The Mindwarpers Read online

  “Find out.”

  “I’m trying to do that right now. Care to tell me?”

  Bransome gazed blankly at the wall So far the subject of murder had not been broached. That was strange, seeing that they had come after him and taken him in. Perhaps Reardon was saving it for the last, smacking his broken lips over the accusation yet to come. A sadist enjoying a cat-and-mouse act.

  “I may be able to help you,” continued Reardon, still calm and collected. “I want to help you.”

  “How nice,” said Bransome.

  “But it’s impossible to help without knowing what you’ve got in your hair.”

  “Lice,” Bransome informed.

  Reardon said sharply, “This isn’t a cheap vaudeville act. It’s a serious business. If you’re in a jam of some kind and need assistance, you’ll have to talk.”

  “I can look after myself.”

  “Running away from your job, home and family is a mighty poor way of doing it.”

  “I’m the judge of that.”

  Reardon growled, “So am I. Fix it firmly in your mind that I’m going to get to the bottom of this in any way lean.”

  “The bottom of what?” asked Bransome, sardonically. “I’ve taken a short vacation, properly applied for and officially permitted. That was legal enough at the time I left the plant. I’m not aware that they’ve changed the law since.”

  Giving a deep sigh, Reardon said, “I can see you don’t intend to open up—just yet. That leaves me no option but to take you back. We’ll discuss the matter further on the way home.”

  “You can’t take me back,” Bransome contradicted “Common assault isn’t an extraditable offense.”

  “That charge hasn’t and won’t be entered,” Reardon gave back. “It’ll be a sad day when I run to the law because of a slap in the face. You’ll come back with me of your own free will—”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll plaster you with a federal charge of suspected disloyalty and dissemination of official secrets. After that you’ll go exactly where you’re told, at the double, and like it.”

  Bransome felt himself going crimson as he rasped, “I am not a traitor.”

  “Nobody has suggested that you are.”

  “You’ve just done so yourself.”

  “I’ve done nothing of the sort,” Reardon denied. “Up to the present I’ve found no reason to think your loyalty other than watertight. But when it’s necessary I’m willing to fight fire with fire. So I’ve told you of the dirty trick I won’t hesitate to employ to get you back at all costs and uncover whatever it is that you’re hiding.”

  “That means you’re prepared to smear me with a false accusation?”

  “Correct. I shall have no scruples whatsoever.”

  “And you want to help me?”

  “I certainly do.”

  “Well,” said Bransome, “that gives me two theories—either you’re crazy or you think that I am.”

  “For all I know you may be off your head,” responded Reardon. “If so, I want to know how you got that way all of a sudden.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you aren’t the first and in all probability you won’t be the last.”

  Bransome narrowed his eyes at him and said, “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about loonies. I’m talking about sane and intelligent men who suddenly become irrational. We’ve been getting too many of them. It’s time it was stopped.”

  “I don’t understand and furthermore I don’t want to. All I can say is that if you’re convinced that a man is crazy to take a vacation and get a much-needed rest, well, you must be a bit touched in the head yourself.”

  “You weren’t taking a vacation.”

  “Wasn’t I?”

  “If you were you’d have had the wife and kids along.”

  “You seem to know my motives better than I do myself,” remarked Bransome, dryly. “What do you think I have been doing?”

  “Running away from something. Or, alternatively, running after something. More likely the former.”

  “Running away from what?”

  “You tell me,” suggested Reardon, eyeing him pointedly.

  “It’s your theory and not mine. You produce some data in support of it. Put up or shut up.”

  Frowning to himself, Reardon consulted his watch. “I can’t stay here all day arguing to no useful purpose. There’s a train due to leave in twenty minutes’ time. We’ll just about make it if we go now.” He paused, added, “Are you coming of your own accord or do you prefer to be dragged?”

  “I’d rather be dragged. I might then be able to soak you for heavy damages.”

  “You’ve some hopes. Any competent lawyer will tell you that suing the government gets you nowhere. Besides, I know what I’m doing. I can sustain a plea of justification.”

  “All right, let’s get that train.”

  Bransome stood up, feeling yet again that it was mentally impossible to sort things out. Not a word had been said about Arline Lafarge. The threat hanging over him was a direct threat to his life or at least his liberty. But for some mysterious and incomprehensible reason they were substituting a different and vaguely defined menace.

  When deliberately and with premeditation a man kills a woman, it is murder, morally and legally murder. That’s a plain, inescapable fact that the law has to cope with a dozen or more times a month. Yet here was an instance where the civil law seemed impotent and the military power was intervening to pronounce him not guilty by reason of insanity.

  Why?

  It beat him utterly.

  As the train snaked through the countryside, Reardon started on him again. “Now see here, Bransome, I’m going to be frank with you. For heaven’s sake be on the level with me. I’m going to tell you why I’ve a special interest in you. In return, I want you to tell what you’re hiding, what has got you on the run.”

  “I’m not on the run.”

  “Not now, perhaps. Not since I caught up with you. But originally you were.”

  “I was not. It’s merely your delusion.”

