Chapter 13

Paul Conroe moved for the first time, running a hand through his thick gray hair as he glanced up at Schiml. “Some of that came through to me, even now,” he said weakly. His face, also, was ashen and his eyes were haunted. “To think that he hated me that much, and to think why he hated me--” He shook his head and buried his face in his hands. “I never knew about the old man and the son. I just never knew. If I’d known, I’d never have done it.”

The room was still for a long moment. Then Schiml blinked at Conroe, his hands trembling. “So this is the tremendous power, the mutant strain we’ve been trying to trace for so long.”

“This is one of the tremendous powers,” Conroe replied wearily. “Jeff probably has all the power that his father had, though it hasn’t all matured yet. It’s just latent, waiting for the time that the genes demand of his body for fulfillment. Nothing more. And other people have the same powers. Hundreds, thousands of other people. Somewhere, a hundred and fifty years ago, there was a change--a little change in one man or one woman.”

He looked up at Schiml, the haunted look still in his large eyes.

“Extra-sensory powers--no doubt of it, a true mutant strain, but tied in to a sleeper--a black gene that spells insanity. One became two and two spread to four--extra-sensory power and gene-linked insanity. Always together, growing, insidiously growing like a cancer. And it’s eating out the roots of our civilization.”

He stood up, walked across the room and stared down at the pallid-faced man in the bed. “This answers so many things, Roger,” he said finally.

“We knew old Jacob Meyer had a son, of course. We even suspected then that the son might share some of his powers. But this! We never dreamed it. The father and son were practically two people with one mind, in almost perfect mutual rapport. Only the son was so young he couldn’t understand what was wrong. All he knew was that he ‘felt’ Daddy and could tell what Daddy was thinking. Actually, everything that went on in his father’s mind--everything--was in his mind too. At least, in the peak of the old man’s cycle of insanity--”

Schiml looked up sharply. “Then there’s no doubt in your mind that the old man was insane?”

Conroe shook his head. “Oh, no. There was no doubt. He was insane, all right. A psychiatric analysis of his behavior was enough to convince me of that, even if following him and watching him wasn’t. He had a regular cycle of elation and depression, so regular it could almost be clocked. He’d even spotted the symptoms of the psychosis himself, back in his college days. But of course he hadn’t realized what it was. All he knew was that at certain times he seemed to be surrounded by these peculiar phenomena, which happened rapidly and regularly at those times when he was feeling elated, on top of the world. And at other times he seemed to carry with him an aura of depression. Actually, when he hit the blackest depths of his depressions, he would be bringing about whole waves of suicides and depression--errors and everything else.”

Conroe took a deep breath. “We knew all this at the time, of course. What we didn’t know was that the old man had been seeking the answer himself, actively seeking it. All we knew was that he was actively the most dangerous man alive on Earth, and that until he was killed he would become more and more dangerous--dangerous enough to shake the very roots of our civilization.”

Schiml nodded slowly. “And you’re sure that his destructive use of his power was a result directly of the insanity?”

Conroe frowned. “Not quite,” he said after a moment. “Actually, you couldn’t say that Jacob Meyer ‘used’ his extra-sensory powers. They weren’t, for the most part, the kind of powers he could either control or ‘use.’ They were the sort of powers that just happened. He had a power, and when he was running high--in a period of elation, when everything was on top of the world--the power functioned. He fairly exuded this power that he carried, and the higher he rose in his elation, the more viciously dangerous the power became.”

Conroe stopped, staring at the bed for a long moment. “The hellish thing was that it couldn’t possibly be connected up with a human power at all. After all, how can one human being have an overwhelming effect on the progress of a business cycle? He can’t, of course, unless he’s a dictator, or a tremendously powerful person in some other field. And Jacob Meyer was neither. He was a simple, half-starved statistician with a bunch of ideas that he couldn’t even understand himself, much less sell to anyone who could do anything with them. Or how can a man, just by being in the vicinity, tip the balance that topples the stock market into an almost irreparable sag?”

Conroe leaned forward, groping for words. “Jacob Meyer’s psychokinesis was not the sort of telekinesis that we saw Jeff turning against me in that room a couple of hours ago. He could probably have managed that, too, if he had hated me enough. But if Jacob Meyer’s mind had merely affected physical things--the turn of a card, the fall of the dice, the movement of molecules from one place to another--he would have been a simple problem. We could have isolated him, studied him. But it wasn’t that simple.”

Paul Conroe sat back, regarding Schiml with large, sad eyes. “It would have been impossible to prove in a court of law. We knew it and the government knew it. That was why they appointed us assassins to deal with him. Because Jacob Meyer’s mind affected probabilities. By his very presence, in a period of elation, he upset the normal probabilities of occurrences going on around him. We watched him, Roger. It was incredible. We watched him in the stock market, and we saw the panic start almost the moment he walked in. We saw the buyers suddenly and inexplicably change their minds and start selling instead of buying. We saw what happened in the Bank of the Metropolis that first day we tried for him. He was scared, his mind was driven into a peak of fear and anger; it started a bank run that morning that nearly bankrupted the most powerful financial house on the East Coast! We saw this one little man’s personal, individual influence on international diplomacy, on finances, on gambling in Reno, on the thinking and acting of the man on the street. It was incredible, Roger.”

“But surely Jacob Meyer wasn’t the only one--”

“Oh, there were others, certainly. We’ve a better idea of that, now, after all these years of study. There were and are thousands and thousands--some like me, some much worse--all carrying some degree of extra-sensory power from that original mutant strain, all with the gene-linked psychosis paired up with it every time. And we’ve seen our civilization struggling against these thousands just to keep its feet. But Jacob Meyer was the first case of the whole, full-blown change in one man that we’d ever found. He was running wild, his mind was completely insane. And the extra-sensory powers he carried were so firmly enmeshed in the insanity that there was no separating the two. Meyer tipped us off. He set us on the trail, and the trail led to his son after he was dead--”