Flinn heard footfalls upon the stairs and the sound of excited voices.
Hayes burst into the room and turned on the light, the .357 magnum
still in his hand. His face was pale; his mouth worked, but no sound
emerged.
Flinn found that his muscles would obey him now, and he stood up and
headed for the door. He felt numb, drained. He stepped out into the
hall. Every special agent and security man on the premises was crowded
there.
Flinn turned back to Hayes.
"I never thought to ask before," Flinn said. "Dobbs--did he have any
close living relatives? A wife? Children?"
Hayes shook his head.
"Thank God for that!" Flinn said.
He started down the hall toward the stairs. The men there grew silent
as he approached and moved soundlessly out of his way.
He went down the stairs, through the room off the kitchen, and outside
to the driveway. He looked up at the dark sky.
_It's over_, he told himself. _And now I'm a murderer. All of us are. A
guilt shared by the few to save the many. But the few are the product
of the many, just as each individual is, so where are we to place the
blame?_
Twenty years of research, and where had it led?
Somewhere he had failed as society had failed, and, even in success,
Flinn could feel no flush of victory.
The Earth was safe, but every human upon it had died a little without
even knowing it.
_Yes, it's over_, Flinn thought finally. _For now. Until the next time._
He could see no stars. In a while it would be dawn.