Chapter 18
By the time the hangar’s murk began to lighten, insipid winter sunlight bleeding around the large bay doors, Ian’s eyes were gritty, his fingers like sausages. He was accustomed to long nights, but the weak illumination combined with the tiny text in his books—not to mention the tablets—strained his energy reserves to the breaking point. At one point, he’d asked Lucas to copy some of the symbols onto his notepad so he could work from that, but when they had been less precise than he needed, he’d requested the man to stop.
Much to Lucas’s amusement.
“None of it’s going to matter when Masud gets here anyway,” he’d said.
Ian had challenged his cryptic comment, but been brushed off with a laugh and a, “Get back to work.” He’d let it go then. He’d find out what Lucas meant soon e
