He tried to cover the amazement on his face by lighting a cigarette. “How come it didn’t develop into a pint sized Hiroshima, if it has atomic power in it?”
Morgan grinned at him, as though he was a kid. “I said it was powered by atomic energy, not atomic bombs. There’s a kind of difference in...”
“Hey, Sam! C’mere!”
Both of the men turned to look across the twisted mass of wreckage to where Cartwell and Dickson were standing. The blond Fed was holding up a piece of the wreckage and his face glowed with excitement that he didn’t try to cover.
“C’mon, Nolan,” Sam grinned. “Let’s go see what my buddy dug up ... I’ll bet its a Russian manufacturer’s trade mark
.”
They skirted the wreck and trotted up to where Cartwell stood with the piece of metal. “Russian, huh?” asked
Sam.
[p82]
“Russian, hell,” Cartwell snorted. “It looks like a cross between Chinese and Arabic.”
Sam took the piece and looked at it, the cigar clamped belligerently in his jaws. After a tense moment, he grunted noncommittally and passed the thing to Nolan Brice.