Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction October 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
PSICHOPATH
By DARREL T. LANGART
Given psi powers like clairvoyance and telepathy, solvingproblems of sabotage would be easy, of course. That is, itseems that way at first thought!
Illustrated by van Dongen
he man in the pastel blue topcoat walked with steady purpose, butwithout haste, through the chill, wind-swirled drizzle that filled theair above the streets of Arlington, Virginia. His matching bluecap-hood was pulled low over his forehead, and the clear, infraredradiating face mask had been flipped down to protect his chubby cheeksand round nose from the icy wind.
No one noticed him particularly. He was just another average man whoblended in with all the others who walked the streets that day. No onerecognized him; his face did not appear often in public places, exceptin his own state, and, even so, it was a thoroughly ordinary face.But, as he walked, Senator John Peter Gonzales was keeping a mental,fine-webbed, four-dimensional net around him, feeling for theslightest touch of recognition. He wanted no one to connect him in anyway with his intended destination.
It was not his first visit to the six-floor brick building that stoodon a street in a lower-middle-class district of Arlington. Actually,government business took him there more often than would have beensafe for the average man-on-the-street. For Senator Gonzales, theprocess of remaining incognito was so elementary that it was almostsubconscious.
Arriving at his destination, he paused on the sidewalk to light acigarette, shielding it against the wind and drizzle with cuppedhands while his mind made one last check on the surroundings. Then hestrode quickly up the five steps to the double doors which weremarked: The Society For Mystical And Metaphysical Research, Inc.
Just as he stepped in, he flipped the face shield up and put on anold-fashioned pair of thick-lensed, black-rimmed spectacles. Then, hisface assuming a bland smile that would have been completely out ofplace on Senator Gonzales, he went from the foyer into the frontoffice.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Jesser," he said, in a high, smooth, slightlyaccented voice that was not his own. "I perceive by your aura that youare feeling well. Your normal aura-color is tinged with a positivegolden hue."
Mrs. Jesser, a well-rounded matron in her early forties, rose to thebait like a porpoise being hand-fed at a Florida zoo. "Dear SwamiChandra! How perfectly wonderful to see you again! You're lookingvery well your-self."
The Swami, whose Indian blood was of the Aztec rather than the Brahminvariety, nonetheless managed to radiate all the mystery of the East."My well-being, dear Mrs. Jesser, is due to the fact that I have beencommuning for the past three months with my very good friend, theFifth Dalai Lama. A most refreshingly wise person." Senator Gonzaleswas fond of the Society's crackpot receptionist, and he knew exactlywhat kind of hokum would please her most.
"Oh, I do hope you will find time to tell me all about it," shesaid effusively. "Mr. Balfour isn't i