  “Let’s, quit banging our skulls together; we’ll get nothing out of it other than a pain in the nut. I want to remind you of something you seem to have forgotten, namely, the fact that there’s a war on. It’s not a shooting war but it’s a war just the same. Why else should you and many others be working full time on the development of newer and better weapons?”

  “Well?”

  “Weapon-work goes on in case the cold war becomes hot. In the interim a non-shooting war is fought by non-shooting methods. Each side tries to steal the other’s best brains, or buy them over, or sabotage them or destroy them outright. We have lost men and ideas and plans. So have they. We’ve bought over some of their brains. They’ve acquired some of ours. See what I mean?”

  “Of course. It’s old stuff.”

  “Old or not, it still operates.” Reardon’s lean face and sharp eyes looked snoopier than ever. “The weapons in a non-shooting war are those of theft, bribery, blackmail, seduction, murder, anything and everything that is effective for its purpose. They can and do cause casualties on both sides. The logical method of fighting a non-shooting war is to employ every available means of increasing the enemy’s losses while, at the same time, preventing or reducing one’s own. The latter is fully as important as the former—and the latter is my job. It’s the responsibility of my department to beat off attacks on our brainpower.”

  “You’re telling me nothing that’s new and wonderful,” Bransome complained. “And so far as I’m concerned it’s a hell of a thing when a fellow can’t take time off without being suspected of planning to sell what he’s got in his head.”

  “You’re oversimplifying the situation,” Reardon asserted. “Basically there are two ways of weakening the enemy. You can acquire his brains for your own use or, if that proves impossible, you can deprive him of the use of them. It’s a dog-in-the-manger policy: if I can�
��t employ that genius, neither can you, see? So let’s say that inherently you’re too loyal to sell what you’ve got in your head. What then?”

  “So what then?”

  “The enemy removes your head so that if he can’t have it neither can anyone else.”

  “Bunk! I’m not worth the bother of decapitating.”

  “That’s like saying a soldier isn’t worth the bother of sending to the battlefront. As one single, solitary individual, maybe he isn’t. But as a hundred, a thousand or ten thousand individuals he becomes a formidable force that can make all the difference between defeat and victory/’ Reardon stopped for a moment to let his words sink in, then said, “Personally I could not care less about one Bransome. I’m worried about a hundred or a thousand Bransomes.”

  “You’ve got one consolation,” Bransome pointed out. “My head is still tight on my shoulders.”

  “I’ve been speaking metaphorically, as you’re well aware. A brain that suddenly refuses to continue working for its country is a valuable intelligence lost to that country. It’s a casualty in the undeclared war. In this highly technological age the deadliest strike one can make against a foe is to deprive him of his brains, whether or not one acquires them oneself. Either way it’s a setback.”

  “That’s obvious,” agreed Bransome. “Any fool can see it and—without boasting—I did my sums many years ago. But I still don’t see how all this applies to me right now.”

  “I’m getting to that,” Reardon responded. “Some good men have been lost within the last couple of years, not only from your plant but also from several others. They are over and above the quota of natural losses attributable to retirement, illness or death. If we don’t devise some way of stopping it the company will become a regiment and the regiment will become an army.” He made a sweeping gesture. “After that—blooey!”

  “Are you sure the losses aren’t natural?” asked Bransome, remembering the suspicions he had voiced to Berg.

  “We’re pretty sure. We’re next door to positive. What is bad is that it took us far too long to realize that something extraordinary was happening. All the casualties were trustworthy and valuable men. All started falling down on their jobs, acting out of character and generally going to pieces. Some deteriorated quicker than others. Some took off without so much as a sweet goodbye. Others resigned or sought leave of absence or took a vacation from which they didn’t return. Several of them faded across the border. We know what they are doing today and it’s nothing contrary to this country’s interest. But we can’t bring them back without extraditable reason. So long as they behave themselves in the country of their choice they can stay put for keeps and there’s nothing we can do about it. Recently we traced and caught up with three still in this country.”

  “And what happened?”

  “All three stood pat on their fundamental right to live where they like and do any kind of work they please. Their jobs weren’t as good as the ones they’d thrown up but they insisted that they preferred them and were under no obligation to explain the preference. In the opinion of the agents who reported on them, all three were scared about something or other. It was obvious that they resented being traced and questioned.”

  “Can’t say I blame them,” Bransome offered. “I detest being tracked like a felon. I didn’t smack you in the teeth for nothing. I felt it was high time you learned to live and let live.”

  Taking no notice, Reardon continued, “Soon afterward they disappeared again, were retraced to other places and other jobs. We decided to keep an eye on them without bothering them any further. We were compelled to face the ugly fact that brains had ceased to work for this country and we had no way of compelling them to do so. There lies the weakness of our virtues; some other kind of regime could and would exercise compulsion.”

  “So you’ve got me tagged as the next rebel on the list?” asked Bransome, immensely relieved at finding that the real reason for his antics remained unknown and unsuspected.

  “You and another,” Reardon informed. “The day we decided to smell along your footprints we took off after a fellow elsewhere. He’d been showing the same symptoms.”

  “Caught up with him yet?”

