Free The Big Eye by Max Ehrlich Page A

down to Radio City. We've got an early broadcast,
and one of the announcers still has his car in town. He's picking me up
on the corner, and if I don't meet him I'll never be able to get down
to the studio."
     
     
He made a last try. "You won't change your mind about flying back with
me this afternoon?"
     
     
"No, David," she said quietly. "I can't."
     
     
Then Carol thought of something, made a sad face. "I didn't realize
it was so late. And, darling, I did want to make your breakfast. There
isn't much food in the refrigerator, the times being what they are, but "
     
     
"Forget it," he said cheerfully. "I'll throw something together."
     
     
He turned on the small portable television set in the bedroom. A Negro
girl at a piano came on with some wake-up-and-sing stuff. She was dressed
as a maid and was obviously at her mistress's piano, her broom and mop
leaning against the instrument.
     
     
The mistress came into the picture, and the Negro maid grimaced in alarm,
as though caught poaching on her employer's time. But the woman of the
house was very pleasant about it. She motioned the girl to stay at the
piano; it was apparent that she would rather have music than have her
house cleaned.
     
     
A moment later, the woman of the house, caught by the music, joined the
girl in a duet. They laughed and swayed and made eyes to the rhythm of the
song. There was a clock on the piano to give a visual picture of the time,
and there was a face painted on its dial. The face grinned and grimaced,
too, and had a wonderful time. Now and then it waved its hands jerkily,
like an agitated and happy puppet.
     
     
It was pleasant stuff, early-morning stuff for the housewives, and David
and Carol couldn't help smiling at it.
     
     
But then the scene was wiped out abruptly into a blank screen.
     
     
A surge of documentary news-of-the-day music came up, and a spinning
globe of the world appeared. A streamer brightened and swept around it,
and the legend announced:
     

NATIONAL NEWS
     
David's smile froze. He and Carol stood there, motionless, hypnotized,
listening.
     
     
The announcer underplayed his news and made it effective. His words were
measured and somber, and his voice was a steady monotone.
     
     
"Early reports from the Soviet Union indicate that the last-minute
conference between Mr. Allison of the State Department and Foreign
Minister Bakhanov has failed. There is a rumor that Allison has already
left Russia by plane, and the tension is mounting hourly.
     
     
"Meanwhile, the Army has announced that Washington has been completely
evacuated, the last government bureau moving out two days ago.
     
     
"The President, it is reported, is waiting a personal report from Allison
at his secret headquarters somewhere underground. It is reported that
he is resisting strong pressure from some of his advisers to take the
initiative before it is too late. The health of the Chief Executive has
given some concern. Since Congress stripped itself of power to declare war
and gave the President authority as Commander in Chief to make whatever
instantaneous decision necessary, the strain and responsibility have
been overwhelming.
     
     
"Flashes of unexplained light were detected early this morning over
Labrador. Observers at Hopedale and Northwest River are unable to
account for the phenomena, except to say that they resembled the tails
of illuminated rockets. . . .
     
     
"There are rumors that New York, Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia, Los
Angeles, and, in fact, every city of over five hundred thousand will be
totally evacuated by Army order this week end. Emergency facilities have
been set up in the hinterland for those without relatives or friends
residing in "
     
     
"David, shut it off!" Carol's voice rose hysterically. "Shut it off!"
He turned the switch and the picture dissolved to a tiny rectangle
     
     
of bright light, which finally drowned in the dull, gray screen. "Why
don't they stop?" Carol cried. "Why don't they