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TINKER'S DAM
By JOSEPH TINKER
_There is something very fundamental indeed about the ancient showman's trick--divert their attention from the thing you're really doing ..._
Illustrated by Schoenherr
The call on the TV-phone came right in the middle of my shaving. Theyhave orders not to call me before breakfast for anything less than anational calamity. I pressed "Accept," too startled to take the latherfrom my face.
"Hi, Gyp," George Kelly said to me from the screen. "Hurry it up, boy."He made no reference to my appearance on his screen. "Quit draggin' yourfeet!"
This I take from George Kelly. First of all, he's Director of the F.B.I.Even more important, he's my boss. "Hey, George," I protested, knowinghe would not have called on a routine matter. "I got up before breakfastas it is. What's up?" I hardly needed to ask. When they call me, it'salways the same sickening kind of trouble.
"Fred Plaice and his gang got their hands on a telepath in the Districtlast night," George told me. "It's been on the newscast already.There'll be a damned ugly mob at the office--a lynch mob. Listen, Gyp, Iwant you to go through the main entrance this morning."
I nodded my willingness to fight my way through the crowd that would begathering at the office. Usually I have my taxi drop me on the roof ofthe building. Call it a petty vanity if you want. It's one of theperquisites of being Washington brass.
"Swell, Gyp," George Kelly said, as if there had been any question aboutwhether I'd come in through the main entrance. "The public has a worldof confidence in you. Now, damn it, Gyp, if they want to make a fussover you this morning, let them. We've got to get that snake out of thebuilding alive!"
"Oh, no," I protested. "You don't mean Fred took a telepath to theoffice?"
"I'm afraid so," George said, his tone so neutral that I couldn't takeit as personal criticism. "See you down there." His rugged featuresfaded from the screen as he cut the image.
I had my driver drop the skim-copter to the street when we got toPennsylvania Avenue within a block of the building, and he skimmed tothe outskirts of the crowd that was pressing around the entrance. Therewere four or five hundred people there, milling around like a herd ofrestless cattle. Tighter knots of humanity were pressed around the usualfour or five firebrands who were ranting and yelling forblood--telepathic blood.
The guards around the entrance, apparently tipped by George Kelly,started yelling, "Let him through!" They charged the mob to open a lanefor me. The crowd drew back sullenly. As I pressed toward the guards, Icould see the fear and panic on the faces around me.
Then a man recognized me. "God bless Gyp Tinker!" he bellowed in a voiceloud enough to conjure an echo out of a prairie. People started jumpinglike so many animated pogo sticks, trying to get a sight of me over theheads of others. By the time I reached the steps, the whole mob wascheering and yelling, "Gyp!"
As George Kelly had asked, I paused on the steps and held up my handsfor a chance to speak. It's flattering when they give you silence. Inthe space of two breaths it was like the inside of a morgue.
"Thanks, friends," I called out to them. "George Kelly and I havealready gotten the facts on the telepath who was captured here inWashington last night. There is absolutely no cause for alarm. I hopeyou'll go to your homes and offices promptly. Let's not give theRussians any more satisfaction than we have to. And rest easy, friends.We'll use the full summary powers conferred by Congress."
They gave me a terrific cheer. You'd think I had said something. Atleast they were reminded of the summary powers granted the F.B.I. todeal with telepaths, because of the gruesome danger they are to all ofus.
* * * * *
Anita Hadley, my secretary, was waiting for me in the outer office,although it was a good hour before we were supposed to open.
"He's in there," she said, pointing to the door to my private office.
"The snake?" I asked, startled.
"Fred Plaice," she said. "And he's got the snake in there with him." Hergray eyes flashed. She could guess how I felt about that.
"Come along," I said to her, and went into my office.
"Hi, Gyp," Fred Plaice greeted me, grinning. "Got a present for you." Hegave his prisoner a shove, making him stumble a couple steps toward me.The telepath was a stoop-shouldered balding gent with large feet. Hecertainly didn't look like a walking bubonic plague, but then, theynever do. Instinctively I closed my thoughts to him.
"What's this snake doing here, Fred?" I asked my Section Chief quietly.
He flushed. He knew my policies. "What did you expect me to do withhim?" he said hotly. "This isn't some common snake we picked up out inthe country. We snagged this viper right here in Washington, Gyp! Isuppose I should have spirited him out of town on the midnight jet!"
"Yes," I said. "That would have been my idea. Do you realize that allthis publicity has gotten us a mob of five hundred people around ourdoors, a mob that's waiting to lynch this prisoner of yours?"
The man gulped and started to say something, but Fred hit him hardbetween the shoulder blades. "Shut up," he said. "Nobody cares what youthink." He walked up close to me. "Sure I know there's a mob downthere," he said. "And I know why they're there. Plain scared to death ofwhat it means to have had a telepath loose in Washington. You're wrongto hustle this guy out of town, Gyp. Look at this pathetic case--does helook like a superman?"
I looked at the snake. "No," I agreed. "He looks like they roped himsomewhere in West Virginia a few months ago, put shoes on him, andbrought him to town."
"Right," Fred snapped. "Let the mob get a look at him. The contrast ofyou dragging him along by the ear and him stumbling along behind you isthe sort of thing the public laps up. It'll put you right in thedriver's seat."
"I thought Congress had already done that," I reminded him coldly. Nobureaucrat could want powers more absolute than mine. "Unfortunately," Igrowled at him. "I gave orders that no snakes were to be brought intothis building without my prior consent. This ineffective-lookinghill-billy has possibly read a thousand minds since you dragged him inhere. How much of what he has picked up around here this morning will bepeeped by some Russian telepath before you get him out of town?"
"Relax," Fred scoffed. "He's a short-range punk."
That was too much. "I'll do my own thinking, Fred," I said. "From nowon, you follow orders."
* * * * *
I turned on the telepath. "Before I sentence you," I said. "What haveyou got to say?"
"I never hurt nothin'," he grumbled.
They're all alike, so help me. "You are a telepath?" I asked him.
"Shoah."
"Prove it," I demanded, opening a chink in my mind.
His long red face twisted in a crooked grin, showing poorly-cared-forteeth scattered here and there in his gums.
"Yo' think I never had no orthodonture, whatever _thet_ is," he said.
I shut my mind like a clam. If there's anything I detest, it's theghastly creeping of a telepath into my own thoughts. "Hello, Pete!" heexclaimed. "Yo' done shet yo' mind!" He shook his head. "Ain't neverseen a body could do _thet_!" I'll bet he hadn't. There are only a fewof us who can keep telepaths out of our thoughts. It takes a world ofpractice. Well, I'd had that.
"Can you do that?" I asked the snake.
He shook his head. "No, suh," he admitted.
"So here you are," I said, more heatedly. "Wandering around in a townfull of _secrets_--Washington, the capital of your country, where themilitary, the diplomatic people, the security people, all of them havelocked in their heads the things that keep us one step ahead of theRussians. Isn't that true?
"
"I reckon. But--"
"But nothing," I snapped, getting sore about it for the thousandth time."And you, you miserable snake, you _can't_ keep your thoughts from beingread by another telepath. No telepath can. Your mind is open _two_ways--to let thoughts in but, damn it, equally to leak out anything youknow." I smiled coldly at him. "Can you get my thoughts now?"
The