EPILOGUE
THE MEETING ROOM WAS A STUDY IN QUIET
but unpretentious elegance. Three men sat at the stately
oak table, a fourth standing by the window and staring
out thoughtfully at the hazy morning sky. The man at
the window could see the others reflected in the glass,
though doubted that they noticed his careful scrutiny;
for as sharp as they were politically, they tended to be
fairly dull about watching what went on around them.
After the phone conference, the man who always
wore blue spoke first, directly addressing the elderly
man with the groomed mustache.
"Do we need to discuss the ramifications of this?"
Blue asked.
Mustache sighed. "I believe the report covered
them," he said airily.
The tea drinker broke in, setting his cup down with a
rattle. Steaming liquid slopped over the sides, distorting
the tiny umbrella design that adorned the side.
"I don't think it's a wise idea to underestimate the
magnitude of this . . . difficulty," Tea said. "Particularly
not with the current instability factor in development.
. ."
Blue nodded. "I agree. Things like this have a way
of getting out of hand. First the secondary in Raccoon,
now the Cove. . ."
Mustache cut him off with a sharp glance. Blue,
properly abashed, cleared his throat, his face red as he
struggled to recover.
"That is to say, I believe there should be a more
thorough investigation into these matters. Don't you
think so, Mr. Trent?"
The man at the window turned around, wondering
how these people had ever managed to get where they
were. He didn't smile, knowing how much it bothered
them when he didn't smile.
"I'm afraid I'll have to get back to you on that,"
Trent said coolly.
Blue nodded quickly. "Of course, take all the time
you need. No hurry, gentlemen, am I right?"
Without another word, Trent turned and walked out
of the room, outwardly as intimidating and precise as
they expected him to be, as they wanted him to be.
Inside, he wondered how much longer the game
could go on.
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