III
Much of the rest of the world was inclined to regard the elevation ofSuperior, Ohio, as a Fortean phenomenon in the same category as flyingsaucers and sea monsters.
The press had a field day. Most of the headlines were whimsical:
TOWN TAKES OFF
SUPERIOR LIVES UP TO NAME
A RISING COMMUNITY
The city council of Superior, Wisconsin, passed a resolution urging itsOhio namesake to come back down. The Superiors in Nebraska, Wyoming,Arizona and West Virginia, glad to have the publicity, added theirvoices to the plea.
The Pennsylvania Railroad filed a suit demanding that the state of Ohioreturn forthwith one train and five miles of right-of-way.
The price of bubble gum went up from one cent to three for a nickel.
In Parliament a Labour member rose to ask the Home Secretary forassurances that all British cities were firmly fastened down.
An Ohio waterworks put in a bid for the sixteen square miles of holethat Superior had left behind, explaining that it would make a finereservoir.
A company that leased out big advertising signs in Times Square offeredSuperior a quarter of a million dollars for exclusive rights toadvertising space on its bottom, or Earthward, side. It sent the offerby air mail, leaving delivery up to the post office.
In Washington, Senator Bobby Thebold ascertained that his red-hairedsecretary, Jen Jervis, had been aboard the train levitated with Superiorand registered a series of complaints by telephone, starting with theInterstate Commerce Commission and the railroad brotherhoods. He askedthe FBI to investigate the possibility of kidnaping and muttered aboutthe likelihood of it all being a Communist plot.
A little-known congressman from Ohio started a rumor that raising ofSuperior was an experiment connected with the United States earthsatellite program. The National Aeronautics and Space Administrationissued a quick denial.
* * * * *
Two men talked earnestly in an efficient-looking room at the end of oneof the more intricate mazes in the Pentagon Building. Neither wore auniform but the younger man called the other sir, or chief, or general.
"We've established definitely that Sergeant Cort was on that train, havewe?" the general asked.
"Yes, sir. No doubt about it."
"And he has the item with him?"
"He must have. The only keys are here and at the other end. He couldn'topen the handcuff or the brief case."
"The only _known_ keys, that is."
"Oh? How's that, General?"
"The sergeant can open the brief case and use the item if we tell himhow."
"You think it's time to use it? I thought we were saving it."
"That was before Superior defected. Now we can use it to more advantagethan any theoretical use it might be put to in the foreseeable future."
"We could evacuate Cort. Take him off in a helicopter or drop him aparachute and let him jump."
"No. Having him there is a piece of luck. No one knows who he is. We'llassign him there for the duration and have him report regularly. Let'sgo to the message center."
* * * * *
Senator Bobby Thebold was an imposing six feet two, a muscular 195, ayouthful-looking 43. He wore his steel-gray hair cut short and his skinwas tan the year round. He was a bachelor. He had been a fighter pilotin World War II and his conversation was peppered with Air Force slang,much of it out of date. Thebold was good newspaper copy and one segmentof the press, admiring his fighting ways, had dubbed him Bobby the Bold.The Senator did not mind a bit.
At the moment Senator Thebold was pacing the carpet in the ample workingspace he'd fought to acquire in the Senate Office Building. He wasmomentarily at a loss. His inquiries about Jen Jervis had elicited nosatisfaction from the ICC, the FBI, or the CIA. He was in analphabetical train of thought and went on to consider the CAA, the CABand the CAP. He snapped his fingers at CAP. He had it.
The Civil Air Patrol itself he considered a la-de-da outfit of gentlemanflyers, skittering around in light planes, admittedly doing some good,but by and large nothing to excite a former P-38 pilot who'd won achestful of ribbons for action in the Southwest Pacific.
Ah, but the PP. There was an organization! Bobby Thebold had been one ofthe founders of the Private Pilots, a hard-flying outfit that zoomedinto the wild blue yonder on week ends and holidays, engines aroar,propellers aglint, white silk scarves aflap. PP's members were wealthyindustrialists, stunt flyers, sportsmen--the elite of the air.
PP was a paramilitary organization with the rank of its officerspatterned after the Royal Air Force. Thus Bobby Thebold, by virtue ofhis war record, his charter membership and his national eminence, wasWing Commander Thebold, DFC.
Wing Commander Thebold swung into action. He barked into the intercom:"Miss Riley! Get the airport. Have them rev up _Charger_. Tell them I'llbe there for oh-nine-fifty-eight take-off. Ten-hundred will do. And getmy car."
_Charger_ was Bobby the Bold's war surplus P-38 Lightning, a sleek,twin-boomed two engine fighter plane restored to its gleaming, paintlessaluminum. Actually it was an unarmed photo-reconnaissance version of thefamous war horse of the Pacific, a fact the wing commander preferred toignore. In compensation, he belted on a .45 whenever he climbed into thecockpit.
