By morning Reynolds had thirty-one adepts assigned to twenty-four cities. He had a stomach-churning ordeal before deciding to let them work only cities known to them. The gambler, Even-Money Karsch, had settled it: "Doc, I know when I'm hot, Minneapolis has to be mine." Reynolds gave in, even though one of his students had just arrived from there; he put them both on it and prayed that at least one would be "hot." Two clairvoyants arrived; one, a blind news-dealer from Chicago, was put to searching there; the other, a carnie mentalist, was given the list and told to find bombs wherever she could. Mrs. Brentano had remarried and moved; Norfolk was being combed for her.
At one fifteen P.M., forty-five minutes before deadline, they were in their rooms, each with maps and aerial views of his city, each with photos of the mocked-up bomb. The club was clear of residents; the few normals needed to coddle the paranormals kept careful quiet. Roads nearby were blocked; air traffic was warned away. Everything was turned toward providing an atmosphere in which forty-two people could sit still and think.
At the switchboard were Hammond, Reynolds, and Gordon McClintock, the President's assistant. Reynolds glanced up. "What time is it?"
"One thirty-seven," rasped Hammond. "Twenty-three minutes."
"One thirty-eight," disagreed McClintock. "Reynolds, how about Detroit? You can't leave it unguarded."
"Whom can I use? Each is guarding the city he knows best."
"Those twin girls—I heard them mention Detroit."
"They've played everywhere. But Pittsburgh is their home."
"Switch one of them to Detroit."
Reynolds thought of telling him to go to Detroit himself. "They work together. You want to get them upset and lose both cities?"
Instead of answering McClintock said, "And who's watching Cleveland?"
"Norman Johnson. He lives there and he's our second strongest operator."
They were interrupted by voices downstairs. A man came up, carrying a bag, and spotted Reynolds. "Oh, hello, Doctor. What is this? I'm on top priority work—tank production— when the F.B.I. grabs me. You are responsible?"
"Yes. Come with me." McClintock started to speak, but Reynolds led the man away. "Mr. Nelson, did you bring your family?"
"No, they're still in Detroit. Had I known—"
"Please! Listen carefully." He explained, pointed out a map of Detroit in the room to which they went, showed him pictures of the simulated bomb, "You understand?"
Nelson's jaw muscles were jumping. "It seems impossible."
"It is possible. You've got to think about that bomb—or bombs. Get in touch, squeeze them, keep them from going off. You'll have to stay awake."
Nelson breathed gustily. "I'll stay awake."
"That phone will get you anything you want. Good luck." He passed the room occupied by the blind clairvoyant; the door was open. "Harry, it's Prof. Getting anything?"
The man turned to the voice. "It's in the Loop. I could walk to it if I were there. A six-story building."
"That's the best you can do?"
"Tell them to try the attic. I get warm when I go up."
"Right away!" He rushed back, saw that Hanby had arrived. Swiftly he keyed the communications office. "Reynolds speaking. The Chicago bomb is in a six-story building in the Loop area, probably in the attic. No—that's all. G'by!"
Hanby started to speak; Reynolds shook his head and looked at his watch. Silently the General picked up the phone. "This is the commanding officer. Have any flash sent here." He put the phone down and stared at his watch.
For fifteen endless minutes they stood silent. The General broke it by taking the phone and saying, "Hanby. Anything?"
"No, General. Washington is on the wire."
"Eh? You say Washington?"
"Yes, sir. Here's the General, Mr. Secretary."
Hanby sighed. "Hanby speaking, Mr. Secretary. You're all right? Washington... is all right?"
They could hear the relayed voice. "Certainly certainly.
We're past the deadline. But I wanted to tell you: Radio Moscow is telling the world that our cities are in flames."
Hanby hesitated. "None of them are?"
"Certainly not. I've a talker hooked in to GHQ, which has an open line to every city listed. All safe. I don't know whether your freak people did any good but, one way or another, it was a false—" The line went dead.
Hanby's face went dead with it. He jiggled the phone. "I've been cut off!"
"Not here, General—at the other end. Just a moment."
They waited. Presently the operator said, "Sorry, sir. I can't get them to answer."
