He leaned forward and spoke into a radio. There was a brief reply which Diavilev could not hear and the army man sat back comfortably, satisfied.
"Your glasses will be there," he said.
Diavilev thanked him. Because of the unexpected courtesy the level of his fear began to go down. Perhaps it will not be so bad, he thought. Maybe after all it is only interrogation. But again he thought that you never knew what to expect, that in all the long years of yessing and bowing and applauding he had never understood them.
Well then, now was the time to understand.
I will say whatever they want me to say, I will not resist in the least. What does it matter? The world belongs to them, and if a man wishes to live he must be logical and agree. Let them do what they will, and I will applaud every step of the way.
He folded his hands in his lap.
After a long while the car stopped. The first army man gave him over to another army man whom he could not see in the darkness, and after many a salute he was conducted through a black iron gate. Within minutes he was aboard a plane with four more army men. No one would say anything. Pyotr Diavilev slept.
This of course he could not believe.
He saw the thing clearly in the late morning sun, rising in an enormous, shining tube from the hard-baked floor of the desert, but it was obviously impossible. He was taken on an elevator one hundred feet into the air and ushered through a door into the side of the thing, not believing any of it for an instant. He was told, rather kindly for once, that he was to be taken up in this thing and not to worry, because it had been tested. Many times. But he was so completely overwhelmed that he could not ask a question. There was nothing but army men now, one of whom conducted him to a foam rubber hammock and strapped him in. To his utter astonishment, the thing actually did take off.