Alan E. Nourse & J. A. Meyer Read Free Page A

later? Why
couldn't he have had that much sense, instead of
acting like a bumbling fool?
    But
still, he was stunned at the ruthless disregard Bahr had shown for military
authority. The man was out of line, unless there was far more involved here
than he could see.
    Alexander
gnawed the inside of his mouth, listening to the pelting rain on the plexiglass roof. The ground trucks had moved out in a wide
circle now, with the 'copters preceding them overhead. Alexander scowled. What
was so imperative about some radioactives passing a
Geiger alarm? Bahr had no evidence whatsoever that the hot stuff had come from
the plant. And Alexander was virtually certain that it had not.
    He
knew the security system at the plant because he had personally organized it
from top to bottom. After his downgrading from BURINF, when they had ordered
him to the military limbo of this antique power pile in the Illinois flatlands,
Harvey Alexander had realized that his only hope for reinstatement would be a
record of exemplary execution of his new job—the security protection of the
plant. Within a week he had studied and thrown out the old, ineffective
security system and installed the system he had so carefully and painstakingly
devised to meet any imaginable emergency situation.
    It was as perfect a system as Alexander knew
how to devise, and he was singularly expert on the matter of security systems
. . . though only God and BRINT knew that, besides himself. And he was sure
that no U-metal could have left that plant without his knowing it.
    But
even if it had, he could see no cause for panic. Who would try to steal
U-metal? It was as useless as gold bullion. There were no markets for it. It
was worthless outside a power pile. Besides, the Wildwood Plant was one of the
oldest piles in existence, built back in the Twentieth Century with all the
incredible engineering inefficiencies that the early 1960's had produced. The
U-metal slugs it used would only fit that particular pile.
    It simply didn't make sense. The complete
irrationality of anybody stealing U-metal caught in
Alexander's orderly mind like a barbed hook. And this DIA investigation . . .
he winced.
    What could there be about a U-metal theft . .
. the most impractical of all crimes . . . that attracted the DIA?
    From somewhere to the West, two more squads
of 'copters slid into the sky, fanning out in a huge circle radiating from the
thick patch of woodland and brush surrounding the area of the strike point.
    Somewhere
out there, something radioactive had tripped a road monitor and centered an
alarm. Whatever it was, it was still out there. But even as he watched,
Alexander could see the huge circle growing tighter. Men shouted and trucks
moved. 'Copter blades fanned the sky. In the gloom he could see the DIA men
moving efficiently and quickly, following the maneuver from the headquarters
of Bahr's copter.
    It was like a huge, well-oiled machine, and
he had no part of it. There was nothing for him to do, no orders for him to
give, because Bahr had done it all.
    The
crackle of the radio jerked Alexander to alertness. "Major Alexander. ASPX nine-two-three calling Major Alexander."
    He
picked up the speaker, held the switch down. "Alexander
here."
    "Washington
refers us to Lowrie Field, Denver, sir .
McEwen is on vacation there."
    "Then
resend the message," Alexander said. "Plain-language heading:
'Personal McEwen', and put it on a Q priority."
    "Yes, sir." Over the speaker Alexander could hear the click-click of the cipher- typer as the new message was made up. "Hold it a
minute, sir . . . the OD wants to talk to you."
    The
OD's voice rasped in the speaker. "There are six DIA 'copters just landed
in the compound, sir. The investigators want to stop production and hold a
U-metal inventory right now. What should I do?"
    A
number of suggestions, all of them obscene, came immediately to Alexander's
mind, but he stifled them and thought carefully for a moment. He'd hoped for an
answer from McEwen by