Isaacs considered for a moment. There was an important asymmetry in his relation with this sharp, inquisitive old gentleman. Isaacs’ responsibility was to learn all that he could about the current situation from Phillips and his colleagues. But there were limits to which the converse was true. He thought about Korolev and his interview with Zamyatin, but decided that only some general reply was in order.
“You understand that this sort of decision is out of my hands; it would be decided by the NSC. I have the same reservations you do about prematurely bringing this problem to the attention of the NSC and the President. Those reservations apply doubly to communicating with our allies. We must be very sure of our situation before spreading any possible alarm. I think we must proceed very cautiously. If, as you say, there is little prospect of immediate resolution by quick action, then we can afford to go slowly and carefully.”
“I was thinking not only of our allies,” put in Phillips. “From a scientific point of view, I have several colleagues in the Soviet Union who would make valuable consultants.”
Isaacs stared at Phillips a brief moment, eyebrows raised. He could foresee a situation developing in which a cooperative effort with the Soviets at some level would precede notification of formal allies. He saw no point in raising this possibility with Phillips at this early stage.
“I believe that’s out of the question just now.”
Phillips pressed the issue.
“It may not be our prerogative to bring this problem to the attention of others. Don’t the Soviets have the same capability as we do to monitor seismic activity? Or perhaps even the People’s Republic, where there is a long history of interest in earthquakes and related phenomena. You mentioned this Russian aircraft carrier. Should we not move as soon as is feasible to forestall the possibility of further misinterpretation?”
Damn this sly old dog, Isaacs said to himself. He was strongly tempted to tell Phillips the whole story of Korolev and the Novorossiisk, but he thought of the uneasy truce Drefke had forced between him and McMasters. He had no authority to disclose the details of these geopolitically charged events. The last thing he wanted to do was to open another procedural dispute with McMasters. He was sensitive to the hypocrisy, but felt compelled to head off this line of discussion.
“I’ve considered such questions, Professor Phillips,” Isaacs replied, forcing a trace of coolness into his voice. “I don’t believe we disagree in principle, but the issue of when communication of intelligence to other countries becomes feasible or desirable must be weighed most carefully. You surely appreciate that such decisions cannot be made in the context of one isolated set of events. All possible ramifications must be considered simultaneously. The ultimate decision is not within your province, nor even mine. I can assure you that the points you raise will be given due consideration.”
“Please!” said Phillips raising a hand in protest. “Don’t think I’m trying to dictate your actions in an area outside my competence. It’s just that I can foresee yet other situations developing that will prove difficult to contain. I’m sure you and your organization are most competent to take appropriate action.”
Both men lapsed into silence, consciously attempting to quell the mood of confrontation that had threatened to develop. They sipped their sherry quietly for a long moment, each pursuing private thoughts.
Phillips stirred and proffered the decanter once again. Isaacs smiled saying, “Just a little,” and then flashed a halt sign as Phillips refilled his glass anyway. Isaacs followed the neck of the decanter encased by Phillips’ deeply lined knuckles as it tilted up from his glass, crossed to the other and dipped to release more amber liquid. He spoke as Phillips carefully replaced the stopper in the decanter.
“There is one more point.”
“Please.”
“You mentioned the question of hostility a while ago, or lack thereof. There was some talk about the possible origin of a black hole this afternoon. Runyan seemed to feel such a thing must be artificially manufactured.”
Phillips’ eyes were half closed in concentration, but he did not speak. Isaacs continued.
“To my mind that raises two issues. One is whether we’re endangered. If there is a black hole down there, the answer is yes, we are, although I gather the exact nature of the peril and the time scale remain to be worked out. The second issue is whether this dangerous situation was intentionally created. If that’s the case, then it seems to me that is by far the greatest threat, and we mustn’t lose sight of it.”
Phillips swiveled again to look out the window. He cupped the glass of sherry in both hands in his lap and replied in a ruminative tone.
“Which is the greatest danger? The bullet streaking toward our heart—or the man who pulled the trigger?”
He was silent for a long moment and then said, “I cannot help you there, Mr. Isaacs. The discussion this afternoon was inconclusive because we don’t know enough. I understand your concern. None of us will rest easily for a long while.”
Phillips continued to gaze out the window. Isaacs studied his profile for a time and then broke his own reverie by throwing down the sherry at a gulp. Phillips made no move. After a moment Isaacs rose and crossed the room. As he closed the door behind him, he glanced one last time at the old man, his vision still locked on some distant point.
Danielson opened the door at the knock and smiled a greeting at Isaacs.
“Hi. Just a second, let me get my purse.” She turned back into the room and reappeared shrugging into a sweater as she juggled her purse by the strap. Isaacs reached to help with the sweater.
“Thanks,” she said as they headed down the hall. Her glance at him took in a bit of damp, mussed hair over his temple. Despite this evidence for a recent face washing and attempt to freshen up, she thought he looked tense and drawn. “You feel up to this?” she inquired. “Going out?”
His smile put some life back in his face. “Of course. Besides, I’m hungry as a bear. I always pick at that airline food I had for lunch.”
Phillips, Runyan, and Gantt awaited them in the foyer. Runyan’s attention immediately focused on Danielson.
“I’ve suggested a little Japanese place downtown. Not your flashy knife-juggling kind, but excellent sashimi and tempura. And not so expensive that it will do violence to our government per diems.”
Danielson’s eyes swept him quickly. He had swapped his beach clothes for loafers, dark slacks and an expensive Italian shirt unbuttoned to show matted grey hair on his chest.
“That sounds fine,” she responded.
Runyan busied himself herding the group out. When they reached the car, he insisted that Phillips ride in front, in deference to his age. He ushered first Isaacs then Danielson into the back seat and then squeezed his own limber form in next to Danielson. He leaned forward to back-seat drive until Gantt had the Thunderbird safely headed southward on the interstate. Then he leaned back and drew Phillips into a good natured, if somewhat embarrassed, reminiscence of Phillips’ encounter with a lady of the evening at one of their scientific meetings.
The meeting had been held in a hotel dominated at the time by a convention of salesmen. In the bar, Phillips had mistaken the woman for a waitress and the call girl had mistaken him for one of the salesmen with whom she had previously made an appointment. Runyan related both sides of the conversation that had proceeded at total cross purposes before the misunderstanding was revealed.