Supermind | Page 9

disturbing, and both resulted in more snarl-ups. Reports that should have been sent in weeks before arrived too late; reports meant for the eyes of only one man were turned out in triplicate and passed all over the offices of Congress.
Each snarl-up was a little one. But, together, they added up to inefficiency of a kind and extent that hadn't been seen, Malone told himself with some wonder, since the Harding administration fifty years before.
And there didn't seem to be anyone to blame anything on.
Malone thought hopefully of sabotage, infiltration and mass treason, but it didn't make him feel much better. He puffed out some more smoke and frowned at nothing.
There was a knock at the door of his office.
Speedily and guiltily, he swung his feet off the desk and snatched the cigar out of his mouth. He jammed it into a deep ashtray and put the ashtray back into his desk drawer. He locked the drawer, waved ineffectively at the clouds of smoke that surrounded him, and said in a resigned voice: "Come in."
The door opened. A tall, solidly-built man stood there, wearing a fringe of beard and a cheerful expression. The man had an enormous amount of muscle distributed more or less evenly over his chunky body, and a pot-belly that looked as if he had swallowed a globe of the world. In addition, he was smoking a cigarette and letting out little puffs of smoke, rather like a toy locomotive.
"Well, well," Malone said, brushing feebly at the smoke that still wreathed him faintly. "If it isn't Thomas Boyd, the FBI's answer to Nero Wolfe."
"And if the physique holds true, you're Sherlock Holmes, I suppose," Boyd said.
Malone shook his head, thinking sadly of his father and the cigar. "Not exactly," he said. "Not ex--" And then it came to him. It wasn't that he was ashamed of smoking cigars like his father, exactly, but cigars just weren't right for a fearless, dedicated FBI agent. And he had just thought of a way to keep Boyd from knowing what he'd been doing. "That's a hell of a cigarette you're smoking, by the way," he said.
Boyd looked at it. "It is?" he said.
"Sure is," Malone said, hoping he sounded sufficiently innocent. "Smells like a cigar or something."
Boyd sniffed the air for a second, his face wrinkled. Then he looked down at his cigarette again. "By God," he said, "you're right, Ken. It does smell like a cigar." He came over to Malone's desk, looked around for an ashtray and didn't find one, and finally went to the window and tossed the cigarette out into the Washington breeze. "How are things, anyhow, Ken?" he said.
"Things are confused," Malone said. "Aren't they always?"
Boyd came back to the desk and sat down in a chair at one side of it. He put his elbow on the desk. "Sure they are," he said. "I'm confused myself, as a matter of fact. Only I think I know where I can get some help."
"Really?" Malone said.
Boyd nodded. "Burris told me I might be able to get some information from a certain famous and highly respected person," he said.
"Well, well," Malone said. "Who?"
"You," Boyd said.
"Oh," Malone said, trying to look disappointed, flattered and modest all at the same time. "Well," he went on after a second, "anything I can do--"
"Burris thought you might have some answers," Boyd said.
"Burris is getting optimistic in his old age," Malone said. "I don't even have many questions."
Boyd nodded. "Well," he said, "you know this California thing?"
"Sure I do," Malone said. "You're looking into the resignation out there, aren't you?"
"Senator Burley," Boyd said. "That's right But Senator Burley's resignation isn't all of it, by any means."
"It isn't?" Malone said, trying to sound interested.
"Not at all," Boyd said. "It goes a lot deeper than it looks on the surface. In the past year, Ken, five senators have announced their resignations from the Senate of the United States. It isn't exactly a record--"
"It sounds like a record," Malone said.
"Well," Boyd said, "there was 1860 and the Civil War, when a whole lot of senators and representatives resigned all at once."
"Oh," Malone said. "But there isn't any Civil War going on now. At least," he added, "I haven't heard of any."
"That's what makes it so funny," Boyd said. "Of course, Senator Burley said it was ill health, and so did two others, while Senator Davidson said it was old age."
"Well," Malone said, "people do get old. And sick."
"Sure," Boyd said. "The only trouble is--" He paused. "Ken," he said, "do you mind if I smoke? I mean, do you mind the smell of cigars?"
"Mind?" Malone said. "Not at all." He blinked. "Besides," he added, "maybe this one won't smell like a cigar."
"Well, the last one did," Boyd said. He took a cigarette out of a