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When Oppenheimer saw him, he detached himself from the crowd and walked over. In a room of nervous people, he seemed to be vibrating with tension, his cigarette hand moving to his mouth in tiny jerks. Connolly had seen him jittery before; now he seemed close to breakdown.

“What the devil is it?” he said quickly.

“I’m sorry. I had to use your name to get in. I need to see you.” He glanced around the crowded room. “Alone.”

“Now? You want to see me now?”

A hand on his shoulder interrupted him. Groves, looking even heavier than usual, a bulging mass of khaki, turned him half around, stopping him. Connolly was struck again by their odd disparity. “Meteorology says it’s clearing. Another hour.” Then, seeing Connolly, “What are you doing here?”

“After five-thirty there’s too much light,” Oppenheimer said. “The cameras-”

“They said an hour,” Groves said, calming him. “Something wrong?” he said to Connolly.

“Yes, what is it?” Oppenheimer said impatiently.

Connolly looked at both of them, waiting for him. But it was impossible now. There were two stories, not one. Why had he thought Oppenheimer would be alone? “I have to see Pawlowski,” he said, improvising.

Oppenheimer stared at him, amazed. “You’ve got a hell of a nerve coming here at a time like this. With personal problems,” he said, almost spitting the p’s.

“His wife’s in the hospital.”

“What are you, her nurse?”

“Actually, I need to see you too, but that can wait.”

“It can.”

“We got the guy. It’s over.”

“Congratulations,” Oppenheimer snapped. “Now get the hell out of here.” Then, controlling himself, “Pawlowski’s at S 10,000-that’s the control bunker for the gadget. You can get him after the test.” He looked at his watch. “If there’s a test. We’ve already postponed it once. Thirty-mile-an-hour winds. Thirty. Anything more than ten and-”

“They said an hour,” Groves said again, reassuring. Then, to Connolly, “I don’t understand. You found-”

“Yes, Mr. Connolly’s solved his case,” Oppenheimer said dismissively, lighting another cigarette. “He seems to think this is a swell time to make a report.” He spoke the slang word as if it were foreign. “If it’s really an hour, we’d better get Kisty away from that tower. We have to clear all personnel at least an hour beforehand.” Groves looked puzzled. “In case a vehicle breaks down and they have to walk. They’d need an hour. It’s six miles to the bunker.”

“And no one guards the gadget?” Groves said.

“No. We’ll give your saboteurs a fighting chance.” He checked his watch again. “They’d better hurry.”

Groves glanced at him, unamused, then back at Connolly, uncomfortable with an audience. “Let’s get out to S 10,000, then,” he said calmly to Oppenheimer. “There’s nothing more we can do here anyway. We’ve got the brass all taken care of.” He gestured toward the Washington visitors. “You get the driver, and I’ll be right along.” He looked at Oppenheimer. “The weather’s going to be fine.”

Oppenheimer, hearing the polite dismissal, smiled. “Okay,” he said, then turned to Connolly. “I’ll send Pawlowski back after the test. No one leaves there now. As long as you’re here, you might as well go up to Compania Hill with the rest of the visitors. Get one of the men to take you. You should be safe there-it’s far enough away-in case our calculations are wrong. Of course, that’s a relative thing, isn’t it? If we’re really off, Enrico thinks it’s possible to ignite the atmosphere. A chain reaction there-”

“That kind of talk is just out of line,” Groves said, annoyed. “I told him.”

“Yes. He told me you told him. I think he might have been joking, you know.”

“Some joke.”

Oppenheimer turned to Connolly. “I’ll send him back. I’m sorry if I’ve been rude. I still say you picked one hell of a time.”

Groves watched him walk out the door. “He hasn’t slept in two days,” Groves said. “We’re all keyed up. This rain didn’t help any.” He brushed his uniform, and Connolly noticed for the first time that it was covered in damp patches.

“I didn’t mean to bother him.”

“Well, bother me. I’ve got the time. This darn waiting’s the worst part. Nothing to do but go over the same thing, over and over. What’s this about solving the case?”

“Eisler was meeting a man called Hector Ramirez,” Connolly began his new story. “Spanish. Maybe Mexican-we don’t know yet. Big guy. Laborer. He even managed to get himself a job on the Hill-construction or maintenance, I guess. Anyway, not a scientist. Eisler appears to have been his only contact, so he may have been trying to scout out some new business.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“I killed him.” Connolly felt the bandage on his forehead. “A fight. His head got in the way of some scrap metal.”

“You’re sure it was him?”

“Absolutely. That’s why the fight. He tried to kill me.”

“He tell you anything? Who his friends were? Who he passed-”

Connolly shook his head.

“Wonderful.”

“He’s dead,” Connolly said steadily. “It ends with him.”

Groves sighed. “Now what?”