Thebold got onto Operations in PP's midwestern headquarters in Chicago.He barked, long distance:
"Jack Perley? Group Captain Perley, that is? Bobby, that's right. WingCommander Thebold now. We've got a mission, Jack. Scramble BlueSquadron. What? Of course you can; this is an emergency. We'llrendezvous north of Columbus--I'll give you the exact grid in half anhour, when I'm airborne. Can do? Good-o! ETA? Eleven-twenty EST. Well,maybe that is optimistic, but I hate to see the day slipping by. Make iteleven-forty-five. What? Objective? Objective Superior! Got it?Okay--roger!"
Wing Commander Bobby Thebold took his Lindbergh-style helmet and gogglesfrom a desk drawer, caressing the limp leather fondly, and put them in adispatch case. He gave a soft salute to the door behind which Jen Jerviscustomarily worked, more as his second-in-command than his secretary,and said half aloud:
"Okay, Jen, we're coming to get you."
He didn't know quite how, but Bobby the Bold and Charger would soon beon their way.
* * * * *
Don Cort regretfully detached himself from Alis Garet.
"What was that?" he said.
"That was me--Alis the love-starved. You could be a bit more gallant.Even 'How was that?,' though corny, would have been preferable.
"No--I mean I thought I heard a voice. Didn't you hear anything?"
"To be perfectly frank--and I say it with some pique--I was totallyabsorbed. Obviously you weren't."
"It was very nice." The countryside, from the edge to the golf course,was deserted.
"Well, thanks. Thanks a bunch. Such enthusiasm is more than I can bear.I have to go now. There's an eleven o'clock class in magnetic flux thatI'm simply dying to audit."
She gave her shoulder-length blonde hair a toss and started back. Donhesitated, looked suspiciously at the brief case dangling from hiswrist, shook his head, then followed her. The voice, wherever it camefrom, had not spoken again.
"Don't be angry, Alis." He fell into step on her left and took her armwith his free hand. "It's just that everything is so crazy and nobodyseems to be taking it seriously. A town doesn't just get up and takeoff, and yet nobody up here seems terribly concerned."
Alis squeezed the hand that held her arm, mollified. "You've gotlipstick on your whiskers."
"Good. I'll never shave again."
"Ah," she laughed, "gallantry at last. I'll tell you what let's do.We'll go see Ed Clark, the editor of the Sentry. Maybe he'll give yousome intelligent conversation."
The newspaper office was in a ramshackle one-story building on LyricAvenue, a block off Broadway, Superior's main street. It was in anordinary store front whose windows displayed vario
us ancient stand-upcardboard posters calling attention to a church supper, a state fair, anauto race, and a movie starring H. B. Warner. A dust-covered bannerurged the election as president of Alfred E. Smith.
There was no one in the front of the shop. Alis led Don to the rearwhere a tall skinny man with straggly gray hair was setting type.
"Good morning, Mr. Clark," she said. "What's that you're setting--ananti-Hoover handbill?"
"Hello, Al. How are you this fine altitudinous day?"
"Super. Or should it be supra? I want you to meet Don Cort. Don, Mr.Clark."
The men shook hands and Clark looked curiously at Don's handcuff.
"It's my theory he's an embezzler," Alis said, "and he's made this hisgetaway town."
"As a matter of fact," Don said, "the Riggs National Bank will beworried if I don't get in touch with them soon. I guess you'd know, Mr.Clark--is there any communication at all out of town?" Byprearrangement, a message from Don to Riggs would be forwarded toMilitary Intelligence.
"I don't know of any, except for the Civek method--a bottle tossed overthe edge. The telegraph and telephone lines are cut, of course. There isa radio station in town, WCAV, operated from the campus, but it's beensilent ever since the great severance. At least nothing local has comeover my old Atwater Kent."
"Isn't anybody _doing_ anything?" Don asked.
"Sure," Clark said. "I'm getting out my paper--there was even an extrathis morning--and doing job printing. The job is for a jeweler inLadenburg. I don't know how I'll deliver it, but no one's told me tostop so I'm doing it. I guess everybody's carrying on pretty much asbefore."
"That's what I mean. Business as usual. But how about the people who dobusiness out of town? What's Western Union doing, for instance? And thetrucking companies? And the factories? You have two factories, Iunderstand, and pretty soon there's going to be a mighty big surplus ofkitchen sinks and chewing gum."
"You two go on settling our fate," Alis said. "I'd better get back toschool. Look me up later, Don." She waved and went out.
