Midnight.
Kenneth J. Malone sat at his desk, in his Washington office,
surrounded by piles of papers covering the desk, spilling off onto the
floor and decorating his lap. He was staring at the papers as if he
expected them to leap up, dance round him and shout the solution to
all his problems at him in trained choral voices. They did nothing at
all.
Seated cross-legged on the rug in the center of the room, and looking
like an impossible combination of the last Henry Tudor and Gautama
Buddha, Thomas Boyd did nothing either. He was staring downward, his
hands folded on his ample lap, wearing an expression of utter, burning
frustration. And on a nearby chair sat the third member of the
company, wearing the calm and patient expression of the gently born
under all vicissitudes: Queen Elizabeth I.
"All right," Malone said into the silence. "Now let's see what we've
got."
"I think we've got cerebral paresis," Boyd said. "It's been coming on
for years."
"Don't be funny," Malone said.
Boyd gave a short, mirthless bark. "Funny?" he said. "I'm absolutely
hysterical with joy and good humor. I'm out of my mind with
happiness." He paused. "Anyway," he finished, "I'm out of my mind.
Which puts me in good company. The entire FBI, Brubitsch, Borbitsch,
Garbitsch, Dr. Thomas O'Connor and Sir Lewis Carter--we're all out of
our minds. If we weren't, we'd all move away to the Moon."
"And drink to forget," Malone added. "Sure. But let's try and get some
work done."
"By all means, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. Boyd had not included
her in his list of insane people, and she looked slightly miffed. It
was hard for Malone to tell whether she was miffed by the mention of
insanity, or at being left out.
"Let's review the facts," Malone said. "This whole thing started with
some inefficiency in Congress."
"And some upheavals elsewhere." Boyd said. "Labor unions, gangster
organizations--"
"Just about all over," Malone said. "And though we've found three
spies, it seems pretty obvious that they aren't causing this."
"They aren't causing much of anything," Boyd said. "Except a lot of
unbelieving laughter farther up the FBI line. I don't think anybody is
going to believe our reports of those interviews."
"But they're true," Her Majesty said.
"Sure they're true," Boyd said. "That's the unbelievable part. They
read like farce--and not very good farce at that."
"Oh, I don't know," Malone said. "I think they're pretty funny."
"Shall we get back to the business at hand?" Her Majesty said gently.
"Ah," Malone said. "Anyhow, it isn't the spies. And what we now have
is confusion even worse compounded."
"Confounded," Boyd said. "John Milton. 'Paradise Lost.' I heard it
somewhere...."
"I don't mean confounded," Malone said. "I mean confusion. Anyhow, the
Russian espionage rings in this country seem to be in as bad a state
as the Congress, the labor unions, the Syndicates, and all the rest.
And all of them seem to have some sort of weird tie-in to these
flashes of telepathic interference. Right, Your Majesty?"
"I ... believe so, Sir Kenneth," she said. The old woman looked tired
and confused. Somehow, a lot of the brightness seemed to have gone out
of her life. "That's right," she said. "I didn't realize there was so
much of it going on. You see, Sir Kenneth, you're the only one I can
pick up at a distance who has been having these flashes. But now that
I'm here in Washington, I can feel it going on all around me."
"It may not have anything to do with everything else," Boyd said.
Malone shook his head. "If it doesn't," he said, "it's the weirdest
coincidence I've ever even dreamed about, and my dreams can be pretty
strange. No, it's got to be tied in. There's some kind of mental
static that is somehow making all these people goof up."
"But why?" Boyd said. "What is it being done for? Just fun?"
"God only knows," Malone said. "But we're going to have to find out."
"In that case," Boyd said, "I suggest lots and lots of prayers."
Her Majesty looked up. "That's a fine idea," she said.
"But God helps those," Malone said, "who help themselves. And we're
going to help ourselves. Mostly with facts."
"All right," Boyd said. "So far, all the facts have been a great
help."
