ching the Black Suitcase any more than necessary to
connect the leads. Giving Sorensen that information might make him
even more touchy.

Thorn only hoped that the bomb, or whatever it was that Sorensen had
put in the suitcase, was well built, properly fused, and provided with
adequate safeties.

When everything was set up, Sorensen walked over to his device and
turned it on by shoving the blade of a heavy-duty switch into place.
"O.K.," he said.

One of the technicians began flipping other switches, and a bank of
ordinary incandescent light bulbs came on, four at a time. Finally
there were one hundred of them burning, each one a hundred-watt bulb
that glowed brightly but did not appear to be contributing much to the
general brightness of the Utah sun. The technicians checked their
recording voltmeters and ammeters and reported that, sure enough, some
ten kilowatts of power at a little less than one hundred fifteen volts
D.C. was coming from the Black Suitcase.

Sorensen and Thorn sat in the tent which had been erected to ward off
the sun's rays. They watched the lights shine.

* * * * *
* * * * *

One of the technicians came in, wiping his forehead with a big blue
bandana. "Well, there she goes. Mr. Sorensen, if that thing is
dangerous, hadn't we better back off a little way from it?"

"It isn't dangerous," Sorensen said. "Nothing's going to happen."

The technician looked unhappy. "Then I don't see why we couldn't've
tested the thing back in the shop. Would've been a lot easier there.
To say nothing of more comfortable."

Thorn lit a cigarette in silence.

Sorensen nodded and said, "Yes, Mr. Siegel, it would've been."

Siegel sat down on one of the camp stools and lit a cigarette.
"Mr. Sorensen," he asked in all innocence, "have you got a patent on
that battery?"

The humorous glint returned to Sorensen's eyes as he said, "Nope.
I didn't patent the battery in that suitcase. That's why I don't want
anybody fooling around with it."

"How come you don't patent it?" Siegel asked. "Nobody could steal it
if you patented it."

"Couldn't they?" Sorensen asked with a touch of acid in his voice. "Do
you know anything about batteries, Mr. Siegel?"

"A little. I'm not an expert on 'em, or anything like that. I'm an
electrician. But I know a little bit about 'em."

Sorensen nodded. "Then you should know, Mr. Siegel, that
battery-making is an art, not a