"General, these ICBM missiles being fired into the Atlantic Ocean from the coast of Florida.... Are you sure you know what's happened to all of them?"
"I think so," the General answered calmly.
"And what about your own X-15 project, General?"
The question was almost a taunt.
General David William Sanders had jumped with his paratroopers into France on a morning in June, 1944. He had risen in rank through the test of battle and the more excruciating ordeal of the Pentagon. He was a rock-jawed, six-foot, two-hundred pound man whom little could shock and nothing could deter. But he had never faced a challenge like the seconds of silence that followed Dr. Smith's mocking question.
There was nothing he dared say, yet in saying nothing he was saying everything. FBI Agent Frank Cowles looked at him, then looked quickly away. Security Officer Busch studied his own hands as though discovering them for the first time.
The tableau remained frozen and silent until the door opened and a doctor said,
"That's all for today, gentlemen."
The three men left without a word.
Dr. John O'Hara Smith closed his eyes. On his pale lips was the suggestion of a smile.