The Secretary of Defense,flown in by special planefrom the new Capitol Buildingin Denver, trotted down theramp with his right hand outstretchedbefore him.
At the base of the ramp hishand was touched, clutched andhidden by the right hand of General"Smiley" Webb in a heartyparody of a casual handshake.General Webb did everything ina big way, and that includedeven little things like handshakes.
Retrieving his hand oncemore, James Whitlow, the Secretaryof Defense, smiled nervouslywith his tiny mouth, andsaid,
"Well, here I am."
This statement was takendown by a hovering circle ofnews reporters, dispatched bywireless and telephone to everytown in the forty-nine states, expanded,contracted, quoted andmisquoted, ignored and misconstrued,and then forgotten; allthis in a matter of hours.
The nation, hearing it, putaside its wonted trepidations,took an extra tranquilizer ortwo, and felt secure once more.The government was in goodhands.
Leaving the reporters in a disgruntledgroup beyond the cyclone-fence-and-barbed-wirebarriers surrounding ProjectW, General Webb, seatedbeside Whitlow in the back ofhis private car, sighed and foldedhis arms.
"You'll be amazed!" he chortled,nudging his companionwith a bony elbow.
"I—I expect so," said Whitlow,clinging to his brief casewith both hands. It contained,among other things, a volume ofmystery stories and a ham sandwich,neatly packaged in aluminumfoil. Whitlow didn't wantto chance losing it. Not, at least,until he'd eaten the sandwich.
"Of course, you're wonderingwhere I got the idea for myproject," said "Smiley" Webb,adding, for the benefit of hisdriver, "Keep your eyes on theroad, Sergeant! The WAC barrackswill still be there when youget off duty!"
"Yes, sir," came a hollowgrunt from the front seat.
"Weren't you?" asked GeneralWebb, gleaming a toothy smilein Whitlow's direction.
"Weren't I what?" Whitlowasked miserably, having lost thethread of their conversation dueto a surreptitious glance backwardat the WAC barracks intheir wake.
"Wondering about the project!"snapped the general.
"Yes. We all were," said theSecretary of Defense, appendingsomewhat tartly, "That's whythey sent me here."
"To be sure. To be sure," GeneralWebb muttered. He didn'tmuch like tartness in responses,but the Secretary of Defense,unfortunately, was hardly asubordinate, and therefore notsubject to the general's choler.Silly little ass! he said to himself.Rather liking the sound ofthe words—albeit in his mind—herepeated them over again,adding embellishments like"pompous" and "mousy" and"squirrel-eyed." After three orfour such thoughts, the generalfelt much better.
"I thought the whole thing up,myself," he said, proudly.
"I wish you'd stop being soambiguous," Whitlow protestedin a small voice. "Just what isthis project? How does it work?Will it help us win the war?"
"Sssh!" said the general, jerkinga quivering forefinger perpendicularbefore pursed lips."Security!"
He closed one eye in a broadwink and wriggled a thumb inthe direction of the driver. "He'sonly cleared for Confidentialmaterial," said the general, histone casting aspersions on thesergeant's patriotism, ancestryand personal hygiene. "Thisproject is, of course, Top Secret!"