Assignment to Disaster by Edward S. Aarons Page A

like that?"
    Larabee shrugged meaty shoulders. "Ah, who knows? She picked him up in one of the Cactus Street joints, probably just for kicks. These scientists are temperamental. They work along nice and quiet for a time, hypnotized by their own genius; then all of a sudden they're tired of the recreation we give 'em — bridge and billiards and chess. Cal didn't often go on a toot, but when he did, it was a beaut. We always had a man with him, of course, to see about drinking or talking too much. Policy said to let 'em relax, so we did. Only thing my boy couldn't do was get under the bed with them."
    "I'll check into the Salamander tonight," Durell said.
    Larabee shot him a hard, angry look. "He isn't there. I guarantee it. I went through the place as if I was looking for a two-headed louse. The Governor called me on it, I got calls from a Senator and two Congressmen in Washington. Seems I went too far and too fast with Miss Neville and she doesn't like her guests distressed. She says she doesn't know where Cal is and doesn't care. He was only a passing fancy. She was amused by his boyish earnestness, she said. But very annoyed with him now for causing her a little difficulty."
    Seated, Durell felt the floor tremble and heard the vibration and shuddering of window glass. His eardrums felt odd. He looked up and saw Larabee watching, not grinning, but dimly amused.
    "You're a tenderfoot, all right."
    Durell still felt the sensation of concussion, deep in the pit of his stomach. "What was that?"
    "My little babies never sleep. They're got to test their playthings. What you just felt, mister, was about a million bucks of the taxpayers' dough blown into the sky for fireworks."
    "They fire at night, too?"
    "With Dr. John, you never know. Come on, I guess you want to meet him."
    They went downstairs to a jeep, drove along a street between barracks, turned left past a towering structure that made little sense to Durell, and drove about two miles into the chill desert before they came to a tall building with an observation tower like the control tower of an airport. An elevator took them up to the glassed-in room.
    Dr. John Padgett was like a giant eagle, a big, bony man with hunched shoulders and a long-nosed face and loose limbs. He sat beside an assistant in a smock, watching numerous dials on a bank of recording instruments. There was a humming sound in the big room. On John Padgett's face there was a mark of intelligence and deep suffering. A rugged, roughly knobbed walking stick rested beside his chair, and when he stood up he leaned heavily on it as he shook hands with Durell.
    "Yes, Mike told me you were coming." He had a deep, deliberate voice. "I regret it is my young brother who is causing all this trouble."
    "Well, maybe you can help me," Durell said.
    "I've done all I can. But if there is anything more…"
    "I'd just like to know what kind of argument Calvin had with you about the work going on here," Durell said.
    His shot went home. He saw the quick glance John Padgett exchanged with Larabee. Then the physicist shrugged, and his bony shoulders emphasized his resemblance to a hunched, bedraggled eagle.
    "Calvin was distraught. He was impetuous. He felt that an error had been made in the calculations for our device and insisted on checking and rechecking. We did so. And there was no error."
    "I take it you are certain of that," Durell said.
    "It is my responsibility," John Padgett said quietly.
    "I understand you considered Calvin as suffering from a nervous disorder of some kind. That right?"
    "If you wish to speak to Dr. Crane about it…"
    "You can tell me all I need to know," Durell said.
    "Quite so. You know his history, of course — about the Investigating Committee and so forth. I could not bring myself to believe he harbored subversive notions. I took him under my personal parole, you might say. Perhaps it was a mistake. I dislike to think so, however, until every effort has been made to find Calvin. Our work here