rs, his own envelope atop it. She came out of the
press secretary's office two minutes later with Howells himself, and
Howells said: "You there, Bridges. Come in here."

"Yes, _sir_!" Jerry said, breezing by the waiting reporters with a grin
of triumph.

There were six men in the room, three in military uniform. Howells poked
the envelope towards Jerry, and snapped:

"This note of yours. Just what do you think it means?"

"You know better than I do, Mr. Howells. I'm just doing my job; I think
the public has a right to know about this spaceship that's flying
around--"

* * * * *

His words brought an exclamation from the others. Howells sighed, and
said:

"Mr. Bridges, you don't make it easy for us. It's our opinion that
secrecy is essential, that leakage of the story might cause panic. Since
you're the only unauthorized person who knows of it, we have two
choices. One of them is to lock you up."

Jerry swallowed hard.

"The other is perhaps more practical," Howells said. "You'll be taken
into our confidence, and allowed to accompany those officials who will
be admitted to the landing site. But you will _not_ be allowed to relay
the story to the press until such a time as _all_ correspondents are
informed. That won't give you a 'scoop' if that's what you call it, but
you'll be an eyewitness. That should be worth something."

"It's worth a lot," Jerry said eagerly. "Thanks, Mr. Howells."

"Don't thank me, I'm not doing you any _personal_ favor. Now about the
landing tonight--"

"You mean the spaceship's coming down?"

"Yes. A special foreign ministers conference was held this morning, and
a decision was reached to accept the delegate. Landing instructions are
being given at Los Alamos, and the ship will presumably land around
midnight tonight. There will be a jet leaving Washington Airport at
nine, and you'll be on it. Meanwhile, consider yourself in custody."

* * * * *

The USAF jet transport wasn't the only secrecy-shrouded aircraft that
took off that evening from Washington Airport. But Jerry Bridges,
sitting in the rear seat flanked by two Sphinx-like Secret Service men,
knew that he was the only passenger with non-official status aboard.

It was only a few minutes past ten when they arrived at the air base at
Los Alamos. The desert sky was cloudy and starless, and powerful
searchlights probed the thick cumulus. There were sleek, purrin