"The van," Comroe said. Manchek nodded.

"The question now arises," Jaggers said, "are all these people dead? We cannot be certain about that. The bodies appear to be of different temperatures. Forty-seven are rather cold, indicating death some time ago. Three are warmer. Two of those are in this car, here."

"Our men," Comroe said. "And the third?"

"The third is rather puzzling. You see him here, apparently standing or lying curled in the street. Observe that he is quite white, and therefore quite warm. Our temperature scans indicate that he is about ninety-five degrees, which is a little on the cool side, but probably attributable to peripheral vasoconstriction in the night desert air. Drops his skin temperature. Next slide."

The third film flicked onto the screen.

Manchek frowned at the spot. "It's moved."

"Exactly. This film was made on the second passage. The spot has moved approximately twenty yards. Next picture.

A third film.

"Moved again!"

"Yes. An additional five or ten yards."

"So one person down there is alive?"

"That," Jaggers said, "is the presumptive conclusion."

Manchek cleared his throat. "Does that mean it's what you think?"

"Yes sir. It is what we think."

"There's a man down there, walking among the corpses?"

Jaggers shrugged and tapped the screen. "It is difficult to account for the data in any other manner, and—"

At that moment, a private entered the room with three circular metal canisters under his arm.

"Sir, we have films of the direct visualization by P-square."

"Run them," Manchek said.

The film was threaded into a projector. A moment later, Lieutenant Wilson was ushered into the room. Jaggers said, "I haven't reviewed these films yet. Perhaps the pilot should narrate."

Manchek nodded and looked at Wilson, who got up and walked to the front of the room, wiping his hands nervously on his pants. He stood alongside the screen and faced his audience, beginning in a flat monotone: "Sir, my flybys were made between 11:08 and 11:13 p.m. this evening. There were two, a start from the east and a return from the west, done at an average speed of two hundred and fourteen miles per hour, at a median altitude by corrected altimeter of eight hundred feet and an—"

"Just a minute, son," Manchek said, raising his hand. "This isn't a grilling. Just tell it naturally."

Wilson nodded and swallowed. The room lights went down and the projector whirred to life. The screen showed the town bathed in glaring white light as the plane came down over it.

"This is my first pass," Wilson said. "East to west, at 11:08. We're looking from the left-wing camera which is running at ninety-six frames per second. As you can see, my altitude is falling rapidly. Straight ahead is the main street of the target . . ."

He stopped. The bodies were clearly visible. And the van, stopped in the street, its rooftop antenna still turning slow revolutions. As the plane continued its run, approaching the van, they could see the driver collapsed over the steering wheel.