  “No—but we will eventually.” Reardon went on with, “Unknown to you, we had sent a flier around all weapon-research establishments asking for prompt in-formation on any employees who left their jobs suddenly or showed signs of cracking or who were behaving strangely in any way. That’s how we got a lint on you.”

  “Who put you on to me?”

  “Not telling,” said Reardon, flatly. “It was someone who considered that you were no longer your sweet little self.”

  “Cain for a bet,” hazarded Bransome. “He’s always fancied himself as an amateur psychologist.”

  “I’m not playing guessing games, so don’t think you can identify the culprit by process of elimination.”

  “All right—I’ll accept that some yap yapped.”

  “So I came along. I looked over the evidence, followed you around, decided that definitely you had the fidgets and might be about to throw things over. It takes something, really something, to persuade a man to rid himself of good pay, good prospects and security. We want to know what does it, If we can discover that much, we can put a stop to it.”

  “In my case you’re going to have a hard time preventing something that has never been started,” Bransome advised.

  “I don’t believe you. Know what I think? I think you are reacting to some serious threat to yourself or to your wife and children.”

  Bransome said nothing.

  “There’s no threat that can’t be met and countered,” argued Reardon, encouraged by the other’s silence. “We can meet it and beat it provided we know exactly what it is. Otherwise we’re left to fumble in the dark.” His penetrating eyes studied Bransome with care. “If somebody is being menaced, tell us who and how. We’ll tend to it, you can bet your life on that!”

  Hah, that was a laugh! The government would give protection to a malefactor that it would be obliged to punish if the truth became known. Reardon was talking about an enemy on the other side of the planet, when all the time the real foe was The Law armed with the gas chamber and the electric chair.

  The intervention of Military Intelligence was now explained. They and the police were working at cross-purposes without knowing it. The former suspected him of suffering mysterious coercion to dodge his duties. The latter had failed—so far—to pick up a lead that would take them to a killer. It was disconcerting to know that the M.I. had him wrongly classified as a prospective deserter but mightily comforting to learn that the cops remained stalled.

  “Am I right?” persisted Reardon. “Is somebody’s life being threatened?”

  “No.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “Have it your own way,” said Bransome, wearily.

  Half twisting in his seat, Reardon looked through the window and watched the passing scenery while the train thundered on. He remained quiet for several minutes, immersed in his thoughts. Suddenly he turned and spoke.

  “Where does this dump Burleston lit into the picture?”

  Despite himself Bransome jerked and changed color. The unexpected question came like a kick in the stomach.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “You’re still trying to dodge the issue but your face has given you away. Burleston means something to you, something dark and desperate, yet something you just had to seek.”

  “If you know so darned much about it you should know what it is.”

  “I don’t know. What’s more, I don’t think you found it.” Reardon kept dose watch upon him, trying to analyze his reactions. “I can make a guess as to why your gallivantings were in vain.”

  “Go right ahead if guessing amuses you,” Bransome invited.

  “You expected to make contact with somebody unknown to you, on his initiative. But I messed it up. It was seen that you were being followed and somebody di
dn’t like my face. Therefore he didn’t get into touch with you as arranged. Or perhaps he didn’t give you whatever he’d promised to give.”

  “He? Who’s ‘he’?”

  “A representative of the opposition. So don’t pretend to be innocent—you know quite well who I mean.”

  “You’ve a very large bee in your bonnet. You can’t hear anything but its buzzing.”

  “Now look, Bransome, I’m much better informed than you may think. You traipsed around Burleston like a lost soul in Hades, looking for something you could not find or waiting for something that never arrived. Lovely way to spend a vacation, isn’t it?”

  Bransome offered no comment

  “You bought umpteen back issues of the Hankury Gazette, presumably because you have an insatiable appetite tor old news. I take it you sat in your bed-room and conscientiously read them all. Nothing like out-of-date gossip for relieving nervous strain, is there?”

  Bransome pulled a face and did not reply.

  “You spoke to a number of people in Burleston and Hanbury. Last night we checked on all of them, looking for evidence of foreign connections. It got us nowhere—they were as clean as new-born pups. You or somebody else took alarm from the fact that you were under observation and became too smart to give us a clue to what you were looking for.”

  “I was searching for a red-haired chiropodist There aren’t many in the world.”

  “I know, I know,” said Reardon, huffily.

  “Now I’ll tell you something,” Bransome went on, “and it’s this: the hardest thing to find is that which doesn’t exist.”

  “Whatever you were seeking does—or did—exist. A man of your mental caliber doesn’t grope around for nothing.”

  “As I said before, bunk!”

  “You’re as bad as the three I’ve mentioned. Won’t talk. Won’t give answers that make sense. Fall back on the defensive by saying there’s no law against them doing whatever they’re supposed to be doing.”

  “What they’re doing may be innocent enough,” said Bransome.

  “Which is more than can be said for what you’ve been up to,” Reardon snapped back. “Henderson, at least, did turn to operating a hardware store. And he did offer his reasons, such as they were: ‘I like it, I prefer working for myself, I get a lot of satisfaction out of it, I’m not subjected to continual regimentation, I enjoy being independent.’”