"But ... but...."
"Was it something against regulations?"
"I ... I don't know. I think...."
"I'll vouch for your job in this office."
"Well...." She seemed on the verge of tears and her pleading glance
sought out Andy, then Bettijean, then her co-workers. Finally,
resigned, she said, "I ... I wrote a letter to my mother."
Andy swallowed against his groan of disappointment. "And you told her
about what we were doing here."
Janis nodded, and tears welled into her wide eyes.
"Did you mail it?"
"Y ... yes."
"You didn't use a government envelope to save a stamp?"
"Oh, no. I always carry a few stamps with me." She choked down a sob.
"Did I do wrong?"
"No, I don't think so," Andy said, patting her shoulder. "There's
certainly nothing secret about this epidemic. Now you just take it
easy and--. Oh, here's a doctor now."
The doctor, a white-headed Air Force major, bustled into the room. A
lab technician in a white smock was close behind. Andy could only
shrug and indicate the girl.
Turning away, lighting a cigarette, he tried to focus on the tangle of
thoughts that spun through his head. Doctors, writers, society
matrons, office workers--Aspen, Taos and college towns--thousands of
people sick--but none in that valley in Tennessee--and few government
workers--just one girl in his office--and she was sicker and more
frightened about a letter--and....
"Hey, wait!" Andy yelled.
Everyone in the room froze as Andy spun around, dashed to Bettijean's
desk and yanked out the wide, top drawer. He pawed through it,
straightened, then leaped across to the desk Janis had used. He
snatched open drawer after drawer. In a bottom one he found her purse.
Ripping it open, he dumped the contents on the desk and clawed through
the pile until he found what he wanted. Handing it to the lab
technician, he said, "Get me a report. Fast."
The technician darted out.
Andy wheeled to Bettijean. "Get the brass in here. And call the
general first." To the doctor, he said, "Give that girl the best of
everything."
Then he ducked back to his own office and to the pile of reports. He
was still poring over them when the general arrived. Half a dozen
other brass hats, none of whom had been to bed, were close behind. The
lab technician arrived a minute later. He shook his head as he handed
his hastily scribbled report to Andy.
* * * * *
It was Bettijean who squeezed into the office and broke the brittle
silence. "Andy, for heaven's sake, what is it?" Then she moved around
the desk to stand behind him as he faced the officers.
"Have you got something?" the brigadier asked. "Some girl outside was
babbling about writers and doctors, and dentists and college students,
and little secretaries and big secretaries. Have you established a
trend?"
Andy glanced at the lab report and his smile was as relieved as it was
weary. "Our problem," he said, "was in figuring out what a writer does
that a doctor doesn't--why girls from small offices were sick--and why
senators and postal workers weren't--why college students caught the
bug and people in a Tennessee community didn't.
"The lab report isn't complete. They haven't had time to isolate the
poison and prescribe medication. But"--he held up a four-cent
stamp--"here's the villain, gentlemen."
The big brass stood stunned and shocked. Mouths flapped open and eyes
bugged at Andy, at the stamp.
Bettijean said, "Sure. College kids and engaged girls and new parents
and especially writers and artists and poets--they'd all lick lots of
stamps. Professional men have secretaries. Big offices have
postage-meter machines. And government offices have free franking.
And"--she threw her arms around the sergeant's neck--"Andy, you're
wonderful."
"The old American ingenuity," the colonel said, reaching for Andy's
phone. "I knew we could lick it. Now all we have to do--"
"At ease, colonel," the brigadier said sharply. He waited until the
colonel had retreated, then addressed Andy. "It's your show. What do
you suggest?"
"Get somebody--maybe even the President--on all radio and TV networks.
Explain frankly about the four-centers and warn against licking any
stamps. Then--"
He broke off as his phone rang. Answering, he listened for a moment,
then hung up and said, "But before the big announcement, get somebody
checking on the security clearances at whatever plant it is where they
print stamps. This's a big deal. Somebody may've been planted years
ago for this operation. It shouldn't be too hard.
"But there's no evidence it was a plot yet. Could be pure
accident--some chemical in the stickum spoiled. Do they keep the
stickum in barrels? Find out who had access. And ... oh, the phone
call. That was the lab. The antidote's simple and the cure should be
quick. They can phone or broadcast the medical information to doctors.
The man on the phone said they could start emptying hospitals in six
hours. And maybe we should release some propaganda. "United States
whips mystery virus," or something like that. And we could send the
Kremlin a stamp collection and.... Aw, you take it, sir. I'm pooped."
* * * * *
The general wheeled to fire a salvo of commands. Officers poured into
the corridor. Only the brigadier remained, a puzzled frown crinkling
his granite brow.
"But you said that postal workers weren't getting sick."
Andy chucked. "That's right. Did you ever see a post office clerk
lick a stamp? They always use a sponge."
The general looked to Bettijean, to Andy, to the stamp. He grinned and
the grin became a rumbling laugh. "How would you two like a thirty-day
furlough to rest up--or to get better acquainted?"
Bettijean squealed. Andy reached for her hand.
"And while you're gone," the general continued, "I'll see what strings
I can pull. If I can't wangle you a couple of battlefield commissions,
I'll zip you both through O.C.S. so fast you won't even have time to
pin on the bars."
But neither Andy nor Bettijean had heard a word after the mention of
furlough. Like a pair of puppy-lovers, they were sinking into the
depths of each other's eyes.
And the general was still chuckling as he picked up the lone four-cent
stamp in his left hand, made a gun of his right hand, and marched the
stamp out of the office under guard.