Kenneth. But she doesn't seem to have anything to do withthe spy ring, and besides, she isn't a very nice person. She alwayswants money."
"Sounds perfectly lovely," Malone said. "As a matter of fact, I thinkI know her. I know a lot of girls who always want money."
"You don't know this one, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said, "andbesides, she wouldn't be a good influence on you."
Malone sighed. "How about the static explosions?" he said. "Pick upany more?"
"No," she said. "Just that one."
Malone nodded at the receiver. "All right," he said. "We're going tobring in the second one now. Keep up the good work."
He hung up.
"Who've you got in the Observation Room?" Boyd asked.
"Queen Elizabeth I," Malone said. "Her Royal Majesty."
"Oh," Boyd said without surprise. "Well, was Brubitsch telling thetruth?"
"He wasn't holding back anything important," Malone said, thinkingabout the girl. It would be nice to meet a bad influence, he thoughtmournfully. It would be nice to go somewhere with a bad influence--abad influence, he amended, with a good figure--and forget all abouthis job, about the spies, about telepathy, teleportation, psionics andeverything else. It might be restful.
Unfortunately, it was impossible.
"What's this business about a static explosion?" Boyd said.
"Don't ask silly questions," Malone said. "A static explosion is acontradiction in terms. If something is static, it doesn't move--andwhoever heard of a motionless explosion?"
"If it is a contradiction in terms," Boyd said, "they're your terms."
"Sure," Malone said. "But I don't know what they mean. I don't evenknow what I mean."
"You're in a bad way," Boyd said, looking sympathetic.
"I'm in a perfectly terrible way," Malone said, "and it's going to getworse. You wait and see."
"Of course I'll wait and see," Boyd said. "I wouldn't miss the end ofthe world for anything. It ought to be a great spectacle." He paused."Want them to bring in the next one?"
"Sure," Malone said. "What have we got to lose but our minds? And whois the next one?"
"Borbitsch," Boyd said. "They're saving Garbitsch for a big finish."
Malone nodded wearily. "Onward," he said, and picked up the phone. Hepunched a number, spoke a few words and hung up.
A minute later, the four FBI agents came back, leading a man. This onewas tall and thin, with the expression of a gloomy, degenerate andslightly nauseated bloodhound. He was led to the chair and he sat downin it as if he expected the worst to start happening at once.
"Well," Malone said in a bored, tired voice. "So this is the one whowon't talk."
VI
Midnight.
Kenneth J. Malone sat at his desk, in his Washington office,surrounded by piles of papers covering the desk, spilling off onto thefloor and decorating his lap. He was staring at the papers as if heexpected them to leap up, dance round him and shout the solution toall his problems at him in trained choral voices. They did nothing atall.
Seated cross-legged on the rug in the center of the room, and lookinglike an impossible combination of the last Henry Tudor and GautamaBuddha, Thomas Boyd did nothing either. He was staring downward, hishands folded on his ample lap, wearing an expression of utter, burningfrustration. And on a nearby chair sat the third member of thecompany, wearing the calm and patient expression of the gently bornunder all vicissitudes: Queen Elizabeth I.
"All right," Malone said into the silence. "Now let's see what we'vegot."
"I think we've got cerebral paresis," Boyd said. "It's been coming onfor years."
"Don't be funny," Malone said.
Boyd gave a short, mirthless bark. "Funny?" he said. "I'm absolutelyhysterical with joy and good humor. I'm out of my mind withhappiness." He paused. "Anyway," he finished, "I'm out of my mind.Which puts me in good company. The entire FBI, Brubitsch, Borbitsch,Garbitsch, Dr. Thomas O'Connor and Sir Lewis Carter--we're all out ofour minds. If we weren't, we'd all move away to the Moon."
"And drink to forget," Malone added. "Sure. But let's try and get somework done."
"By all means, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. Boyd had not includedher in his list of insane people, and she looked slightly miffed. Itwas hard for Malone to tell whether she was miffed by the mention ofinsanity, or at being left out.
"Let's review the facts," Malone said. "This whole thing started withsome inefficiency in Congress."
"And some upheavals elsewhere." Boyd said. "Labor unions, gangsterorganizations--"
"Just about all over," Malone said. "And though we've found threespies, it seems pretty obvious that they aren't causing this."
"They aren't causing much of anything," Boyd said. "Except a lot ofunbelieving laughter farther up the FBI line. I don't think anybody isgoing to believe our reports of those interviews."
"But they're true," Her Majesty said.
"Sure they're true," Boyd said. "That's the unbelievable part. Theyread like farce--and not very good farce at that."
"Oh, I don't know," Malone said. "I think they're pretty funny."
"Shall we get back to the business at hand?" Her Majesty said gently.
"Ah," Malone said. "Anyhow, it isn't the spies. And what we now haveis confusion even worse compounded."
"Confounded," Boyd said. "John Milton. 'Paradise Lost.' I heard itsomewhere...."
