The missiles had been activated. All he had to do now was pull the string with his left hand and turn the key with his right, and then the argument would be settled.

“Isn’t that right, Major?” he said to the man lying in a swelling puddle of his own blood.

“We’re just wasting time, sir,” he’d said to the Major twenty minutes earlier. “These things are a crock. It’s a big fat hoax like the moon landing. I’ve been reading this book, I can loan it to you if you’re interested, sir, about how the real reason for all the secrecy surrounding the Manhattan Project was that we actually used 40,000 tons of conventional explosives on Japan.”

Then they started arguing, the Major accusing him of insubordination when he said the Minuteman wouldn’t actually do anything; now the Major was on the floor and he had the Major’s key in its panel, tied to a string crossing the room. All he had to do was pull on it while he turned his own key. So much for fail-safe.

This would show him.