Obviously, Wayne had been thinking the same thing. "He timed his arrival," he said bitterly. "He gave us less than an hour. He'd certainly have put her outside walking range within that length of time. And with all the caves around, thousands of them, would he have put her where a giro could spot anything?"
Mart glanced at Barrow. The Director was sitting as immobile as a statue. His eyes were closed and every muscle of his thin face was tense. Probably he was trying not to look at the chronometer on the wall. It was nine-fifteen.
The office door opened and three uniformed mechanics from the field stood in the doorway. The foremost of them saluted. "This entire building has been searched twice except this office. I presume—"
Director Barrow opened his eyes and stood up. "Don't presume anything. Search here, too."
The men came in and began a detailed but fruitless search. Nobody spoke until they left.
The chronometer said twenty minutes after nine now. Ten minutes to go, if the timer had been accurately set. But could it have been set wrong? Venusians were lousy mechanics. Maybe—
Mart became aware that he was holding his breath for the sound of a distant explosion. Yes, from whatever point Tar Norn could have hidden his hostage, the sound of a pound of uranite exploding would carry back to Comprotown.
He sat down at his desk again. In front of him were the signed clearance papers for the freighters. In half an hour he'd take out the papers for the first freighter. But before that half hour was up—
He twisted a pencil between his fingers, held himself rigid to keep from turning and looking at the chronometer again. It hadn't been over a minute since he sat down—why torture himself by looking again? But each minute now seemed both a flash and an eternity.