I looked up at Braun. He was frightened, and again I was surprised without having any right to be. I tried to keep at least my voice calm.
"Please try it anyhow, Mr. Braun—as a favor. It's already too late to do it any other way. And if you guess wrong, the outcome won't be any worse than if you don't try at all."
"My kids," he whispered. I don't think he knew that he was speaking aloud. I waited.
Then his eyes seemed to come back to the present. "All right," he said. "I told you the truth, Andy. Remember that. So—is it a bomb or ain't it? That's what's up for grabs, right?"
I nodded. He closed his eyes. An unexpected stab of pure fright went down my back. Without the eyes, Braun's face was a death mask.
The water sounds and the irregular ticking of a Geiger counter seemed to spring out from the audio speaker, four times as loud as before. I could even hear the pen of the seismograph scribbling away, until I looked at the instrument and saw that Clark had stopped it, probably long ago.
Droplets of sweat began to form along Braun's forehead and his upper lip. The handkerchief remained crushed in his hand.
Anderton said, "Of all the fool—"
"Hush!" Joan said quietly.