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alien at face value than, say, any of the men here tonight. With the possible
exception of the Secretary of State, he amended.
His eyes roved the table. The general's job was to defend; no one could argue
that point. By expecting the worst, the general would be prepared for the
worst, and that was as it should be. As such, he had to stand at one wing of
the balance. So did the Defense Secretary. But that was why they had
counterbalances. If the general represented one extreme, the Secretary of
State certainly represented the other. Moderation? He smiled whimsically. To
both extremes the middle course represented a dangerous compromise. Yet it was
moderation that had kept the world intact as it spun through the dangerous web
of history. Ironically, history remembered its extremists but seldom others.
Or did that reflect the cynicism of his time?
He let his mind wander. He could remember -- oh, how many years ago! --
when he had been a youth much like Toby Adam. How much simpler the world had
seemed then; how much clearer. Then slowly, with maturity and experience, the
clarity had lessened, for a man no longer was simply a man, to be judged as
such, but was a being of purpose, guile, whimsy -- a two dimensional man
clothed in a cloak of four-dimensional attributes. All too often a man was
judged by his words rather than his deeds, or by how well he agreed with the
person making the judgment. The eye sought to see the unseeable rather than
what was to be seen. Wisdom had been called the ability to ride the vanguard
of public opinion. Or was that, too, cynicism?
But there had been something extremely refreshing about young Toby Adam,
perhaps because he had judged the alien without looking for a motive. Could
that be it? Perhaps the youth had seen the alien as he really was rather than
as what he represented in the minds of the rest of them. Possibly the youth
understood the alien far better than all the experts lumped together who had
been dissecting "the creature from Mirach," as his science adviser had tabbed
him.
He raised his eyes to the littered table, the haggard faces. He listened again
to the often querulous, often beseeching voices, yet in reality scarcely heard
them. They were like rain on the roof. It was often that way, he reflected,
once he had reached a decision. Although in reaching it he had balanced the
arguments in his conscious mind -- weighing, pitting one against the other,
extrapolating each to its ultimate significance and meaning -- the final
decision always seemed to well from deep in his subconscious, fashioned by
what crucible he couldn't hope to guess. It was that way now.
"Gentlemen!" He leaned forward and rapped the table sharply.
The room grew still.
Igor Kuznetsov, alias William Clayton, lay quietly alongside the agent
Conrad in the dense hillside brush that overlooked the sprawling Army
encampment. Despite the shade afforded by the mesquite, the heat of the day
had become all but intolerable. Sounds from the camp below drifted up through
the still air.
Kuznetsov's thoughts were fatalistic, yet determined. Following the capture of
their three companions by the vigilantes, he and Conrad had managed to follow
the boy on his return across the field. From a safe distance they'd witnessed
the scene between the boy and the officer who had arrived fortuitously -- had
seen the strange figure in the reddish garb. Creeping closer, Kuznetsov had
glimpsed the small face with the large violet eyes, immediately had realized
that this must be the creature from another star.
Kidnap him or kill him -- his instructions had been clear, but the top
priority had been in seizing the alien. If he could kill the officer...With
that in mind he and Conrad had been creeping closer, when suddenly they'd
heard the movement of horses. An instant later the vigilantes had appeared,
and within moments an Army patrol had enclosed the entire group. Kuznetsov
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shuddered at his close escape.
Before withdrawing he'd learned one startling fact: David Harper, whose true
name he'd never known, was a double agent. Undoubtedly, by now the FBI
knew the names and activities of every member of the apparat.
When finally the soldiers had marched away with their prisoners and the two
jeeps had escorted the squad car back toward the Army encampment, he and
Conrad had hurriedly returned to San Diego. Before the night had scarcely
begun, he was once again closeted with his superior. He'd accepted his new
orders stoically but with a pang at the knowledge that, for him, the road to
Moscow was forever closed.
Now, lying with Conrad in the underbrush, his instructions were clear:
Kill the alien! This time both carried the paraphernalia they might need,
including sharpshooter rifles equipped with nightscopes. Sooner or later the
creature from the stars would be brought into clear view, if only to be taken
to one of the helicopters for transportation to another area. But they
couldn't fire prematurely, couldn't take a chance on missing. Kuznetsov
gripped his rifle determinedly.
"How do you know he's still in the Army camp?" Conrad had asked earlier.
"He is." He'd answered with assurance, for Luce had stated that the creature
would remain there for the time being. And Luce had known. It was the kind of
thing Luce would know, for his lines of information, devious and far-
reaching, came down through a network that penetrated the most sensitive areas
of government.
Kuznetsov had no illusions regarding what might happen when they killed the
alien; They would get short shrift. Conrad knew it, too. But it was for the
Party; they both understood that. It was the creed by which they lived and
would die. There was but one thing to be dreaded: failure. But they wouldn't
fail. Gazing down at the Army encampment, Kuznetsov felt the steady beat of
his heart -- felt secure in the knowledge that, after all, he was one of the
fortunate ones. By a single shot he could change the course of history.
That was power!
TWELVE
Los Angeles Times
Los Angeles, California, August 2, 1974
DOD OFFICIAL CALLS WAR GAMES IN EKLUND VALLEY "ROUTINE"
WASHINGTON, AUG. 1 (AP) -- Amid wild rumors of alien spaceships,
extraterrestrial creatures and Russian spies, war games continued today
unabated in Eklund Valley near San Diego, California, where the excitement
began with flying saucer reports and a spy scare one week ago. A giant ape
with a ray gun was also reported at the time.
One rumor that appears founded on fact is that three Russian agents were
apprehended in the valley. A Defense Department spokesman said, "Russia always
sends agents to observe our war games." He cited the large number of Russian
submarines that regularly frequent our coasts and the constant infringement of
our air space in the far north. He told reporters that the present war games
were "strictly routine."
Other reputable government observers remain unconvinced that the entire story
has been told. They point out that metal fragments found at the scene of the
spaceship's alleged destruction were reliably reported to have come from
beyond the solar system.
A scientist high in government councils told the press that "the entire story
will be made public within a few days." He refused to state whether he
was speaking of extraterrestrials, spaceships or Russian spies.
On other fronts...
The general got his ring of steel.
The President had agreed that it should be there but had insisted that it be
placed as inconspicuously as possible while still being able to cover the low
hill where the alien had indicated the rescue craft would land. In good
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conscience he couldn't have done otherwise, for no one could be certain of the
alien's true thoughts or that they represented those of his race. The
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