This trip was to the office of the photo analyst who studied the pictures from the weather plane. The analyst himself came to the door and showed them into a comfortable room, furnished with a Franklin stove, wicker furniture of the kind usually found on hotel porches, photographic drainboards and cubicles, and an impressive number of safes. Among the photographic odors there was a homey sort of smell which Sarah could not place.
The analyst, Dr. Swanson, offered them seats. Dugan sniffed significantly. Dr. Swanson eyed him:
"Anything wrong, Major? I guess our chemicals smell bad to anybody who's just come in from the outside."
"What I smell," said Dugan, "is scarcely chemical. I think that it's McTeague's Highland Cream."
Swanson blushed all the way down to his shirt collar. "One of the boys did have a drink recently. Can I offer you one?"
"You can," said Dugan, "but Captain Lomax has religious scruples and will drink nothing but hot Japanese tea."
When Swanson left to make up highballs, Sarah said, "Thanks for getting me out of that drink. I hate refusing. How did you know I don't drink?"
"I asked the Japanese who keeps your room. Sh-h-h," said Dugan, as Dr. Swanson came back.
Drinks in front of them, Swanson smiled wanly, "Here's to Atom-gorod."
Dugan said something in Russian and Swanson answered in the same language. They both sounded to Sarah as though they had very strong mid-Western accents. Apparently they weren't saying anything important, because Dugan slipped back into English: