He had known it, Curt thought, from the moment he entered that room. Like vultures sitting on cliffs waiting for the death of their prey, these fantastic men let their glance slip back to the screen. The green line was a third of the way toward the red marker now, and moving more rapidly.
It was nightmare—meaningless—
"I'm not staying," Curt insisted. "You can't prevent me from helping Dell without assuming responsibility for his death. I demand you let me call."
"You're not going to call," said Sark wearily. "And we assumed responsibility for Dell's death long ago. Sit down!"
Slowly Curt sank down upon the chair beside the stranger. There was nothing else to do. He was powerless against Brown's gun. But he'd bring them to justice somehow, he swore.
He didn't understand the meaning of the slowly moving pattern on the 'scope face, yet, as his eyes followed that pip, he sensed tension in the watching men that seemed sinister, almost murderous. How?
What did the inexorably advancing pip signify?
No one spoke. The room was stifling hot and the breathing of the circle of men was a dull, rattling sound in Curt's ears.
Quickly then, gathering sudden momentum, the pip accelerated. The circle of men grew taut.