you'vemanaged to get all three of the culprits responsible."
"Now, wait a minute," Malone said in sudden panic. "That isn't what Isaid."
"No?" Burris said, looking a little surprised.
"Not at all," Malone said. "I don't think those three spies haveanything to do with this at all. Not a thing."
There was a brief silence, during which Burris' surprise seemed toexpand like a gas and fill the room. "But they've confessed," he saidat last. "Their job was to try and get information, and also todisrupt our own work here."
"I know all that," Malone said. "But--"
Burris held up a pink, patient hand. Malone stared at it, fascinated.It had five pink, patient fingers on it. "Malone," Burris said slowly,"just what's bothering you? Don't you think those men _are_ spies? Isthat it?"
"Spies?" Malone said, slightly confused.
"You know," Burris said. "The men you arrested, Malone. The men youwrote this report about."
Malone blinked and focused on the hand again. It still had fivefingers. "Sure they are," he said. "They're spies, all right. Andthey're caught, and that's that. Except I don't think they're causingall the confusion around here."
"Well, of course they're not," Burris said, the beam of kindlinesscoming back to his face. "Not any more. You caught them."
"I mean," Malone said desperately, "they never were. Even before Icaught them."
"Then why," Burris said with great patience, "did you arrest them?"
"Because they're spies," Malone said. "Besides, I didn't."
"Didn't what?" Burris said, looking confused. He seemed to realize hewas still holding up his hand, and dropped it to the desk. Malone feltsad as he watched it go. Now he had nothing to concentrate on exceptthe conversation, and he didn't even want to think about what washappening to that.
"Didn't arrest them," he said. "Tom Boyd did."
"Acting," Burris pointed out gently, "under your orders, Kenneth."
It was the second time Burris had called him Kenneth, Malone realized.It started a small warning bell in the back of his mind. When Burriscalled him by his first name, Burris was feeling paternal and kindly.And that, Malone thought determinedly, boded Kenneth J. Malone verylittle good indeed.
"He was under my orders to arrest them because they were spies," hesaid at last. He wondered if the sentence made any real sense, butshrugged his shoulders and plunged on. "But they're not the realspies," he said. "Not the ones everybody's been looking for."
"Kenneth," Burris said, his voice positively dripping with what Malonethought of as the heavy, Grade A, Government-inspected cream of humankindness, "all the confusion with the computer-secretaries hasstopped. Everything is running fine in that department."
"But--" Malone began.
"The technicians," Burris said, hypnotized by this poem of beauty,"aren't making any more mistakes. The information is flowing throughbeautifully. It's a pleasure to see their reports. Believe me,Kenneth--"
"Call me Chief," Malone said wearily.
Burris blinked. "What?" he said. "Oh. Ha. Indeed. Very well, then:Malone, what more proof do you want?"
"Is that proof?" Malone said. "The spies didn't even confess to that.They--"
"Of course they didn't, Malone," Burris said.
"Of course?" Malone said weakly.
"Look at their confessions," Burris said. "Just look at them, in blackand white." He reached for a sheaf of papers and pushed them acrossthe desk. Malone looked at them. They were indeed, he told himself, inblack and white. There was no arguing with that. None at all.
* * * * *
"Well?" Burris said after a second.
"I don't see anything about computer-secretaries," Malone said.
"The Russians," Burris began slowly, "are not stupid, Malone. Youbelieve that, don't you?"
"Of course I believe it," Malone said. "Otherwise we wouldn't need anFBI."
Burris frowned. "There are still domestic cases," he said. "Likejuvenile delinquents stealing cars inter-state, for instance. If youremember." He paused, then went on: "But the fact remains: Russiansare not stupid. Not by a long shot."
"All right," Malone said agreeably.
"Do you really think, then," Burris said instantly, "that a spy ringcould be as utterly inefficient as the one described in thoseconfessions?"
"Lots of people are inefficient," Malone said.
"Not spies," Burris said with decision. "Do you really believe thatthe Russians would send over a bunch of operatives as clodheaded asthese are pretending to be?"
"People make mistakes," Malone said weakly.
"Russian spies," Burris said, "do not make mistakes. Or, anyhow, wecan't depend on it. We have to depend on the fact that they'reoperating at peak efficiency, Malone. Peak."
Malone nearly asked: "Where?" but controlled himself at the lastminute. Instead, he said: "But the confessions are right there. And,according to the confessions--"
"Do you really believe," Burris said, "that a trio of Soviet agentswould confess everything as easily as all that if they didn't intendto get something out of it? Such as, for instance, covering up theirmethods of doing damage? And do you really believe--"
Malone began to feel as if he were involved in the Athanasian Creed."I don't think the spies are the real spies," he said stubbornly. "Imean the spies we're all looking for."
"Do you mean to stand there and tell me," Burris went on inexorably,"that you take the word of spies when they tell you about their ownactivities?"
"Their confessions--"
"Spies can lie, Malone," Burris said gently. "As a matter of fact,they usually do. We have come to depend on it as one of the facts oflife."
"But Queen Elizabeth," Malone said stubbornly, "told me they weren'tlying." As he finished the sentence, he suddenly realized what itsounded like. "You know Queen Elizabeth," he said chummily.
"The Virgin Queen," Burris said helpfully.
"I wouldn't know," Malone said, feeling uncomfortable. "I mean RoseThompson. She thinks she's Queen Elizabeth and I just said it that waybecause--"
"It's all right, Malone," Burris said softly. "I know who you mean."
"Well, then," Malone said. "If Queen Elizabeth says the spies aren'tlying, then--"
"Then nothing," Burris said flatly. "Miss Rose Thompson is a nice,sweet, little old lady. I admit that."
"And she's been a lot of help," Malone said.
"I admit that, too," Burris said. "But she is also somewhat battier,Malone, than the entire Order Chiroptera, including Count Dracula andall his happy friends."
"She only thinks she's Queen Elizabeth I," Malone said defensively.
"That," Burris said, "is a large sort of _only_. Malone, you've got tolook at the facts sensibly. Square in the face."
Malone pictured a lot of facts going by with square faces. He didn'tlike the picture. "All right," he said.
"Things are going wrong in the Congressional computer-secretaries,"Burris said. "So I assign you to the case. You come back to me withthree spies, and the trouble stops. And what other information haveyou got?"
"Plenty," Malone said, and stopped for thought. There was a longpause.
"All this business about mysterious psionic faculties," Burris said,"comes direct from the testimony of that sweet little old twitch.Which she is. Dr. O'Connor, for instance, has told you in so manywords that there's no such thing as this mysterious force. And if youdon't want to take the word of the nation's foremost authority,there's this character from the Psychical Research Society--Carter, orwhatever his name is. Carter told you he'd never heard of such athing."
"But that doesn't mean there isn't such a thing," Malone said.
"Even your own star witness," Burris said, "even the Queen herself,told you it couldn't be done."
"Nevertheless--" Malone began. But he felt puzzled. There was no way,he decided, to finish a sentence that started with _nevertheless_. Itwas the wrong kind of word.
"What are you trying to do?" Burris sa
id. "Beat your head against astone wall?"
Malone realized