Brain Twister Page 9

looking away from the road.

  "Well," he said, "this Dr. Wilson Harman is the man who phoned usyesterday. One of my field agents was out here asking around aboutimbeciles and so on. Found nothing, by the way. And then this Dr.Harman called, later. Said he had someone here I might be interestedin. So I came on out myself for a look, yesterday afternoon--afterall, we had instructions to follow up every possible lead."

  "I know," Malone said. "I wrote them."

  "Oh," Boyd said. "Sure. Well, anyhow, I talked to this dame. Lady."

  "And?"

  "And I talked to her," Boyd said. "I'm not entirely sure of anythingmyself. But--well, hell. You take a look at her."

  He pulled the car up to a parking space, slid nonchalantly into a slotmarked _Reserved_--_Executive Director Sutton_, and slid out fromunder the wheel while Malone got out the other side.

  They marched up the broad steps, through the doorway and into theglass-fronted office of the receptionist.

  Boyd showed her his little golden badge, and got an appropriate gasp."FBI," he said. "Dr. Harman's expecting us."

  The wait wasn't over fifteen seconds. Boyd and Malone marched down thehall and around a couple of corners, and came to the doctor's office.The door was opaqued glass with nothing but a room number stenciledon it. Without ceremony, Boyd pushed the door open. Malone followedhim inside.

  The office was small but sunny. Dr. Wilson Harman sat behind a blond-wood desk, a little man with crew-cut blond hair and rimlesseyeglasses, who looked about thirty-two and couldn't possibly, Malonethought, have been anywhere near that young. On a second look, Malonenoticed a better age indication in the eyes and forehead, and revisedhis first guess upward between ten and fifteen years.

  "Come in, gentlemen," Dr. Harman called. His voice was that rarity, areally loud high tenor.

  "Dr. Harman," Boyd said, "this is my superior, Mr. Malone. We'd liketo have a talk with Miss Thompson, if we might."

  "I anticipated that, sir," Dr. Harman said. "Miss Thompson is in thenext room. Have you explained to Mr. Malone that--"

  "I haven't explained a thing," Boyd said quickly, and added in whatwas obviously intended to be a casual tone: "Mr. Malone wants to get apicture of Miss Thompson directly--without any preconceptions."

  "I see," Dr. Harman said. "Very well, gentlemen. Through this door."

  He opened the door in the right-hand wall of the room, and Malone tookone look. It was a long, long look. Standing framed in the doorway,dressed in the starched white of a nurse's uniform, was the mostbeautiful blonde he had ever seen.

  She had curves. She definitely had curves. As a matter of fact, Malonedidn't really think he had ever seen curves before. These weresomething new and different and truly three-dimensional. But it wasn'tthe curves, or the long straight lines of her legs, or the quietbeauty of her face, that made her so special. After all, Malone hadseen legs and bodies and faces before.

  At least, he thought he had. Offhand, he couldn't remember where.Looking at the girl, Malone was ready to write brand-new definitionsfor every anatomical term. Even a term like "hands." Malone had neverseen anything especially arousing in the human hand before--anyway,not when the hand was just lying around, so to speak, attached to itswrist but not doing anything in particular. But these hands, long,slender and tapering, white and cool-looking....

  And yet, it wasn't just the sheer physical beauty of the girl. She hadsomething else, something more and something different. _(Somethingborrowed_, Malone thought in a semidelirious haze, _and somethingblue.)_ Personality? Character? Soul?

  Whatever it was, Malone decided, this girl had it. She had enough ofit to supply the entire human race, and any others that might exist inthe Universe. Malone smiled at the girl and she smiled back.

  After seeing the smile, Malone wasn't sure he could still walk evenly.Somehow, though, he managed to go over to her and extend his hand. Thenotion that a telepath would turn out to be this mind-searing Epitomehad never crossed his mind, but now, somehow, it seemed perfectlyfitting and proper.

  "Good morning, Miss Thompson," he said in what he hoped was a winningvoice.

