“Maybe not,” said Jack, “but why would they want to plant this foo-fighter idea?”
I showed him the clipping. He read it over and shook his head.
“That’s a lot different from disks three hundred feet in diameter.”
“If we got the principle—or Russia did-building big ones might not be too hard.”
“I still can’t swallow it,” said Jack. “These things have been seen all over the world. How could they control them that far away—and be sure they wouldn’t crash, where somebody could get a look and dope out the secret?”
We argued it back and forth without getting anywhere. “I’d give a lot to know Steele’s angle,” I said. “If you hear anything more on him, give me a buzz.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t dig too hard, or he’ll hear about it.”
On the way out, I found a phone booth and called Splitt.
“Foo fighters?” he said. “Sure, I remember those stories. You think those are your flying saucers?”
I could hear him snicker.