Chapter Twenty-nine
Mark DeVillier looked across at Doctor Needleman and wondered how the hell the man could allow himself to become so obese. The guy was a researcher with a medical degree, for christ-sake. He should know better.
But worse, the man perspired. Constantly.
As DeVillier watched, Needleman’s shirt gaped, the buttons straining and he saw belly hair.
Forcing down the urge to vomit, Mark pulled his eyes away from where Needleman sat opposite in one of the upholstered armchairs in the master stateroom of the Excelsior. A decanter of cognac sat on the coffee table between them.
Needleman turned another page of the lab report he was reading and experienced a jolt of surprise. Suppressing a small surge of panic, his eyes leapt to where Mark had turned his attention to the Excel
