"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 corner grocery; 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 me about,” O'Connor said, “Am I to understand that you have actually found a teleport?"
"Unless my theories are away off,” Malone said, “I've done a lot better than that. I've found eight of them."
"Eight.” Dr. O'Connor's smile grew perceptibly warmer. It now stood at about thirty-four degrees Fahrenheit. “That is really excellent, Mr. Malone. You have done a fine job."
"Thanks,” Malone muttered. He wished that O'Connor didn't make him feel quite so much like a first-year law student talking to an egomaniacal professor.
"When can you deliver them?” O'Connor said.
"Well,” Malone said carefully, “that depends.” O'Connor seemed to view the teleports as pieces of equipment, he thought. “I can't deliver them until I catch them,” he said. “And that's why I wanted to talk to you."
"Some slight delay,” Dr. O'Connor said, “will be quite understandable.” His face left no doubt that he didn't like the necessity of understanding anything that was going to keep him and the eight teleports apart for even thirty seconds longer, now that he knew about them.
"You see,” Malone said, “they're kids. Juvenile delinquents, or something like that. But they are teleports, that's for sure."
"I see,” Dr. O'Connor said.
"So we've got to nab them,” Malone said. “And for that I need all the information I can get."
Dr. O'Connor nodded slowly. “I'll be happy,” he said, “to give you any information I can provide."
Malone took a deep breath, and plunged. “How does this teleportation bit work, anyhow?” he said.
"You've asked a very delicate question,” Dr. O'Connor said. “Actually, we can't be quite positive.” His expression showed just how little he wanted to make this admission. “However,” he went on, brightening, “there is some evidence which seems to show that it is basically the same process as psychokinesis. And we do have quite a bit of empirical data on psychokinesis.” He scribbled something on a sheet of paper and said, “For instance, there's this.” He held the paper up to the screen so that Malone could read it.
It said:
(m*d)/(f*t**2) = 1/k
Malone looked at it for some seconds. At last he said, “It's very pretty. What the hell is it?"
"This,” Dr. O'Connor said, in a condescending tone of voice that meant, You should have known all along, but you're just hopeless, “is the basic formula for the phenomenon, where m is the mass in grams, d is the distance in centimeters, f is the force in dynes, and t is the time in seconds. K is a constant whose value is not yet known, and the numeral 1 is unity."
Malone said, “Hmm,” and stared at the equation again. Somehow, the explanation was not very helpful. The numeral 1 was unity. He understood that much, all right, but it didn't seem to do him any good.
"As you can see,” Dr. O'Connor went on, “the greater the force, and the longer time it is applied, the greater distance any given mass can be moved. Or, contrariwise, the more mass, the greater mass, that is, the easier it is to move it any given distance. This is, as you undoubtedly understand, not at all in contradistinction to physical phenomena."
"Ah,” Malone said, feeling that something was expected of him, but not being quite sure what.
Dr. O'Connor frowned. “I must admit,” he said, “that the uncertainty as to the constant k, and the lack of any real knowledge as to just what kind of force is being applied, have held up our work so far.” Then his face smoothed out. “Of course, when we have the teleports to work with, we may derive a full set of laws which—"
"Never mind that now,” Malone said.
"But our work is most important, Mr. Malone,” Dr. O'Connor said with a motion of his eyebrows. “As I'm sure you must understand."
"Oh,” Malone said, feeling if he'd been caught without his homework, “of course. But if you don't mind—"
"Yes, Mr. Malone?” Dr. O'Connor said smoothly.
"What I want to know,” Malone said, “is this. What are the limitations of this-uh-phenomenon?"
Dr. O'Connor brightened up thoroughly. “Well, theoretically,” he said, “there do not appear to be any limitations. However, practical limitations do exist. If the process is at all parallel with psychokinesis, or with levitation"-he stared at Malone, as if daring him to say that it wasn't-"if that parallel exists, then the subject is mentally limited by his own physical strength.” Malone said, “What?"