"Fine girl, that Alis," Clark said. "Got her old man's gumption withouthis nutty streak. To answer your question, the Western Union man here iscatching up on his bookkeeping and accepting outgoing messagescontingent on restoration of service. The sink factory made a shipmenttwo days ago and won't have another ready till next week, so they'recarrying on. They have enough raw material for a month. I was planningto visit the bubble gum people this afternoon to see how they're doing.Maybe you'd like to come."
"Yes, I would. I still chew it once in a while, on the sly."
Clark grinned. "I won't tell. Would you like to tidy up, Don? There's awashroom out back, with a razor and some mysterious running water. Now_there's_ a phenomenon I'd like to get to the bottom of."
"Thanks. I'll shave with it now and worry about its source later. Do youthink Professor Garet and his magnology cult has anything to do withit?"
"He'd like to think so, I'm sure." Clark shrugged. "We've been airborneless than twelve hours. I guess the answers will come in time. You goclean up and I'll get back to my job."
Don felt better when he had shaved. It had been awkward because hehadn't been able to take off his coat or shirt, but he'd managed. He wasdrying his face when the voice came again. This time there was no doubtit came from the brief case chained to his handcuff.
"Are you alone now?" it asked.
Startled, Don said, "Yes."
"Good. Speak closer to the brief case so we won't be overheard. This isCaptain Simmons, Sergeant."
"Yes, sir."
"Take out your ID card. Separate the two pieces of plastic. There's aflat plastic key next to the card. Open the brief case lock with it."
The voice was silent until Don, with the help of a razor blade, had doneas he was directed. "All right, sir; that's done."
"Open the brief case, take out the package, open the package and put thewrappings back in the brief case."
Again the voice stopped. Don unwrapped something that looked like a flatcigarette case with two appendages, one a disk of perforated hard rubberthe size of a half dollar, and the other a three-quarter-inch-wideribbon of opaque plastic. "I've got it, sir."
"Good. What you see is a highly advanced radio transmitter and receiver.You can imagine its value in the field. It's a pilot model you werebringing back from the contractor for tests here. But this seems asuseful a way to test it as any other."
"It's range is fantastic, Captain--if you're in Washington."
"I am. Now. The key also unlocks the handcuff. Unlock it. Strip to thewaist. Bend the plastic strip to fit over your shoulder--either one, asyou choose. Arrange the perforated disk so it's at the base of yourneck, under your shirt collar. The thing that looks like a cigarettecase is the power pack."
Don followed the instructions, rubbing his wrist in relief as thehandcuff came off. The radio had been well designed and its componentswent into place as if they had been built to his measure. They tickled alittle on his bare skin, that was all. The power pack was surprisinglylight.
"That's done, sir," Don said.
The answer came softly. "So I hear. You almost blasted my ear off. Fromnow on, when you speak to me, or whoever's at this end, a barely audiblemurmur will be sufficient. Try it."
"Yes, Captain," Don whispered. "I'm trying it now."
"Don't whisper. I can hear you all right, but so could people youwouldn't want overhearing at your end. A whisper carries farther thanyou think. Talk low."
Don practiced while he put his shirt, tie and coat back on.
"Good," Captain Simmons said. "Practice talking without moving yourlips, for occasions when you might have to transmit to us in someone'sview. Now put your handcuff back on and lock it."
"Oh, damn," Don said under his breath.
"I heard that."
"Sorry, sir, but it is a nuisance."
"I know, but you have to get rid of it logically. When you get a chancego to the local bank. It's the Superior State Bank on McEntee Street.Show them your credentials from Riggs National and ask them to keep yourbrief case in their vault. Get a receipt. Then, at your firstopportunity, burn the plastic key and your ID card."
"Yes, sir."
"Keep up your masquerade as a bank messenger and try to find out, as ifyou were an ordinary curiosity-seeker, all you can about CavalierInstitute. You've made a good start with the Garet girl. Get to know herfather, the professor."
"Yes, sir." Don realized with embarrassment that his little romanticinterlude with Alis must have been eavesdropped on. "Are there anyparticular times I'm to report?"
"You will be reporting constantly. That's the beauty of this radio."
"You mean I can't turn it off? I won't have any privacy? There'll alwaysbe somebody listening?"
"Exactly. But you mustn't be inhibited. Your private life is still yourown and no one will criticize. Your unofficial actions will simply beignored."
"Oh, great!"
"You must rely on our discretion, Sergeant. I'm sure you'll get used toit. Enough of this for now. We mustn't excite Clark's suspicions. Goback to him now and carry on. You'll receive further instructions asthey are necessary. And remember--don't be inhibited."
"No, sir," Don said ruefully. He went back to the printshop, feelinglike a goldfish bowl.