"Ahhhhh," Bud said darkly. "Would the President have assigned me a body guard if it weren't true? Would he? There are extremists in this country—Communists and Socialists—who stop at nothing to prevent the starmen from coming back. Even Frank...."
Norma's face grew a shade paler. "But he's the one...."
"You can never tell! But I'll tell you this. I pray every night, Sis. I get down on my knees, and I pray that God will let me live long enough." Bud's mind suddenly flashed back to his childhood, and he remembered praying that God would let him assassinate Stalin. God needed only to arm him and transport him to the Kremlin. He could have done the rest. He shook his head darkly again. "You don't understand the dangers." He felt courageous. It took guts to face the Communist menace.
She wanted to run. She clenched her fists. This is Bud, your brother, she thought. He's just upset. "I just wanted to see you for a moment," she said. "It wasn't about anything important."
Bud rubbed his hand caressingly over the box. "Yes?"
"I'll let you get back to work."
She stood up and started for the door.
"Don't worry about Frank!" Bud said sharply. "He's all right. Nothing's happened to him."
Norma was gone.
Bud began to cry, and looking at the box, he whispered, "It's all your fault. You made me do it. You did, you made me!"