and wondered why she was callinghim again.

  And--more surprising--why she'd called him at FBI headquarters, whenshe must have known that he wasn't there.

  "Dr. O'Connor," Boyd said.

  "Oh," Malone said, somewhat relieved. "At Yucca Flats."

  Boyd nodded. "Right," he said.

  "You're to call operator nine."

  "Thanks." Malone went over to the phone, remembered his shoes and putthem down carefully on the floor. "Anything else of importance?" heasked.

  "On the Cadillacs," Boyd said. "We've got a final report now.Leibowitz and Hardin finally finished checking the last of them; thereweren't quite as many as we were afraid there were going to be. Redisn't a very popular color around here."

  "Good," Malone said.

  "And there isn't a doggone thing on any of 'em," Boyd said. "Oh, wecleared up a lot of small-time crime, one thing and another, butthat's about all. No such thing as an electro-psionic brain to befound anywhere in the lot. Leibowitz says he's willing to swear toit."

  Malone sighed. "I didn't think he'd find one," he said.

  "You didn't?"

  "No," Malone said.

  Boyd stabbed at him with the scissors again. "Then why did you causeall that trouble?" he said.

  "Because I thought we might find electro-psionic brains," Malone saidwearily. "Or one, anyhow."

  "But you just said--"

  Malone picked up the phone, got long distance, and motioned Boyd tosilence in one sweeping series of moves. The long-distance operatorsaid, "Yes, sir? May we help you?"

  "Give me operator nine," Malone said.

  There was a buzz, a click, and a new voice which said, "Operatorni-yun. May we help you?"

  "All nine of you?" Malone muttered. "Never mind. This is KennethMalone. I've got a call from Dr. Thomas O'Connor at Yucca Flats.Please connect me."

  There was another buzz, a click and an ungodly howl which was followedby the voice of operator ni-yun saying, "We are connecting you. Therewill be a slight delay. We are sor-ree."

  Malone waited. At last there was another sm
all howl, and the screenlit up. Dr. O'Connor's face, as stern and ascetic as ever, staredthrough at Malone.

  "I understand you called me," Malone said.

  "Ah, yes," Dr. O'Connor said. "It's very good to see you again, Mr.Malone." He gave Malone a smile good for exchange at your cornergrocery; worth, one icicle.

  "It's good to see you too," Malone lied.

  "Mr. Burris explained to me what it was that you wanted to talk to meabout," O'Connor said, "Am I to understand