20 Must-Read Thriller Novels

Chapter 3-3

"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.

Telepath was 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

thought he would never laugh again. He wanted to cry, a little, but

he didn't think 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. Harman again.

"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. Malone alone."

"Malone alone," Dr. Harman muttered. "Hmm. My. Well." He turned

and seemed 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 and

opened. It was an unmistakable wink.

Malone grinned at her in what he hoped was a cheerful manner.

"All right," he said to the psychiatrist, "let's go." He turned

with the barest trace of regret, and Boyd followed him.

Leaving the little old lady and, unfortunately, the startling

Miss Wilson, behind, the procession filed back into Dr. Harman's

office.

The doctor closed the door, and leaned against it for a second.

He looked as though someone had suddenly revealed to him that the

world was square. But when he spoke his voice was almost even.

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

really—well, I don't know what to say. All this time, all these

years, she's been reading my mind! My mind. She's been

reading … looking right into my mind, or whatever it is."

"Whatever what is?" Malone asked, sincerely interested. He had

dropped gratefully into a chair near Boyd's, across the desk from

Dr. Harman.

"Whatever my mind is," Dr. Harmon said. "Reading it.

Oh, my."

"Dr. Harman," Malone began, but the psychiatrist gave him a

bright blank stare.

"Don't you understand?" he said. "She's a telepath."

"We—"

The phone on Dr. Harman's desk chimed gently. He glanced at it

and said: "Excuse me. The phone." He picked up the receiver and

said: "Hello?"

There was no image on the screen.

But the voice was image enough. "This is Andrew J. Burris," it

said. "Is Kenneth J. Malone there?"

"Mr. Malone?" the psychiatrist said. "I mean, Mr. Burris? Mr.

Malone is here. Yes. Oh, my. Do you want to talk to him?"

"No, you i***t," the voice said. "I just want to know if he's

all tucked in."

"Tucked in?" Dr. Harman gave the phone a sudden smile. "A joke,"

he said. "It is a joke, isn't it? The way things have been

happening, you never know whether—"

"A joke," Burris' voice said. "That's right. Yes. Am I talking

to one of the patients?"

Dr. Harman gulped, got mad, and thought better of it. At last he

said, very gently; "I'm not at all sure," and handed the phone to

Malone.

The FBI agent said: "Hello, Chief. Things are a little

confused."

Burris' face appeared on the screen. "Confused, sure," he said.

"I feel confused already." He took a breath. "I called the San

Francisco office, and they told me you and Boyd were out there.

What's going on?"

Malone said cautiously: "We've found a telepath."

Burris' eyes widened slightly. "Another one?"

"What are you talking about, another one?" Malone said. "We have

one. Does anybody else have any more?"

"Well," Burris said, "we just got a report on another one—maybe.

Besides yours, I mean."

"I hope the one you've got is in better shape than the one I've

got," Malone said. He took a deep breath, and then spat it all out

at once: "The one we've found is a little old lady. She thinks

she's Queen Elizabeth I. She's a telepath, sure, but she's

nuts."

"Queen Elizabeth?" Burris said. "Of England?"

"That's right," Malone said. He held his breath.

"Damn it," Burris exploded, "they've already got one!"

Malone sighed. "This is another one," he said. "Or, rather, the

original one. She also claims she's immortal."

"Lives forever?" Burris said. "You mean like that?"

"Immortal," Malone said. "Right."

Burris nodded. Then he looked worried. "Tell me, Malone," he

said. "She isn't, is she?"

"Isn't immortal, you mean?" Malone said. Burris nodded. Malone

said confidently: "Of course not."

There was a little pause. Malone thought things over.

Hell, maybe she was immortal. Stranger things had happened,

hadn't they?

He looked over at Dr. Harman. "How about that?" he said. "Could

she be immortal?"

The psychiatrist shook his head decisively. "She's been here for

over forty years, Mr. Malone, ever since her late teens. Her

records show all that, and her birth certificate is in perfect

order. Not a chance."

Malone sighed and turned back to the phone. "Of course she isn't

immortal, Chief," he said. "She couldn't be. Nobody is. Just a

nut."

"I was afraid of that," Burris said. "Afraid?" Malone said.

Burris nodded. "We've got another one, or anyhow we think we

have," he said. "If he checks out, that is. Right here in

Washington."

"Not at—Rice Pavilion?" Malone asked.

"No," Burris said absently. "St. Elizabeths."

Malone sighed. "Another nut?"

"Strait-jacket case," Burris said. "Delusions of persecution,

they tell me, and paranoia, and a whole lot of other things that

sound nasty as hell. I can't pronounce any of them, and that's

always a bad sign."

"Can he talk?" Malone said.

"Who knows?" Burris told him, and shrugged. "I'm sending him on

out to Yucca Flats anyhow, under guard. You might find a use for

him."

"Oh, sure," Malone said. "We can use him as a horrible example.

Suppose he can't talk, or do anything? Suppose he turns violent?

Suppose—"

"We can't afford to overlook a thing," Burris said, looking

stern.

