'they' are out to get him."
"They?" Malone said.
"You know," Burris said, shrugging. "The great 'they.' The invisibleenemies all around, working against him."
"Oh," Malone said. "Paranoid?" He had always thought Senator Leffertswas slightly on the batty side, and the idea of real paranoia didn'tcome as too much of a surprise. After all, when a man was batty tostart out with ... and he even _looked_ like a vampire, Malone thoughtconfusedly.
"As far as paranoia is concerned," Burris said, "I checked with one ofour own psych men, and he'll back it up. Lefferts has definiteparanoid tendencies, he says."
Malone said, "That's that."
Burris shook his head. "It isn't that simple," he said. "You see,Malone, there's some evidence that somebody _is_ working against him."
"The American public, with any luck at all," Malone said.
"No," Burris said. "An enemy. Somebody sabotaging his plans. Really."
Malone shook his head. "You're crazy," he said.
Burris looked shocked. "Malone, I'm the Director of the FBI," he said."And if you insist on being disrespectful--"
"Sorry," Malone murmured. "But--"
"I am perfectly sane," Burris said slowly. "It's Senator Leffertswho's crazy. The only trouble is, he has evidence to show he's not."
Malone thought about odd cases, and suddenly wished he were somewhereelse. Anywhere else. This one showed sudden signs of developing intosomething positively bizarre. "I see," he said, wondering if he did.
"After all," Burris said, in a voice that attempted to soundreasonable, "a paranoid has just as much right to be persecuted asanybody else, doesn't he?"
"Sure," Malone said. "Everybody has rights. But what do you want me todo about that?"
"About their rights?" Burris said. "Nothing, Malone. Nothing."
"I mean," Malone said patiently, "about whatever it is that's goingon."
Burris took a deep breath. His hands clasped behind his head, and helooked up at the ceiling. He seemed perfectly relaxed. That, Maloneknew, was a bad sign. It meant that there was a dirty job coming, ajob nobody wanted to do, and one Burris was determined to pass off onhim. He sighed and tried to feel resigned.
* * * * *
"Well," the FBI Director said, "the only actual trouble we canpinpoint is that there seem to be a great many errors occurring in thepaperwork--more than usual."
"People get tired," Malone said tentatively.
"But computer-secretary calculating machines don't," Burris said. "Andthat's where the errors are--in the computer-secretaries down in theSenate Office Building. I think you'd better start out there."
"Sure," Malone said sadly.
"See if there's any mechanical or electrical defect in any of thosecomputers," Burris said. "Talk to the computer technicians. Find outwhat's causing all these errors."
"Yes, sir," Malone said. He was still trying to feel resigned, but hewasn't succeeding very well.
"And if you don't find anything--" Burris began.
"I'll come right back," Malone said instantly.
"No," Burris said. "You keep on looking."
"I do?"
"You do," Burris said. "After all, there has to be _something_ wrong."
"Sure," Malone said, "if you say so. But--"
"There are the interview tapes," Burris said, "and the reports thecongressmen brought in. You can go through those."
Malone sighed. "I guess so," he said.
"And there must be thousands of other things to do," Burris said.
"Well--" Malone began cautiously.
"You'll be able to think of them," Burris said heartily. "I know youwill. I have confidence in you, Malone. Confidence."
"Thanks," Malone said sadly.
"You just keep me posted from time to time on what you're doing, andwhat ideas you get," Burris said. "I'm leaving the whole thing in yourhands, Malone, and I'm sure you won't disappoint me."
"I'll try," Malone said.
"I know you will," Burris said warmly. "And no matter how long ittakes--I know you'll succeed."
"No matter how long it takes?" Malone said hesitantly.
"That's right!" Burris said. "You can do it, Malone! You can do it."
Malone nodded slowly. "I hope so," he said. "Well, I ... well, I'llstart out right away, then."
He turned. Before he could make another move Burris said: "Wait!"
Malone turned again, hope in his eyes. "Yes, sir?" he said.
"When you leave--" Burris began, and the hope disappeared "please doone little favor for me. Just one little favor, because I'm an old,tired man and I'm not used to things any more."
"Sure," Malone said. "Anything, Chief."
"Don't call me--"
"Sorry," Malone said.
Burris breathed heavily. "When you leave," he said, "please, pleaseuse the door."
"But--"
"Malone," Burris said, "I've tried. I've really tried. Believe me.I've tried to get used to the fact that you can teleport. But--"
"It's useful," Malone said, "in my work."
"I can see that," Burris said. "And I don't want you to ... well, tostop doing it. By no means. It's just that it sort of unnerves me, ifyou see what I mean. No matter how useful it is for the FBI to have anagent who can go instantaneously from one place to another, itunnerves me." He sighed. "I can't get used to seeing you disappearlike an over-dried soap bubble, Malone. It does something tome--here." He placed a hand directly over his sternum and sighedagain.
"I can understand that," Malone said. "It unnerved me, too, the firsttime I saw it. I thought I was going crazy, when that kid--MikeFueyo--winked out like a light. But then we got him, and some FBIagents besides me have learned the trick." He stopped there, wonderingif he'd been tactful. After all, it took a latent ability to learnteleportation, and some people had it, while others didn't. Malone,along with a few other agents, did. Burris evidently didn't--so hecouldn't teleport, no matter how hard he tried or how many lessons hetook.
"Well," Burris said, "I'm still unnerved. So ... please, Malone ...when you come in here, or go out, use the door. All right?"
"Yes, sir," Malone said. He turned and went out. As he opened thedoor, he could almost hear Burris' sigh of relief. Then he banged itshut behind him and, feeling that he might as well continue with hisspacebound existence, walked all the way to the elevator, and rode itdownstairs to the FBI laboratories.
The labs, highly efficient and divided into dozens of departments,covered several floors. Malone passed through the Fingerprint section,filled with technicians doing strange things to great charts andslides, and frowning over tiny pieces of material and photographs.Then came Forgery Detection, involving many more technicians, manymore slides and charts and tiny pieces of things and photographs, andeven a witness or two sitting on the white bench at one side andlooking lost and somehow civilian. Identification Classified was next,a great barn of a room filled with index files. The real indexes werein the sub-basement; here, on microfilm, were only the basic division.A man was standing in front of one of the files, frowning at it.Malone went on by without stopping.
Cosmetic Surgery Classification came next. Here there were more indexes,and there were also charts and slides. There was an FBI agent sitting on abench looking bored while two female technicians--classified as O&U forOld and Ugly in Malone's mind--fluttered around him, deciding whatdisguises were possible, and which of those was indicated for theparticular job on hand. Malone waved to the agent, whom he knew veryslightly, and went on. He felt vaguely regretful that the FBI couldn'thire prettier girls for the Cosmetic Surgery Division, but the trouble wasthat pretty girls fell for the agents--and vice versa--and this led to anunfortunate tendency toward only handsome and virile-looking disguises.The O&U Division was unfortunate, he decided, but a necessity.
Chemical Analysis (III) was next. The Chemical Analysis section wasscattered over several floors, with the first stages up above.Division III, Malone remembered,
was devoted to non-poisonoussubstances--like clay or sand found in boots or trouser cuffs, cigarashes and such. They were placed on the same floor as Fingerprints toallow free and frequent passage between the sections on