She sat up, her breath coming in gasps. "Nothing definite. Ben Towne—yes, there was something about him—just the flash of a mental picture, no rationality connected with it. And some papers, some sort of file—" She clasped her hands to her head. "He—he stripped me clean! I can't—"
"Jeannie! There must have been something else—"
She looked up at him, a strange light in her eyes. "I don't understand it," she whispered. "There was a picture of a farm—yes, a farm, and a dog, and blood on a pair of pants—"
Paul sat back, staring at her stupidly. And then, suddenly, a light flashed on in his mind, a flash so incredible that he hardly dared think of it. In an instant he was on his feet, the blood pounding in his throat. He began throwing clothes into a bag as the girl sat there, watching him dully, in growing alarm. "Stay here," he said. "I'll call you—"
"Paul—where—"
"It's my show, now, darling. Wait, rest, you'll be all right. Rest, and say a prayer or two. Because I've got this Alien nailed for sure this time."
It was incredibly dangerous and utterly necessary. Paul found a visiphone booth in the rear of a station where there were few people, and quickly threw an adapter across the camera, and spun a roll of film in. The film started when the party at the other end flipped on the switch. The conversation was brief. Paul gave the address of a roof-garden apartment in Central Washington, and then disconnected. After removing the film, he reconnected with a number he had given Roberts a few hours before. Ted Marino's face appeared, and Paul heaved a sigh of relief. "How many men do you have, Ted?"
"Two."
"All Psi-High?"
"Certainly."
Paul nodded. "All right, we're beyond the law from now on, Ted. If you or any of the rest want out, take off."
Marino's dark eyes sparkled. "Roberts said this is the kill," he said.
"It's not the kill you think. But it's a kill, all right. Take the men to this address." He gave the roof-garden number. "Have a jet scooter there, and see that nobody spots it. Use Security insignia. Send out a bleeper if anything goes wrong. I'll be there."
He rang off, and moments later was rising high above the city in his own scooter. In ten minutes he had reached the roof-garden, and settled the little ship down gently on its gyros. He walked inside and sat down in the darkness, and waited.
He heard another jet scooter land. Marino walked in with two other men Paul remembered vaguely. He nodded to them, and they also sat down. Paul fingered the shocker in his pocket, his nerves screaming a thousand warnings in his ears.
The guard robot on the ground floor bleeped sharply. Paul reached for the lock-release switch, and heard the elevator start to whine. He unlocked the door and left it ajar, then motioned to one of the men. "Cover the hallway, and back them up when they come. Don't be surprised at who it is."
The man disappeared down the hall. Paul sat quietly, and then heard the elevator open. There were footsteps, and a tapping sound. The footsteps stopped at the door.
"Come on in," he called sharply. "Bob'll be with you in just a minute."
The door swung open and Senatorial Councilman Ben Towne walked into the room, followed by two tight-faced men. One of the men had a hand in his jacket pocket. Towne blinked at Faircloth, and his grin began to fade into alarm. "Who in the hell are you?"
"One of Roberts' men."
"Roberts said you had the Alien," Towne snarled. His green eyes peered around the room.
Marino swung on the man to the right, bringing him down with a blow to the temple. Paul slapped Towne's cane to the floor, and pounced on the other guard like a cat. The Councilman staggered against the door jamb, trying desperately to reach his cane. Moments later the guards were helpless, and Paul and Marino dragged Towne out to the middle of the room. "The files," Paul said sharply. "Where do you keep them?"
Towne's breath came heavily. "You damned snakes can't get away with this—"
"The files, Councilman."
His eyes went around the room fearfully. "The boys know where they are," he said finally, his voice so low it was hardly audible.
"Any duplicates?"
"Not of the files you want."
Paul nodded to the two men. "Take them down and get the files. Then turn the men and files over to Roberts. Tell him to see that the men forget all about this." He turned back to Towne. "You're taking a little ride."
"When this hits the papers it'll be the end of the road for you freaks," Towne snarled. "You can't stop it now—"
"We'll see," said Faircloth. "Now shut up and get moving."
They left the cane in the room. Paul helped Marino load him aboard the jet scooter. "Take him up to Eagle Rock. Keep him there. Dismantle the engine, if you have to, to keep him there. I'll be there in a few hours."
Marino nodded. "Should I report to Roberts?"
"Don't bother. Roberts would have a stroke. I brought Towne over here on a dummy visiphone film of Roberts, which will put him in enough hot water as it is."
"And where are you going?"
"I'm taking a plane west. I've got a visit to make. I've got to see a man about a dog."
VIII
The farmer blinked across the table at him, red eyed and fearful. "I don't know what you want," he was saying. His voice was high and querulous. "I didn't ask no trouble of the Federal Men. They asked me all them questions, and I told them—"
"That's all right," said Faircloth. "We're just rechecking. You were the first party the Alien contacted as far as we can tell. The ship landed on your property, didn't it?"