"Keep trying!"
It was slightly over a. minute—it merely seemed longer—when the operator said, "Here's your party, sir."
"That you, Hanby?" came the voice. "I suppose we'll have phone trouble just as we had last time. Now, about these ESP people: while we are grateful and all that, nevertheless I suggest that nothing be released to the papers. Might be misinterpreted."
"Oh. Is that an order, Mr. Secretary?"
"Oh, no, no! But have such things routed through my office."
"Yes, sir." He cradled the phone.
McClintock said, "You shouldn't have rung off, General. I'd like to know whether the Chief wants this business continued."
"Suppose we talk about it on the way back to my office." The General urged him away, turned and gave Reynolds a solemn wink.
Trays were placed outside the doors at six o'clock; most of them sent for coffee during the evening. Mrs. Wilkins ordered tea; she kept her door open and chatted with anyone who passed. Harry the newsboy was searching Milwaukee; no answer had been received from his tip about Chicago. Mrs. Ekstein, or "Princess Cathay" as she was billed, had reported a "feeling" about a house trailer in Denver and was now poring over a map of New Orleans. With the passing of the deadline panic abated; communications were improving. The American people were telling each other that they had known that those damned commies were bluffing.
Hammond and Reynolds sent for more coffee at three A.M.; Reynolds' hand trembled as he poured. Hammond said, "You haven't slept for two nights. Get over on that divan."
"Neither have you."
"I'll sleep when you wake up."
"I can't sleep. I'm worrying about what'll happen when they get sleepy." He gestured at the line of doors.
"So am I."
At seven A.M. Two-Gun came out. "Prof, they got it. The bomb. It's gone. Like closing your hand on nothing."
Hammond grabbed the phone. "Get me Seattle—the F.B.I. office."
While they waited, Two-Gun said, "What now, Prof?"
Reynolds tried to think. "Maybe you should rest."
"Not until this is over. Who's got Toledo? I know that burg."
"Uh...young Barnes."
Hammond was connected; he identified himself, asked the question. He put the phone down gently. "They did get it," he whispered. "It was in the lake."
"I told you it was wet," agreed Two-Gun. "Now, about Toledo—"
"Well... tell me when you've got it and we'll let Barnes rest."
McClintock rushed in at seven thirty-five, followed by Hanby. "Doctor Reynolds! Colonel Hammond!"
"Sh! Quiet! You'll disturb them."
McClintock said in a lower voice, "Yes, surely—I was excited. This is important. They located a bomb in Seattle and—"
"Yes. Private Andrews told us."
"Huh? How did he know?'
"Never mind," Hanby intervened. "The point is, they found the bomb already triggered. Now we know that your people are protecting the cities."
"Was there any doubt?'
"Well... yes."
"But there isn't now," McClintock added.' "I must take over." He bent over the board. "Communications? Put that White House line through here."
"Just what," Reynolds said slowly, "do you mean by ‘take over'?"
"Eh? Why, take charge on behalf of the President. Make sure these people don't let down an instant!"
/>
"But what do you propose to do?"
Hanby said hastily, "Nothing, Doctor. We'll just keep in touch with Washington from here."
They continued the vigil together; Reynolds spent the time hating McClintock's guts. He started to take coffee, then decided on another benzedrine tablet instead. He hoped his people were taking enough of it—and not too much. They all had it, except Grandma Wilkins, who wouldn't touch it. He wanted to check with them but knew that he could not—each bomb was bound only by a thread of thought; a split-split second of diversion might be enough.
The outside light flashed; Hanby took the call. "Congress has recessed," he announced, "and the President is handing the Soviet Union a counter ultimatum; locate and disarm any bombs or be bombed in return." The light flashed again; Hanby answered. His face lit up. "Two more found," he told them. "One in Chicago, right where your man said; the other in Camden."
"Camden? How?"
"They rounded up the known Communists, of course. This laddie was brought back there for questioning. He didn't like that; .he knew that he was being held less than a mile from the bomb. Who is on Camden?"
"Mr. Dimwiddy."
"The elderly man with the bunions?"
