There was a room, men. I recognized Kayle, gray-faced, haggard. A tall
man in braided blue stood near him. Others stood silently by, tension
on every face. Maps covered the wall behind them.
I was looking into the War Room at the Pentagon in Washington. The
line I had traced was the telephonic hot-line, the top-security link
between the Record Center and the command level. It was a heavy cable,
well protected and always open. It would free me from the trap. With
Gool-tutored skill I scanned the room, memorized its co-ordinates. Then
I withdrew.
Like a swimmer coming up from a long dive, I fought my way back to the
level of immediate awareness. I sagged into a chair, blinking at the
drab walls, the complexity of the transmitter. I must move fast now,
place the bomb in the transmitter's field, direct it at the target.
With an effort I got to my feet, went to the sump, lifted the cover. I
grasped the lifting eye, strained--and the bomb came up, out onto the
floor. I dragged it to the transmitter....
And only then realized what I'd been about to do.
My target.
The War Room--the nerve-center of Earth's defenses. And I had been
ready to dump the hell bomb there. In my frenzy to be rid of it I would
have played into the hands of the Gool.