CHAPTER NINE
“RUSSIAN?” BRICE ASKED, looking at Sam Morgan.
The dark complected Fed pulled the mangled cigar from his mouth and pointed it toward the twisted wreckage. On the far side, Cartwell and Dickson were looking it over.
“Why not?” Morgan asked.
“It seems outlandish, somehow.”
Morgan grinned, his peg-like teeth flashing. “You small town cops are good. I won’t take that from you. But you look at everything from a local viewpoint. In our business, you broaden, you might say.
“Look at the facts, Nolan. The Defense boys spotted the thing up north. Radar locked on it and gave it a speed of over two thousand miles per. So it crashes and we find no wings, no tail assembly ... and I have the hunch that the damned thing ran on nuclear power.”
“Atomic?” Nolan whispered, amazed. While t
