_Dear Sirs:_
_You are herewith given notice to bring peace and freedom to all
peoples within thirty days from this date. We are sick of your
broken pledges, your compromises with principle, your verbal
shilly-shallying. Give us peace within a month or I shall destroy
the earth utterly._
_Chetzisky._
* * * * *
I recognized the name immediately. "Chetzisky." A brilliant Polish
physicist, a refugee who fled the twin tyrannies of Germany and Russia.
Unknown to all but a few, he had played an important role in the
Manhattan Project. His opinions and work had won the respect of the
Comptons, the Oppenheimers, the Seaborgs; even, it's said, of Einstein
himself.
His small face, with oddly shining eyes set close together, came
vividly to mind. The last time I saw him was in March, 1946, en route
to St. Louis for the convention of the American Association for the
Advancement of Science. I met him on the train out of Chicago. His
conversation was bitter with denunciations of the world's fumblings
toward peace.
"We scientists," Chetzisky had said, "give man the means to aid the
suffering, to conserve the strength of the toiler, to bring more
comfort and leisure to all. But does man appreciate our work? No! He
uses our every work to steal from his brother, to cheat, enslave, even
to kill him."
His eyes became glinting points as he spoke. His guttural tones grew
indistinct as emotion choked him. He was a scientist of a rare order.
Yet he was a humanist, too; the suffering he knew as a young Pole, son
of tragically poor parents, made him that way. Chetzisky was savagely
impatient of the stupidity of man, who built himself a hell instead of
a paradise. Science, he felt, could find a way to put mankind on its
best behaviour.
"I see your point, Doctor," I had said. "But science has given the
world a dose of the atom bomb and it hasn't started behaving."
"Yes, I know. But there must be a way. An enforced goodness is better
than none at all." He had fallen into a brooding silence, and I had
left him to go to my berth. Next morning I had found Chetzisky still in
the lounge car, wrapped in thought.
* * * * *
"Well, Arnold, what do you think?" asked Armstrong, breaking in on my
recollections.
"Frankly, Jim, I believe he could do it; he's that kind of man."
"That makes two of us," said Armstrong, his fingers thrumming on the
side of his chair. And after a while, "Only two of us."
"You mean to say the government isn't going to make even a routine
check?"
"That's right, Arnold. The Korean affair has sidetracked everything
else. Of course, they may be right; it may only be a hoax. But I have a
hunch it isn't. That's why I came to you."
"I have never known you to have a wrong hunch yet, Jim. I'll go along
with you."
"Thanks, Arnold." Armstrong lit up a cigarette and after the first long
puff went on, "Have you any idea how Chetzisky could do it? You're a
scientist; you should know."
"Well, Jim, it's a fantastic possibility and it calls for some
fantastic conjectures. Perhaps he's found a way to produce a chain
reaction right down into the earth's core; perhaps he can produce a
radioactive cloud of colossal proportions. Then again he may have a way
of activating uranium, thorium, and radium deposits all over the world
by ultra-high frequency radiations."
"You don't think," said Armstrong, "that there might be atomic bombs
cached in strategic places throughout the world, ready to be set off on
a certain day by time mechanisms or confederates?"
"Hardly. That would call for such widespread activity and the work of
so many hands it couldn't escape detection. Besides, to achieve the
annihilation Chetzisky promises would take thousands of bombs. Such
production is beyond us as a nation, never mind an individual."
Armstrong got up and walked restlessly about the room. "Arnold, I was
only worried when I came here; now I'm terrified."
"What do you plan doing, Jim?"
"We've got to catch up with him fast. We can't take the chance it's a
hoax." The square jaw hardened and the muscles tightened in the lean,
weather-beaten face. "Will you help me, Arnold?"
"Of course. I can easily get a leave of absence for government business
and...."
"You won't be able," Armstrong broke in, "because it isn't government
business. Remember there are only two of us who believe this note.
Whatever help we'll need I'll have to wrangle by pulling my rank." He
pointed to the colonel's eagles on his shoulders.
"But I have six more lectures to deliver this semester, Jim; that will
tie me up for three weeks."
"That can't be helped. When is your next class?"
"Tuesday. My lectures are Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Good. That gives you lots of time to work with me between lectures.
Beginning right now."
"But--"
"Start packing some things. I'll arrange for you to fly to the atomic
labs and take up Chetzisky's trail from there. You'll have the entire
weekend to dig up something." He took me by the arm and hustled me out
of the office.
While I rummaged in my rooms for a luggage case and packed some
clothes, the energetic Armstrong sat on my bed smoking a cigarette and
filled me in on the details he had rounded up in the past twenty-four
hours. The man was a wonder the way he had gone to work unofficially on
the Chetzisky case while still handling a regular official assignment
on the leakage of troop movements.
"Doctor Chetzisky got a year's leave of absence from the atomic
labs; that was eight months ago. A month ago he dropped out of sight
altogether."
"Did he tell anyone where he was going?"
"No, he didn't. But he did have an interesting chat with a visiting
English chemist, Doctor Chaslington, the Nobel prize winner. Told
Chaslington that our fission methods are as out of date and wasteful
as the first automobile. Chaslington didn't press him for further
information. Matter of good taste and manners with the Englishman.
Besides, he probably figured Chetzisky was simply projecting his fancy
into the future."
I grunted as I snapped the suitcase lock shut. "By the way, Jim, have
you traced any of the letters yet?"
"No." Armstrong paused to light a fresh cigarette. "That's what I'll be
doing while you're away. Ready?" He dropped the burnt-out match in an
ash tray and swung my bag off the bed.
* * * * *
Five hours later I was air-bound out of Washington for the atomic labs.
As the lights of cities and towns flashed below me, a panicking sense
of responsibility seized me. Two of us alone were trying to save two
billion people from a deadline of annihilation; forced to do it in our
spare time as if the rescue of a planet was a casual hobby for leisure
hours. I struck an angry fist into the palm of my hand; a sickening
feeling of hopelessness took me by the pit of the stomach.
My glance fell on the newspaper open on my lap. A lovely debutante
stared up at me, smiling. "_Wedding Set For Next Month_," the caption
under the picture announced. _If there is a next month_, I thought.
Millions like the debutante were thinking of some bliss next month
would bring--the young mother-to-be; the old couple approaching a
golden anniversary celebration; the prisoner awaiting release; the
author looking forward to his first published book. If Armstrong and
I failed--I shook off the thought of it and turned to the sport page.
The print grew dim behind a procession of images of happy brides,
bright-eyed old couples, beaming, confident young men, and I fell off
into an uneasy sleep.
At the airport the Director of the Atomic labs was on hand to meet me
and take me to his home for breakfast. I ate hurriedly and waited with
evident impatience until my host drove me over to the atomic labs. He
showed me into Chetzisky's office and the hunt had begun.
The office was a small neat room at the end of a corridor. I inspected
every nook and cranny of the place. I took out the desk drawers,
looked for stray papers, leafed through the scientific volumes in the
bookcase. I checked the wall calendar for notations or circled dates. I
searched everywhere and found nothing.
From the office the Director drove me over to the "prefab" residential
section where Doctor Chetzisky's assistant, Roger Budnick, lived. He
was just sitting down to a last minute coffee when we came in. The
Director introduced us and left. I joined Budnick in a coffee and
questioned him about the Doctor. He answered frankly but he had no
information.
Disgusted and discouraged I accepted Budnick's offer to ride with him
to the labs. His 1938 Chevrolet was parked in front of the house. I
noticed the badly dented fender as I walked around to get in the car,
and commented on it.
"I got it the same night Doctor Chetzisky had his accident at the lab."