He held his head tightly in both hands to keep it from flying off in all directions at once, and he tried to think.
He knew it was important to think—fast and straight.
Six hours and forty minutes.
That was too long to be unconscious from a simple blow on the head, and his head didn't really hurt that bad.
Probably the weapon had still been firing whatever mysterious ammunition it used when it struck him; and when it bounced off his head it had turned, and he'd been caught in its blast.
But that didn't matter. That wasn't the important thing.
Six hours and forty minutes he'd been out.
Seven hours!
The Defense Department official he'd spoken to had told him seven hours.
And thank God it wasn't five hours or six, as he'd been urging them to make it.