The farmer nodded. "Over by the river. Scrub oak and elms standing over there on the bluff. Haven't never cleared it because it'd be too rocky to farm."
"All right, all right," said Faircloth sharply. "I want you to tell me what happened that night."
The farmer's eyes flitted to Faircloth's face and back down to the table. "I already told you twenty times. Why do you pick on me?" he whined. "I couldn't help it he happened to stop here. Heard him on the porch about ten o'clock at night—I was just gettin' ready for bed. And he said he was travelin' and wanted something to eat. We don't see strangers around here very often, Mister—" he looked up at Faircloth fearfully. "I—I looked at him, and he looked all right to me. My eyes were tired, like I said. I couldn't see him too well, but he came in, and ate, and I offered to bed him for the night. He said no, he had to make on for Des Moines."
Faircloth watched the man's eyes. "Details, Mr. Bettendorf. You've left some out along the line, haven't you? I have a report here that was filed by our field team that talked to you." He pulled out a sheaf of papers in the dim kitchen light. "Says something about your dog barking."
The farmer's face went white. "There anything wrong with that? I reckon the dog did bark. I don't remember."
"And you went to open the door, and the stranger was there, eh?"
The farmer nodded his head eagerly. "I told you everything—"
"And you brought him in and fed him and then sent him on his way?"
"That's right, that's what I done."
"You're a liar," said Faircloth. He eyed the man coldly. "Try the story over again. Once more now."
The farmer jolted to his feet, his eyes feverish. "I done just like I told you. I didn't tell no lie. I heard the dog yelping—"
"And you opened the door and there was a stranger there." Faircloth's voice was sharp. "Then what happened? Step by step. Minute by minute. I mean it, mister, I want the truth."
"I—I looked at him—"
"What light did you have?"
"This here same light. Not very much—"
"And what did he say?"
"He said, 'I'm a traveler and I'd like something to eat.'"
"And what did his voice sound like?"
The farmer faltered. "It was funny—like gravel in a tin can. A funny kind of voice."
"And where was the dog all this time?"
The farmer blanched, "He—he done stayed outside. He saw it was all right."
"Where's the dog now?"
"I sold him. I mean he ran away. You can't keep a dog forever, Mister."
Faircloth's face was very near the old man's. "The stranger was out on the porch and you talked to him and let him come in. And then what did you do?"
"I—he sat down at the table, I think—I—I—"
"You went over to get some food from the stove, didn't you?"
"Yes, yes, that's right."
"And then you saw blood on his pants, didn't you? And you remembered hearing your dog give a yelp out in the yard, didn't you? The stranger had blood all over his pants and boots, didn't he?"
The farmer's eyes were wide with fear. He was shaking his head helplessly. "No—no—"
"And so you picked up your gun and you shot him, didn't you?"
And then the old man's face was in his hands, bending over the table, crying like a baby—huge, fearful sobs racking his boney shoulders. "He killed my dog," he choked between sobs. "He killed old Brownie, gave him a kick that split his head open. He didn't have to do that to poor old Brownie. I knew he was a bad one when he did that. I shot him. Yes, I did."
The news broke to the nation that night, and the country went into a panic unequalled since the days of the Great Cold War. Paul Faircloth spent an hour on the visiphone from Des Moines talking to Robert Roberts, going over the whole business from beginning to end. The Security chief chain-smoked three cigars for the first time in his life. Finally Roberts put a line through to the Speaker of the Joint Senatorial Councils. Half an hour later, while Faircloth was making his way by jet back to Washington, Roberts was in top-secret conference with the Senate Council Leaders, and then with the President himself. And then the news broke. It was an official White House News conference, and it had been dismissed barely three minutes when the radios and TVs were carrying the casts of the announcement.
Faircloth brought his plane down at Eisenhower Field, and saw the crowd swarming across the landing strip before he got to the ground. A dozen flashbulbs popped, and before he could get into the Security limousine waiting for him, he was in the middle of a tight circle of reporters.
"How long has the Alien been at large, Mr. Faircloth?" one of them asked.
"Sorry. The chief will have to answer that."
"Is there any doubt that he's telepathic?"
"No doubt whatsoever. I know that from personal experience. It's the only way he could move freely in the population."
"How was he first detected?"
Paul smiled to himself. "The President gave you that information, didn't he? A Psi-High citizen spotted him in Des Moines. The Psi-Highs have been on his trail ever since."
One of the reporters was tugging at his arm. "There's been a lot of talk about some kind of—well, liason between the Alien invader and the Psi-Highs in this country."
