It had been several hours since the bus, with its handful of passengers, had left the city tonight. A trip that had been abruptly halted, as they were passing a cement plant, just a few miles outside of town. The sound of an explosion, a burst of flame, and the terrified cry of a woman passenger whose husband was night watchman at the plant. Those things explained the somewhat incongruous group of people who now, several hours later are assembled in an office of this plant, owned by Jonathan Smith.