"I don't mean confounded," Malone said. "I mean confusion. Anyhow, theRussian espionage rings in this country seem to be in as bad a stateas the Congress, the labor unions, the Syndicates, and all the rest.And all of them seem to have some sort of weird tie-in to theseflashes of telepathic interference. Right, Your Majesty?"
"I ... believe so, Sir Kenneth," she said. The old woman looked tiredand confused. Somehow, a lot of the brightness seemed to have gone outof her life. "That's right," she said. "I didn't realize there was somuch of it going on. You see, Sir Kenneth, you're the only one I canpick up at a distance who has been having these flashes. But now thatI'm here in Washington, I can feel it going on all around me."
"It may not have anything to do with everything else," Boyd said.
Malone shook his head. "If it doesn't," he said, "it's the weirdestcoincidence I've ever even dreamed about, and my dreams can be prettystrange. No, it's got to be tied in. There's some kind of mentalstatic that is somehow making all these people goof up."
"But why?" Boyd said. "What is it being done for? Just fun?"
"God only knows," Malone said. "But we're going to have to find out."
"In that case," Boyd said, "I suggest lots and lots of prayers."
Her Majesty looked up. "That's a fine idea," she said.
"But God helps those," Malone said, "who help themselves. And we'regoing to help ourselves. Mostly with facts."
"All right," Boyd said. "So far, all the facts have been a greathelp."
"Well, here's one," Malone said. "We got one flash each fromBrubitsch, Borbitsch and Garbitsch while we were questioning them.And in each case, that flash occurred just before they started to blabeverything they knew. Before the flash, they weren't talking. Theywere behaving just like good spies and keeping their mouths shut.After the flash, they couldn't talk fast enough."
"That's true," Boyd said reflectively. "They did seem to give uppretty fast, even for amateurs."
Malone nodded. "So the question is this," he said. "Just what happensduring those crazy bursts of static?"
He looked expectantly at Her Majesty, but she shook her head sadly. "Idon't know," she said. "I simply don't know. It's just noise tome--meaningless noise." She put her hands slowly over her face."People shouldn't do things like that to their Sovereign," she said ina muffled voice.
* * * * *
Malone got up and went over to her. She wasn't crying, but she wasn'tfar from it. He put an arm around her thin shoulders. "Now, look, YourMajesty," he said in gentle tones, "this will all clear up. We'll findout what's going on, and we'll find a way to put
a stop to it."
"Sure we will," Boyd said. "After all, Your Majesty, Sir Kenneth and Iwill work hard on this."
"And the Queen's Own FBI," Malone said, "won't stop until we'vefinished with this whole affair, once and for all."
Her Majesty brought her hands down from her face, very slowly. She wasforcing a smile, but it didn't look too well. "I know you won't failyour Queen," she said. "You two have always been the most loyal of mysubjects."
"We'll work hard," Malone said. "No matter how long it takes."
"Because, after all," Boyd said in a musing, thoughtful tone, "it is aserious crime, you know."
The words seemed to have an effect on Her Majesty, like a tonic. For asecond her face wore an expression of Royal anger and indignance, andthe accustomed strength flowed back into her aged voice. "You're quitecorrect, Sir Thomas!" she said. "The security of the Throne and theCrown are at stake!"
Malone blinked. "What?" he said. "Are you two talking about something?What crime is this?"
"An extremely serious one," Boyd said in a grave voice. He roseunsteadily to his feet, planted them firmly on the carpet, andfrowned.
"Go on," Malone said, fascinated. Her Majesty was watching Boyd withan intent expression.
"The crime," Boyd said, "the very serious crime involved, is that ofThreatening the Welfare of the Queen. The criminal has committed thecrime of Causing the Said Sovereign, Baselessly, Reasonlessly andWithout Consent or Let, to Be in a State of Apprehension for Her Lifeor Her Well-Being. And this crime--"
"Aha," Malone said. "I've got it. The crime is--"
"High treason," Boyd intoned.
"High treason," Her Majesty said with satisfaction and fire in hervoice.
"Very high treason," Malone said. "Extremely high."
"Stratospheric," Boyd agreed. "That is, of course," he added, "if theperpetrators of this dastardly crime are Her Majesty's subjects."
"My goodness," the Queen said. "I never thought of that. Supposethey're not?"
"Then," Malone said in his most vibrant voice, "it is an Act of War."
"Steps," Boyd said, "must be taken."
"We must do our utmost," Malone said. "Sir Thomas--"
"Yes, Sir Kenneth?" Boyd said.
"This task requires our most fervent dedication," Malone said. "Pleasecome with me."
He went to the desk. Boyd followed him, walking straight-backed andtall. Malone bent and removed from a drawer of the desk a bottle ofbourbon. He closed the drawer, poured some bourbon into two handywater glasses from the desk, and capped the bottle. He handed one ofthe water glasses to Boyd, and raised the other one aloft.
"Sir Thomas," Malone said, "I give you--Her Majesty, the Queen!"
