Occasion for Disaster

PRS books to make room for it. And then hestopped.

  The papers the PRS had sent him....

  And he'd gotten them so quickly, so efficiently....

  They were a large organization....

  And an old one....

  He looked for a desk phone, found one and grabbed at it frantically.

  * * * * *

  The girl who answered the phone looked familiar. Malone suddenlyremembered to check the time--it was just after nine. The girl staredat him. She did not look terribly old, but she was large and she hadto be disguised. There seemed to be a lot of teeth running around inthis case, Malone thought, between the burlesque stripper in Las Vegasand Miss Dental Display here in New York. Nobody, he told himself,could have collected that many teeth honestly.

  "Psychical Research Society," she said. "Oh, Mr. Malone. Goodmorning."

  "Sir Lewis," Malone said in a rush. "Sir Lewis Carter. I want to talkto him. Hurry."

  "Sir Lewis Carter?" the girl said very slowly. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr.Malone, but he won't be in at all today."

  "Home number," Malone said desperately. "I've got to."

  "Well, I can give you that, Mr. Malone," she said, "but it wouldn't doyou any good, really. Because he went away on his vacation and when hedoes that he never tells us where. You know? He won't be back for twoor three weeks," she added as an afterthought.

  Malone said: "Oog," and thought for less than a second. "Somebodyofficial," he said. "Got to talk to somebody official. Now."

  "Oh, I can't do that either, Mr. Malone," the toothy girl said. "Allof the executives already left on their vacation. They just left askeleton force here at the office."

  "They're all gone?" Malone said hollowly.

  "That's right," the girl said with great cheer. "As a matter of fact,I'm in charge now. You know?"

  "I'm afraid I do," Malone said. "It's very important, though. Youdon't have any idea where any of them went?"

  "None at all," she said. "I'm sorry, but that's how it is. Maybe ifyou were me you'd ask questions, but I just follow orders and thosewere my orders. To take over until they get back. You know? Theydidn't tell me where and I just didn't ask."

  "Great," Malone said. He wanted to shoot himself. Everything wasobvious now--about twenty-four hours too late. And now, they'd allgone--for two weeks--or for good.

  The girl's rancid voice broke in on his thoughts.

  "Oh, Mr. Malone," she said. "I'm sorry, but I just remembered theyleft a note for you."

  "A note?" Malone said. "For me?"

  "Sir Lewis said you might call," the girl said, "and he left amessage. If you'll hold on a minute I'll read it."

  Malone waited tensely. The girl found a slip of paper, blinked at itand read:

  "My dear Malone, I'm afraid that what you have deduced is quitecorrect; and, as you can see, that leaves us no alternative. Sorry.Miss Luba A. sends her apologies to you, since she is joining us; myapologies are also tendered." The girl looked up. "It's signed by SirLewis," she said. "Does that mean anything to you, Mr. Malone?"

  "I'm afraid it does," Malone said blankly. "It means entirely toomuch."

  XIII

  After Miss Dental Display had faded from Malone's screen, he just satthere, looking at the dead, gray front of the visiphone and feelingabout twice as dead and at least three times as gray.

  Things, he told himself, were terrible. But even that sentence, whichwas a good deal more cheerful than what he actually felt, did nothingwhatever to improve his mood. All of the evidence, after all, had beenpractically living on the tip of his nose for God alone knew how long,and not only had he done nothing about it, he hadn't even seen it.

  There was the organization, staring him in the face. There wasLuba--nobody's fool, no starry-eyed dreamer of occult dreams. She waspart of the Psychical Research Society, why hadn't he thought towonder why she was connected with it?

  And there was his own mind-shield. Why hadn't he wondered whetherother telepaths might not have the same shield?

  He thought about Luba and told himself bitterly that from now on shewas Miss Ardanko. Enough, he told himself, was enough. From now on hewas calling her by her last name, formally and distantly. In his ownmind, anyhow.

  Facts came tumbling in on him like the side of a mountain falling on ahapless traveler, during a landslide season. And, Malone told himself,he had never possessed less hap in all of his ill-starred life.

  And then, very suddenly, one more fact arrived, and pushed the restout into the black night of Malone's bitter mind. He stood up, pushingthe books away, and closed his eyes. When he opened them he went tothe telephone in his Las Vegas hotel suite, and switched it on. Asmiling operator appeared. Malone wanted to see him die of poison,slowly.

  "Give me Room 4-T," he snapped. "Hurry."

  "Room forty?" the operator asked.

  "Damn it," Malone said, "I said 4-T and I meant 4-T. Four as in fourand T as in--as in China. And hurry."

  "Oh," the operator said. "Yes, sir." He turned away from the screen."That would have been Miss Luba Ardanko's room, sir?" he said.

  "Right," Malone snapped. "I ... wait a minute. Would have been?"

  "That's correct, sir," the operator said. "She checked out, sir, earlythis morning. The room is unoccupied."

  Malone swallowed hard. It was all true, then. Sir Lewis' note hadn'tsimply been one last wave of the red cape before an angry bull. Lubawas one of them.

  _Miss Ardanko_, he corrected himself savagely.

  "What time?" he said.

