Finally, he had it, clear and cold. The strange, unhuman, inscrutable area that was in diabolical rapport with the basic stuff of one element of the atmosphere. Flinn lingered there for a while, wondering again why he could not read it completely, then forced himself on and on, deeper and deeper, until at last he felt the limit had been reached.
His own warning thought intruded, telling him that this was the place. And the time for the first test was at hand. He could not afford the luxury of another pause. His resolve might crack....
The thought arced like a high-voltage spark, the preamble of the counter-suggestion: You are to do nothing. No matter what happens, no matter what is done to you, you are to take no action whatsoever. You are not to react. You are to do nothing. You are to disregard every thought but this.
The battle had been joined. The interference had bridged the gap—yet the block remained dormant!
The first hurdle had been cleared.
For the better part of three hours, Flinn continued to transmit the counter-suggestion. Although he was not aware of it, sweat rolled from every pore of his body and his nerves spasmed in unfelt agony.
Something happened.
Flinn lost contact as a shrill of warnings welled through Dobbs' mind.
A second later, the door opened and Hayes' voice hissed: "He's awake!"
Flinn returned to awareness slowly. First he was conscious only of how tired he was, and then he knew that a voice was trying to reach him, and he felt a handkerchief swabbing at his face.
Wilmer bent over him in the gloom.
Hayes said in Flinn's ear: "Dobbs is awake. He knows something's wrong. He's moving around in there."
"Then go ahead," Flinn heard his voice say. "There won't be a better time."
"Maybe we should wait," Wilmer cautioned.
"No! Do it now. Hurry!"
The agent stiffened, stepped back, and disappeared.
They heard the door to Dobbs' room open and close and the sound of voices.
There was an exclamation, then Dobb's voice shouting: "What are you doing? Are you crazy? I warn you, I'll take every one of you with me!" Then a sudden explosion, muffled, but still shockingly loud, and the thump of a heavy object falling.
Flinn could not bring himself to move a muscle.
The silence seemed absolute. It was as if even the house itself were listening, straining, preparing itself for the inevitable.
One second passed.
Two.
Five.
Ten.
Nothing happened.
Abruptly, Wilmer shouted: "It's all over!"
Flinn heard footfalls upon the stairs and the sound of excited voices.
Hayes burst into the room and turned on the light, the .357 magnum still in his hand. His face was pale; his mouth worked, but no sound emerged.
Flinn found that his muscles would obey him now, and he stood up and headed for the door. He felt numb, drained. He stepped out into the hall. Every special agent and security man on the premises was crowded there.
Flinn turned back to Hayes.
"I never thought to ask before," Flinn said. "Dobbs—did he have any close living relatives? A wife? Children?"
Hayes shook his head.
"Thank God for that!" Flinn said.
He started down the hall toward the stairs. The men there grew silent as he approached and moved soundlessly out of his way.
He went down the stairs, through the room off the kitchen, and outside to the driveway. He looked up at the dark sky.
It's over, he told himself. And now I'm a murderer. All of us are. A guilt shared by the few to save the many. But the few are the product of the many, just as each individual is, so where are we to place the blame?
Twenty years of research, and where had it led?
Somewhere he had failed as society had failed, and, even in success, Flinn could feel no flush of victory.
The Earth was safe, but every human upon it had died a little without even knowing it.
Yes, it's over, Flinn thought finally. For now. Until the next time.
He could see no stars. In a while it would be dawn.