Part 26 (2/2)

Burris gave her a tiny smile. ”Oh,” he said. ”h.e.l.lo, Your Majesty.

I'm--”

”Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI,” the Queen finished for him.

”Yes, I know. It's very nice to meet you at last. I've seen you on television, and over the video phone. You photograph badly, you know.”

”I do?” Burris said pleasantly. It was obvious that he was keeping himself under very tight control.

Malone felt remotely sorry for the man--but only remotely. Burris might as well know, he thought, what they had all been going through the past several days.

Her Majesty was saying something about the honorable estate of knighthood, and the Queen's List. Malone began paying attention when she came to: ”... And I hereby dub thee--” She stopped suddenly, turned and said: ”Sir Kenneth, give me your weapon.”

Malone hesitated for a long, long second. But Burris' eye was on him, and he could interpret the look without much trouble. There was only one thing for him to do. He pulled out his .44, ejected the remaining cartridge in his palm--and reminded himself to reload the gun as soon as he got it back--and handed the weapon to the Queen, b.u.t.t foremost.

She took the b.u.t.t of the revolver in her right hand, leaned out the window of the car, and said in a fine, distinct voice: ”Kneel, Andrew.”

Malone watched with wide, astonished eyes as Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI, went to one knee in a low and solemn genuflection. Queen Elizabeth Thompson nodded her satisfaction.

She tapped Burris gently on each shoulder with the muzzle of the gun. ”I knight thee Sir Andrew,” she said. She cleared her throat. ”My, this desert air is dry--Rise, Sir Andrew, and know that you are henceforth Knight Commander of the Queen's Own FBI.”

”Thank you, Your Majesty,” Burris said humbly.

He rose to his feet silently. The Queen withdrew into the car again and handed the gun back to Malone. He thumbed cartridges into the chambers of the cylinder and listened dumbly.

”Your Majesty,” Burris said, ”this is Dr. Harry Gamble, the head of Project Isle. Dr. Gamble, this is Her Majesty the Queen; Lady Barbara Wilson, her ... uh ... her lady in waiting; Sir Kenneth Malone; and King ... I mean Sir Thomas Boyd.” He gave the four a single bright impartial smile. Then he tore his eyes away from the others, and bent his gaze on Sir Kenneth Malone. ”Come over here a minute, Malone,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. ”I want to talk to you.”

Malone climbed out of the car and went around to meet Burris. He felt just a little worried as he followed the Director away from the car.

True, he had sent Burris a long telegram the night before, in code. But he hadn't expected the man to show up at Yucca Flats. There didn't seem to be any reason for it.

And when there isn't any reason, Malone told himself sagely, it's a bad one.

”What's the trouble, chief?” he asked.

Burris sighed. ”None so far,” he said quietly. ”I got a report from the Nevada State Patrol, and ran it through R&I. They identified the men you killed, all right--but it didn't do us any good. They're hired hoods.”

”Who hired them?” Malone said.

Burris shrugged. ”Somebody with money,” he said. ”h.e.l.l, men like that would kill their own grandmothers if the price were right--you know that. We can't trace them back any farther.”

Malone nodded. That was, he had to admit, bad news. But then, when had he last had any good news?

”We're nowhere near our telepathic spy,” Burris said. ”We haven't come any closer than we were when we started. Have you got anything? Anything at all, no matter how small?”

”Not that I know of, sir,” Malone said.

”What about the little old lady ... what's her name? Thompson. Anything from her?”

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