I
think I can get Petey to agree to let you have a peek."
"When?"
"That I don't know. A little while. He needs some time to himself
to take care of some personal business."
"Fair enough," William said, and said good-bye.
He glanced out the window at the World Trade Center. This may be
the best way, he reasoned. After all, the portable system
stationed before him had been invented by Jones. And even if his
plan to acquire Wallaby had worked, wouldn't he have been plagued
with worry over Jones's next step?
Perhaps this time, he pondered as he gazed out the window, he
would get the strategic ally he had been after all along. Peter
Jones.
* * *
Peter stared absently at the clock mounted high on the yellow
cinderblock wall. Following the second hand's ride around the
dial, he mused at how as a boy he used to watch the clock in
school, the thin red line sliding silently past the bold black
numerals, inching painfully closer with each agonizing second
toward the end of the school day. Would this baby ever have the
opportunity to watch the second hand sweep the dial in a
schoolroom?
He had been sitting at Stanford Hospital for hours. His neck and
back were sore from sleeping on the hard plastic furniture, and
now, staring at the clock once more, he willed the thin red line
to go slower, for each precious second offered more hope, life,
for this unborn baby.
Pages:
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329