The Impossibles Page 8

loudly to no one in particular.He went back into his own room, closed the door, and got wearily readyfor bed.

  * * * * *

  Dawn came, and then daylight, and then a lot more daylight. It wasstreaming in through the windows with careless abandon, filling theroom with a lot of bright sunshine and the muggy heat of the city.From the street below, the cheerful noises of traffic and pedestriansfloated up and filled Malone's ears.

  He got up, turned over in bed, and tried to go back to sleep.

  But sleep wouldn't come. After a long time he gave up, and swunghimself over the edge of the bed. Standing up was a delicate job, buthe managed it, feeling rather proud of himself in a dim, semiconscioussort of way.

  He went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and then opened theconnecting door to Boyd's room softly.

  Boyd was home. He lay in a great tangle of bedclothes, snoringhideously and making little motions with his hands and arms like abeached whale. Malone padded over to him and dug him fiercely in theribs.

  "Come on," he said. "Wake up, Tommy-boy."

  Boyd's eyes did not open. In a voice as hollow as a zombie's, he said,"My head hurts."

  "Can't feel any worse than mine," Malone said cheerily. This, hereflected, was not quite true. Considering everything it had beenthrough recently, his head felt remarkably like its old carefree self."You'll feel better once you're awake."

  "No, I won't," Boyd said simply. He jammed his head under a pillow andbegan to snore again. It was an awesome sound, like a man stranglingto death in chicken fat. Malone sighed and poked at random among thebedclothes.

  Boyd swore distantly, and Malone poked him again.

  "The sun is up," Malone said, "and all the little pedestrians arechirping. It is time to rise."

  Boyd said, "Gah," and withdrew his head from the pillow. Gently, as ifhe were afraid he were going to fall apart, he rose to a sittingposition. When he had arrived at it, he opened his eyes.

  "Now," Malone said. "Isn't that better?"

  Boyd closed his eyes again. "No," he said.

  "Come on," Malone said. "We've got to be up and moving."

  "I'm up," Boyd said. His eyes flickered open. "But I can't move," headded. "We had quite a time last night."

  "We?" Malone said.

  "Me, and a couple of girls, and another guy. Just people I met." Boydstarted to stand up and thought better of it. "Just having a goodtime, that's, all."

  Malone thought of reading his partner a lecture on the Evils of Drink,and decided against it. Boyd might remember it, and use it against himsometime. Then he realized what had to be done. He went back into hisown room, dialed for room service, and ordered a couple of pots ofstrong black coffee.

  By the time a good deal of that was awash in Boyd's intestinal system,he was almost capable of rational, connected conversation. He filledhimself to the eyebrows with aspirins and other remedies, and actuallysucceeded in getting dressed. He seemed quite proud of this feat.

  "Okay," Malone said. "Now we have to go downstairs."

  "You mean outside?" Boyd said. "Into all that noise?" He winced.

  "Bite the bullet," Malone said cheerfully. "Keep a stiff upper lip."

  "Nonsense," Boyd said, hunting for his coat with a doleful air. "Haveyou ever seen anybody with a loose upper lip?"

  Malone, busy with his own coat, didn't bother with a reply. He managedsomehow to get Boyd downstairs and bundled into a cab. They headed for69th Street. There he made several phone calls. The first, of course,was to Burris in Washington. After that he got the New York PoliceCommissioner on the wire and, finding that he needed still moreauthority, he called the mayor and then, by long-distance to Albany,the governor.

  But by noon he had everything straightened out. He had a plan fullyworked out in his mind, and he had the authority to go ahead with it.Now, he could make his final call.

  "They're completely trustworthy," Burris had told him. "Not only that,but they have a clearance for this kind of special work--we've neededthem before."

  "Good," Malone said.

  "Not only that," Burris told him. "They're damned good men. Maybeamong the best in their field."

  So Malone made his last call, to the firm of Leibowitz and Hardin,Electronic Engineers.

  Then he beckoned to Boyd.

  "I don't see what I've been sitting around here for, all this time,"his partner complained. "I could have been home sleeping until youneeded me."

  "I need you now," Malone said. "I want you to take over part of thisplan."

  Boyd nodded sourly. "Oh, all right," he said.

  "Here's what I want," Malone said. "Every red 1972 Cadillac in thearea is to be picked up for inspection. I don't care why--make up areason. A general traffic check. Anything you please. You can workthat end of it out with the commissioner; he knows about it and he'swilling to go along."

  "Great," Boyd said. "Do you have any idea how many cars there are in acity this size?"

  "Well, we don't want all of them," Malone said. "Only red 1972Cadillacs."

  "It's still a lot," Boyd said.

  "If there were only three," Malone said, "we wouldn't have anyproblems."

  "And wouldn't that be nice?" Boyd said.

  "Sure," Malone said, "but it isn't true. Anyhow, I want every one ofthose cars checked for any oddity, no matter how small. If there's aninch-long scratch on one fender, I want to know about it. If you'vegot to take the cars apart, then do that."

  "Me?" Boyd said. "All by myself?"

  "My God, no," Malone said. "Use your head. There'll be a team workingwith you. Let me explain it. Every nut, every bolt, every inch ofthose cars has to be examined thoroughly--got it?"

  "I've got it," Boyd said, "but I'm damned if I like it. After all,Malone--"

  Malone ignored him. "The governor of New York's promised hiscooperation," he said, "and he said he'd get in touch with thegovernors of New Jersey and Connecticut and get cooperation from thatangle. So we'll have both state and local police working with us."

  "That's a help," Boyd said. "We'll make such a happy team of workmen.Singing as we pull the cars apart through the long day and nightand--listen, Malone, when do you want reports on this?"

  "Yesterday," Malone said.

  Boyd's eyebrows raised, then lowered. "Great," he said dully.

  "I don't care how you get the cars," Malone said. "If you've got to,condemn 'em. But get every last one of them. And bring them over toLeibowitz and Hardin for a complete checkup. I'll give you theaddress."

  "Thanks," Boyd said.

  "Not at all," Malone said. "Glad to be of help. And don't worry; I'llhave other work to do." He paused, and then went on, "I talked to Dr.Isaac Leibowitz--he's the head of the firm out there--and he says--"

  "Wait a minute," Boyd said. "What?"

  "You mean I don't have to take the cars apart myself? You mean thisLeibowitz and Hardin, or whatever it is, will do it for me?"

  "Of course," Malone said wearily. "You're not an auto technician or anelectronics man. You're an agent of the FBI."

  "I was beginning to wonder," Boyd said. "After all."

  "Anyhow," Malone said doggedly, "I talked to Leibowitz, and he says hecan give a car a complete check in about six hours, normally."

  "Six hours?" Boyd stared. "That's going to take forever," he said.

  "Well, he can set up a kind of assembly-line process and turn out acar every fifteen minutes. Any better?"

  Boyd nodded.

  "Good," Malone said. "There can't be so many 1972 red Cadillacs in thearea that we can't get through them all at that speed." He thought aminute and then added, "By the way, you might check with the Cadillacdealers around town, and find out just how many have been sold topeople living in the area."

  "And while I'm doing all that," Boyd said, "what are you going to bedoing?"

  Malone looked at him and sighed. "I'll worry about that," he said."Just get started."

  "Suppose Leibowitz can't find anything?" Boyd said.

/>   "If Leibowitz can't find it, it's not there," Malone said. "He canfind electronic devices anywhere in any car made, he says--even ifthey're printed circuits hidden under the paint