It sounded remarkably apt. Dr. O'Connor went slightly purple, but controlled himself magnificently. “I'll be there,” he said.
"Good,” Malone told him, and snapped the phone off.
Then he put in a second call to the psychiatrists from St. Elizabeths and told them the same thing. More used to the strange demands of neurotic and psychotic patients, they were readier to comply.
Everyone, Malone realized with satisfaction, was now assembling. Burris and the others were ready to go, sparklingly dressed and looking impatient. Malone put down the phone and took one great breath of relief.
Then, beaming, he led the others out.
* * * *
Ten minutes later, there were nine men in Elizabethan costume standing outside the room which had been designated as the Queen's Court. Dr. Gamble's costume did not quite fit him; his sleeve-ruffs were half way up to his elbows and his doublet had an unfortunate tendency to creep. The St. Elizabeths men, all four of them, looked just a little like moth-eaten versions of old silent pictures. Malone looked them over with a somewhat sardonic eye. Not only did he have the answer to the whole problem 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 just what I want to say, and I think I can get the information without too much trouble."
One of the psychiatrists spoke up. “I trust you won't disturb the patient, Mr. Malone,” he said.
"Sir Kenneth,” Malone snapped.
The psychiatrist looked both abashed and worried. “I'm sorry,” he said doubtfully.
Malone nodded. “That's all right,” he said. “I'll try not to disturb Her Majesty unduly."
The psychiatrists conferred. When they came out of the huddle one of them-Malone was never able to tell them apart-said: “Very well, we'll let 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 plastic and synthetic fibers to look like something out of the Sixteenth Century. It was as garish, and as perfect, as a Hollywood movie set-which wasn't surprising, since two stage designers had been hired away from color-TV spectaculars to set it up. At the far end of the room, past the rich hangings and the flaming chandeliers, was a great throne, and on it Her Majesty was seated. Lady Barbara reclined on the steps at her feet.
Malone saw the expression on Her Majesty's face. He wanted to talk to Barbara-but there wasn't time. Later, there might be. Now, he collected his mind and drove one thought at the Queen, one single powerful thought:
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 of Sir Kenneth and his entourage, relaxed again, but her eyes remained on Malone. “You may approach, my lords,” said the Queen.
Sir Kenneth led the procession, with Sir Thomas and Sir Andrew close behind him. O'Connor and Gamble came next, and bringing up the rear were the four psychiatrists. They strode slowly along the red carpet that stretched from the door to the foot of the throne. They came to a halt a few 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 of fright. 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 been brought here?” He shot the question out quickly, and O'Connor was caught off-balance.
"Well-ah-we would like their cooperation in further research which 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. It seemed to say: What's coming next?
Malone simply gave him a nod, and a “Thank you, Doctor,” and turned to Burris. He could feel Barbara's eyes on him, but he went on with his prepared questions. “Chief,” he said, “what about you? After we nail our spy, what happens-to Her Majesty, I mean? You don't intend to stop giving 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 the psychiatrists-"if the doctors think...."
There was another hurried consultation. The four psychiatrists came out of it with a somewhat shaky statement to the effect that treatments which had been proven to have some therapeutic value ought not to be discontinued, although of course there was always the chance that....
"Thank you, gentlemen,” Malone said smoothly. He could see that they were nervous, and no wonder; he could imagine how difficult it was for a psychiatrist to talk about a patient in her presence. But they'd already realized that it didn't make any difference; their thoughts were an open book, 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 the doctors here-or all of them, for that matter-one more question.” He whirled and faced them. “I'm assuming that not one of these persons is legally responsible for his or her actions. Is that correct?"
Another hurried huddle. The psych boys were beginning to remind Malone of a semi-pro football team in rather unusual uniforms.
Finally one of them said: “You are correct. According to the latest statutes, all of these persons are legally insane-including Her Majesty.” He paused and gulped. “I except the FBI, of course-and ourselves.” 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 his group with some confusion.
Malone was looking straight at the throne. Her Majesty's countenance was serene and unruffled.
Barbara said suddenly: “You don't mean-but she—” and closed her mouth. Malone shot her one quick look, and then turned to the Queen.
"Well, Your Majesty?” he said. “You have seen the thoughts of every man here. 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 the important thing, you know. Their belief in us.... Just as you said that first day we met. We've needed belief for so long ... for so long.... “Her voice trailed off; it seemed to become lost in a constellation of thoughts. Barbara had turned to look up at Her Majesty.
Malone took a step forward, but Burris interrupted him. “How about the spy?” he said.
Then his eyes widened. Boyd, standing next to him, leaned suddenly forward. “That's why you mentioned all that about legal immunity because of 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 for stare, her back stiff and straight and her white hair enhaloed in the room's light. “Sir Kenneth,” she said-and her voice was only the least bit unsteady-"they all think I'm the spy."
Barbara stood up. “Listen,” she said. “I didn't like Her Majesty at first-well, she was a patient, and that was all, and when she started putting on airs ... but since I've gotten to know her I do like her. 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 of you think-even you-Sir Kenneth!"
There was a second of silence.
"Of course she's not,” Malone said quietly. “She's no spy."<
br />
"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 a telepath 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 around the 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 the matter. Listen to him."
"Her Majesty not only caught the spy,” Malone said, “but she turned the spy right over to us."
He turned at once and went back down the long red carpet to the door. I really ought to get a sword, he thought, and didn't see Her Majesty smile. He opened the door with a great flourish and said quietly: “Bring him in, boys."
