For a moment Bass’s face flushed, and then it softened. When he spoke, it was gently, almost apologetically. “It’s painfully simple, Major. That junk, as you call it, is a top-priority cargo destined for a highly classified test program. Since your Stratocruiser was the only heavy transport within a thousand miles that can do the job, the Air Force consented to put her on temporary loan to the Navy. They threw you and your crew into the bargain, and that’s all there is to it.”

Vylander shot Bass a penetrating stare. “I don’t mean to sound insubordinate, Admiral, but that’s not all, not by a long shot.”

Bass walked around the desk and sat down. “You’re to consider it a routine flight, nothing more.”

“I’d appreciate it, sir, if you’d throw me a bone and enlighten me as to what’s inside those canisters in my cargo cabin.”

Bass avoided his eyes. “Sorry, it’s highly classified material.”

Vylander knew when he was licked. He swayed wearily to his feet, picked up the vinyl folder containing his flight plan and charts, and walked toward the door. Then he hesitated and turned. “In the event we have to ditch-“

“Don’t! If an in-flight emergency develops,” Bass said solemnly, “you ride her down into a nonpopulated area.”

“That’s asking too much.”

“I’m not making a formal request; I’m giving an order! You and your crew are not to abandon the aircraft between here and your destination, regardless of how dire the circumstances.”

Vylander’s face clouded. “Then I guess that’s it.”

“There is one more thing.”

“Which is?”

“Good luck,” Bass said, his lips edging into a tight grin.

It was a grin Vylander didn’t like, not one tiny bit. He pulled open the door and, without replying, walked out into the cold.

In the control cabin, slouched so far down that the back of his head rested a good foot below his headrest, Lieutenant Sam Gold, Vylander’s copilot, preoccupied himself with a flight checklist while, behind him, off to his left, Captain George Hoffman, the crew’s navigator, fiddled with a plastic protractor. Neither man paid the slightest acknowledgment to Vylander as he stepped through the bulkhead door leading from the cargo cabin.

“Course plotted?” Vylander inquired of Hoffman.

“All the preliminary dirty work has been figured by the Navy experts. Can’t say as I agree with their choice of scenic routes, though. They’ve got us flying over the most desolate country in the West.”

A worried expression came over Vylander’s face, which didn’t go unnoticed by Hoffman. The major looked over his shoulder at the huge metal canisters strapped down in the cargo section and tried to summon up a vision of their contents.