Operation Terror | Page 3

detonation of a hundred tons of high explosives or an
equivalent impact can be heard for thirty miles, but at that distance it
doesn't sound much like an explosion.
He finished his breakfast without enjoyment. By that time well over
three-quarters of the Air Force on the Pacific Coast was airborne and
more planes shot skyward instant after instant. Inevitably the multiplied
air traffic was noted by civilians. Reporters began to telephone airbases
to ask whether a practice alert was on, or something more serious.
Such questions were natural, these days. All the world had the jitters.
To the ordinary observer, the prospects looked bad for everything but
disaster. There was a crisis in the United Nations, which had been
reorganized once and might need to be shuffled again. There was a
dispute between the United States and Russia over satellites recently
placed in orbit. They were suspected of carrying fusion bombs ready to
dive at selected targets on signal. The Russians accused the Americans,
and the Americans accused the Russians, and both may have been right.
The world had been so edgy for so long that there were fallout shelters
from Chillicothe, Ohio, to Singapore, Malaya, and back again. There
were permanent trouble spots at various places where practically
anything was likely to happen at any instant. The people of every
nation were jumpy. There was constant pressure on governments and
on political parties so that all governments looked shaky and all parties
helpless. Nobody could look forward to a peaceful old age, and most
hardly hoped to reach middle age. The arrival of an object from outer
space was nicely calculated to blow the emotional fuses of whole
populations.
But Lockley ate his breakfast without premonitions. Breezes blew and
from every airbase along the coast fighting planes shot into the air and
into formations designed to intercept anything that flew on wings or to
launch atom-headed rockets at anything their radars could detect that
didn't.

At eight-twenty, Lockley went to the electronic base line instrument
which he was to use this morning. It was a modification of the devices
used to clock artificial satellites in their orbits and measure their
distance within inches from hundreds of miles away. The purpose was
to make a really accurate map of the park. There were other instruments
in other line-of-sight positions, very far away. Lockley's schedule
called for them to measure their distances from each other some time
this morning. Two were carefully placed on bench marks of the
continental grid. In twenty minutes or so of cooperation, the distances
of six such instruments could be measured with astonishing precision
and tied in to the bench marks already scattered over the continent.
Presently photographing planes would fly overhead, taking overlapping
pictures from thirty thousand feet. They would show the survey points
and the measurements between them would be exact, the photos could
be used as stereo-pairs to take off contour lines, and in a few days there
would be a map--a veritable cartographer's dream for accuracy and
detail.
That was the intention. But though Lockley hadn't heard of it yet,
something was reported to have landed from space, and a shock like an
impact was recorded, and all conditions would shortly be changed. It
would be noted from the beginning, however, that an impact equal to a
hundred-ton explosion was a very small shock for the landing of a
bolide. It would add to the plausibility of reported deceleration, though,
and would arouse acute suspicion. Justly so.
At 8:20, Lockley called Sattell who was southeast of him. The
measuring instruments used microwaves and gave readings of distance
by counting cycles and reading phase differences. As a matter of
convenience the microwaves could be modulated by a microphone, so
the same instrument could be used for communication while
measurements went on. But the microwaves were directed in a very
tight beam. The device had to be aimed exactly right and a suitable
reception instrument had to be at the target if it was to be used at all.
Also, there was no signal to call a man to listen. He had to be listening
beforehand, and with his instrument aimed right, too.

So Lockley flipped the modulator switch and turned on the instrument.
He said patiently, "Calling Sattell. Calling Sattell. Lockley calling
Sattell."
He repeated it some dozens of times. He was about to give it up and
call Vale instead when Sattell answered. He'd slept a little later than
Lockley. It was now close to nine o'clock. But Sattell had expected the
call. They checked the functioning of their instruments against each
other.
"Right!" said Lockley at last. "I'll check with Vale and on out of the
park, and then we'll put it all together and wrap it up and take it home."