McKibben squinted. “Who?”
“Oberon and Nimson.”
McKibben reached for a pen. “Look, reception is horrible at this end; very quickly, I need the locations of all your staff.”
She gave him the locations.
“That’s it—that’s everyone with clearance? What about the janitor?”
“He’s—he’s dead.”
McKibben paused. “I see.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
Jan spoke up: “Did you want me to catch Oberon?”
“No.” He took a deep breath; if he wasn"t careful, she might start to suspect something. Calmly, he continued: “No, that won’t be necessary. In fact, I want you to stay exactly where you are. Can you do that?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Do it, then. I’ll contact you A.S.A.P.”
He hung up. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he snatched up the red phone— and punched the pound-sign.
“McKibben, Allen J.,”
