The colonel and his captains wheeled, stared and saluted. "Oh,
general," the colonel said. "I was just--"
"I know," the brigadier said, stepping into the room. "I've been
listening to you. And I thought I suggested that everybody leave the
sergeant and his staff alone."
"But, general, I--"
The general showed the colonel his back and motioned Andy into his
chair. He glanced to Bettijean and a smile warmed his wedge face.
"Corporal, were you speaking just then as a woman or as a soldier?"
Crimson erupted into Bettijean's face and her tight laugh said many
things. She shrugged. "Both I guess."
The general waved her to a chair and, oblivious of the colonel, pulled
up a chair for himself. The last trace of humor drained from his face
as he leaned elbows on the desk. "Andy, this is even worse than we had
feared."
Andy fumbled for a cigarette and Bettijean passed him a match. A
captain opened his mouth to speak, but the colonel shushed him.
"I've just come from Intelligence," the general said. "We haven't had
a report--nothing from our agents, from the Diplomatic Corps, from the
civilian newspapermen--not a word from any Iron Curtain country for a
day and half. Everybody's frantic. The last item we had--it was a
coded message the Reds'd tried to censor--was an indication of
something big in the works."
"A day and half ago," Andy mused. "Just about the time we knew we had
an epidemic. And about the time they knew it."
"It could be just propaganda," Bettijean said hopefully, "proving that
they could cripple us from within."
The general nodded. "Or it could be the softening up for an all-out
effort. Every American base in the world is alerted and every
serviceman is being issued live ammunition. If we're wrong, we've
still got an epidemic and panic that could touch it off. If we're
right ... well, we've got to know. What can you do?"
Andy dropped his haggard face into his hands. His voice came through
muffled. "I can sit here and cry." For an eternity he sat there,
futility piling on helplessness, aware of Bettijean's hand on his arm.
He heard the colonel try to speak and sensed the general's movement
that silenced him.
Suddenly he sat upright and slapped a palm down on the desk. "We'll
find your answers, sir. All we ask is co-operation."
The general gave both Andy and Bettijean a long, sober look, then
launched himself from the chair. Pivoting, he said, "Colonel, you and
your captains will be stationed by that switchboard out there. For the
duration of this emergency, you will take orders only from the
sergeant and the corporal here."
"But, general," the colonel wailed, "a noncom? I'm assigned--"
The general snorted. "Insubordination cannot be tolerated--unless you
find a two-star general to outrank me. Now, as I said before, let's
get out of here and let these people work."
* * * * *
The brass exited wordlessly. Bettijean sighed noisily. Andy found his
cigarette dead and lit another. He fancied a tiny lever in his brain
and he shifted gears to direct his thinking back into the proper
channel. Abruptly his fatigue began to lift. He picked up the new pile
of reports Bettijean had brought in.
She move around the desk and sat, noting the phone book he had used,
studying the names he had crossed off. "Did you learn anything?" she
asked.
Andy coughed, trying to clear his raw throat. "It's crazy," he said.
"From the Senate and House on down, I haven't found a single
government worker sick."
"I found a few," she said. "Over in a Virginia hospital."
"But I did find," Andy said, flipping through pages of his own
scrawl, "a society matron and her social secretary, a whole flock of
office workers--business, not government--and new parents and newly
engaged girls and...." He shrugged.
"Did you notice anything significant about those office workers?"
Andy nodded. "I was going to ask you the same, since I was just
guessing. I hadn't had time to check it out."
"Well, I checked some. Practically none of my victims came from big
offices, either business or industry. They were all out of one and
two-girl offices or small businesses."
"That was my guess. And do you know that I didn't find a doctor,
dentist or attorney?"
"Nor a single postal worker."
Andy tried to smile. "One thing we do know. It's not a communicable
thing. Thank heaven for--"
He broke off as a cute blonde entered and put stacks of reports before
both Andy and Bettijean. The girl hesitated, fidgeting, fingers to her
teeth. Then, without speaking, she hurried out.
Andy stared at the top sheet and groaned. "This may be something. Half
the adult population of Aspen, Colorado, is down."
"What?" Bettijean frowned over the report in her hands. "It's the same
thing--only not quite as severe--in Taos and Santa Fe, New Mexico."
"Writers?"
"Mostly. Some artists, too, and musicians. And poets are among the
hard hit."
