look at what’s left of Peter Rhee and then tell me the niceties shouldn’t go out the window.”
“I’ll do it…I suppose you’ll be asking McCoy for the same information about me.”
Jack said nothing.
“There’s my answer,” Lewis said.
“McCoy will spill on you. That should incentivize you to dig up the dirt on him.”
A figure came hurrying out of the Science Section, angling across the lobby toward the entrance. Nordquist.
Jack drew Lewis’s attention to the scientist with a slight nod. They were off to one side of the great hall. Nordquist took no notice of them as he forged ahead.
The guards at the front station saw he was a badge holder; that’s where their interest ended. They went back to what they were doing. It wasn’t their job to track exiting badge holders.
Jack noted the gap in the total surveillance program: the guards check you coming but not going.
The scientist exited the building. Jack watched him go. “Nordquist was really moving—I wonder why?”
“Maybe someone offered him a hot deal on a slightly used death ray,” Lewis said.
They exchanged glances, then as one started off in Nordquist’s wake and followed him outside. Nordquist crossed the porticoed pavilion and descended the stone stairway.
Jack and Lewis paused at the pavilion’s edge at the top of the stairs. They stood beside a square-faced pillar, in the welcome shade.
A Cadillac Escalade stood idling at the foot of the stairs. A top-of-the-line model, it looked rich, expensive. It was a silver metallic job with a pearl finish and sparkling front grille and decorative trim. Inside it were two women.
The one in the front passenger seat was thirtyish. She had an auburn pageboy hairstyle and a clean, chiseled profile. She saw Nordquist approaching and raised a hand in friendly greeting. Nordquist nodded grimly at her and went around to the driver’s side of the vehicle.
The driver opened the door and stepped down to the pavement. She and Nordquist stood facing each other.
She was a tall, leggy platinum blond with a sensational figure. She wore a red blouse, skintight white jeans with a red belt, and red leather ankle boots with pointy toes and spiked heels. A white leather handbag dangled by loops from a forearm.
Her coiffure was elaborate yet artfully disarranged, its silvery tones contrasting with her deeply tanned skin. A pair of oversized sunglasses gave her face an insectlike appearance. Mantislike orbs. High-heeled boots and masses of platinum hair piled high atop her head made her six inches taller than Nordquist.
“Fancy piece of machinery. An expensive toy,” Lewis said appreciatively. “So’s the car,” he added offhandedly, after a pause.
“Who’s the driver?” asked Jack.
“Sylvia Nordquist. The Mrs. Dr. Nordquist, that is.” Lewis’s gaze was intent, avid.
“Attractive woman,” Jack said.
“Gee, you think?” Lewis said sarcastically.
“No point in getting overheated about it.”
“You’re not human, Jack.”
“Who’s the other woman in the car?”
“That’s Carlson’s wife, Carrie. Like goes to like. TheAssistant Director’s wife chums around with the Director’s wife. Nice lady, that Carrie Carlson. Good-looking, and is she built! As hot as Sylvia but a lot lower-maintenance.” Lewis smacked his lips.
“You could use some of that Perseus process yourself,” Jack said.
Lewis was only half listening. “How so?”
“You’re starting to burn.”
They were too far away to hear what the husband and wife were saying. Nordquist was doing most of the talking. Lecturing, it seemed like. Whatever his message, Sylvia seemed impervious to it. He might as well have been talking into the wind, except there was no wind. Her beautiful masklike face was impassive, except to make a remark or two when the other paused for breath.
“Spouses can access South Mesa?” Jack asked.
“If they have ID badges they can,” Lewis said. “A lot of them do, especially when their
“I’ll do it…I suppose you’ll be asking McCoy for the same information about me.”
Jack said nothing.
“There’s my answer,” Lewis said.
“McCoy will spill on you. That should incentivize you to dig up the dirt on him.”
A figure came hurrying out of the Science Section, angling across the lobby toward the entrance. Nordquist.
Jack drew Lewis’s attention to the scientist with a slight nod. They were off to one side of the great hall. Nordquist took no notice of them as he forged ahead.
The guards at the front station saw he was a badge holder; that’s where their interest ended. They went back to what they were doing. It wasn’t their job to track exiting badge holders.
Jack noted the gap in the total surveillance program: the guards check you coming but not going.
The scientist exited the building. Jack watched him go. “Nordquist was really moving—I wonder why?”
“Maybe someone offered him a hot deal on a slightly used death ray,” Lewis said.
They exchanged glances, then as one started off in Nordquist’s wake and followed him outside. Nordquist crossed the porticoed pavilion and descended the stone stairway.
Jack and Lewis paused at the pavilion’s edge at the top of the stairs. They stood beside a square-faced pillar, in the welcome shade.
A Cadillac Escalade stood idling at the foot of the stairs. A top-of-the-line model, it looked rich, expensive. It was a silver metallic job with a pearl finish and sparkling front grille and decorative trim. Inside it were two women.
The one in the front passenger seat was thirtyish. She had an auburn pageboy hairstyle and a clean, chiseled profile. She saw Nordquist approaching and raised a hand in friendly greeting. Nordquist nodded grimly at her and went around to the driver’s side of the vehicle.
The driver opened the door and stepped down to the pavement. She and Nordquist stood facing each other.
She was a tall, leggy platinum blond with a sensational figure. She wore a red blouse, skintight white jeans with a red belt, and red leather ankle boots with pointy toes and spiked heels. A white leather handbag dangled by loops from a forearm.
Her coiffure was elaborate yet artfully disarranged, its silvery tones contrasting with her deeply tanned skin. A pair of oversized sunglasses gave her face an insectlike appearance. Mantislike orbs. High-heeled boots and masses of platinum hair piled high atop her head made her six inches taller than Nordquist.
“Fancy piece of machinery. An expensive toy,” Lewis said appreciatively. “So’s the car,” he added offhandedly, after a pause.
“Who’s the driver?” asked Jack.
“Sylvia Nordquist. The Mrs. Dr. Nordquist, that is.” Lewis’s gaze was intent, avid.
“Attractive woman,” Jack said.
“Gee, you think?” Lewis said sarcastically.
“No point in getting overheated about it.”
“You’re not human, Jack.”
“Who’s the other woman in the car?”
“That’s Carlson’s wife, Carrie. Like goes to like. TheAssistant Director’s wife chums around with the Director’s wife. Nice lady, that Carrie Carlson. Good-looking, and is she built! As hot as Sylvia but a lot lower-maintenance.” Lewis smacked his lips.
“You could use some of that Perseus process yourself,” Jack said.
Lewis was only half listening. “How so?”
“You’re starting to burn.”
They were too far away to hear what the husband and wife were saying. Nordquist was doing most of the talking. Lecturing, it seemed like. Whatever his message, Sylvia seemed impervious to it. He might as well have been talking into the wind, except there was no wind. Her beautiful masklike face was impassive, except to make a remark or two when the other paused for breath.
“Spouses can access South Mesa?” Jack asked.
“If they have ID badges they can,” Lewis said. “A lot of them do, especially when their
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