Shaw asked, “Is it really foolproof — I mean, aren’t there any snags?”
“It’s foolproof to a trained operator all right, and there are no real snags. There’s what you might say is a limiting factor, that’s all.”
“Can you explain that?”
“Sure, but I don’t know if you’ll follow,” Geisler told him with a friendly grin. “Well now… she’s orbiting so as to circle the earth every seventy-six minutes, as I expect you know. She can’t go on to any target in the world at any time — see what I mean? Owing to the flattening at the poles, her relative position in space isn’t exactly the same at any given time in each orbit, if you follow that, and, roughly speaking, a particular target can be hit with exact precision only once in about each twelve hours. That’s her chief limitation — remember, Bluebolt One is the first of her kind. Subsequent models will have built-in compensating equipment which should eliminate that. Now — the angle of descent is fairly gradual, it’s bound to be the speed the carrier-satellite’s going at, so when you want to bring her down you’d have to send the launching impulse a good long time ahead, and in fact you’d begin the whole transmission procedure, making contact and all that, forty-five minutes or so before the actual launching.”
“Uh-huh… have you got your most likely targets already worked out, as to where and when and so on?”
Geisler said, “Why, sure we have! It’s all worked out for every conceivable target.”
“No possibility of error?”
“None at all, unless something goes dead wrong.”
“Hartog’s in charge of the actual operating, is he?”
Technically, yes. I’m in general charge, of course, and entirely responsible as C.O.”
Shaw nodded. “Quite.” He looked round. “It’s almost unbelievable, isn’t it… that this room’s got so much destructive potential, I mean.”
“You’re dead right there. When and if Bluebolt ever drops that load, wherever it lands… well, there’ll be devastation for thousands of square miles.”
When they got back to the office block Shaw said he would like a word with Julian Hartog — alone.
Hartog gave him a peculiar glance. He said loftily, “If you really want to, I’ll be delighted, my dear chap. But you’ll be wasting your time, of course. I don’t know anything beyond what I told you on the way in.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “Anyway, come along to my room.”
“Thanks.” Shaw followed the tall, lanky man down a passage and into a barely furnished office. Hartog motioned him to a chair and walked over to a cupboard.
He said, “There’s still time for a quickie before lunch. What’s it to be?”
“Gin, please.”
Hartog poured a gin and took it over to Shaw, who noticed that the man’s fingers were still shaky. Hangover, of course — or could it be something else now? For himself, Hartog poured a very stiff whisky and immediately took a big gulp at it. Then he sat down in a swivel-chair behind his desk and said, “By the way, Steve doesn’t know I keep booze on the premises. Well now — what do you want?”
“There’s just one or two questions,” Shaw replied slowly. “One or two things puzzle me, Hartog.”
“As to what?”
“As to you, I’m afraid.”
“Oh?” Hartog grinned, lifted his glass. “Mean this, do you?”
“Not specifically. That’s really none of my business, is it?” “Not really.”
Shaw gave him a sharp look and leaned forward. “Listen, Hartog. You told me, didn’t you, that the Kamumba mine was near where the attack on my train took place last night. How can you pinpoint it so accurately?”
“I can’t, it was only a guess, that’s all. But don’t forget, I know this area very well. From what you told me of the distance out from Manalati and so on, I reckon I can place it within, say, two or three miles — knowing the lay-out of the country and where an attack would be most likely to succeed.”
Shaw nodded. “You were at the Kamumba mine yourself last night, weren’t you?”
Hartog’s mouth hardened and his hand jerked a little. “I never said so.”
“No — but you were, weren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
“Let’s just call it — bush-telegraph.”
Hartog glowered. “I suppose it was that girl of mine.”
“It’s not really important how I found out,” Shaw said mildly. “The point is, you didn’t mention it yourself. I’m wondering why, that’s all.”
“Is there any particular reason why I should have mentioned it?”
“Perhaps not. Only I’d have thought you might have done, as we were talking about that area. Tell me, what exactly were you doing there last night?”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Hartog gave a hoarse, grunting laugh and then took another gulp of whisky. His eyes glittered and his face seemed to hold a curious inward grin. Shaw had the idea he was enjoying this, though he couldn’t for the life of him make out why that should be so. The scientist went on, “If you really insist on knowing, I went to a party. A booze-up, I dare say you’d consider it. I happen to have some very good friends there.”
“Friends who’ll substantiate that you were in fact at the mine?”
After a short hesitation Hartog said, “At the manager’s house, to be exact.”
“And this party went on till after about six in the morning?”
Hartog grinned again. “Why the hell not? This isn’t Esher or Clapham… it’s the Manalati province of Nogolia. There is a difference, you know.”
Shaw smiled briefly. “I appreciate that. Now — would you mind telling me just how that accident happened to your arm?”
“A skid on a lousy, rotten road. You know that.” Hartog laughed shortly. “Hadn’t had quite enough to drink, that was the trouble!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Not enough, I mean, to steady my judgment. There’s a certain point, I find, when one’s more or less incapable. Go on a little longer, and you begin to improve again. I hadn’t got that far… anyway, the road’s a shocker at the best of times, soon as the rains start. It would have happened at any state of the alcoholic barometer, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“It’s just the arm… you’ve no other marks, no abrasions, scratches, bruises?”
“Not that I know of. Why? Should I have?”
Shaw murmured, “Not necessarily, I suppose. Only I’d have thought that a — forgive me — a man who’d had too much to drink and so had a skid on a bad road, a skid severe enough to result in an arm in a sling and a Gertain amount of blood, might have had a little more to show for it in the way of subsidiaries. That’s all- Hartog, would you object if I were to ask you to remove that bandage?”
Hartog stared at him and laughed in his face. He said, Yes, I’d call it bloody nerve, but I see from the look in your sleuthing eye that you wouldn’t let that stop you. Am I right?”
“I’m afraid so.”