"That's right—retired postman. General, do we assume that there is only one bomb per city?"
McClintock answered, "Of course not! These people must—"
Hanby cut in, "Central Intelligence is assuming so, except for New York and Washington. If they had more bombs here, they would have added more cities."
Reynolds left to take Dimwiddy off watch. McClintock, he fumed, did not realize that people were flesh and blood.
Dimwiddy was unsurprised. "A while ago the pressure let up, then—well, I'm afraid I dozed. I had a terrible feeling that I had let it go off, then I knew it hadn't."
Reynolds told him to rest, then be ready to help out elsewhere. They settled on Philadelphia; Dimwiddy had once lived there.
The watch continued. Mrs. Ekitein came up with three hits, but no answers came back; Reynolds still had to keep those cities covered. She then complained that her "sight" had gone; Reynolds went to her room and told her to nap, not wishing to consult McClintock.
Luncheon trays came and went. Reynolds continued worrying over how to arrange his operators to let them rest. Forty-three people and thirty-five, cities—if only he had two for every city! Maybe any of them could watch any city? No, he could not chance it.
Barnes woke up and took back Toledo; that left Two-Gun free. Should he let him take Cleveland? Norman had had no relief and Two-Gun had once been through it, on a train. The colored boy was amazing but rather hysterical, whereas Two-Gun-—well, Reynolds felt that Two-Gun would last, even through a week of no sleep.
No! He couldn't trust Cleveland to a man who had merely passed through it. But with Dimwiddy on Philadelphia, when Mary Gifford woke he could put her on Houston and that would let Hank sleep before shifting him to Indianapolis and that would let him— A chess game, with all pawns queens and no mistakes allowed.
McClintock was twiddling the selector switch, listening in. Suddenly he snapped, "Someone is asleep!"
Reynolds checked the number.
"Of course, that's the twins' room; they take turns. You may hear snores in 21 and 30 and 8 and 19. It's okay; they're off watch."
"Well, all right." McCllntock seemed annoyed. Reynolds bent back to his list. Shortly McClintock snorted, "Who's in room 12?"
"Uh? Wait—that's Norman Johnson, Cleveland."
"You mean he's on watch?"
"Yes." ‘Reynolds could hear the boy's asthmatic breathing, felt relieved.
"He's asleep!"
‘"No, he's not."
But McClintock was rushing down the corridor. Reynolds took after him; Hammond and Hanby followed. Reynolds caught up as McClintock burst into room 12. Norman was sprawled in a chair, eyes closed in his habitual attitude.
McClintock rushed up, slapped him. "Wake up!" Reynolds grabbed McClintock. "You bloody fool!" Norman opened his eyes, then burst into tears. "It's gone!"
"Steady, Norman. It's all right."
"No, no! It's gone—and my mammy's gone with it!"
McClintock snapped, "Concentrate, boy! Get back on it!"
Reynolds turned on him. "Get out. Get out before I punch you."
Hanby and Hammond were in the door; the General cut in with a hoarse whisper, "Pipe down, Doctor, bring the boy."
Back at the board the outside light was flashing. Hanby took the call while Reynolds tried to quiet the boy. Hanby ‘listened gravely, then said, "He's right. Cleveland just got it."
McCllntock snapped, "He went to sleep. He ought to be shot."
"Shut up," said Hanby.
"But—"
Reynolds said, "any others, General?"
"Why would there be?"
"All this racket. It may have disturbed a dozen of them."
"Oh, we'll see." He called Washington again. Presently he sighed. "No, just Cleveland. We were lucky."
"General," McClintock insisted, "he was asleep."
Hanby looked at him. "Sir, you may be the President's deputy but you yourself have no military authority. Off my post."
"But I am directed by the President to—"
"Off my post, sir! Go back to Washington. Or to Cleveland. McClintock looked dumbfounded. Hanby added, "You're worse than bad—you're a fool."
"The President will hear of this."
"Blunder again and the President won't live that long. Get out."
By nightfall the situation was rapidly getting worse.