  The smile disappeared. It was like the sun going out.

  The vision appeared to be troubled. Malone was about to volunteer hishelp--if necessary, for the next seventy years--when she spoke.

  "I'm not Miss Thompson," she said.

  "This is one of our nurses," Dr. Harman put in. "Miss Wilson, Mr.Malone. And Mr. Boyd. Miss Thompson, gentlemen, is over there."

  Malone turned.

  There, in a corner of the room, an old lady sat. She was a small oldlady, with apple-red cheeks and twinkling eyes. She held some knittingin her hands, and she smiled up at the FBI men as if they were hergrandsons come for tea and cookies, of a Sunday afternoon.

  She had snow-white hair that shone like a crown around her old head inthe lights of the room. Malone blinked at her. She didn't disappear.

  "You're Miss Thompson?" he said.

  She smiled sweetly. "Oh, my, no," she said.

  There was a long silence. Malone looked at her. Then he looked at theunbelievably beautiful Miss Wilson. Then he looked at Dr. Harman. And,at last, he looked at Boyd.

  "All right," he said. "I get it. _You're_ Miss Thompson."

  "Now, wait a minute, Malone," Boyd began.

  "Wait a minute?" Malone said. "There are four people here, notcounting me. I know I'm not Miss Thompson. I never was, not even as achild. And Dr. Harman isn't, and Miss Wilson isn't, and Whistler'sGreat-Grandmother isn't, either. So you must be. Unless she isn'there. Or unless she's invisible. Or unless I'm crazy."

  "It isn't _you_, Malone," Boyd said. "What isn't me?"

  "That's crazy," Boyd said.

  "Okay," Malone said. "I'm not crazy. Then will somebody please tellme--"

  The little old lady cleared her throat. A silence fell. When it wascomplete she spoke, and her voice was as sweet and kindly as anythingMalone had ever heard.

  "You may call me Miss Thompson," she said. "For the present, at anyrate. They all do here. It's a pseudonym I have to use."

  "A pseudonym?" Malone said.

  "You see, Mr. Malone," Miss Wilson began.

  Malone stopped her. "Don't talk," he said. "I have to concentrate andif you talk I can barely think." He took off his hat suddenly, andbegan twisting the brim in his hands. "You understand, don't you?"

  The trace of a smile appeared on her face. "I think I do," she said.

  "Now," Malone said. "You're Miss Thompson, but not really, because youhave to use a pseudonym." He blinked at the little old lady. "Why?"

  "Well," she said, "otherwise people would find out about my littlesecret."

  "Your little secret," Malone said.

  "That's right," the little old lady said. "I'm immortal, you see."

  Malone said: "Oh." Then he kept quiet for a long time. It didn't seemto him that anyone in the room was breathing.

  He said: "Oh," again, but it didn't sound any better than it had thefirst time. He tried another phrase. "You're immortal," he said.

  "That's right," the little old lady agreed sweetly.

  There was only one other question to ask, and Malone set his teethgrimly and asked it. It came out just a trifle indistinct, but thelittle old lady nodded.

  "My real name?" she said. "Elizabeth. Elizabeth Tudor, of course. Iused to be Queen."

  "Of England," Malone said faintly. "Malone, look--" Boyd began.

  "Let me get it all at once," Malone told him. "I'm strong. I can takeit." He twisted his hat again and turned back to the little old lady.

  "You're immortal, and you're not really Miss Thompson, but QueenElizabeth I?" he said slowly.

  "That's right," she said. "How clever of you. Of course, after littleJimmy--cousin Mary's boy, I mean--said I was dead and claimed theThrone, I decided to change my name and all. And that's what I did.But I am Elizabeth Regina." She smiled, and her eyes twinkled merrily.Malone stared at her for a long minute.

  _Burris_, he thought,
_is going to love this._

  "Oh, I'm so glad," the little old lady said. "Do your really think hewill? Because I'm sure I'll like your Mr. Burris, too. All of you FBImen are so charming. Just like poor, poor Essex."

