"But that's different. That's… unfortunately, it is an essential step towards saving thousands of other lives, maybe millions. This is just cold-blooded murder!"

"Now you are simply playing with words," Wegmann said impatiently. "And I have a question for you, Doctor. It has been reported to me that yesterday you tried to get Dr. Rennenkamp to further delay the test. Would you mind explaining why?"

"Well, I-"

"I had you arrange for one delay. It was necessary in order to get them out there precisely today. But another delay would have been fatal to our plans. You know that. Why did you try to talk Dr. Rennenkamp into another postponement?"

Naldi licked his lips nervously. Then, abruptly, he drew himself up and squared his shoulders. He spoke firmly, "Because I thought in another week it might be safe for them to make the shot. At least the risk would be much smaller; my instruments show that conditions are rapidly becoming much less critical. I thought, if I could get the old fool to hold off another week, just a few more days, we wouldn't have to go through with this terrible-"

"Naldi," said Wegmann, "you are a sentimental fool." He must have made some kind of a signal, although I didn't catch it. There was a sharp, explosive noise from the church tower, almost coincident with the crack of a rifle bullet going past and the unforgettable sound as it struck home. Naldi pitched back into the snow, dead before he fell.

"All right, Mrs. Hendricks," Wegmann said calmly. "That way, if you please. Follow the tracks carefully. We do not wish to disturb the snow unnecessarily."

Gail stared at him in a stunned way. Her eyes were very wide and her face was very white; the little freckles on her nose showed plainly. She turned her shocked stare towards the body at her feet. Dr. Naldi's bifocal lenses looked blindly up at the morning sky, askew in the dead, dark face. There was only a small spot of blood on the front of his coat. (Gail made a choked sound and turning, stumbled away.

Wegmann gestured to me to follow. I obeyed, aware that Gunther and two men were covering the jeep station wagon he had driven here which had a ski rack on top for camouflage and my truck with white canvas that would presumably make them look like snow-covered boulders from the air. Maybe they had an extra sheet for the body. The other two men seemed unaffected, but Gunther looked a little sick.

Three men here, I thought, one in the tower with a rifle and Wegmann himself-five so far. Well, I'd offered myself as bait according to instructions. I really couldn't complain because too many had taken up the offer.

Ahead of me, Gail slipped to one knee, then picked herself up again awkwardly. Her bound wrists looked unreal and theatrical. The thing up in the tower looked phony, too, like something in a science-fiction movie. I paused under the church tower and looked up. From this angle, I couldn't see the rifleman, but the gadget itself was clearly visible.

"Nervous little beast, isn't it?" I said, with a backward glance at Wegmann, who was following at a discreet distance.

"It is only seeking now," he replied. "When it finds what it is seeking, it will lock on and commence tracking. It will report distance, direction and speed of flight to the instruments inside the church. When a certain switch is thrown, it will also assume control. We will be able to steer the big bird towards us, or to send it away-say to a suitable target far across the valley."

"When it takes off like that," I said, "assuming that it does, won't the range officer hit his little red button and blow it up?"

"The range safety officer will undoubtedly close the destruct circuit, or try to," Wegmann said. "He will be very much surprised, no doubt, when nothing happens. He will be even more surprised to discover that his test missile is armed. I have taken a long time to build my organization here, Mr. Helm, and it is a very good one. I have planned this demonstration well. Dr. Naldi merely helped me to select a suitable target. Your newspapers will have a great deal to write about in the next few days."

"When does the show start?" I asked.

"The bird flies at ten," he said, and gestured with the gun he still held-my gun. I found myself wishing that I'd thought to sabotage it in some way before passing it to Gail, but that would have been a dead give-away if discovered. "Please keep moving," Wegmann said. "Mrs. Hendricks is getting ahead of us. Don't try any clever delays or diversions, I warn you. I have a use for prisoners. There is someone I wish to keep occupied and unsuspicious for the next hour or so-you have that long if you are careful. But the exact number of prisoners does not really matter. I hope you understand."

"I read you," I said, "loud and clear."

Wegmann raised his voice. "Mrs. Hendricks. That's far enough. Wait for us there."

She stopped and waited at the door of the hut. I could feel the vibration of the machinery inside as I came up. Gail glanced at me briefly and looked away. A little color had returned to her face. She brushed snow off the knee of her pants. Wegmann reached us, waved us back with the gun, and opened the door. The noise of a big gasoline engine, along with the crackling hum of the generator it was driving and a breath of warm air smelling of hot oil and grease came to us strongly.

"You will be comfortable in here, I hope," Wegmann said hospitably. Then he leaned forward and shouted to somebody inside. "Company, Mr. Romero!"

There was no answer, but he signaled us forward anyway. I followed Gail inside. The windows were blacked out; the only illumination came from a forty-watt bulb on a cord attached to one of the round log rafters-vigas they are called in that country. The machinery took up half the space in the little building. Inside the place, it made a fearful racket. I looked around for the man to whom Wegmann had yelled, assuming he'd be an engineer or mechanic on watch.

For a moment, I saw no one. Then Wegmann stepped past us and kicked at something in the corner.

"Don't play possum with me, Mr. Romero!" Wegmann shouted. "Here are some friends to keep you company. They'd like to ask you about an incident involving a gray Oldsmobile, haha!"

The bundle of clothing stirred and revealed itself to be a rather small man in a gabardine topcoat that was liberally smeared with the dirt and grease of the floor. His black hair, rather long, hung lankly into his face which- under the dirt-was quite pale except for some spectacular bruises. He had a small, black moustache. I was looking at the man who'd tried to run us off the road up in San Agustin Pass. I was looking at the M.C. of the Club Chihuahua.

XXIV

I didn't let myself try to figure it out. One thing you learn early in the business is not to waste cerebral energy trying to solve the problems for which answers are already available at the back of the book. Our cellmate, whoever he might be, would undoubtedly tell us his sad story in due time-if we lived that long.

In the meantime, flat on my face on the dirt floor, I was busy using all the old muscle-tensing tricks to get a little slack for my ankles, which Wegmann was busy tying up. He gave me nothing that could really be called an opening-which was just as well. It Wasn't him I wanted, but things were running pretty close now, and if I had seen a chance I'd have been very tempted to take it. There might be better ones later, but then again there might not.

"All right, Mrs. Hendricks," he shouted over the noise.

Gail hesitated and dropped awkwardly to her knees. Wegmann gave her a shove that dumped her on her face, yanked her legs out straight and lashed them up.

"So," he shouted. "Now, I will leave you… Oh, make no elaborate, self-sacrificing plans about sabotaging that generator as the hour approaches, Mr. Helm. There are fully charged storage batteries in reserve, adequate to operate our equipment over the critical period. Stopping this machinery will merely deprive you of light and heat in here."