“I just don’t like it. I don’t trust them, and I don’t like being mixed up with people I don’t trust. I’ve seen too much of how they work.”
Aub clapped him encouragingly on the shoulder.
“Maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way. We got out before, sure, but they weren’t on our side then. Since then, we’ve come a long way all on our own. Now we’ve still got all that, but we’ve got them on our side too. That changes everything. That bunch next door could fund Mark II by pooling their salaries. That’s what this is all about, don’t forget.”
“You’re right, but I still don’t like it. . . .” Clifford didn’t seem cheered.
At that moment one of the police guards who had been posted outside the door of the Conference Theater came into the lounge and exchanged a few words quietly with Peter Hughes. Hughes nodded, stood up from the chair in which he had been sitting, fidgeting nervously, and spoke in a raised voice.
“Well, it looks as if this is it. The jury seems to have reached a verdict. I don’t think it would be appropriate for all of us to go crowding in, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just take Al, Brad, and Aub. No doubt we’ll see you all here when we come back out.”
“Do you think they’ll buy it?” Hughes muttered under his breath as they followed the burly figure of the guard back along the corridor.
“If they do, I’ll know to apply to IBM for my next job,” Aub replied cheerfully.
They went back into the Conference Theater and sat down facing the august gathering. William Foreshaw waited until the door had been closed before addressing them.
“First of all, I would like to express our appreciation for the efforts that you have made today. Any words I might choose to attempt to describe our impressions would be an understatement. Therefore I’ll just settle for ‘thank you all.’ ” A murmur of assent rippled round the rest of the delegation. Foreshaw continued. “Second, we’d like Mr. Hughes to convey our appreciation back to ISF headquarters in Geneva. We are gratified by this demonstration that an independent scientific organization will rise to meet its national obligations. And now, to business. First, I have one or two questions I’d like to ask. . . .” He paused and looked slowly from one to another of the four people sitting in front of him. There was a curious look in his eyes.
“Would it come as a surprise to you gentlemen,” he said at last, “to learn that the same line of theoretical work is also being pursued elsewhere in this country? I should add that it has not progressed to anything near the things you have showed us today, but the basics are there.”
Nobody spoke. The Sudbury group looked slightly uncomfortable.
“They ran into a problem,” Warren Keele supplied, more to ease the silence. “Somebody who was key to the whole thing walked out on them. They’re still trying to ungum the mess he left them with.”
“You mean at ACRE,” Clifford said quietly. He never could stand pretense in any form.
Foreshaw looked disturbed. “How do you know about ACRE?” he asked. Puzzled looks from around him punctuated the question.
“I used to work there. I was that person.”
In the next fifteen minutes the story came out. Clifford and his colleagues had not intended to raise this issue, having determined to let the water that had flowed under the bridge go its way and to concentrate on the future. But the questions were insistent. As it became apparent just how much a key to the whole thing Clifford had been, and exactly how the mess had come about, the Defense Secretary’s eyes hardened and his mouth compressed into a thin, humorless line.
* * *
“Looks like somebody goofed,” General Fuller mused when the meeting was finally over. The menace in his voice hinted strongly that the somebody wouldn’t do very much more goofing in future. Foreshaw completed the copious notes he had been making throughout, capped his pen, replaced it in his pocket, and closed the pad. He straightened up in his chair and regarded the scientists again, his change of posture signaling an end to that part of the proceedings.