Part 4 (1/2)
”What was the snooping you said you had to do?” Griffin asked.
”Dates. Times. Briefly, I found that the run of accidents has been building up to a peak. At first, it was just small meters that went wrong. Then bigger, more complex stuff. And, finally, the Monster went. See the pattern?”
The other men nodded.
”You're the therapist,” Griffin said. ”What do you suggest?”
”Shock treatment,” said David MacHeath.
Just how Dr. Konrad Bern got wind of the fact that a squad of FBI men had come to the project to arrest him that evening is something that MacHeath didn't know until later. He was busy at the time, ignoring anything but what he was interested in. It always fascinated him to watch the mind of a psychokinetic expert at work. He couldn't do the trick himself, and he was always amazed at the ability of anyone who could.
It was like watching a pianist play a particularly difficult concerto.
A person can watch a pianist, see every move he is making, and why he is making it. But being able to see what is going on doesn't mean that one can duplicate the action. MacHeath was in the same position.
Telepathically, he could observe the play of emotions that ran through a psychokinetic's mind--the combinations of avid desire and the utter loathing which, playing one against another, could move a brick, a book, or a Buick if the mind was powerful enough. But he couldn't do it himself, no matter how carefully he tried to follow the raging emotions that acted as two opposing jaws of a pair of tongs to lift and move the object.
And so engrossed was he with the process that he did not notice that Konrad Bern had eluded the FBI. He was unaware of what had happened until one of the Federal agents rapped loudly on the workshop door.
Almost instantly, MacHeath picked up the information from the agent's mind. He glanced at Griffin and Benbow. ”You two can handle it. Be careful you don't overdo it.”
Then he went to the door and opened it a trifle. ”Yes?”
The man outside showed a gold badge. ”Morgan, FBI. You David MacHeath?”
”Yes.” MacHeath stepped outside and showed the FBI man his identification.
”We were told to co-operate with you in this Konrad Bern case. He's managed to slip away from us somehow, but we know he's still in the area. He can't get past the gate.”
MacHeath let his mind expand until it meshed with that of Dr. Konrad Bern.
”There is a way out,” MacHeath snapped. ”The acceleration tube.”
”What?”
”Come on!” He started sprinting toward the elevators. He explained to the FBI agent as they went.
”The acceleration tube of the ultracosmotron runs due north of here for two miles underground. The guard at the other end won't be expecting anyone to be coming from the inside of the target building.
If Bern plays his cards right, he can get away.”
”Can't we phone the target building?” the FBI man asked.
”No. We shut off all the electrical equipment and took down some of the wires so we could balance the acceleration fields.”
”Well, if he's on foot, we could send a car out there. We'd get there before he does. Uh ... wouldn't we?”
”Maybe. But he'll kill himself if he sees he's trapped.” That wasn't quite true. Bern was ready to fight to the death, and he had a heavy pistol to back him up. MacHeath didn't want to see anyone killed, and he didn't want stray bullets flying around the inside of that tube or in the target room.
MacHeath and the FBI agent piled out of the elevator at the bottom of the shaft. Dr. Roger Kent was standing at the head of the stairs that spiraled down to the gun chamber. Dr. Kent knew that Bern had gone down the stairway, but he didn't know why.