"This is insane," Andy muttered. "Doctors and dentists are
fine--writers and poets are sick. Make sense out of that."
Bettijean held up a paper and managed a confused smile. "Here's a
country doctor in Tennessee. He doesn't even know what it's all about.
Nobody's sick in his valley."
"Somebody in our outer office is organized," Andy said, pulling at his
cigarette. "Here're reports from a dozen military installations all
lumped together."
"What does it show?"
"Black-out. By order of somebody higher up--no medical releases. Must
mean they've got it." He scratched the growing stubble on his chin.
"If this were a fifth column setup, wouldn't the armed forces be the
first hit?"
"Sure," Bettijean brightened, then sobered. "Maybe not. The brass
could keep it secret if an epidemic hit an army camp. And they could
slap a control condition on any military area. But the panic will come
from the general public."
"Here's another batch," Andy said. "Small college towns under
twenty-five thousand population. All hard hit."
"Well, it's not split intellectually. Small colleges and small offices
and writers get it. Doctors don't and dentists don't. But we can't
tell who's got it on the military bases."
"And it's not geographical. Look, remember those two reports from
Tennessee? That place where they voted on water bonds or something,
everybody had it. But the country doctor in another section hadn't
even heard of it." Andy could only shake his head.
Bettijean heaved herself up from the chair and trudged back to the
outer office. She returned momentarily with a tray of food. Putting a
paper cup of coffee and a sandwich in front of Andy, she sat down and
nibbled at her snack like an exhausted chipmunk.
Andy banged a fist at his desk again. Coffee splashed over the rim of
his cup onto the clutter of papers. "It's here," he said angrily.
"It's here somewhere, but we can't find it."
"The answer?"
"Of course. What is it that girls in small offices do or eat or drink
or wear that girls in large offices don't do or eat or drink or wear?
What do writers and doctors do differently? Or poets and dentists?
What are we missing? What--"
* * * * *
In the outer office a girl cried out. A body thumped against a desk,
then a chair, then to the floor. Two girls screamed.
Andy bolted up from his chair. Racing to the door, he shouted back to
Bettijean, "Get a staff doctor and a chemist from the lab."
It was the girl who had been so nervous in his office earlier. Now she
lay in a pathetic little heap between her desk and chair, whimpering,
shivering, eyes wide with horror. The other girls clustered at the
hall door, plainly ready to stampede.
"It's not contagious," Andy growled. "Find some blankets or coats to
cover her. And get a glass of water."
The other girls, glad for the excuse, dashed away. Andy scooped up the
fallen girl and put her down gently on the close-jammed desks. He used
a chair cushion for a pillow. By then the other girls were back with a
blanket and the glass of water. He covered the girl, gave her a sip of
water and heard somebody murmur, "Poor Janis."
"Now," Andy said brightly, "how's that, Janis?"
She mustered a smile, and breathed, "Better. I ... I was so scared.
Fever and dizzy ... symptoms like the epidemic."
"Now you know there's nothing to be afraid of," Andy said, feeling
suddenly and ridiculously like a pill roller with a practiced bedside
manner. "You know you may feel pretty miserable, but nobody's conked
out with this stuff yet."
Janis breathed out and her taut body relaxed.
"Don't hurry," Andy said, "but I want you to tell me everything that
you did--everything you ate or drank--in the last ... oh, twelve
hours." He felt a pressure behind him and swiveled his head to see
Bettijean standing there. He tried to smile.
"What time is it?" Janis asked weakly.
Andy glanced to a wall clock, then gave it a double take.
One of the girls said, "It's three o'clock in the morning." She edged
nearer Andy, obviously eager to replace Janis as the center of
attention. Andy ignored her.
"I ... I've been here since ... golly, yesterday morning at nine,"
Janis said. "I came to work as usual and...."
Slowly, haltingly, she recited the routine of a routine work day, then
told about the quick snack that sufficed for supper and about staying
on her phone and typewriter for another five hours. "It was about
eleven when the relief crew came in."
"What did you do then?" Andy asked.
"I ... I took a break and...." Her ivory skin reddened, the color
spreading into the roots of her fluffy curls, and she turned her face
away from Andy. "And I had a sandwich and some coffee and got a little
nap in the ladies' lounge and ... and that's all."
"And that's not all," Andy prompted. "What else?"
"Nothing," Janis said too quickly.