"Try and be patient, Mr. Malone,” O'Connor said calmly. “Please. As I was saying, the subject is limited by his own physical strength. In other words, he cannot move psionically any subject larger than he can lift physically. This appears to be a psychological limitation which—"
"Oh,” Malone said. “You mean he couldn't carry off a building, or anything like that?"
"Of course not,” Dr. O'Connor said. “Nor, as a matter of fact, could he carry off anything that was securely bolted down. I hope you follow me."
"I think so,” Malone said. “But look here. Suppose you handcuffed him to, say, a radiator, or a jail cell bar."
"Yes?"
"Could he get away?"
Dr. O'Connor appeared to consider this with some care. “Well,” he said at last, “he certainly couldn't take the radiator with him, or the cell bar. If that's what you mean.” He hesitated, looked slightly shamefaced, and then went on: “But you must realize that we lack any really extensive data on this phenomenon."
"Of course,” Malone said.
"That's why I'm so very anxious to get those subjects,” Dr. O'Connor said.
"Dr. O'Connor,” Malone said earnestly, “that's just what I had in mind from the start. I've been going to a lot of extra trouble to make sure that those kids don't get killed or end up in reform schools or something, just so you could work with them."
"I appreciate that, Mr. Malone,” O'Connor said gravely.
Malone felt as if someone had given him a gold star. Fighting down the emotion, he went on: “I know right now that I can catch one or two of them. But I don't know for sure that I can hold one for more than a fraction of a second."
"I see your problem,” Dr. O'Connor said. “Believe me, Mr. Malone. I do see your problem."
"And is there a way out?” Malone said. “I mean a way I can hold on to them for—"
"At present,” Dr. O'Connor said heavily, “I have no suggestions. I lack data."
"Oh, fine,” Malone said. “We need the kids to get the data, and we need the data to get the kids.” He sighed. “Hooray for our side,” he added.
"There does appear to be something of a dilemma here,” Dr. O'Connor admitted sadly.
"Dilemma is putting it mildly,” Malone said.
Dr. O'Connor opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again and said, “I agree."
"Well,” Malone said, “maybe one of us will think of something. If anything does occur to you, let me know at once."
"I certainly will,” Dr. O'Connor said. “Believe me, Mr. Malone, I want you to capture those kids just as badly as you want to capture them yourself."
"I'll try,” Malone said at random. He flipped off and turned with a sense of relief back to Boyd. But it looked as if Henry VIII had been hit on the head with a cow, or something equally weighty. Boyd looked glassy-eyed and slightly stunned.
"What's the matter with you?” Malone said. “Sick?"
"I'm not sick,” Boyd said carefully. “At least I don't think I'm sick. It's hard to tell."
"What's wrong?"
"Teleporting!” Boyd said. “Juvenile delinquents!"
Malone felt a sudden twinge in the area of his conscience. He realized that he had told Boyd nothing at all about what had been going on sinc
e the discovery of the notebook two nights ago. He filled his partner in rapidly, while Boyd stood in front of the mirror and rather shakily attempted to trim his beard.
"That's why I had the car search continue,” Malone said. “I was fairly sure the fault wasn't in the cars, but the boys. But I had to make absolutely sure."
Boyd said, “Oh,” chopped a small section out of the center of his beard and added, “Damn. My hand's shaky."
"Well,” Malone said, “that's the story."
"It's a hell of a story,” Boyd said. “And I don't want you to think I don't believe it. Because I don't."
"It's true,” Malone said.
"That doesn't affect me,” Boyd said. “I'll go along with the gag. But enough is enough. Vanishing teenagers. Ridiculous."
"Just so you go along with me,” Malone said.
"Oh, I'll go along,” Boyd said. “This is my vacation too, isn't it? What's the next move, Mastermind?"
"We're going down to that warehouse,” Malone said decisively. “I've got a hunch the kids have been hiding there ever since they left their homes yesterday."
"Malone,” Boyd said. “What?"
"You mean we're going down to the warehouse tonight?” Boyd said.
