boss, remember."

"Great," Malone said. "Now, John Henry--"

"Hold it, Malone," Fernack said. "I'd like a little information too,
you know. I'd like to know just what the hell is going on, if it isn't
too much trouble."

"It's not that, John Henry," Malone said earnestly. "Really. It's just
that I--"

"All this about vanishing boys," Fernack said. "Disappearing into thin
air. All this nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense," Malone said.

"All right," Fernack said indulgently. "Boys disappear every day like
that. Sure they do." He leaned toward the screen and his voice was as
hard as his face. "Malone, are these kids mixed up with those
impossible robberies you had me looking up?"

"Well," Malone said, "I think so. But I doubt if you could prove it."

Fernack's face had begun its slow climb toward purple again. "Malone,"
he said, "if you're suppressing evidence, even if you are the FBI,
I'll--"

"I'm not suppressing any evidence," Malone said. "I don't think _you_
could prove a connection. I don't think _I_ could prove a connection.
I don't think _anybody_ could--not right now."

Fernack leaned back, apparently mollified.

"John Henry," Malone said, "I want to ask you to keep your hands off
this case. To let me handle it my way."

Fernack nodded absently. "Sure, Malone," he said.

_"What?"_

"I said sure," Fernack said. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Well, yes," Malone said, "but--"

Fernack leaned all the way back in his chair, his face a mask of
disappointment and frustration. "Malone," he said, "I wish I'd never
heard of this case. I wish I'd been retired or died before it ever
came up. I've been a police officer in New York for a long time, and I
wish this case had waited a few more years to happen."

He stopped. Malone leaned against the back wall of the phone booth and
lit a cigarette.

"Andy Burris called me less than half an hour ago," Fernack said.

"Oh," Malone said.

"That's right," Fernack said. "Good old Burris of the FBI. And he told
me this was a National Security case. National Security! It's your
baby, Malone, because Burris wants it that way." He snorted. "So don't
worry about me," he said. "I'm just here to co-operate. The patriotic,
loyal, dumb slave of a grateful government."

Malone blew out a plume of smoke. "You know, John Henry," he said,
"you might have made a good FBI man yourself. You've got the right
attitude."

"Never mind the jokes," Fernack said bitterly.

"Okay,"