"Sal's a real crackerjack," Leibowitz said enthusiastically. "He had
an intuitive feel about these things. It's really amazing to watch him
go to work."
"It must be," Malone said politely.
"Oh, it really is," Leibowitz said. "And it's because of Sal that I
can make the guarantee I do make: that if there are any unusual
circuits in those cars, we can find them."
"Thanks," Malone said. "I'm sure you'll do the job. And we need that
information. Don't bother to send along a detailed report, though,
unless you find something out of the ordinary."
"Of course, Mr. Malone," Leibowitz said. "I wouldn't have bothered you
except for the production speed-up here."
"I understand," Malone said. "It's perfectly all right. I'll be
hearing from you, then?"
"Certainly, Mr. Malone," Leibowitz said.
Malone cut the circuit at once and started to turn away, but he never
got the chance. It started to chime again at once.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation," Malone said as he flipped up the
receiver. He wanted badly to copy Boyd's salutation, but he found that
he just didn't have the gall to do it, and said sadly instead, "Malone
speaking."
There was no immediate answer from the other party. Instead, the
screen slowly cleared, showing Malone the picture of a woman he
recognized instantly.
It was Juanita Fueyo, Mike's mother.
Malone stared at her. It seemed to him as if a couple of hours passed
while he tried to find his voice. Of course, she'd looked up the FBI
number in the phone book, and found him that way. But she was about
the last person on earth from whom he'd expected a call.
"Oh, Mr. Malone," she said, "thank you so much. You got my Mike back
from the police."