that you have actuallyfound a teleport?"
"Unless my theories are away off," Malone said, "I've done a lotbetter than that. I've found eight of them."
"Eight." Dr. O'Connor's smile grew perceptibly warmer. It now stood atabout thirty-four degrees Fahrenheit. "That is really excellent, Mr.Malone. You have done a fine job."
"Thanks," Malone muttered. He wished that O'Connor didn't make himfeel quite so much like a first-year law student talking to anegomaniacal professor.
"When can you deliver them?" O'Connor said.
"Well," Malone said carefully, "that depends." O'Connor seemed toview the teleports as pieces of equipment, he thought. "I can'tdeliver them until I catch them," he said. "And that's why I wanted totalk to you."
"Some slight delay," Dr. O'Connor said, "will be quiteunderstandable." His face left no doubt that he didn't like thenecessity of understanding anything that was going to keep him and theeight teleports apart for even thirty seconds longer, now that he knewabout them.
"You see," Malone said, "they're kids. Juvenile delinquents, orsomething like that. But they are teleports, that's for sure."
"I see," Dr. O'Connor said.
"So we've got to nab them," Malone said. "And for that I need all theinformation I can get."
Dr. O'Connor nodded slowly. "I'll be happy," he said, "to give you anyinformation I can provide."
Malone took a deep breath, and plunged. "How does this teleportationbit work, anyhow?" he said.
"You've asked a very delicate question," Dr. O'Connor said. "Actually,we can't be quite positive." His expression showed just how little hewanted to make this admission. "However," he went on, brightening,"there is some evidence which seems to show that it is basically thesame process as psychokinesis. And we do have quite a bit of empiricaldata on psychokinesis." He scribbled something on a sheet of paper andsaid, "For instance, there's this." He held the paper up to the screenso that Malone could read it.
It said:
(m*d)/(f*t**2) = 1/k
Malone looked at it for some seconds. At last he said, "It's verypretty. What the hell is it?"
"This," Dr. O'Connor said, in a condescending tone of voice thatmeant, You should have known all along, but you're just hopeless, "isthe basic formula for the phenomenon, where _m_ is the mass in grams,_d_ is the distance in centimeters, _f_ is the force in dynes, and _t_is the time in seconds. _K_ is a constant whose value is not yetknown, and the numeral 1 is unity."
Malone said, "Hmm," and stared at the equation again. Somehow, theexplanation was not very helpful. The numeral 1 was unity. Heunderstood that much, all right, but it didn't seem to do him anygood.
"As you can see," Dr. O'Connor went on, "the greater the force, andthe longer time it is applied, the greater distance any given mass canbe moved. Or, contrariwise, the more mass, the greater mass, that is,the easier it is to move it any given distance. This is, as youundoubtedly understand, not at all in contradistinction to physicalphenomena."
"Ah," Malone said, feeling that something was expected of him, but notbeing quite sure what.
Dr. O'Connor frowned. "I must admit," he said, "that the uncertaintyas to the constant _k_, and the lack of any real knowledge as to justwhat kind of force is being applied, have held up our work so far."Then his face smoothed out. "Of course, when we have the teleports towork with, we may derive a full set of laws which--"
"Never mind that now," Malone said.
"But our work is most important, Mr. Malone," Dr. O'Connor said with amotion of his eyebrows. "As I'm sure you must understand."
"Oh," Malone said, feeling if he'd been caught without his homework,"of course. But if you don't mind--"
"Yes, Mr. Malone?" Dr. O'Connor said smoothly.
"What I want to know," Malone said, "is this. What are the limitationsof this--uh--phenomenon?"
Dr. O'Connor brightened up thoroughly. "Well, theoretically," he said,"there do not appear to be any limitations. However, practicallimitations do exist. If the process is at all parallel withpsychokinesis, or with levitation"--he stared at Malone, as if daringhim to say that it wasn't--"if that parallel exists, then the subjectis mentally limited by his own physical strength."
Malone said, "What?"
"Try and be patient, Mr. Malone," O'Connor said calmly. "Please. As Iwas saying, the subject is limited by his own physical strength. Inother words, he cannot move psionically any subject larger than he canlift physically. This appears to be a psychological limitationwhich--"
"Oh," Malone said. "You mean he couldn't carry off a building, oranything like that?"
"Of course not," Dr. O'Connor said. "Nor, as a matter of fact, couldhe carry off anything that was securely bolted down. I hope you followme."
"I think so," Malone said. "But look here. Suppose you handcuffed himto, say, a radiator, or a jail cell bar."
"Yes?"
"Could he get _away_?"
Dr. O'Connor appeared to consider this with some care. "Well," he saidat last, "he certainly couldn't take the radiator with him, or thecell bar. If that's what you mean." He hesitated, looked slightlyshamefaced, and then went on: "But you must realize that we lack anyreally extensive data on this phenomenon."
"Of course," Malone said.
"That's why I'm so very anxious to get those subjects," Dr. O'Connorsaid.
