"Wrong?" Lynch said. "Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all. I just wanted to thank you for not waking me up last night. I only waited for your call until midnight. Then I decided I just wasn't very important to you. You obviously had much bigger things on your mind." "As a matter of fact," Malone said, eying Lynch's figure, dressed in a pair of trousers and a T-shirt, speculatively, "you're right." "That's what I thought," Lynch said. "And I decided that, since you were so terribly busy, it could wait until I woke up. Or even until I got down to the station. How about it--buddy-boy?" "Listen, Lynch," Malone said, "we made a bet. Ten to one. I just want to know if I can come down to collect or not." There was a second of silence. "All right," Lynch said at last, looking crestfallen. "I owe you a buck. Every last one of those kids has skipped out on us." "Good," Malone said. He wondered briefly just what was good about it, and decided he'd rather have lost the money to Lynch. But facts, he reflected, were facts. Thoroughly nasty facts. "I spent all night tracing them," Lynch said. "Got nowhere. Nowhere at all. Tell me, Malone, how did you know--" "Classified," Malone said. "Very classified. But you're sure they're all gone? Vanished?" Lynch's face reddened. "Sure I'm sure," he said. "Every last one of them is gone. And what more do you want me to do about it?" He paused, then added: "What do you expect, Malone? Miracles?" Malone shook his head gently. "No," he said. "I--" "Oh, never mind," Lynch said. "But I--" "Look, Malone," Lynch said, "there's a guy who wants to talk to you." "One of the Silent Spooks?" Malone said hopefully. Lynch shook his head and made a growling noise. "Don't be silly," he said. "It's just that this guy might have some information--but he won't say anything to me about it. He's a social worker or something like that." "Social worker?" Malone said. "He works with the kids, right?" "I guess," Lynch said. "His name's Kettleman. Albert Kettleman." Malone nodded. "O.K.," he said. "I'll be right over." "Hey," Lynch said, "hold on. He's not here now. What do you think this is--my house or a reception center?" "Sorry," Malone said wearily. "Where and when?" "How about three o'clock at the precinct station?" Lynch said, "I can have him there by then, and you can get together and talk." He paused. "Nobody likes the cops," he said. "People hear the FBI's mixed up in this, and they figure the cops are all second-stringers or something." "Sorry to hear it," Malone said. "I'll bet you are," Lynch told him bitterly. Malone shrugged. "Anyway," he said, "I'll see you at three, right?" "Right," Lynch said, and Malone flipped off. He sat there for a few seconds grinning quietly. His brain throbbed like an overheated motor, but he didn't really mind any more. His theory had been justified, and that was the most important thing. The Silent Spooks were all teleports.