"Er--just some half-baked idea out of the Pentagon. Some colonel trying to justify his existence." He clutched the box to him as though Summerford might try to take it away. "The tank's all yours." He turned and clambered out of the chamber. He put the box down on the concrete floor, and climbed out of the pressure suit, watching the box all the time. It seemed to gleam up at him, as though it had eyes, full of silent menace. He realized vaguely that Summerford was standing in front of him again, looking anxious. "Are you quite sure you're okay?" "I'm fine," Forster said, hardly recognizing his own voice. He picked up the box and stumbled out, heading for his office. When he walked in, his secretary was answering the line fitted with a scrambler, which connected directly with the Pentagon. "General Morganson," she said, handing him the receiver. Forster took the receiver, sat down at his desk and took a deep breath, fighting hard to regain his self control. "Forster," he said into the mouthpiece when the office door closed behind the girl. "Forster! What the dickens has happened to Preston? My driver met the train here this morning, but there was no sign of him. But the Pullman porter checked him in last night, and we found all his gear and papers in his compartment!" "He left here in plenty of time to catch the train, General," Forster heard himself say. "He took the train to get a night's rest." He realized how irrelevant the last statement was only after he had made it. The General was talking again ... important meeting with the Joint Chiefs ... whole briefing team was being held up ... he'd reported it to the C.I.A. as a precautionary measure.... * * * * * Forster could see the words on the roll, the roll that wasn't, as though they were engraved on his eye-retinas: _As a beginning, and to prove this isn't just a bit of hocus-pocus, one of the people at your Center is due to leave for here any time now._ "General," Forster broke in hoarsely. "I've got some very important information which you must have. I'll leave by heliplane right away." He replaced the phone receiver in its cradle, wondering how convincing he would be able to make his story. At least, even if he didn't have Bentley's letter, he had the container. That should help. But when he looked across the desk, he saw that it too had disappeared, without a trace. * * * * * General Morganson was the newest product of the Atomic Age, half soldier, half scientist--shrewd and perceptive, an intellectual giant. He listened carefully, without comment or change of expression, as Forster doggedly went through his story in chronological order. Half way through, he held up his hand and started pushing buttons on the console built into his desk. Within a few moments men began filing into the room, and sat down around Forster. Then the general motioned to the clerk seated in the corner by a tape recorder.