The radio and TV aren’t saying, but people keep calling. The most terrific rumors. Enemy planes everywhere! Many cities hit! Condition Yellow here, though, still …! Thank God.”
“Beau, listen. I don’t know what you mean.”
“ Russian bombers,” his voice answered, with a thin, squealing overtone, “are said to be attacking our cities. The CD people have given the bank its special alert! Hours ago!”
“Are you mad?” Minerva peered at the man. “I just had lunch at the Ritz. There was absolutely no sign of such a thing!”
“ I know. That’s what I’m trying to tell you! The radio is going on, and the TV, as per usual. Only, no announcer sounds right or looks quite right, any more. Evidently they’ve heard more than they’re permitted to tell! But Condition Yellow is official.”
“What in the world is this yellow condition?”
“The first air-raid alert. That’s why”—he looked over his shoulder, along the polished marble floor, toward the closed tellers’ windows—“that’s why everybody’s rushing around!
Condition Yellow means we have to get all important papers—bonds, stock, cash, records—
down in the deep vault.”
“See here, Beau,” Minerva said solidly, “I don’t know what’s panicked you. But I do know nothing of the sort is happening.”