dead bodies.â
âPresumably they were drowned.â
âThey were found at the bottom of a flooded mine,â Frank said, sticking to the literal truth.
âDid the tremor have anything to do with it?â
âIn what way?â Frank asked, sipping his coffee and squinting at a large blow-up photograph of what looked like a steel smelting plant. He turned it over and read the typed caption:
US Bureau of Mines Shale Oil Plant, Grand Valley, Col
Cal Renfield sighed. âYouâre not the easiest of people to extract information from, you know that? I want the background stuff, not the official version. Was there anything at all that struck you as being out of the ordinary? Hell, Frank, you were first on the scene, practically an eye-witness.â
âIâve told you, they were already dead when I got there.The chamber had been flooded by the storm and there was no way of reaching them until the water subsided. Didnât Lee Merriam tell you all this?â
âYeah.â Cal Renfield drank the last of his coffee and studied the half-completed layout in front of him. âI just got the feeling there was more to it than that.â He glanced up at Frank with his shrewd grey eyes. âYou know, my news-houndâs sixth sense?â
Frank moved round the office looking at the files of cuttings and news agency reports. He was on Cal Renfieldâs side: he was sympathetic to the man and wanted to help him but at the same time it would have been a mistake â and a betrayal of confidence â to have revealed anything of what he had learned about the Projectâs research programme. And it was unlikely that the editor would have grasped the significance of a concentrated emission of antineutrinos reaching them from the centre of the Galaxy. For the moment Frank had to play it cool, giving the appearance of an interested if slightly bemused bystander.
He approached the desk where Cal Renfield was working, saying casually, âYou mentioned the other evening that some kids had been born round here who exhibited strange behaviour patterns. Where are they, local hospital?â
âWe donât have a hospital in Gypsum. Theyâre over in Radium receiving intensive care. Why do you ask?â
âIâd like to see them if possible. How far is Radium?â
âAbout fifteen miles north of here, the other side of Mount Powell.â Cal Renfield pursed his lips together, like a small pink button. âWhatâs your interest in them, Frank? Changing your views?â
âIâm interested in anything that bears investigation. How do I go about arranging a visit?â
âI could do that for you,â Cal Renfield said after a momentâs thought. âI know one of the doctors in the hospital, Bob Bragg. Used to have a practice in Gypsum for a couple of years, then got taken on as a staff medico. Do you want me to fix it for you?â
âIf possible, Cal. Iâd appreciate it.â
âSee what I can do,â Cal Renfield said, reaching for the phone. He was about to dial when Helen Renfield came in from the street, struggling with a large bulky photographerâs case and a tripod. She dumped the equipment in a corner and straightened up, pressing her hands into the small of her back.
âYou know my staff,â Cal Renfield said to Frank, and then to Helen, âDid you get it?â
âI got it,â she said briefly, looking at Frankâs left shoulder but not his face. âI hate to tell you this, but taking pictures of a calf with five legs is not my idea of investigative journalism. Itâs hardly going to make the front cover of
Time.â
âMight make the front cover of
Stockbreeders Gazette,â
Frank said jocularly.
Helen Renfield didnât think the witticism merited a response. She went to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. Her red hair was drawn back from her face and tied in a schoolgirl
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