  Well, Malone told himself, that was that. He'd found himself atelepath.

  And she wasn't an imbecile.

  Oh, no. That would have been simple.

  Instead, she was battier than a cathedral spire.

  * * * * *

  The long silence was broken by the voice of Miss Wilson.

  "Mr. Malone," she said. "You've been thinking." She stopped. "I mean,you've been so quiet."

  "I like being quiet," Malone said patiently. "Besides--" He stoppedand turned to the little old lady. _Can you really read my mind?_ hethought deliberately. After a second he added: ... _your Majesty?_

  "How sweet of you, Mr. Malone," she said. "Nobody's called me that forcenturies. But of course I can. Although it's not reading, really.After all, that would be like asking if I can read your voice. Ofcourse I can, Mr. Malone."

  "That does it," Malone said. "I'm not a hard man to convince. And whenI see the truth, I'm the first one to admit it, even if it makes melook like a nut." He turned back to the little old lady. "Begging yourpardon," he said.

  "Oh, my," the little old lady said. "I really don't mind at all.Sticks and stones, you know, can break my bones. But being callednuts, Mr. Malone, can never hurt me. After all, it's been so manyyears--so many hundreds of years--"

  "Sure," Malone said easily.

  Boyd broke in. "Listen, Malone," he said. "Do you mind telling me whatthe hell is going on?"

  "It's very simple," Malone said. "Miss Thompson here--pardon me; Imean Queen Elizabeth I--really is a telepath. That's all. I think Iwant to lie down somewhere until it goes away."

  "Until what goes away?" Miss Wilson said.

  Malone stared at her almost without seeing her, if not quite."Everything," he said. He closed his eyes.

  "My goodness," the little old lady said after a second. "Everything'sso confused. Poor Mr. Malone is terribly shaken up by everything." Shestood up, still holding her knitting, and went across the room. Beforethe astonished eyes of the doctor and nurse, and Tom Boyd, she pattedthe FBI agent on the shoulder. "There, there, Mr. Malone," she said."It will all be perfectly all right. You'll see." Then she returned toher seat.

  Malone opened his eyes. "My God," he said. He closed them again butthey flew open as if of their own accord. He turned to Dr. Harman."You called up Boyd here," he said, "and told him that--er--MissThompson was a telepath. How'd you know?"

  "It's all right," the little old lady put in from her chair. "I don'tmind your calling me Miss Thompson, not right now, anyhow."

  "Thanks," Malone said faintly.

  Dr. Harman was blinking in a kind of befuddled astonishment. "You meanshe really _is_ a--" He stopped and brought his tenor voice to asqueaking halt, regained his professional poise, and began again. "I'drather not discuss the patient in her presence, Mr. Malone," he said."If you'll just come into my office--"

  "Oh, _bosh_, Dr. Harman," the little old lady said primly. "I do wishyou'd give your own Queen credit for some ability. Goodness knows youthink _you're_ smart enough."

  "Now, now, Miss Thompson," he said in what was obviously his bestGrade A Choice Government Inspected couchside manner. "Don't--"

  "--upset yourself," she finished for him. "Now, really, Doctor. I knowwhat you're going to tell them."

  "But Miss Thompson, I--"

  "You didn't honestly think I _was_ a telepath," the little old ladysaid. "Heavens, we know that. And you're going to tell them how I usedto say I could read minds--oh, years and years ago. And because ofthat you thought it might be worthwhile to tell the FBI about me--which wasn't very kind of you, Doctor, before you know anything aboutwhy they wanted somebody like me."

  "Now, now, Miss Thompson," Miss Wilson said, walking across the roomto put an arm around the little old lady's shoulder. Malone wished forone brief second that he were the little old lady. Maybe if he were apatient in the hospital he would get the same treatment.

  He wondered if he could possibly work such a deal.

  Then he wondered if it would be worthwhile, being nuts. But of courseit would. He was nuts anyhow, wasn't he?

  Sure, he told himself. They were all nuts.

