The Impossibles

thought, his own. If he'd only told Lynch to come in whencalled for--and under no other circumstances--this wouldn't havehappened. He looked around at the remains of New York's Finest, andfelt guilty.

  The lieutenant from the local precinct limped up, rubbing awell-kicked shin and trying to disentangle pieces of floor lamp fromhis hair. "Listen, Lynch," he said, "What's with these kids? What'sgoing on here? Look at my men."

  "Some days," Lynch said, "it just doesn't pay to get up."

  "Sure," the local man said. "But what do I do now?"

  "Make your reports."

  "But--"

  "To the Commissioner," Lynch said, "and to nobody else. If this getsinto the papers, heads will roll."

  "My head is rolling right now," the local man said. "Know what one ofthose kids did? Stood in front of a floor lamp. I swung at him and hevanished. Vanished! I hit the lamp, and then the lamp hit me."

  "Just see that this doesn't get out," Lynch said.

  "It can't," the local man said. "Anybody who mentioned this to areporter would just be laughed out of town. It's not possible." Hepaused thoughtfully, and added, "We'd all be laughed out of town."

  "And probably replaced with the FBI," Lynch said morosely. He lookedat Malone. "Nothing personal, you understand," he said.

  "Of course," Malone said. "We can't do any more here, can we?"

  "I don't think we can do any more anywhere," Lynch said. "Let's lockthe place up and leave and forget all about it."

  "Fine," Malone said. "I've got work to do." He looked around, foundDorothea and signaled to her. "Come on, Dorothea. Where's Boyd?"

  "Here I am," Boyd said, walking slowly across the big room to Malone.He had one hand held to his chin.

  "What's the matter with you?" Malone asked.

  Boyd took his hand away. There was a bald spot the size of a quarteron the point of his chin. "One of those kids," he said sadly, "has ahell of a strong grip. Come on, Miss Fueyo. Come on, Malone. Let's getout of here."

  13

  "Logically," Malone said, "there has to be _some_ way to catch them."He looked around the hotel room as though he expected to find ananswer painted in big black letters on the wall. "Logically," he saidagain, and tried to think of what came next. He liked the sound of theword, but that was as far as it went.

  "That's fine," Boyd said. He sat on a chair, staring gloomily at thefloor and rubbing the bald spot on his chin with a single, sad,inquisitive forefinger. "There has to be an answer. You're probablyright. But what the hell is it?"

  Malone started to answer, and then wondered what he had been going tosay. He sunk himself in thought. There was a knock at the door. "Who'sthere?" he called, glad of any relief at all.

  "It's me," a small voice said. "Dorothea."

  "Come in," Malone said.

  The door opened. Dorothea came in, shut the door behind her, andlooked around the room a little awkwardly.

  "Did you get a good night's sleep?" Malone said.

  She nodded. "I guess so," she said. "Sure. It was nice of you to getme a room for the night. I mean, I guess I was--well..."

  "Forget it," Malone said grandly. "You were upset and tired, that'sall. Hell, in the car on the way back here last night, you fainted."

  "I did not faint," she said.

  "Well," Malone said, "you sure looked like--"

  "I was tired," Dorothea said.

  Malone shrugged. "Okay. You were tired."

  "You're not mad, are you," she said, "because I stole your notebook?"

  "Of course not," Malone said. "I said forget it, didn't I? Sit downand help us out."

  "Help you?" she said.

  "That's right," Boyd said. "Help us figure out how to catch this bunchof maniacs before they steal everything in New York."

  Dorothea said, "Maniacs? I--" and Malone interrupted her in a hurry.

  "Police Commissioner Fernack has called twice this morning already,"he said. "He's screaming about all the burglaries that have beenoccurring since midnight last night."

  "Oh," Dorothea said. "You mean the Spooks? Mike and the others?They've been stealing again?"

  "They sure have, Miss Fueyo," Boyd said.

  "I guess they're furnishing their new hideout," Malone said. "Whereverit is. Only God knows."

  "And even if He told us," Boyd said, "it wouldn't do us any good.Chase 'em out of there, and they'd go somewhere else."

  Malone stood up, fished for his cigarettes and lit one. "What weneed," he said, blowing out smoke, "is some way to trap 'em and hold'em. And I don't see how we can do either."

  "After last night," Dorothea said, "I really don't see--"

  "Wait a minute," Boyd said. "You said _trap_, didn't you?" He lookedslowly and speculatively at Dorothea Fueyo.

  A second passed.

  "Oh, no, you don't!" she said. "Oh, no. Not on your life. I'll helpcatch him if I can, because I know you don't mean to hurt him or theothers. But I wouldn't want Mike to know about it. You're not using meas bait in any trap."

  Boyd looked at Malone, shook his head slowly, and said disconsolately,"Well, it was an idea." He returned his gaze to the floor.

  The furtive gleam of the half bottle of bourbon on Malone's dressercaught his eye. He'd had it sent up the night before, feeling the needof some medicinal refreshment. Now it winked at him. He ignored itresolutely. "Dorothea," he said.

  "Yes?"

  "Dorothea, do you have any idea how far one of those kids can go whenhe teleports?"

  "No," Dorothea said. "I really haven't any idea about any of it. Miketried to teach me once, but I guess I just don't have the talent."

  "Oh," Malone said.

  "I wish I could help," Dorothea said.

  Silence fell, and gloom followed it.

  Time ticked by. The bourbon bottle resumed its seductive winking.

  "There is one thing," Dorothea said suddenly. "He did say one thingabout it."

  "What?" Malone said eagerly.

  "He said you couldn't teleport to some place you haven't been before.You've got to be able to visualize where you're going."

  Malone said, "Hmm." It seemed like the right answer. Dorothea'sstatement was a fact, certainly, but he didn't see how the fact fit inanywhere.

  "He didn't mention anything about distance, and I don't think any ofthe Spooks ever tested it for that," Dorothea said.

  "There probably is a distance limit," Malone said. "At least if Dr.O'Connor's theories are right. I just wish I knew what the limit was."

  Silence fell again. Malone sighed. Dorothea sighed. Boyd sighed,looked around at the others and muttered, "Damn thing's catching." Hegot up and walked over to the dresser and picked up the bottle ofbourbon.

  "You, too?" Malone murmured, but Boyd didn't hear him.

  "I don't care if it is early in the morning," he said, resolutely. "Ineed a drink. I need something to take the fog out of my head,anyhow." He poured himself a shot, held the bottle aloft, and said,"Dorothea? Malone?"

  The girl shook her head.

  Malone was tempted but he put Satan behind him with decision. "No," hesaid firmly. "The way I feel now, one drink would probably immobilizeme."

  Dorothea chuckled. "You sound just like Mike," she said.

  "Mike doesn't drink in the morning either?" Malone said.

  "Of course he doesn't," Boyd said. "Mike is a nice kid. A swell kid."

  "You keep quiet," Dorothea shot at him. She turned back to Malone."Mike never drinks at all," she said. "He says it immobilizeshim--just what you said."

  Somewhere in the black galactic depths of Malone's mind, a very smallhot star gulped, took a deep breath and became a supernova.

  The light was tremendous! It shed beams over everything, beams of apositively supernal brilliance. And in the all-pervasive brightness ofthat single inner light, bits of data began to fall into place withall the precision of aerial bombs, each falling neatly and exactlyinto its own little predetermined bomb crater.

  It was beautiful. It was
magnificent. Malone felt all choked up.

  None of the Silent Spooks drank. He