Malone nodded.
"I might have known,” Boyd said. “I might have known!"
"Tom,” Malone said. “What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing,” Boyd said. “Nothing at all. Everything's fine and dandy. I think I'm going to commit suicide, but don't let that bother you."
"What happened?” Malone said.
Boyd stared at him. “You happened,” he said. “You and the teen-agers and the bloody damn warehouse happened. Three days’ work-ruined."
Malone scratched his head, found out that his head still hurt and put his hand down again. “What work?” he said.
"For three days,” Boyd said, “I've been taking this blonde chick all over New York. Wining her. Dining her. Spending money as if I were Burris himself, instead of the common or garden variety of FBI agent. Night clubs. Theaters. Bars. The works. Malone, we were getting along famously. It was wonderful."
"And tonight—” Malone said.
"Tonight,” Boyd said, “was supposed to be the night. The big night. The payoff. We've got a date for dinner-T-bone steak, two inches thick, with mushrooms. At her apartment, Malone. She will probably—"
"You'll have to break it,” Malone said sympathetically. “Too bad, but it can't be helped now. You can pick up a sandwich before you go."
"A sandwich,” Boyd said with great dignity, “is not my idea of something to eat."
"Look, Tom—” Malone began.
"All right, all right,” Boyd said tiredly. “Duty is duty. I'll go call her."
"Fine,” Malone said. “And meanwhile, I'll get us a little insurance."
"Insurance?"
"John Henry Fernack,” Malone said, “and his Safe and Loft Squad."
CHAPTER 12
The warehouse was locked up tight, all right, Malone thought. In the dim light that surrounded the neighborhood, it stood like a single stone block, alone near the waterfront. There were other buildings nearby, but they seemed smaller; the warehouse loomed over Malone and Boyd threateningly. They stood in a shadow-blacked alley just across the street, watching the big building nervously, studying it for weak points and escape areas.
Boyd whispered softly, “Do you think they have a look-out?"
Malone's voice was equally low. “We'll have to assume they've got at least one kid posted,” he said. “But they can't be watching all the time. Remember, they can't do everything."
"They don't have to,” Boyd said. “They do quite enough for me. Do you realize that, right now, I could be—"
"Break it up,” Malone said. He took a small handset from his pocket and pressed the stud. “Lynch?” he whispered.
A tinny voice came from the earpiece. “Here, Malone."
"Have you got them located yet?” Malone said.
"Not yet,” Lynch's voice replied. “We're working on a triangulation now. Just hold on for a minute or so. I'll let you know as soon as we've got results."
The police squads-Lynch and his men, the warehouse precinct men, and the Safe and Loft Squad-had set up a careful cordon around the area, and were now hard at work trying to determine two things.
First, they had to know whether there was anybody in the building at all.
Second, they had to be able to locate anyone in the building with precision.
The silence of the downtown warehouse district helped. They had several specially designed, highly sensitive directional microphones aimed at the building from carefully selected spots around the area, trying to pick up the muffled sounds of speech or motion within the warehouse. The watchmen in buildings nearby had been warned off for the time being so that their footsteps wouldn't occlude any results.
Malone waited, feeling nervous and cold. Finally Lynch's voice came through again. “We're getting something, all right,” he said. “There are obviously several people in there. You were right, Malone."
"Thanks,” Malone said. “How about that fix?"
"Hold it a second,” Lynch said. Wind swept off the river at Malone and Boyd. Malone closed his eyes and shivered. He could smell fish and iodine and waste, the odor of the Hudson as it passes the city. Across the river lights sparkled warmly. Here there was nothing but darkness.
A long time passed, perhaps ten seconds.
Then Lynch's voice was back. “Sergeant McNulty says they're on the top floor, Malone,” he said. “Can't tell how many for sure. But they're talking and moving around."
"It's a shame these things won't pick up the actual words at a distance,” Malone said.
"Just a general feeling of noise is all we get,” Lynch said. “But it does some good."
