Brain Twister Part 15

"Wait a minute," Malone told himself suddenly.

Had she?

Maybe, after all, you could have it both ways. The thought occurred to him with a startling suddenness and he stood silent upon a peak in Yucca Flats, contemplating it. A second went by.

And then something Burris himself had said came back to him, something that-- "I'll be d.a.m.ned," he muttered.

He came to a dead stop in the middle of the street. In one sudden flash of insight, all the pieces of the case he'd been looking at for so long fell together and formed one consistent picture. The pattern was complete.

Malone blinked.

In that second, he knew exactly who the spy was.

A jeep honked raucously and swerved around him. The driver leaned out to curse and Malone waved at him, dimly recognizing a private eye he had once known, a middle-aged man named Archer. Wondering vaguely what Archer was doing this far East, and in a jeep at that, Malone watched the vehicle disappear down the street. There were more cars coming, but what difference did that make? Malone didn't care about cars. After all, he had the answer, the whole answer....

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," he said again, abruptly, and wheeled around to head back to the offices.

On the way, he stopped in at another small office, this one inhabited by the two FBI men from Las Vegas. He gave a series of quick orders, and got the satisfaction, as he left, of seeing one of the FBI men grabbing for a phone in a hurry.

It was good to be doing things again, important things.

Burris, Boyd and Dr. Gamble were still talking as Malone entered.

"That," Burris said, "was one h.e.l.l of a quick lunch. What's Her Majesty doing now--running a diner?"

Malone ignored the bait, and drew himself to his full height. "Gentlemen," he said solemnly, "Her Majesty has asked that all of us attend her in audience. She has information of the utmost gravity to impart, and wishes this audience at once."

Dr. Gamble made a puzzled, circular gesture with one hand. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Is something--"

The hand dropped--"wrong?"

Burris barely glanced at him. A startled expression came over his features. "Has she--" he began, and stopped, leaving his mouth open and the rest of the sentence unfinished.

Malone nodded gravely and drew in a breath. Elizabethan periods were hard on the lungs, he had begun to realize: you needed a lot of air before you embarked on a sentence. "I believe, gentlemen," he said, "that Her Majesty is about to reveal the ident.i.ty of the spy who has been battening on Project Isle."

The silence lasted no more than three seconds. Dr. Gamble didn't even make a gesture during that time. Then Burris spoke.

"Let's go," he snapped. He wheeled and headed for the door. The others promptly followed.

"Gentlemen!" Malone said, sounding, as far as he could tell, properly shocked and offended. "Your dress!"

"What?" Dr. Gamble said, throwing up both hands.

"Oh, no," Boyd chimed in. "Not now."

Burris simply said: "You're quite right. Get dressed, Boyd--I mean, of course, Sir Thomas."

While they were dressing, Malone put in a call to Dr. O'Connor's office. The scientist was as frosty as ever.

"Yes, Mr. Malone?" The sound of that voice, Malone reflected, was enough to give anybody double revolving pneumonia with k.n.o.bs on.

"Dr. O'Connor," he said, "Her Majesty wants you in her court in ten minutes--and in full court dress."

O'Connor merely sighed, like Boreas. "What is this," he asked, "more tomfoolery?"

"I really couldn't say," Malone told him coyly. "But I'd advise you to be there. It might interest you."

"Interest me?" O'Connor stormed. "I've got work to do here--important work. You simply do not realize, Mr. Malone--"

"Whatever I realize," Malone cut in, feeling brave, "I'm pa.s.sing on orders from Her Majesty."

"That insane woman," O'Connor stated flatly, "is not going to order me about. Good Lord, do you know what you're saying?"

Malone nodded. "I certainly do," he said cheerfully. "If you'd rather, I can have the orders backed up by the United States Government. But that won't be necessary, will it?"

"The United States Government," O'Connor said, thawing perceptibly about the edges, "ought to allow a man to do his proper work, and not force him to go chasing off after the latest whims of some insane old lady."

"You will be there, now, won't you?" Malone asked. His own voice reminded him of something, and in a second he had it: the cooing, gentle persuasion of Dr. Andrew Blake of Rice Pavilion, who had locked Malone in a padded cell. It was the voice of a man talking to a mental case.

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 a.s.sembling. 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 a.s.suming 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."

"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 h.e.l.l 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?"