“Mr. Barnes?”
“Yes, Herb.”
“Sheriff’s office reports road blocks in place and everybody out of the valley-it cost plenty cumshaw to clear the Idle Hour Guest Rancho, by the way.”
“No matter.”
“Everybody out, that is, but Pete the Hermit. He won’t git.”
“The old boy with the whiskers in that shack north of the gate?”
“The same. We finally told him the score, but it didn’t faze him. He says he ain’t never seen no ship take off for the Moon and he ain’t planning to miss it, not at his age.”
Barnes chuckled. “Can’t blame him. Well, let him sign the release our own people sign. Tell him if he won’t sign, the show won’t take place.”
“And if he doesn’t sign?”
“Herb, I take off even if some damn fool is standing under the jets. But don’t tell him.”
“I got you. Now bow about the press?”
“Tell them now-but keep them off my neck. And even with releases they stay in the blockhouse.”
“I’ll have trouble with the fiewsreel and television people.”
“Remote control or nothing. Herd ’em in,– you go in last and lock the door behind you. They can string all the wires into the blockhouse they need, but nobody stays inside the area unsheltered.”
“Mr. Barnes-do you really think the blast will be that dangerous?”
Barnes’ reply was drowned out by the bull horn from the blockhouse: “Attention! The last bus is now loading at the north entrance to the shop circle!”
Presently Styles resumed:
“Another call-you better take it, boss. Trouble.”
“Who is it?”
“Commanding general at Muroc.”
“Put him on.” In a moment he was saying, “Jim Barnes, General. How are you?”
“Oh-hello, Mr. Barnes. I hate to buck you, but your man seems unreasonable. Is it necessary to ask us to keep radar crews up all night for your practice drill?”
“Mmm . — …General, isn’t your tracking radar always manned anyhow? I thought this country had a ‘radar umbrella’ over it.”
The general answered stiffly, “That’s not a proper question, Mr. Barnes.”
“I suppose not. Big difference between passing a law and getting appropriations to carry it out, isn’t there?” He thought a minute. “General, suppose I guarantee blips on your tracking screens?”
“What do you mean?”
Barnes said, “General, I’ve known you since open cockpits. You’ve used a lot of my planes~”
“You make good planes, Mr. Barnes.”
“Tonight I want some cooperation. This is it, Whitey.”
“Huh?”
“We blast — off tonight. As long as you know, you can call White Sands and make sure they track us, too. And Whitey — ”
“Yes, Jim?”
“What with getting your crew organized and calling White Sands it will be another hour before you can call Washington, wouldn’t you think?”
Silence persisted so long that Barnes thought he — had been cut off, then the general answered, “It might take that long. Anything more you had better tell me?”
“No…that’s enough. Except one thing; I’m going, Whitey. I’m piloting it.”
“Oh. Good luck, Jim.”
“Thanks, Whitey.”
As Barnes turned away, he saw a plane circling the area, its lights blinking. The elevator creaked behind him; he looked up to see Corley, Bowles, and Traub descending. Corley shouted, “Is that Dr. Hastings?”
“I hope so.”
The plane landed and a jeep drove up to it. A few minutes later the jeep swung into the bull pen and up to the crane; Doctor Hastings got out. Corley ran to meet him.
“Doctor Hastings! You have it?”
“Greetings, gentlemen. Yes, indeed.” Hastings tapped a bulging pocket.
“Give it to me!”
“Suppose we go into the ship? I’d like to discuss it with you.”
“Jump aboard.” The two savants mounted the elevator and started up.
Admiral Bowles touched Barnes’ sleeve. “Jim-a word with you.”
“Shoot.”
Bowles indicated Traub with his eyes; Barnes caught the meaning and they moved inside. “Jim,” Bowles asked in a whisper, “what do you know about this man Traub?”
“Nothing that you don’t. Why?”
“He’s foreign born, isn’t he? Germany? Poland?”
“Russia, for all I know. Does it matter?”
Bowles frowned. “There’s been sabotage, Jim.”
“The hell you say! What sort?”
“The earth-departure radar wouldn’t function. Traub opened up the front, then called me over.”