"To the Queen!" Boyd echoed.
They downed their drinks and turned, as one man, to hurl the glassesinto the wastebasket.
* * * * *
In thinking it over later, Malone realized that he hadn't consideredanything about that moment silly at all. Of course, an outsider mighthave been slightly surprised at the sequence of events, but Malone wasno outsider. And, after all, it was the proper way to treat a Queen,wasn't it?
And--
When Malone had first met Her Majesty, he had wondered why, althoughshe could obviously read minds, and so knew perfectly well thatneither Malone nor Boyd believed she was Queen Elizabeth I, sheinsisted on an outward show of respect and dedication. He'd asked herabout it at last, and her reply had been simple, reasonable and to thepoint.
According to her--and Malone didn't doubt it for an instant--mostpeople simply didn't think their superiors were all they claimed tobe. But they acted as if they did--at least while in the presence ofthose superiors. It was a common fiction, a sort of handy oil on thewheels of social intercourse.
And all Her Majesty had ever insisted on was the same sort oftreatment.
"Bless you," she'd said, "I can't help the way you _think_, but, asQueen, I do have some control over the way you _act_."
The funny thing, as far as Malone was concerned, was that the twoparts of his personality were becoming more and more alike. He didn'tactually believe that Her Majesty was Queen Elizabeth I, and he hopedfervently that he never would. But he did have a great deal of respectfor her, and more affection than he had believed possible at first.She was the grandmother Malone had never known; she was good, andkind, and he wanted to keep her happy and contented. There had beennothing at all phony in the solemn toast he had proposed--nor in therighteous indignation he had felt against anyone who was giving HerMajesty even a minute's worth of discomfort.
And Boyd, surprisingly enough, seemed to feel the same way. Malonefelt good about that; Her Majesty needed all the loyal supporters shecould get.
But all of this was later. At the time, Malone was doing nothingexcept what came naturally--nor, apparently, was Boyd. After theglasses had been thrown, with a terrifying crash, into the metalwastebasket, and the reverberations of that second had stopped ringingin their ears, a moment of silence had followed.
Then Boyd turned, briskly rubbing his hands. "All right," he said."Let's get back to work."
Malone looked at the proud, happy look on Her Majesty's face; he sawthe glimmer of a tear in the corner of each eye. But he gave noindication that he had noticed anything at all out of the ordinary.
"Fine," he said. "Now, getting on back to the facts, we've establishedsomething, anyhow. Some agency is causing flashes of telepathic staticall over the place. And those flashes are somehow connected with theconfusion that's going on all around us. Somehow, these flashes havean effect on the minds of people."
"And we know at least one manifestation of that effect," Boyd said."It makes spies blab all their secrets when they're exposed to it."
"These three spies, anyhow," Malone said.
"If 'spies' is the right word," Boyd said.
"O.K.," Malone said. "And now we've got another obvious question."
"It seems to me we've got about twelve," Boyd said.
"I mean: who's doing it?" Malone said. "Who is causing thesetelepathic flashes?"
"Maybe it's just happening," Boyd said. "Out of thin air."
"Maybe," Malone said. "But let's go on the assumption that there's ahuman cause. The other way, we can't do a thing except sit back andwatch the world go to hell."
Boyd nodded. "It doesn't seem to be the Russians," he said. "Although,of course, it might be a Red herring."
"What do you mean?" Malone said.
"Well," Boyd said, "they might have known we were on to Brubitsch,Borbitsch and Garbitsch--" He stopped. "You know," he said, "everytime I say that name I have to reassure myself that we're not allwalking around in the world of Florenz Ziegfeld?"
"Likewise," Malone said. "But go on."
"Sure," Boyd said. "Anyhow, they might have set the three of them upas patsies--just in case we stumbled on to this mess. We can'toverlook that possibility."
"Right," Malone said. "It's faint, but it is a possibility. In otherwords, the agency behind the flashes might be Russian, and it mightnot be Russian."
"That clears that up nicely," Boyd said. "Next question?"
* * * * *
"The next one," Malone said grimly, "is: what's behind the flashes?Some sort of psionic power is causing them--that much is obvious."
"I'll go along with that," Boyd said. "I have to go along with it. Butdon't think I like it."
"Nobody likes it," Malone said. "But let's go on. O'Connor isn't anyhelp; he washes his hands of the whole business."
"Lucky man," Boyd said.
"He says that it can't be happening," Malone said, "and if it is we'reall screwy. Now, right or wrong, that isn't an opinion that gives usany handle to work with."
"No," Boyd said reflectively. "A certain amount of comfort, to besure, but no handles."
"Sir Lewis Carter, on the other hand--" Malone said. He fumbledthrough some of the piles of paper until he had located the ones thePresiden
t of the Psychical Research Society had sent. "Sir LewisCarter," he went on, "does seem to be doing some pretty good work. Atleast, some of the more modern stuff he sent over looks pretty solid.They've been doing quite a bit of research into the subject, and