"Sure,” Malone said. “Now listen carefully. Boyd and I are going in. Alone."
Lynch's voice whispered, “Right."
"If those mikes pick up any unusual ruckus-any sharp increase in the noise level-come running,” Malone said. “Otherwise, just sit still and wait for my signal. Got that?"
"Check,” Lynch said.
Malone pocketed the radiophone. “Okay, Tom,” he whispered. “This is it."
"Right,” Boyd muttered. “Let's move in."
"Wait a minute,” Malone said. He took his goggles and brought them down over his eyes, adjusting the helmet on his head. Boyd did the same. Malone flicked on the infrared flashlight he held in his hand.
"Okay?” he whispered. “Check,” Boyd said.
Thanks to the goggles, both of them could see the normally invisible beams of the infrared flashlight. They'd equipped themselves to move in darkness without betraying themselves, and they'd be able to see where a person without equipment would be blind.
Malone stayed well within the shadows as he moved silently around to the alley behind the warehouse, and then to a narrow passageway that led to the building next door. Boyd followed a few feet behind him along the carefully planned route.
Malone unlocked the small door that led into the ground floor of the building adjoining. As he did so, he heard a sound behind him and called, “Tom?"
"Hey, Malone,” Boyd whispered. “It's—"
Before there was any outcry, Malone rushed back. Boyd was struggling with a figure in the dimness. Malone grabbed the figure and clamped his hand over its mouth. It bit him. He swore in a low voice, and clamped the hand over the mouth again.
It hadn't taken him more than half a second to realize what, whoever it was who struggled in his arms, it wasn't a boy.
"Shut up!” Malone hissed in her ear. “I won't hurt you."
The struggle stopped immediately. Malone gently eased his hand off the girl's mouth. She turned and looked at him.
"Kenneth Malone,” she said, “you look like a man from Mars."
"Dorothea!” Malone gasped. “What are you doing here? Looking for your brother?"
"Never mind tha
t,” she said. “You play too rough. I'm going home to Mother."
"Answer me!” Malone said.
"All right,” Dorothea said. “You must know anyhow, since you're here.... Yes, I'm looking for that fatheaded brother of mine. But now I suppose it's too late. He'll-he'll go to prison."
Her voice broke. Malone found his shoulder suddenly occupied by a crying face.
"No,” he said quickly. “No. Please. He won't."
"Really?"
Boyd whispered: “Malone, what is this? It's a hell of a place for a date. And I—"
"Oh, shut up,” Malone told him in a kindly fashion. He turned back to Dorothea. “I promise he won't,” he said. “If I can just talk to your brother, make him listen to reason, I think we can get him and the others off. Believe me."
"But you—"
"Please,” Malone said. “Believe me."
"Oh, Ken,” Dorothea said, raising her head. “Do you mean it?"
"Sure I mean it,” Malone said. “What have I been saying? The Government needs these kids."
"The Government?"
"It's nothing to worry about,” Malone said. “Just go on home now, and I'll call you tomorrow. Late tonight, if I can. All right?"
"No,” Dorothea said. “It's not all right. Not at all."
"But—"
Boyd hissed, “Malone!"
Malone ignored him. He had a bigger fight on his hands. “I'm not going home,” Dorothea announced. “I'm going in there with you. After all,” she added, “I can talk more sense into Mike's head than you can."
"Now look,” Malone began.
Dorothea grinned in the darkness. “If you don't take me along,” she said quietly, “I'll scream and warn them."
Malone surrendered at once. He had no doubt at all that Dorothea meant what she said. And, after all, the girl might really be some use to them. And there probably wouldn't be much danger.
Of course there wouldn't, he thought. He was going to see to that.
"All right,” he said. “Come along. Stick close to us, and don't worry about the darkness. We can see, even if you can't, so let us guide you. And for heaven's sake be quiet!"
Boyd whispered, “Malone, what's going on?"
The Queen's Own FBI Trilogy: Brain Twister; The Impossibles; Supermind Page 27