"Well, here's one," Malone said. "We got one flash each from
Brubitsch, Borbitsch and Garbitsch while we were questioning them.
And in each case, that flash occurred just before they started to blab
everything they knew. Before the flash, they weren't talking. They
were behaving just like good spies and keeping their mouths shut.
After the flash, they couldn't talk fast enough."
"That's true," Boyd said reflectively. "They did seem to give up
pretty fast, even for amateurs."
Malone nodded. "So the question is this," he said. "Just what happens
during those crazy bursts of static?"
He looked expectantly at Her Majesty, but she shook her head sadly. "I
don't know," she said. "I simply don't know. It's just noise to
me--meaningless noise." She put her hands slowly over her face.
"People shouldn't do things like that to their Sovereign," she said in
a muffled voice.
* * * * *
Malone got up and went over to her. She wasn't crying, but she wasn't
far from it. He put an arm around her thin shoulders. "Now, look, Your
Majesty," he said in gentle tones, "this will all clear up. We'll find
out what's going on, and we'll find a way to put a stop to it."
"Sure we will," Boyd said. "After all, Your Majesty, Sir Kenneth and I
will work hard on this."
"And the Queen's Own FBI," Malone said, "won't stop until we've
finished with this whole affair, once and for all."
Her Majesty brought her hands down from her face, very slowly. She was
forcing a smile, but it didn't look too well. "I know you won't fail
your Queen," she said. "You two have always been the most loyal of my
subjects."
"We'll work hard," Malone said. "No matter how long it takes."
"Because, after all," Boyd said in a musing, thoughtful tone, "it is a
serious crime, you know."
The words seemed to have an effect on Her Majesty, like a tonic. For a
second her face wore an expression of Royal anger and indignance, and
the accustomed strength flowed back into her aged voice. "You're quite
correct, Sir Thomas!" she said. "The security of the Throne and the
Crown are at stake!"
Malone blinked. "What?" he said. "Are you two talking about something?
What crime is this?"
"An extremely serious one," Boyd said in a grave voice. He rose
unsteadily to his feet, planted them firmly on the carpet, and
frowned.
"Go on," Malone said, fascinated. Her Majesty was watching Boyd with
an intent expression.
"The crime," Boyd said, "the very serious crime involved, is that of
Threatening the Welfare of the Queen. The criminal has committed the
crime of Causing the Said Sovereign, Baselessly, Reasonlessly and
Without Consent or Let, to Be in a State of Apprehension for Her Life
or Her Well-Being. And this crime--"
"Aha," Malone said. "I've got it. The crime is--"
"High treason," Boyd intoned.
"High treason," Her Majesty said with satisfaction and fire in her
voice.
"Very high treason," Malone said. "Extremely high."
"Stratospheric," Boyd agreed. "That is, of course," he added, "if the
perpetrators of this dastardly crime are Her Majesty's subjects."
"My goodness," the Queen said. "I never thought of that. Suppose
they're not?"
"Then," Malone said in his most vibrant voice, "it is an Act of War."
"Steps," Boyd said, "must be taken."
"We must do our utmost," Malone said. "Sir Thomas--"
"Yes, Sir Kenneth?" Boyd said.
"This task requires our most fervent dedication," Malone said. "Please
come with me."
He went to the desk. Boyd followed him, walking straight-backed and
tall. Malone bent and removed from a drawer of the desk a bottle of
bourbon. He closed the drawer, poured some bourbon into two handy
water glasses from the desk, and capped the bottle. He handed one of
the water glasses to Boyd, and raised the other one aloft.
"Sir Thomas," Malone said, "I give you--Her Majesty, the Queen!"
"To the Queen!" Boyd echoed.
They downed their drinks and turned, as one man, to hurl the glasses
into the wastebasket.
* * * * *
In thinking it over later, Malone realized that he hadn't considered
anything about that moment silly at all. Of course, an outsider might
have been slightly surprised at the sequence of events, but Malone was
no outsider. And, after all, it was the proper way to treat a Queen,
wasn't it?