The Message Center clerk, with a neat stack of papers. "Sir, this is
your copy of the report received last night. The original is on file
in Message Center and other copies are on the desks of the people who
will need them."
"Thank you," Bennington said. "I am sure that this procedure will be
followed in the future."
"Yes, sir!"
It will be in your case, Bennington decided, then turned his attention
to the report.
The distribution list in the upper righthand corner was--h-m-m-m,
good. Himself, Chief Psychologist, Chief Guard, Kitchen, Supply.
Probably set up by the same man who had designed Message Center
itself.
The report was not good.
The first paragraph was a summary and it was almost all bad news.
Total: 35. No women, no juveniles, the only good reading. But they
were coming from all six states and all but one of them Barracks Two
and Three cases. Assembled at Philadelphia, by train to Harrisburg, by
truck to here, but not arriving until 1530.
Two and Three were overcrowded now. With their communications so good,
why couldn't they move the processed men out faster?
And this new group would arrive so late. Couldn't even begin
processing them. Or could they?
Might have to.
Let's look at the details.
Connecticut: Musto, John, and his brothers, Ralph and Pietro. Murders.
Following those names, five others of the gang that had terrorized the
banks in that area for two years. Capturing all of them at once by
putting a sleep-gas bomb in a basket of groceries delivered to their
hideout, that had been a neat bit of police work. But till those boys
were conditioned or drugged, they would need special guards.
Delaware: Clarens, Walter. Murders. The name was familiar--Oh yes,
three killings, one of them a little girl with whose blood Clarens had
written at the scene. "For God's sake, catch me before I kill again."
Well, Thornberry would be happy.
Maryland: Major crimes, but no killers.
New Jersey: The usual list from the waterfronts and the usual wide
variety of manslaughter and homicide.
New York: Dalton, Harry. Let's see, haven't I ... yes. "The Man No
Jail Can Hold." Another special guard.
Pennsylvania:...
The name jumped out. _Rooney, Michael_.
The intercom on his desk buzzed and he flipped the switch. "Go ahead,
Bennington here," he said, and realized only after he had spoken how
the thought of Rooney had made his voice a growl.
"Dr. Thornberry, sir. May I see you?"
"By all means," Bennington said. "The sooner, the better."
* * * * *
Thornberry started talking as soon as he opened the door between the
two offices.
"General, did you see the list of new arrivals? Of all people, Dalton!
And arriving too late to be conditioned!"
Bennington said nothing until the psychologist had seated himself. He
simply watched his chief assistant and tried to find some reason to
like the man.
"What do you mean," he finally said, "too late to be conditioned?"
Having just considered this problem, Bennington's question was a
testing of Thornberry, not a request for information.
Thornberry was looking aggrieved, as if the fact was so obvious even
the general could understand it. "Processing takes all day, sir, and
this group does not arrive until late afternoon."
"Does the processing have to be continuous?" Bennington hoped his
chief assistant would show a little flexibility.
But the question threw the bureaucratic psychologist into mental
dishevelment. "I beg your pardon?"
"All we have to worry about is keeping them quiet tonight, then you
can slip them back to normal in the morning and run them through as if
they had arrived tomorrow."