  "Nobody's going to hurt you," Miss Wilson said. She was talking to theold lady. "You'll be perfectly all right and you don't have to worryabout a thing."

  "Oh, yes, dear, I know that," the little old lady said. "You only wantto help me, dear. You're so kind. And these FBI men really don't meanany harm. But Doctor Harman didn't know that. He just thinks I'm crazyand that's all."

  "Please, Miss Thompson--" Dr. Harman began.

  "Just crazy, that's all," the little old lady said. She turned awayfor a second and nobody said anything.

  Then she turned back. "Do you all know what he's thinking now?" shesaid. Dr. Harman turned a dull purple, but she ignored him. "He'swondering why I didn't take the trouble to prove all this to you yearsago. And besides that, he's thinking about--"

  "Miss Thompson," Dr. Harman said. His bedside manner had crackedthrough and his voice was harsh and strained. "Please."

  "Oh, all right," she said, a little petulantly. "If you want to keepall that private."

  Malone broke in suddenly, fascinated. "Why didn't you prove you weretelepathic before now?" he said.

  The little old lady smiled at him. "Why, because you wouldn't havebelieved me," she said. She dropped her knitting neatly in her lap andfolded her hands over it. '"None of you _wanted_ to believe me," shesaid, and sniffed. Miss Wilson moved nervously and she looked up. "Anddon't tell me it's going to be all right. I know it's going to be allright. I'm going to make sure of that."

  Malone felt a sudden chill. But it was obvious, he told himself, thatthe little old lady didn't mean what she was saying. She smiled at himagain, and her smile was as sweet and guileless as the smile on theface of his very own sainted grandmother.

  Not that Malone remembered his grandmother; she had died before he'dbeen born. But if he'd had a grandmother, and if he'd remembered her,he was sure she would have had the same sweet smile.

  So she couldn't have meant what she'd said. Would Malone's owngrandmother make things difficult for him? The very idea wasridiculous.

  Dr. Harman opened his mouth, apparently changed his mind, and shut itagain. The little old lady turned to him.

  "Were you going to ask why I bothered to prove anything to Mr.Malone?" she said. "Of course you were, and I shall tell you. It'sbecause Mr. Malone wanted to believe me. He wants me. He needs me. I'ma telepath, and that's enough for Mr. Malone. Isn't it?"

  "Gur," Malone said, taken by surprise. After a second he added: "Iguess so."

  "You see, Doctor?" the little old lady said.

  "But you--" Dr. Harman began.

  "I read minds," the little old lady said. "That's right, Doctor.That's what makes me a telepath."

  Malone's brain was whirling rapidly, like a distant galaxy. Telepathwas a nice word, he thought. How do you telepath from a road?

  Simple.

  The road is paved.

  Malone thought that was pretty funny, but he didn't laugh. He thoughthe would never laugh again. He wanted to cry, a little, but he didn'tthink he'd be able to manage that either.

  He twisted his hat, but it didn't make him feel any better. Gradually,he became aware that the little old lady was talking to Dr. Harmanagain.

  "But," she said, "since it will make you feel so much better, Doctor,we give you our Royal permission to retire, and to speak to Mr. Malonealone."

  "Malone alone," Dr. Harman muttered. "Hmm. My. Well." He turned andseemed to be surprised that Malone was actually standing near him."Yes," he said. "Well. Mr. Alone--Mr. Malone--please, whoever you are,just come into my office, please?"

  Malone looked at the little old lady. One of her eyes closed andopened.
It was an unmistakable wink.

  Malone grinned at her in what he hoped was a cheerful manner. "Allright," he said to the psychiatrist, "let's go." He turned with thebarest trace of regret, and Boyd followed him.

  Leaving the little old lady and, unfortunately, the startling MissWilson, behind, the procession filed back into Dr. Harman's office.

  The doctor closed the door, and leaned against it for a second. Helooked as though someone had suddenly revealed to him that the worldwas square. But when he spoke his voice was almost even.

  "Sit down, gentlemen," he said, and indicated chairs. "I really--well,I