The door opened and the major came in. He looked curiously about the room. "Had the radio on?" he asked. "An awful lot of conversation in here, it seemed."
Martin sank into the chair, looking over at the sparkling pitcher of cool water on the sidetable. "Funny you should ask that," he said vaguely. "Didn't you recognize—"
"Better get ready for the big brass," the major interrupted. "And for God's sake, if you insist on that story about being hypnotized, at least make it a little more plausible than the one you told me—" He stopped and looked out the window. "Here they come now."
Martin whirled and stared out the green-tinted window overlooking the runway. A red and blue jet streaked along, wheels down, hit, bounced and braked to a stop. It wheeled about, flashing under the late sun, and rolled up to the parking strip.
"Another courier ship!" Martin murmured. "But, I don't—"
"Another—" the major looked curiously at him. "What do you mean, 'another courier ship'? That's the only one today—and one's too many, if you ask me."
Dry tongue scraping over dry lips, Martin stared at him, then back to the familiar red and blue jet. He swung and looked down the line of parked jets, straining to see the other red and blue which had landed over an hour ago. There was no red and blue jet there.
"Here they come now," the major muttered. "Holy cow! Saunders, Under-Secretary to the old man, no less. And General Brereton—G2." He turned to Martin. "Better give it to them straight—" He broke off, seeing Martin's burning eyes in his drawn gray face, hearing the sudden strange rattling breath as he pawed weakly through the empty desk drawer.
"Negatives. Composite," Martin croaked. "Gone. They took them, and I never guessed!" His hands trailed limply and he fell across the desk, bounced and rolled onto the floor.