"Dr. O'Connor," Malone said earnestly, "that's just what I had in mindfrom the start. I've been going to a lot of extra trouble to make surethat those kids don't get killed or end up in reform schools orsomething, just so you could work with them."
"I appreciate that, Mr. Malone," O'Connor said gravely.
Malone felt as if someone had given him a gold star. Fighting down theemotion, he went on: "I know right now that I can catch one or two ofthem. But I don't know for sure that I can hold one for more than afraction of a second."
"I see your problem," Dr. O'Connor said. "Believe me, Mr. Malone. I dosee your problem."
"And is there a way out?" Malone said. "I mean a way I can hold on tothem for--"
"At present," Dr. O'Connor said heavily, "I have no suggestions. Ilack data."
"Oh, fine," Malone said. "We need the kids to get the data, and weneed the data to get the kids." He sighed. "Hooray for our side," headded.
"There does appear to be something of a dilemma here," Dr. O'Connoradmitted sadly.
"Dilemma is putting it mildly," Malone said.
Dr. O'Connor opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again and said, "Iagree."
"Well," Malone said, "maybe one of us will think of something. Ifanything does occur to you, let me know at once."
"I certainly will," Dr. O'Connor said. "Believe me, Mr. Malone, I wantyou to capture those kids just as badly as you want to capture themyourself."
"I'll try," Malone said at random. He flipped off and turned with asense of relief back to Boyd. But it looked as if Henry VIII had beenhit on the head with a cow, or something equally weighty. Boyd lookedglassy-eyed and slightly stunned.
"What's the matter with you?" Malone said. "Sick?"
"I'm not sick," Boyd said carefully. "At least I don't think I'm sick.It's hard to tell."
"What's wrong?"
"Teleporting!" Boyd said. "Juvenile delinquents!"
Malone felt a sudden twinge in the area of his conscience. He realizedthat he had told Boyd nothing at all about what had been going onsince the discovery of the notebook two nights ago. He filled hispartner in rapidly, while Boyd stood in front of the mirror and rathershakily attempted to trim his beard.
"That's why I had the car search continue," Malone said. "I was fairlysure the fault wasn't in the cars, but the boys. But I had to makeabsolutely sure."
Boyd said, "Oh," chopped a small section out of the center of hisbeard and added, "Damn. My hand's shaky."
"Well," Malone said, "that's the story."
"It's a hell of a story," Boyd said. "And I don't want you to think Idon't believe it. Because I don't."
"It's true," Malone said.
&n
bsp; "That doesn't affect me," Boyd said. "I'll go along with the gag. Butenough is enough. Vanishing teenagers. Ridiculous."
"Just so you go along with me," Malone said.
"Oh, I'll go along," Boyd said. "This is my vacation too, isn't it?What's the next move, Mastermind?"
"We're going down to that warehouse," Malone said decisively. "I'vegot a hunch the kids have been hiding there ever since they left theirhomes yesterday."
"Malone," Boyd said. "What?"
"You mean we're going down to the warehouse _tonight_?" Boyd said.
Malone nodded.
"I might have known," Boyd said. "I might have known!"
"Tom," Malone said. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," Boyd said. "Nothing at all. Everything's fine anddandy. I think I'm going to commit suicide, but don't let that botheryou."
"What happened?" Malone said.
Boyd stared at him. "You happened," he said. "You and the teen-agersand the bloody damn warehouse happened. Three days' work--ruined."
Malone scratched his head, found out that his head still hurt and puthis hand down again. "What work?" he said.
"For three days," Boyd said, "I've been taking this blonde chick allover New York. Wining her. Dining her. Spending money as if I wereBurris himself, instead of the common or garden variety of FBI agent.Night clubs. Theaters. Bars. The works. Malone, we were getting alongfamously. It was wonderful."
"And tonight--" Malone said.
"Tonight," Boyd said, "was supposed to be the night. The big night.The payoff. We've got a date for dinner--T-bone steak, two inchesthick, with mushrooms. At her apartment, Malone. She will probably--"
"You'll have to break it," Malone said sympathetically. "Too bad, butit can't be helped now. You can pick up a sandwich before you go."
"A sandwich," Boyd said with great dignity, "is not my idea ofsomething to eat."
"Look, Tom--" Malone began.
"All right, all right," Boyd said tiredly. "Duty is duty. I'll go callher."
"Fine," Malone said. "And meanwhile, I'll get us a little insurance."
"Insurance?"
"John Henry Fernack," Malone said, "and his Safe and Loft Squad."
12
The warehouse was locked up tight, all right, Malone thought. In thedim light that surrounded the neighborhood, it stood like a singlestone block, alone near the waterfront. There were other buildingsnearby, but they seemed smaller; the warehouse loomed over Malone andBoyd threateningly. They stood in a shadow-blacked alley just acrossthe street, watching the big building nervously, studying it for weakpoints and escape areas.
Boyd whispered softly, "Do you think they have a look-out?"
Malone's voice was equally low. "We'll have to assume they've got atleast one kid posted," he said. "But they can't be watching all thetime. Remember, they can't do everything."
"They don't have to," Boyd said. "They do quite enough for me. Do yourealize that, right now, I could be--"
"Break it up," Malone said. He took a small handset from his pocketand pressed the stud. "Lynch?" he whispered.
A tinny voice came from the earpiece. "Here, Malone."
"Have you got them located yet?" Malone said.
"Not yet," Lynch's voice replied. "We're working on a triangulationnow. Just hold on for a minute or so. I'll let you know as soon aswe've got results."
The police squads--Lynch and his men, the warehouse precinct men, andthe Safe and Loft Squad--had set up a careful cordon around the area,and were now hard at work trying to determine two things.
First, they had to know whether there was anybody in the building atall.
Second, they had to be able to locate anyone in the building withprecision.
The silence of the downtown warehouse district helped. They hadseveral specially designed, highly sensitive directional microphonesaimed at the building from carefully selected spots around the area,trying to pick up the muffled sounds of speech or motion within thewarehouse. The watchmen in buildings nearby had been warned off forthe time being so that their footsteps wouldn't occlude any results.
Malone waited, feeling nervous and cold. Finally Lynch's voice camethrough again. "We're getting something, all right," he said. "Thereare obviously several people in there. You were right, Malone."
"Thanks," Malone said. "How about that fix?"
"Hold it a second," Lynch said. Wind swept off the river at Malone andBoyd. Malone closed his eyes and shivered. He could smell fish andiodine and waste, the odor of the Hudson as it passes the city. Acrossthe river lights sparkled warmly. Here there was nothing but darkness.
A long time passed, perhaps ten seconds.
Then Lynch's voice was back. "Sergeant McNulty says they're on the topfloor, Malone," he said. "Can't tell how many for sure. But they'retalking and moving around."
"It's a shame these things won't pick up the actual words at adistance," Malone said.
"Just a general feeling of noise is all we get," Lynch said. "But itdoes some good."
"Sure," Malone said. "Now listen carefully. Boyd and I are going in.Alone."
Lynch's voice whispered, "Right."
"If those mikes pick up any unusual ruckus--any sharp increase in thenoise level--come running," Malone said. "Otherwise, just sit stilland wait for my signal. Got that?"
"Check," Lynch said.
Malone pocketed the radiophone. "Okay, Tom," he whispered. "This isit."
"Right," Boyd muttered. "Let's move in."
"Wait a minute," Malone said. He took his goggles and brought themdown over his eyes, adjusting the helmet on his head. Boyd did thesame. Malone flicked on the infrared flashlight he held in his hand.
"Okay?" he whispered. "Check," Boyd said.
Thanks to the goggles, both of them could see the normally invisiblebeams of the infrared flashlight. They'd equipped themselves to movein darkness without betraying themselves, and they'd be able to seewhere a person without equipment would be blind.
Malone stayed well within the shadows as he moved silently around tothe alley behind the warehouse, and then to a narrow passageway thatled to the building next door. Boyd followed a few feet behind himalong the carefully planned route.
Malone unlocked the small door that led into the ground floor of thebuilding adjoining. As he did so, he heard a sound behind him andcalled, "Tom?"
"Hey, Malone," Boyd whispered. "It's--"
Before there was any outcry, Malone rushed back. Boyd was strugglingwith a figure in the dimness. Malone grabbed the figure and clampedhis hand over its mouth. It bit him. He swore in a low voice, andclamped the hand over the mouth again.
It hadn't taken him more than half a second to realize what, whoeverit was who struggled in his arms, it wasn't a boy.
"Shut up!" Malone hissed in her ear. "I won't hurt you."
The struggle stopped immediately. Malone gently eased his hand off thegirl's mouth. She turned and looked at him.
"Kenneth Malone," she said, "you look like a man from Mars."
"Dorothea!" Malone gasped. "What are you doing here? Looking for yourbrother?"
"Never mind that," she said. "You play too rough. I'm going home toMother."
"Answer me!" Malone said.
"All right," Dorothea said. "You must know anyhow, since you'rehere.... Yes, I'm looking for that fatheaded brother of mine. But nowI suppose it's too late. He'll--he'll go to prison."
Her voice broke. Malone found his shoulder suddenly occupied by acrying face.
"No," he said quickly. "No. Please. He won't."
"Really?"
Boyd whispered: "Malone, what is this? It's a hell of a place for adate. And I--"
"Oh, shut up," Malone told him in a kindly fashion. He turned back toDorothea. "I promise he won't," he said. "If I can just talk to yourbrother, make him listen to reason, I think we can get him and theothers off. Believe me."
"But you--"
"Please," Malone said. "Believe me."
&
nbsp; "Oh, Ken," Dorothea said, raising her head. "Do you mean it?"
"Sure I mean it," Malone said. "What have I been saying? TheGovernment needs