The FBI men from Las Vegas marched in. Between them was their prisoner, a boy with a vacuous face, clad in a straitjacket that seemed to make no difference at all to him. His mind was-somewhere else. But his body was 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 and his guards followed closely.
"Your Majesty,” Malone said. “May I present the prisoner?"
"Perfectly correct, Sir Kenneth,” the Queen said. “Poor Willie is your spy. 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 the hell 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 you had. When we were in the Desert Edge Sanatorium, Dr. Dowson called you on 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 and you didn't tell me?"
"Hold on,” Malone said. “I asked her where-and she said: ‘He's right there.’ 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't pointing 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 was something you said, Sir Andrew,” he went on. “You said there weren't any sane telepaths-remember?"
Burris, incapable of speech, merely nodded.
"But according to Her Majesty,” Malone said, “we had every telepath in the United States right here. She told me that-and I didn't even see it!"
"Don't blame yourself, Sir Kenneth,” the Queen put in. “I did do my best to mislead you, you know."
"You sure did!” Malone said. “And later on, when we were driving here, she said the spy was ‘moving around.’ That's right; he was in the car behind us, going eighty miles an hour."
Barbara stared. Malone got a lot of satisfaction out of that stare. But there was still more ground to cover.
"Then,” he said, “she told us he was here at Yucca Flats-after we brought 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, “and remembered that she'd only said: ‘He's right there,’ I knew it had to be Logan. You weren't there. You were only an image on a TV screen. Logan was there-in the room behind the phone."
Burris had found his tongue. “All right,” he said. “Okay. But what's all this 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 had better explain that-if she will."
Queen Elizabeth Thompson nodded very slowly. “I-I only wanted you to respect me,” she said. “To treat me properly.” Her voice sounded uneven, and her eyes were glistening with unspilled tears. Lady Barbara tightened her arm about the Queen's shoulders once more.
"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 back to the hospital,” she said. “And Willie couldn't tell the Russian agents any more once he'd been taken away. So I thought I'd just-just let things stay the way they were as long as I could. That's-that's all."
Malone nodded. After a second he said: “You see that we couldn't possibly send you back now, don't you?"
"You know all the State Secrets, Your Majesty,” Malone said. “We would rather that Dr. Harman in San Francisco didn't try to talk you out of them. Or anyone else."
The Queen smiled tremulously. “I know too much, do I?” she said. Then her grin faded. “Poor Dr. Harman,” she said.
"Poor Dr. Harman?"
"You'll hear about him in a day or so,” she said. “I-peeked inside his 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 his mind."
"Oh, my,” Lady Barbara said-and began to laugh. It was the nicest sound Malone had ever heard.
"Forget Harman,” Burris snapped. “What about this spy ring? How was Logan getting his information out?"
"I've already taken care of that,” Malone said. “I had Desert Edge Sanatorium surrounded as soon as I knew what the score was.” He looked at one of the agents holding Logan.
"They ought to be in the Las Vegas jail within half an hour,” he said 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 hope he 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,” he said. “Logan is completely catatonic. Even if he could read minds, how could 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't much like being who he is. So he visits other people's minds, and that way he becomes them for a while. You see?"
"Vaguely,” Malone said. “But how did Dowson get his information? I had everything worked out but that."
"I know you did,” the Queen said, “and I'm proud of you. I intend to award 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. If he's hurt enough, he'll come back.” Her eyes weren't hard any more. “He didn't want to be a spy, really,” she said, “but he's just a boy, and it must have sounded rather exciting. He knew that if he told Dowson everything 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 Her Majesty rose.
"I'm sure there are questions,” she said, “but I'm really very tired. My lords, you are excused.” She extended a hand. �
��Come, Lady Barbara,” she said. “I think I really may need that nap, now."
* * * *
Malone put the cufflinks in his shirt with great care. They were great stones, and Malone thought that they gave his costume that necessary Elizabethan flair.
Not that he was wearing the costumes of the Queen's Court now. Instead, he was dressed in a tailor-proud suit of dark blue, a white-on-white shirt and no tie. He selected one of a gorgeous peacock pattern from his closet rack.
Boyd yawned at him from the bed in the room they were sharing. “Stepping out?” he said.
"I am,” Malone said with restraint. He whipped the tie round his neck and drew it under the collar.
"Anybody I know?"
"I am meeting Lady Barbara, if you wish to know,” Malone said.
"My God,” Boyd said. “Come down. 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. “Who hired ‘em? And why?"
"Dowson,” Malone said. “He wanted to kill us off, and then kidnap Logan from the hotel room. But we foiled his plan-by killing his hoods. By the time he could work up something else, we were on our way to Yucca Flats."
"Great,” Boyd said. “And how did you find out this startling piece of information? There haven't been any reports in from Las Vegas, have there?"
"No,” Malone said.
"Okay,” 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't anything like a really terrific FBI agent. Even Barbara thought he was something 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 for some bait. “You mean she knew?"
"Well,” Malone said, “she did know the guys in the Buick weren't the best in the business-and she knew all about the specially-built FBI Lincoln. She got that from our minds.” He knotted his tie with an air of great aplomb, and went slowly to the door. “And she knew we were a good team. She got that from our minds, too."
The Queen's Own FBI Trilogy: Brain Twister; The Impossibles; Supermind Page 13