Twenty-seven cities were still threatened and Reynolds was losing operators faster than bombs were being found. Even-Money Karsch would not relieve when awakened. "See that?" he said, rolling dice. "Cold as a well-digger's feet. I'm through." After that Reynolds tested each one who was about to relieve, found that some were tired beyond the power of short sleep to restore them—they were "cold."
By midnight there were eighteen operators for nineteen cities. The twins had fearfully split up; it had worked.
Mrs. Wilkins was holding both Washington and Baltimore; she had taken Baltimore when he had no one to relieve there.
But now he had no one for relief anywhere and three operators—Nelson, Two-Gun and Grandma Wilkins—had had no rest. He was too fagged to worry; he simply knew that whenever one of them reached his limit, the United States would lose a city. The panic had resumed after the bombing of Cleveland; roads again were choked. The disorder made harder the search for bombs. But there was nothing he could do.
Mrs. Ekstein still complained about her sight but kept at it. Harry the newsboy had had no luck with Milwaukee, but there was no use shifting him; other cities were "dark" to him. During the night Mrs. Ekstein pointed to the bomb in Houston. It was, she said, in a box underground. A coffin? Yes, there was a headstone; she was unable to read the name.
Thus, many recent dead in Houston were disturbed. But it was nine Sunday morning before Reynolds went to tell Mary Gifford that she could rest—or relieve for Wilmington, if she felt up to it. He found her collapsed and lifted her onto the bed, wondering if she had known the Houston bomb was found.
Eleven cities now and eight people. Grandma Wilkins held four cities. No one else had been able to double up. Reynolds thought dully that it was a miracle that they had been able to last at all; it surpassed enormously the best test performance.
Hammond looked up as he returned. "Make any changes?"
"No. The Gifford kid is through. We'll lose half a dozen cities before this is over."
"Some of them must be damn near empty by now."
"I hope so. Any more bombs found?"
"Not yet. How do you feel, Doc?"
"Three weeks dead." Reynolds sat down wearily. He was wondering if he should wake some of those sleeping and test them again when he heard a noise below; he went to the stairwell. Up came an M.P. captain. "They said to bring her here." Reynolds looked at the woman with hi
m. "Dorothy Brentano!"
"Dorothy Smith now."
He controlled his trembling and explained what was required. She nodded. "I figured that out on the plane. Got a pencil? Take this: St. Louis—a river warehouse with a sign reading ‘Bartlett & Sons, Jobbers.' Look in the loft. And Houston—no, they got that one. Baltimore—it's in a ship at the docks, the S.S. Gold Coast. What other cities? I've wasted time feeling around where there was nothing to find."
Reynolds was already shouting for Washington to answer.
Grandma Wilkins was last to be relieved; Dorothy located one in the Potomac—and Mrs. Wilkins told her sharply to keep trying. There were four bombs in Washington, which Mrs. Wilkins had known all along. Dorothy found them in eleven minutes.
Three hours later Reynolds showed up in the club mess-room, not having been able to sleep. Several of his people were eating and listening to the radio blast about our raid on Russia. He gave it a wide berth; they could blast Omsk and Tomsk and Minsk and Pinsk; today he didn't care. He was sipping milk and thinking that he would never drink coffee again when Captain Mikeler bent over his table.
"The General wants you. Hurry!"
"Why?"
"I said, ‘Hurry!' Where's Grandma Wilkins—oh I see her. Who is Mrs. Dorothy Smith?"
Reynolds looked around. "She's with Mrs. Wilkins."
Mikeler rushed them to Hanby's office. Hanby merely said, "Sit over there. And you ladies, too. Stay in focus."
Reynolds found himself looking into a television screen at the President of the United States. He looked as weary as Reynolds felt, but he turned on his smile. "You are Doctor Reynolds?"
"Yes, Mr. President!"
"These ladies are Mrs. Wilkins and Mrs. Smith?"
"Yes, sir."
The President said quietly, "You three and your colleagues will be thanked by the Republic. And by me, for myself. But that must wait. Mrs. Smith, there are more bombs—in Russia. Could your strange gift find them there?"
"Why, I don't—I can try!"
"Mrs. Wilkins, could you set off those Russian bombs while they are still far away?"
The Menace From Earth Page 21