Paul frowned. "If that were true, would we be working twenty-four hours a day to trap him? Use your head, man. There've been a lot of unfortunate rumors, I'm afraid. But I can speak for the Psi-Highs, and I think Commissioner Roberts will back me up on this—the Alien is menacing our very civilization. He's struck at one of our most beloved public servants in an attempt to undermine the government and prepare our planet for a full scale invasion. There isn't a Psi-High citizen in the country who will rest until the monster is caught, and until Councilman Towne has been returned safely to Washington."
"But what about Towne's anti-Psi legislation? He's always hated Psi-Highs."
"Nonsense. Towne has been a loyal servant of the North American people. He's fought for what he thought was right, and has exposed himself to great dangers and personal vilification to do it. If he hasn't fully understood the Psi-Highs' side of things, that's not a matter for us to be vindictive about." He looked around the circle soberly. "The fact remains that he's in the hands of a dangerous enemy, and it's our job to save him if it can possibly be done." He nodded, and stepped into the Security limousine. It honked its way through the crowd, and then dipped down into the government tunnel that led to capitol hill and Central Washington.
He picked up a paper inside the car, and peered at it eagerly. The full-color picture of the President's grave face stared out at him in tri-di, and on either side pictures of Roberts and Towne. It was an old picture of Towne, a flattering picture. Paul grinned as he read the story rapidly:
COUNCILMAN TOWNE KIDNAPPED FROM SECRET MEETINGPresident Reveals Alien Telepath at LargeThe President of the North American States revealed tonight in a special press conference that Councilman Benjamin Towne (Federal Isolationist, American Council) was kidnapped from a secret meeting with Federal Security agents last night in what was described as the first step in a plan for large-scale invasion of Earth by an Alien race from another planet. The President reported that one Alien, believed to be fully telepathic, has been at large in the country since his landing near Gutenberg, Iowa, last May 26th.The Alien's presence was first detected by a loyal Psi-High citizen of Des Moines and was reported immediately to the Federal Security Commission. Robert R. Roberts, Chief of the FSC, has been active in directing a nationwide dragnet to capture the Alien.Councilman Towne left his home last night at 11:00 P.M. in response to a call ostensibly from Commissioner Roberts. It is believed that the call was forged by the use of a dummy-film, and the Councilman was reported missing when he did not return home. The two attachés who accompanied him apparently have suffered severely from the encounter with the Alien's telepathic powers, and were unable to be questioned at the Hoffman Medical Center this morning.The President made special note of the excellent and selfless work of certain Psi-High citizens during the past months, in the course of a manhunt that has been shrouded in secrecy. The Alien's telepathic powers invariably overcame the efforts of psi-negative individuals, but through the efforts of the Psi-Highs, Commissioner Roberts has expressed every hope of ending the search within days and securing Councilman Towne's release.
COUNCILMAN TOWNE KIDNAPPED FROM SECRET MEETING
President Reveals Alien Telepath at Large
The President of the North American States revealed tonight in a special press conference that Councilman Benjamin Towne (Federal Isolationist, American Council) was kidnapped from a secret meeting with Federal Security agents last night in what was described as the first step in a plan for large-scale invasion of Earth by an Alien race from another planet. The President reported that one Alien, believed to be fully telepathic, has been at large in the country since his landing near Gutenberg, Iowa, last May 26th.
The Alien's presence was first detected by a loyal Psi-High citizen of Des Moines and was reported immediately to the Federal Security Commission. Robert R. Roberts, Chief of the FSC, has been active in directing a nationwide dragnet to capture the Alien.
Councilman Towne left his home last night at 11:00 P.M. in response to a call ostensibly from Commissioner Roberts. It is believed that the call was forged by the use of a dummy-film, and the Councilman was reported missing when he did not return home. The two attachés who accompanied him apparently have suffered severely from the encounter with the Alien's telepathic powers, and were unable to be questioned at the Hoffman Medical Center this morning.
The President made special note of the excellent and selfless work of certain Psi-High citizens during the past months, in the course of a manhunt that has been shrouded in secrecy. The Alien's telepathic powers invariably overcame the efforts of psi-negative individuals, but through the efforts of the Psi-Highs, Commissioner Roberts has expressed every hope of ending the search within days and securing Councilman Towne's release.
Faircloth flipped the page, glancing at the smaller headlines. An interview with Dr. Abrams reporting the training program for Psi-Highs in progress at the Hoffman Center; a long article, discussing the value of Psi-High powers in combatting a ruthless telepathic alien force; an article by Roberts, very carefully worded, explaining that if one telepathic Alien had come to Earth, others could be expected. Roberts expressed the opinion that human psi-positives were the nation's strongest safeguard against such an invasion.
Faircloth carefully folded the paper and spoke to the driver of the limousine. The huge car rose at the next tunnel exit, and sped north along the surface, then rose again. Paul waited, impatiently, and then stepped out of the car at the given address. Five minutes later he was holding Jean Sanders in his arms, while Robert Roberts sat chewing a cigar at the far side of the room, looking vastly pleased with himself.
