The Impossibles | Page 5

added in a low, penetrating whisper, "the guy's FBI."
"So the FBI's got all kinds of equipment," the driver said. "The latest.
Why don't he whistle up a helicopter or a jet?" Then, apparently
deciding that further invective would get him nowhere, he settled back
in his seat, said, "Aah, forget it," and started the car with a small but
perceptible jerk.
Malone decided not to get into the argument. He was tired, and it was
late. He rested his head on the back seat and tried to relax, but all he
could do was think about red Cadillacs.
He wished he had never even heard of red Cadillacs.
2
And it had all started so simply, too. Malone remembered very clearly
the first time he had had any indication that red Cadillacs were
anything unusual, or special. Before that, he'd viewed them all with
slightly wistful eyes: red, blue, green, gray, white, or even black
Cadillacs were all the same to him. They spelled luxury and wealth and
display, and a lot of other nice things.

Now, he wasn't at all sure what they spelled. Except that it was
definitely uncomfortable, and highly baffling.
He'd walked into the offices of Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI,
just one week ago. It was a beautiful office, pine-paneled and spacious,
and it boasted an enormous polished desk. And behind the desk sat
Burris himself, looking both tired and somehow a little kindly.
"You sent for me, Chief?" Malone said.
"That's right." Burris nodded. "Malone, you've been working too hard
lately."
Now, Malone thought, it was coming. The dismissal he'd always feared.
At last Burris had found out that he wasn't the bright, intelligent,
fearless, and alert FBI agent he was supposed to be. Burris had
discovered that he was nothing more or less than lucky, and that all the
"fine jobs" he was supposed to have done were only the result of luck.
Oh, well, Malone thought. Not being an FBI agent wouldn't be so bad.
He could always find another job.
Only at the moment he couldn't think of one he liked.
He decided to make one last plea. "I haven't been working so hard,
Chief," he said. "Not too hard, anyhow. I'm in great shape. I--"
"I've taken advantage of you, Malone, that's what I've done," Burris
said, just as if Malone hadn't spoken at all. "Just because you're the best
agent I've got, that's no reason for me to hand you all the tough ones."
"Just because I'm what?" Malone said, feeling slightly faint.
"I've given you the tough ones because you could handle them," Burris
said. "But that's no reason to keep loading jobs on you. After that job
you did on the Gorelik kidnaping, and the way you wrapped up the
Transom counterfeit ring--well, Malone, I think you need a little
relaxation."

"Relaxation?" Malone said, feeling just a little bit pleased. Of course,
he didn't deserve any of the praise he was getting, he knew. He'd just
happened to walk in on the Gorelik kidnapers because his telephone
had been out of order. And the Transom ring hadn't been just his job.
After all, if other agents hadn't managed to trace the counterfeit bills
back to a common area in Cincinnati, he'd never have been able to
complete his part of the assignment. But it was nice to be praised,
anyhow. Malone felt a twinge of guilt, and told himself sternly to relax
and enjoy himself.
"That's what I said," Burris told him. "Relaxation."
"Well," Malone said, "I certainly would like a vacation, that's for sure.
I'd like to snooze for a couple of weeks, or maybe go up to Cape Cod
for a while. There's a lot of nice scenery up around there. It's restful,
sort of, and I could just--"
He stopped. Burris was frowning, and when Andrew J. Burris frowned
it was a good idea to look attentive, interested, and alert. "Now,
Malone," Burris said sadly, "I wasn't exactly thinking about a vacation.
You're not scheduled for one until August, you know."
"Oh, I know, Chief," Malone said. "But I thought--"
"Much as I'd like to," Burris said, "I just can't make an exception; you
know that, Malone. I've got to go pretty much by the schedule."
"Yes, sir," Malone said, feeling just a shade disappointed.
"But I do think you deserve a rest," Burris said.
"Well, if I--"
"Here's what I'm going to do," Burris said, and paused. Malone felt a
little unsure as to exactly what his chief was talking about, but by now
he knew better than to ask a lot of questions. Sooner or later, Burris
would probably explain himself. And if he didn't, then there was no use
worrying about it. That was just the way Burris acted.

"Suppose I