The Greatest Works of Randall Garrett. Randall Garrett

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      "Come on, now," Malone said. "I know that room was bugged, just as well as you do. It was the sensible thing for you to pull, and you pulled it. You've got the whole thing recorded, haven't you?"

      "Me?" Lynch said. "Why would I—"

      "Oh, cut it out," Malone said impatiently. "Let's not play games, O.K.?"

      There was a second of silence.

      "All right," Lynch said. "So I recorded the conversation. Kill me. Crucify me. I'm stealing FBI secrets. I'm a spy secretly working for a foreign power. Take me out and electrocute me."

      "I don't want to fight you," Malone said wearily. "So you've got the stuff recorded. That's your business."

      "My business?"

      "Sure," Malone said cheerfully, "as long as you don't try to use it."

      "Now, Malone—" Lynch began.

      "This is touchy stuff," Malone said. "We're going to have to take a lot of care in handling it. And I don't want you throwing raids all over the place and mixing everything up."

      "Malone, I—"

      "Eventually," Malone said, "I'm going to need your help with these kids. But for right now, I want to handle this my way, without any interference."

      "I wouldn't think of—"

      "You wanted information," Malone said. "Fine. That's all right with me. You got the information, and that's O.K., too. But if you try to use it before I say the word, I'll ... I'll talk to good old Uncle John Henry Fernack. And he'll help me out: he'll give you a refresher course on How To Be A Beat Cop. In Kew Gardens. It's nice and lonely out there now, Lynch. You'd love it."

      "Malone," Lynch said tiredly.

      "Don't give me any arguments," Malone said. "I don't want any arguments."

      "I won't argue with you, Malone," Lynch said. "I've been trying to tell you something."

      Malone stepped away from the desk. "All right," he said. "Go ahead."

      Lynch took a deep breath. "Malone, I'm not trying to queer your pitch," he said. "If I were going to pull a raid, here's what I'd have to do: get my own cops together, then call the precinct that covers that old warehouse. We don't cover the warehouse from here, Malone, and we'd need the responsible precinct's aid in anything we did down there."

      Malone said: "Well, all I—"

      "Not only that," Lynch said. "I'd have to call Safe and Loft, and get them in on it. A warehouse raid would probably be their baby first of all. That means this precinct, the warehouse precinct, and the Safe and Loft Squad, all together to raid that warehouse. Malone, would I pull a raid at this stage, if I had to go through all that, without knowing what I was going to find down there?"

      "Oh," Malone said.

      "If those kids can just appear and disappear at will," Lynch said, "I'm not going to pull a raid on them, and end up looking like a fool, until I've got some way of making sure they're there when the raid goes through."

      Malone coughed gently. "O.K.," he said at last. "Sorry."

      "There's only one thing I want," Lynch said. "I want to be able to move as soon as possible."

      "Well, sure," Malone said apologetically.

      "And that means I'm going to have to be informed," Lynch said. "I want to know what's going on, as fast as possible."

      Malone nodded gently. "Sure," he said. "I'll tell you everything that happens—as soon as I know myself. But right now, I haven't got a thing for you. All I have is a kind of theory, and it's pretty screwy."

      He stopped. Lynch looked up at him. "Just how screwy can it get?" he said. "The facts are nutty enough."

      "You have absolutely no idea," Malone assured him. "I'm not even saying a word about this, not until I prove it out one way or another. I'm not even thinking about it. I don't even want me to know about it, until it stops sounding so nutty to me."

      "O.K., Malone," Lynch said. "I can see a piece of it, if no more. The Fueyo kid vanishes mysteriously—never mind all that about you getting him out of the interrogation room by some kind of confidential method. There isn't any confidential method. I know that better than you do."

      "I had to say something, didn't I?" Malone asked apologetically.

      "So the kid disappears," Lynch said, brushing Malone's question away with a wave of his hand. "So now I hear all this stuff from Kettleman. And it begins to add up. The kids can disappear somehow, and re-appear some place else. Walk through walls?" He shrugged. "How should I know? But they can sure do something like it."

      "Something," Malone said. "Like I said, it sounds screwy."

      "I don't like it," Lynch said.

      Malone nodded. "Nobody likes it," he said. "But keep it under your hat. I'll give you everything I have—whenever I have anything. And ... by the way—"

      "Yes?" Lynch said.

      "Thanks for giving me and Kettleman a chance to talk," Malone said. "Even if you had reasons of your own."

      "Oh," Lynch said. "You mean the recording."

      "I was a little suspicious," Malone said. "I didn't think you'd give Kettleman to me without getting something for yourself."

      "Would you?" Lynch said.

      Malone shrugged. "I'm not crazy either," he said.

      Lynch picked up a handful of papers. "I've got all this work to do," he said. "So I'll see you later."

      "O.K.," Malone said.

      "And if you need my help, buddy-boy," Lynch said, "just yell—right?"

      "I'll yell," Malone said. "Don't worry about that. I'll yell loud enough to get myself heard in Space Station One."

      XI

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      The afternoon was bright and sunny, but it didn't match Malone's mood. He got a cab outside the precinct station and headed for Sixty-ninth Street, dining off his nails en route. When he hit the FBI Headquarters, he called Washington and got Burris on the line.

      He made a full report to the FBI chief, including his wild theory and everything else that had happened. "And there was this notebook," he said, and reached into his jacket pocket for it.

      The pocket was empty.

      "What notebook?" Burris said.

      Malone tried to remember if he'd left the book in his room. He couldn't quite recall. "This book I picked up," he said, and described it. "I'll send it on, or bring it in when the case is over."

      "All СКАЧАТЬ