But his tired eyes were repeatedly drawn to the fantastically registering blip as it traced some object's bee line path in from the northwest, progressively advancing across the electronic range-marks, and maintaining a constant course toward the Airport, as charted by the indicator's reference bearing mark. Over New Hackensack now, moving across the 'scope's overlay map toward the George Washington Bridge—
The return's strength easily equaled that from a dirigible and far exceeded that from a commercial ship. The blip was too bright, the trail behind it too long, too remarkably persistent.
Possibly the Air Force has some super-Globemaster that might account for the blip. But in that case a flight plan would have been filed on so huge a craft's trip into the metropolitan area.
It was damnably puzzling!
There was something inexorable about the steady, precise progress of the object which brought mounting, unaccountable alarm.
He raised his head, his thin, tense face doubly shadowed by the amber light of the 'scope's filter and the radar tent's ultra-violet lighting.
"Hey, Bill!" he shouted. "I've either picked up something strictly unclassified, or gone cockeyed!"
The chief controller crowded into the radar tent beside him.
"Where—oh, oh! I'm calling Mitchel Field. This is for the Air Force!"