  The operator consulted an information board before him. "Approximatelyone o'clock, sir," he said.

  "In the morning?"

  "Yes, sir," the clerk said.

  Malone closed his eyes. "Thanks," he said.

  "You're quite welcome, sir," the operator said. "A courtesy of theGreat Universal Ho--"

  Malone cut him off. "Ho, indeed," he said bitterly. "Not to mention haand hee--hee and yippe-ki-yay. A great life." He whisked himself backto New York in a dismal, rainy state of mind. As he sat down again tothe books and papers the door to the room opened.

  "You still here?" the agent-in-charge said. "I'm just going off dutyand I came by to check. Don't you ever sleep?"

  "I'm on vacation, remember?"

  "Some vacation," the a-in-c said. "If you're on special assignment whynot tell the rest of us?"

  "I want it to be a surprise," Malone said. "And meantime, I'dappreciate it if I were left entirely to my own devices."

  "Still conjuring up ghosts?" the a-in-c said.

  "That," Malone said, "I don't know. I've got some long-distance callsto make."

  * * * * *

  He started with the overseas calls, leaving the rest of the UnitedStates time for the sun to get round to them. His first call, whichinvolved a lot of cursing on Malone's part and much hard work for theoperator, who claimed plaintively that she didn't know how things hadgotten so snarled up, but overseas calls were getting worse and worse,went to New Scotland Yard in London. After great difficulty, Malonemanaged to get Assistant Commissioner C. E. Teal, who promised tocheck on the inquiry at once.

  It seemed like years before he called back, and Malone leaped to thephone.

  "Yes?" he said.

  Teal, red-faced and apparently masticating a stick of gum, said: "Igot C. I. D. Commander Gideon to follow up on that matter, Mr. Malone.As you know, it's after noon here--"

  "And they're all out to lunch," Malone said.

  "As a matter of fact," Teal went on, "they seem to have disappearedentirely. On vacation, that sort of thing. It is rather difficultattempting any full-scale tracing job just now; our men are terriblyoverworked. I imagine you've had reports from the New Scotland Yardrepresentatives working with you there--"

  "Oh, certainly," Malone said. "But the hour; what does that have to dowith anything?"

  "I'm afraid I was thinking of our Inspector Ottermole," Teal said. "Hewas sent to locate Dr. Carnacki, Presid
ent of the Psychical ResearchSociety here. On being told that Dr. Carnacki was 'out to lunch,'Ottermole investigated every restaurant and eating-place within tenblocks of the offices. Dr. Carnacki was not present; he, like the restof the Society here, appears to have left for places unknown."

  "Thorough work," Malone said.

  "Ottermole's a good man," Teal said. "We've checked as quickly aspossible, Mr. Malone. I would like to ask you a question in return."

  "Ask away," Malone said.

  Teal looked worried. "Do you people think this may have anything to dowith the present ... ah ... trouble?" he said. "Things are quite upsethere, as you know; so many members of Parliament have resigned or ...ah ... died that the realm is being run by a rather shakily assembledcoalition government. There is even some talk of giving executivepower to Her Majesty until a general election can be held."

  For one brief moment, Malone thought Teal was talking about RoseThompson. Then he recalled Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, and feltbetter. Things weren't quite as bad as he'd thought.

  But they were bad enough. "We simply don't know yet," he saiduntruthfully. "But as soon as anything definite comes up, of course,you'll be informed."

  "Thank you, Mr. Malone," Teal said. "Of course, we'll do the same."And then, still masticating, he switched off.

  Paris was next, then Rome, Berlin and a couple more. Every one had thesame result. From Maigret of the Paris Surete to Poirot in Belgium,from Berlin's strict officialdom to the cheerful Hollanders, all thereports were identical. The PRS of each country had gone underground.

  Malone buried his face in his hands, thought about a cigar and decidedthat even a cigar might make him feel worse. Where were they? Whatwere they doing now? What did they plan to do?

  Where had they gone?

  "Out of the everywhere," he heard himself say in a hollow, sepulchralvoice, "into the here."

  But where was the here?

  He tried to make up his mind whether or not that made sense.Superficially, it sounded like extremely bad English, but he wasn'tsure of anything any more. Things were getting much too confused.

  He close his eyes wearily, and vanished.

  When he opened them, he was in his Washington apartment. He went overto the big couch and sat down, feeling that if he were going to cursehe might as well be comfortable while he did it. But, some minuteslater, when the air was a bright electric blue around him, he didn'tfeel any better. Cursing was not the answer.

  Nothing seemed to be.

  What was his next move?

  Where did he go from here?

  The more he thought about it, the more his mind spun. He was, herealized, at an absolute, total dead end.

  Oh, there were things he could do. Malone knew that very well. Hecould make a lot of noise and go through a lot of waste motion; thatwas what it amounted to. He could have all the homes of all themissing PRS members checked somehow. That would undoubtedly result inthe startling discovery that the PRS members involved weren't home. Hecould have their dossiers sent to him, which would clutter everythingwith a great many more pieces of paper. But he felt quite sure thatthe pieces of paper would do no good at all. In general, he couldraise all hell--and find nothing whatever.

