"I am to conclude that she is the reason for my visit here?"
"Yes."
"She's well?"
"As far as we know," Eggerton said quietly.
"Then what can I do for you?"
"Help us, if you will," Eggerton said, just as quietly. "I am going to tell you what has happened, Mr. Felton, and then perhaps you can help us."
"Perhaps," Felton agreed.
"About the project, you know as much as any of us, more perhaps, since you were in at the inception. So you realize that such a project must be taken very seriously or laughed off entirely. To date, it has cost the government eleven million dollars, and that is not something you laugh off. Now you understand that the unique part of this project was its exclusiveness. That word is used advisedly and specifically. Its success depended upon the creation of a unique and exclusive environment, and in terms of that environment, we agreed not to send any observers into the reservation for a period of fifteen years. Of course, during those fifteen years, there have been many conferences with Mr. and Mrs. Arbalaid and with certain of their associates, including Dr. Goldbaum.
"But out of these conferences, there was no progress report that dealt with anything more than general progress. We were given to understand that the results were rewarding and exciting, but very little more. We honored our part of the agreement, and at the end of the fifteen year period, we told your sister and her husband that we would have to send in a team of observers. They pleaded for an extension of time — maintaining that it was critical to the success of the entire program — and they pleaded persuasively enough to win a three year extension. Some months ago, the three year period was over. Mrs. Arbalaid came to Washington and begged a further extension. When we refused, she agreed that our team could come into the reservation in ten days. Then she returned to California."
Eggerton paused and looked at Felton searchingly.
And what did you find?" Felton asked.
"You don't know?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Well — " the secretary said slowly, "I feel like a damn fool when I think of this, and also a little afraid. When I say it, the fool end predominates. We went there and we found nothing."
"Oh?"
"You don't appear too surprised, Mr. Felton?"
"Nothing my sister does has ever really surprised me. You mean the reservation was empty — no sign of anything?"
"I don't mean that, Mr. Felton. I wish I did mean that. I wish it was so pleasantly human and down to earth. I wish we thought that your sister and her husband were two clever and unscrupulous swindlers who had taken the government for eleven million. That would warm the cockles of our hearts compared to what we do have. You see, we don't know whether the reservation is empty or not, Mr. Felton, because the reservation is not there."
"What?"
"Precisely. The reservation is not there."
"Come now," Felton smiled. "My sister is a remarkable woman, but she doesn't make off with eight thousand acres of land. It isn't like her."
"I don't find your humor entertaining, Mr. Felton."
"No. No, of course not. I'm sorry. Only when a thing makes no sense at all — how could an eight-thousand-acre stretch of land not be where it was? Doesn't it leave a large hole?"
"If the newspapers get hold of it, they could do even better than that, Mr. Felton."
"Why not explain?" Felton said.
"Let me try to — not to explain but to describe. This stretch of land is in the Fulton National Forest, rolling country, some hills, a good stand of redwood — a kidney shaped area. It was wire-fenced, with army guards at every approach. I went there with our inspection team, General Meyers, two army physicians, Gorman, the psychiatrist, Senator Totenwell of the Armed Services Committee, and Lydia Gentry, the educator. We crossed the country by 'plane and drove the final sixty miles to the reservation in two government cars. A dirt road leads into it. The guard on this road halted us. The reservation was directly before us. As the guard approached the first car, the reservation disappeared."
"Just like that?" Felton whispered. "No noise — no explosion?"
"No noise, no explosion. One moment, a forest of redwoods in front of us — then a gray area of nothing."
"Nothing? That's just a word. Did you try to go in?"
"Yes — we tried. The best scientists in America have tried. I myself am not a very brave man, Mr. Felton, but I got up enough courage to walk up to this gray edge and touch it. It was very cold and very hard — so cold that it blistered these three fingers."
He held out his hand for Felton to see.
"I became afraid then. I have not stopped being afraid." Felton nodded. "Fear — such fear," Eggerton sighed.
"I need not ask you if you tried this or that?"
"We tried everything, Mr. Felton, even — I am ashamed to say — a very small atomic bomb. We tried the sensible things and the foolish things. We went into panic and out of panic, and we tried everything."
"Yet you've kept it secret?"
"So far, Mr. Felton."
"Airplanes?"
"You see nothing from above. It looks like mist lying in the valley."
"What do your people think it is?"
Eggerton smiled and shook his head. "They don't know. There you are. At first, some of them thought it was some kind of force field. But the mathematics won't work, and of course it's cold. Terribly cold. I am mumbling. I am not a scientist and not a mathematician, but they also mumble, Mr. Felton. I am tired of that kind of thing. That is why I asked you to come to Washington and talk with us. I thought you might know."
"I might," Felton nodded.
For the first time, Eggerton became alive, excited, impatient. He mixed Felton another drink. Then he leaned forward eagerly and waited. Felton took a letter out of his pocket.
"This came from my sister," he said.
"You told me you had no letter from her in almost a year!"
"I've had this almost a year," Felton replied, a note of sadness in his voice. "I haven't opened it. She enclosed this sealed envelope with a short letter, which only said that she was well and quite happy, and that I was to open and read the other letter when it was absolutely necessary to do so. My sister is like that; we think the same way. Now, I suppose it's necessary, don't you?"
The secretary nodded slowly but said nothing. Felton opened the letter and began to read aloud.
June 2, 1964
My dear Harry:
As I write this, it is twenty-two years since I have seen you or spoken to you. How very long for two people who I have such love and regard for each other as we do. And now that you have found it necessary to open this letter and read it, we must face the fact that in all probability we will never see each other again. I hear that you have a wife and three children — all wonderful people. I think it is hardest to know that I will not see them or know them.