IX
"It was handled beautifully," Faircloth was saying. "The timing was perfect, and there's no question but that it will go across." He looked up at Jean. "You're sure you got everything across to him when he contacted you again?"
She nodded. Her face was still pale. "He turned me inside out. Cleaned out everything I knew. I didn't resist. And then when we'd heard from you he contacted me again, and I knew that we were right. He's been in touch with me ever since. He'll be here soon."
Faircloth nodded to Roberts. "And you've arranged for the raids to start up through New England?"
Roberts nodded. He looked slightly high. "Everything's under control. Marino has a ship ready for takeoff, and we have guns up near Eagle Rock to blast it down. Ain't many people around in northern Ontario. The pictures will be rather bad, probably, but after all—field conditions, you know.
"It will certainly look like the same sort of ship that landed out in Iowa, and there won't be enough left when the blasting is over to tell for sure whether the mangled mess that they drag out of it later is man, Alien or oily rags. Those guns do a good job."
Something touched Faircloth's mind, lightly, like a quiet knock. He swung around, his eyes wide. "He's here," he said, and then he saw that Jean already knew. "Tell him to come up."
She nodded, and closed her eyes. Moments later they heard the footsteps on the stairs, hesitant footsteps. Then the door swung open. They stared at him for a moment, and then both men were wringing the man's hand, offering him a glass, and he sank down on the cot they had prepared for him, exhausted. "You must be dead," Paul said quietly.
"I am, I am," said the man. "Mind if I lie down?"
He was an ordinary looking man. He was slender, about thirty, and very pale. A single-factor Psi-High had no distinguishing physical characteristics; there really was no reason to expect a double-factor psi-positive to look any different. But somehow they had half expected a god-like creature, and he just looked like a frightened young man.
His face was mild and rather sad. But his eyes were clear and sharp, and the mouth was in a grim line, as he sank back on the couch. "I was afraid you'd never spot it," he said. "For a while it looked as though the whole thing would backfire. I mean when Towne was planning the shift in the Council and trying to force an election. I was afraid—and in the midst of that, you started your cat-and-mouse game—"
Faircloth nodded. "We had no choice. We didn't know, and you didn't dare reveal what you were doing at that point."
The man shook his head. "It was better this way, much better. I planned to kill Towne and then let you capture me. Counting on you to work the propaganda right. Then nobody would have known that the Alien was killed before he even got started."
Faircloth smiled. "The computer even listed that as a possibility. Low probability, but that was on the basis of what we knew. We hadn't even considered it—yet every living Psi-High has known for a long time that someday two Psi-Highs would have a child. We could only guess what the child might be like."
The man looked up at them sadly. "The child would be lonely beyond words," he said. "He would be able to hide, yes. He would be able to slow down his psi-powers in order to appear like an ordinary Psi-High. He could never have revealed it. Not even to his closest friends."
"And you knew that the real Alien had been killed?"
"Almost as soon as it happened. He died in agony. He had a powerful mind. He broadcast so wildly that every Psi-High within a hundred miles must have gotten a shower. I was in Des Moines, and got the whole picture clear as a bell. Went down and picked the details out of the farmer's brain. He was too frightened to tell what he had done, and nobody paid too much attention to him anyway." He shifted wearily on the cot. "The Alien must have been working so hard to maintain his disguise that the farmer caught him short. I knew it, and I knew what I had to do. I went ahead and did it."
"Of course Towne will fight," said Roberts later, when the man had drifted off into a deep sleep. "He's clever, and resourceful. When we 'rescue' him from Eagle Rock, he's going to know exactly what has happened."
Jean Sanders laughed happily. "I'd like to see him," she said. "I'd like to see him helpless just once."
Paul grinned. "You will. Things will be too far ahead of him by then. And of course, there will be a physical and mental examination. It will be a pity that the Alien left his mind in such a state of shock and delusion but maybe after a few months of psychiatric treatment we can find out the real reason why he hates Psi-Highs so much. And then, perhaps, we'll have a powerful fighter on our side instead of against us."
He looked around at the others, his face grave. "We can't afford to have the world against us again, not ever.Thatpart of the news broadcast was perfectly true. Therewasan Alien. Hewastelepathic. And there will be others coming—maybe in a year, maybe in five, or ten, or a hundred—" He leaned back wearily in the relaxer. "We cashed in on it, this time, but we mustn't forget the parts that are true."
Jean smiled and put her arm around him. "They'll come, sometime—yes. But when they come they'll find the Earth well guarded." Her eyes drifted to the sleeping figure on the cot, and then came back to Paul's and held them. "When they do come, there'll be others—like him—to stop them."