Hall tears off a large piece of teletype paper and hands it to Stone.
“Directive Seven-Twelve has not been acted upon – – alternative Directive Seven-Eleven now in effect?” says Stone. He turns to Dutton. “They didn’t drop the bomb!”
“It’s an MCM transmission, sent yesterday,” says Hall, looking at the paper.
“Idiots!” shouts Stone, grabbing the paper. He walks to a console and stabs a button. A sergeant appears on a video monitor.
“Put me through to Doctor Robertson,” says Stone.
“In work, sir,” replies the sergeant.
“Burke,” says Stone, “You didn’t special alert an MCM message to us.”
“There haven’t been any, sir,” says Burke. “The bell didn’t ring – “
“Don’t argue, dammit!” shouts Stone. “I’ve got one in my hand!”
On another monitor, Dr. Robertson appears.
“Well, well,” says Robertson, “About time we heard from you!”
“There’s been a communications foul-up here,” replies Stone. “Never mind that now – – why the hell hasn’t that bomb been dropped on Piedmont?”
“The decision on Seven- Twelve wasn’t final, it was just postponed forty-eight hours,” says Robertson.
“By then the disease could spread into a worldwide epidemic!” says Dutton.
“It’s because of rash statements like that the President doesn’t trust scientists,” says Grimes, appearing on another monitor.
“Warn the President it may already be too late,” says Stone. “Stay on his back, Robbie. You’ve got to make him call a Seven-Twelve.”
“Can you get me another appointment tonight, Grimes?” asks Robertson.
“Now-” begins Grimes.