Chapter 87
The darkness within Dr. Donald Stephenson’s windowless office pressed in upon the light of the small desk lamp. The light was so scant, it was almost like an old gas street lamp, doused by fog in London, circa 1880. The deep-grained textures of the hardwood furniture that filled the chamber added to the illusion, so that the room’s mood took on the nature of the man who had created it.
But the room felt radiant compared to the look on Dr. Stephenson’s face as he listened to the frantic voice at the other end of the phone.
Dr. Stephenson hung up and then dialed a single digit. He only had to wait for one ring. When Dr. Stephenson finally spoke, his voice carried an edge as sharp as cracking ice.
“This is Dr. Stephenson. We have a potential national security breach involving a Rho Laboratory employee. I want Dr. Ernesto Rodriguez’s house and property secured and sealed off and the good doctor placed under arrest. Get the military response team moving right now. If the civilian authorities are already on site, I want them removed. Any items they may have picked up as evidence must be confiscated. I will be arriving on site within the hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dr. Stephenson hung up, then, picking up his pen, he returned his attention to the differential equations that filled page after page of his notebooks, the solution to which had been so rudely interrupted.
He was close now. So close to the solution that he could taste it. And then the real work could begin.