Once again, Malone sighed deeply. "I know," he said. "But all

the same—"

"Don't worry about a thing, Malone," Burris said with a palpably

false air of confidence. "Everything is going to be perfectly all

right." He looked like a man trying very hard to sell the Brooklyn

Bridge to a born New Yorker. "You get this Queen Elizabeth of yours

out of there and take her to Yucca Flats, too," he added.

Malone considered the possibilities that were opening up. Maybe,

after all, they were going to find more telepaths. And maybe all

the telepaths would be nuts. When he thought about it, that didn't

seem at all unlikely. He imagined himself with a talent nobody

would believe he had.

A thing like that, he told himself glumly, could drive you buggy

in short order—and then where were you?

In a loony bin, that's where you were.

Or, possibly, in Yucca Flats. Malone pictured the scene: there

they would be, just one big happy family. Kenneth J. Malone, and a

convention of bats straight out of the nation's foremost loony

bins.

Fun!

Malone began to wonder why he had gone into FBI work in the

first place.

"Listen, Chief," he said. "I—"

"Sure, I understand," Burris said quickly. "She's batty. And

this new one is batty, too. But what else can we do? Malone, don't

do anything you'll regret."

"Regret?" Malone said. "Like what?"

"I mean, don't resign."

"Chief, how did you know—you're not telepathic too, are

you?"

"Of course not," Burris said. "But that's what I'd do in your

place."

"Well—"

"Remember, Malone," Burris said. His face took on a stern,

stuffed expression. "Do not ask what your country can do for you,"

he quoted the youngest living ex-President. "Ask rather what you

can do for your country."

"Sure," Malone said sadly.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Burris asked.

"What if it is?" Malone said. "It's still terrible. Everything

is terrible. Look at the situation."

"I am looking," Burris said. "And it's another New Frontier.

Just like it was when President Kennedy first said those

words."

"A New Frontier inhabited entirely by maniacs," Malone said.

"Perfectly wonderful. What a way to run a world."

"That," Burris said, "is the way the ball bounces. Or whatever

you're supposed to say. Malone, don't think you haven't got my

sympathy. You have. I know how hard the job is you're doing."

"You couldn't," Malone told him bitterly.

"Well, anyhow," Burris went on, "don't resign. Stay on the job.

Don't give it up, Malone. Don't desert the ship. I want you to

promise me you won't do it."

"Look, chief," Malone said. "These nuts—"

"Malone, you've done a wonderful job so far," Burris said.

"You'll get a raise and a better job when all this is over. Who

else would have thought of looking in the twitch-bins for

telepaths? But you did, Malone, and I'm proud of you, and you're

stuck with it. We've got to use them now. We have to find that

spy!" He took a breath. "On to Yucca Flats!" he said.

Malone gave up. "Yes, sir," he said. "Anything else?"

"Not right now," Burris said. "If there is, I'll let you

know."

Malone hung up unhappily as the image vanished. He looked across

at Dr. Harman. "Well," he said, "that's that. What do I have to do

to get a release for Miss Thompson?"

Harman stared at him. "But, Mr. Malone," he said, "that just

isn't possible. Really. Miss Thompson is a ward of the state, and

we couldn't possibly allow her release without a court order."

Malone thought that over. "Okay," he said at last. "I can see

that." He turned to Boyd. "Here's a job for you, Tom," he said.

"Get one of the judges on the phone. You'll know which one will do

us the most good, fastest."

"Mmm," Boyd said. "Say Judge Dunning," he said. "Good man. Fast

worker."

"I don't care who," Malone said. "Just get going, and get us a

release for Miss Thompson." He turned back to the doctor. "By the

way," he said. "Has she got any other name? Besides Elizabeth

Tudor, I mean," he added hurriedly.

"Her full name," Dr. Harman said, "is Rose Walker Thompson. She

is not Queen Elizabeth I, II or XXVIII, and she is not

immortal."

"But she is," Malone pointed out, "a telepath. And that's why I

want her."

"She may," Dr. Harman said, "be a telepath." It was obvious that

he had partly managed to forget the disturbing incidents that had

happened a few minutes before. "I don't even want to discuss that

part of it."

"Okay, never mind it," Malone said agreeably. "Tom, get us a

court order for Rose Walker Thompson. Effective yesterday—day

before, if possible."

Boyd nodded, but before he could get to the phone Dr. Harman

spoke again.

"Now, wait a moment, gentlemen," he said. "Court order or no

court order, Miss Thompson is definitely not a well woman, and I

can't see my way clear to—"

"I'm not well myself," Malone said. "I need sleep and I probably

have a cold. But I've got to work for the national security,

and—"

"This is important," Boyd put in.

"I don't dispute that," Dr. Harman said. "Nevertheless, I—"

The door that led into the other room burst suddenly open. The

three men turned to stare at Miss Wilson, who stood in the doorway

for a long second and then stepped into the office, closing the

door quietly behind her.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said.

"Not at all," Malone said. "It's a pleasure to have you. Come

again soon." He smiled at her.

She didn't smile back. "Doctor," she said, "you'd really better

talk to Miss Thompson. I'm not at all sure what I can do. It's

something new."

"New?" he said. The worry lines on his face were increasing, but

he spoke softly.