  Now, he told himself sadly, he had the evidence to start the FBI inmotion. The only trouble was that he could think of nowhere for themto go.

  And, though he had evidence that might convince Burris--the PRSmembers, after all, _had_ done a rather unusual fadeout--he hadnowhere near enough to carry the case into court, much less make atry at getting the case to stand up once carried in. That was onething he couldn't do, he realized, he couldn't issue warrants for thearrest of anybody at all.

  But, vacation or no vacation, he thought solemnly, he was an FBIAgent, and his motto was: "There's always a way." No normal method oftracking down the PRS members, or finding their present whereabouts,was going to work. They'd been covering themselves for such anemergency, undoubtedly, for a good many years--and if anyone gotclose, a burst of mental energy was quite enough to turn the seekeraside.

  Nobody, Malone told himself grimly, was perfect. There were clueslying around somewhere; he was sure of that. There had to be. Theproblem was simply to figure out where to look, and how to look, andwhat to look for.

  Somewhere, the clues were sitting quietly and waiting for him to findthem. The thought cheered him slightly, but not very much. He stood upslowly and went into the kitchen to start heating water for coffee.There was, he told himself, a long night ahead of him. He sighedgently. But there was no help for it; the work had to be done--anddone quickly.

  But when eight cigars had been reduced to ash, and what seemed likeseveral gallons of coffee had sloshed their way into Malone's interiorworkings, his mind was as blank as a baby's. The lovely, opalescentdawn began to show in the East, and Malone tendered it some extremelyrude words. Then, Haggard, red-eyed, confused, violently angry, andnot one inch closer to a solution, he fell into a fitful doze on hiscouch.

  * * * * *

  When he awoke, the sun was high in the sky, and outside his window thecheerful sound of too much traffic floated in the air. Downstairssomebody was playing a television set too loudly, and the voicereached Malone's semiaware mind in a great tinny shout:

  "The President, taking action on the current crisis, has declared martiallaw throughout the nation," a voice said in an important-soundedmonotone. "Exempt from this proclamation are members of the ArmedServices, Special Agents and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Theproclamation, issued this morning, was made public in a special newsconference which--"

  Malone ripped out a particularly foul oath and sat up on the couch."That," he muttered, "is a fine thing to wake up to." He focused hiseyes, with only slight difficulty, on his watch. The time was a littleafter two.

  "Later developments will be reported as and when they occur," theannouncer was saying, "and in one hour a special panel of newscasterswill be assembled here to discuss this latest action in the light ofpresent happenings. Any special rules and regulations will bebroadcast over this station--"

  "Shut up," Malone said. He had wasted a lot of time doing nothing butsleeping, he told himself. This was no time to be listening totelevision. He got up and found, to his vague surprise, that he felt alot better and clearer-headed than he had been. Maybe the sleep hadactually done him some good.

  He yawned, blinked and stretched, and then padded into the bathroomfor a shower and shave. After he'd changed he thought about a morningor afternoon cup of coffee, but last night's dregs appeared to havetaken up permanent residence in his digestive tract, and he decidedagainst it at last. He swallowed some orange juice and toast andthen, heaving a great sigh of resignation and brushing crumbs off hisshirt, he teleported himself over to his office.

  Now he knew that, sooner or later, he was going to have to talk toBurris. Burris _had_ to know, even if there was nothing to be done.

  And now was just as good--or as bad--a time as any.

  He didn't hesitate. He punched the button on his intercom for Burris'office and then sat back, with his eyes closed, waiting for thewell-known voice.

  It didn't come.

  Instead, Wolf, the Director's secretary, spoke up.

  "Burris isn't in, Malone," he said. "He had to fly to Miami. I can geta call through to him on the plane, if it's urgent, but he'll belanding in about fifteen minutes. And he did say he'd call in thisafternoon."

  "Oh," Malone said. "Sure. O.K. It isn't urgent." He was just as gladof the reprieve; it gave him one more chance to work matters throughto a solution, and hand it to Burris on a silver platter. "But whyMiami?" he added.

  "Don't you hear about anything any more?" Wolf asked.

  "I've been on vacation."

  "Oh," Wolf said. "Well, the Governor of Mississippi was assassinatedyesterday, at Miami Beach."

  "Ah," Malone said. He thought about it for a second. "Frankly," hesaid, "this does not strike me as an irreparable loss to the
nation.Not even to Mississippi."

  "You express my views precisely," Wolf said.

  "How about the killer?" Malone said. "I gather they haven't got himyet, or Burris wouldn't be on his way down."

  "No," Wolf said. "The killer would be on his way here instead. But youknow how things are--everything's confused. Governor Flarion waswalking along Collins Avenue when somebody fired at him, using ahigh-powered rifle with, I guess, a scope sight."

  "Professional," Malone commented.

  "It looks like it," Wolf said. "And he picked the right time for it,too--the way things are he was just one more confusion among the rest.Nobody even heard the sniper's shot; the governor just fell over,right there in the street. And by the time his bodyguards found outwhat had happened, it was impossible even to be sure just which way hewas facing when the shot had been fired."

  "And as I remember Collins Avenue--" Malone started.

  "Right," Wolf