Street, Malone closed his eyes and began going over
the whole thing in his mind.

Mike Fueyo had vanished.

Of that, Malone told himself, there was no shadow of doubt. No probable,
possible shadow of doubt.

No possible doubt--as a matter of fact--whatever.

Dismissing the Grand Inquisitor with a negligent wave of his hand, he
concentrated on the main question. It was a good question. Malone could
have sat and looked at it admiringly for a long time.

As a matter of fact, that was all he could think of to do, as the cab
turned up Seventieth Street and headed east. He certainly didn't have
any answers for it.

But it was a lovely question:

_Where does that leave Kenneth J. Malone?_

And, possibly even more important:

_Where was Miguel Fueyo?_

It was obvious that he'd vanished on purpose. And it hadn't just been
something he'd recently discovered. He had known all along that he could
pull the trick; if he hadn't known that, he wouldn't have done what he
had done beforehand. No seventeen-year-old boy, no matter what he was,
would give the FBI the raspberry unless he were pretty sure he could get
away with it.

Malone remembered the raspberry and winced slightly. The cab driver
called back: "Anything wrong, buddy?"

"Everything," Malone said. "But don't worry about it."

The cab driver shrugged and turned back to the wheel. Malone went back
to Mike Fueyo.

The kid could make himself vanish at will.

Invisibility?

Malone thought about that for a while. The fact that it was impossible
didn't decide him against it. Everything was impossible; that much was
clear. But he didn't think Mike Fueyo had just become invisible. No.
There had been the sense of a presence actually leaving the room. If
Mike had become invisible and stayed, Malone was sure he wouldn't have
felt the boy leave.

Mike had not just become invisible. (And what do I mean, "just"? Malone
asked himself unhappily.) He had gone--elsewhere.

This brought him back full circle to his original question: where was
the boy now? But he ignored it for a minute or two as another, even more
difficult query presented itself.

Never mind where, Malone told himself. _How?_

Something was bothering him. Malone realized that it had been bothering
him for a long time. At last he managed to locate it and hold it up to
the light for inspection.

Dr. O'Connor, the psionics expert at Westinghouse, had mentioned
something during Malone's last conversati