Don't be silly, he thought. I'm no more a snake than you are, Gyp.
But you're a telepath!
So are you, Gyp, he thought. The only kind of telepath that really counts. You can read minds, but others can't read yours.
I fell back on words, closing my mind—it was rattling so I didn't want George to read my thoughts: "But a telepath can't close his mind!" I protested.
"I hope the Russians are as sure of that as you are, Gyp," George grinned. "The only agents we have in Russia are closed-mind telepaths—telepaths who don't automatically give themselves away. Now that kind of a telepath really is a usable espionage agent or a safe link in a communications net."
"How long has this been going on?"
"About three years, Gyp. When we discovered that certain training could make some telepaths closed-mind operators, we got the President to promulgate the Executive Orders that Congress later made into law. We got all ordinary telepaths out of circulation and put to work those that we could train to closed-mind operation. Now you know why I won't take your resignation."
I sputtered. "George, how can I conscientiously crack down on these poor people, if I'm a TP myself?"
He grinned. "You won't. You'll still be doing just what you've always been doing, except now you'll know that you're doing it. You'll be recruiting telepaths for us. Where do you think we train them?"
"Oklahoma? The Detention area?"