Phillips's eyes were half closed in concentration, but he did not speak. Isaacs continued.
'To my mind that raises two issues. One is whether we're endangered. If there is a black hole down there, the answer is yes, we are, although I gather the exact nature of the peril and the time scale remain to be worked out. The second issue is whether this dangerous situation was intentionally created. If that's the case, then it seems to me that is by far the greatest threat, and we mustn't lose sight of it.'
Phillips swivelled again to look out the window. He cupped the glass of sherry in both hands in his lap and replied in a ruminative tone.
'Which is the greatest danger? The bullet streaking towards our heart — or the man who pulled the trigger?'
He was silent for a long moment and then said, 'I cannot help you there, Mr Isaacs. The discussion this afternoon was inconclusive because we don't know enough. I understand your concern. None of us will rest easily for a long while.'
Phillips continued to gaze out the window. Isaacs studied his profile for a time and then broke his own reverie by throwing down the sherry at a gulp. Phillips made no move. After a moment Isaacs rose and crossed the room. As he closed the door behind him, he glanced one last time at the old man, his vision still locked on some distant point.
Danielson opened the door at the knock and smiled a greeting at Isaacs.
'Hi. Just a second, let me get my purse.' She turned back into the room and reappeared shrugging into a sweater as she juggled her purse by the strap. Isaacs reached to help with the sweater.
'Thanks,' she said as they headed down the hall. Her glance at him took in a bit of damp, mussed hair over his temple. Despite this evidence for a recent face washing and attempt to freshen up, she thought he looked tense and drawn. 'You feel up to this?' she inquired. 'Going out?'
His smile put some life back in his face. 'Of course. Besides, I'm hungry as a bear. I always pick at that Mime food I had for lunch.'
Phillips, Runyan, and Gantt awaited them in the foyer. Runyan's attention immediately focused on Danielson.
'I've suggested a little Japanese place downtown. Not your flashy knife-juggling kind, but excellent sashimi and tempura. And not so expensive that it will do violence to our government per diems.'
Danielson's eyes swept him quickly. He had swapped his beach clothes for loafers, dark slacks and an expensive Italian shirt unbuttoned to show matted grey hair on his chest.
'That sounds fine,' she responded.
Runyan busied himself herding the group out. When they reached the car, he insisted that Phillips ride in front, in deference to his age. He ushered first Isaacs then Danielson into the back seat and then squeezed his own limber form in next to Danielson. He leaned forward to back-seat drive until Gantt had the Thunderbird safely headed southward on the interstate. Then he leaned back and drew Phillips into a good-natured, if somewhat embarrassed, reminiscence of Phillips's encounter with a lady of the evening at one of their scientific meetings.
The meeting had been held in a hotel dominated at the time by a convention of salesmen. In the bar. Phillips had mistaken the woman for a waitress and the call girl had mistaken him for one of the salesmen with whom she had previously made an appointment. Runyan related both sides of the conversation which had proceeded at total cross purposes before the misunderstanding was revealed.
Gantt had seen Runyan use this tack before, relating a story with sexy overtones to check the reaction of a new female acquaintance. Seems to be working, he thought. He glanced in the rear view mirror and could see Danielson's broad grin as she followed Runyan's animated delivery.
'And do you remember that look she gave you as she was leaving and patted you on the head? I think she would have preferred you to her paying client.'
'Now, Alex,' Phillips chuckled with embarrassment.
'Whoops — here's Washington Avenue ; turn off here,' Runyan directed at Gantt, reverting to navigator. 'Okay, now left under the interstate. There it is, on the left, just beyond. See it? I'm not sure where to park. You always have to scrounge a place here.'
'Well, why don't I let you out here while I go find a place,' volunteered Gantt.
They piled out of the car and then crossed the street. There was a small queue on the sidewalk, but they were admitted shortly after Gantt rejoined them, having left the car in the lot of a gas station which was closed for the night.
Despite the somewhat crowded space, Runyan managed adroitly to get them seated around a table intended for four, drawing up a fifth chair for himself at the end of the table by Danielson and Phillips.
The meal was all Runyan had advertised. Dish followed excellent dish and when they all felt full, a new and interesting plate would arrive, served by a quiet, cheerful woman in traditional geisha garb. Runyan ordered a steady flow of sake and Japanese beer and always ensured that Danielson was liberally supplied. He helped her with playful solicitation to mix the cube of mustard into the tiny dish of soy sauce to make the dip for the bits of raw fish. He was very adroit with chopsticks and insisted on feeding her a bite from every new dish as it arrived.
Danielson found herself basking in the attention Runyan lavished on her and greatly enjoying his company. She mused to herself that, although he was about forty-five, as close in age to her father as to herself, in terms of physique he reminded her of the beach bum whom she had thought of marrying so long ago. She realized she was greatly attracted to Runyan's radiating sense of well-being and self— confidence, the spirit that had drawn her to Allan. But Allan had no purpose in life, no goal beyond mastering the next wave. Runyan was completely different in that regard. He operated on an intellectual plane Allan would never even glimpse. She was also fascinated by the inner security she thought Runyan must possess which enabled him to range from the terrifying creative tour de force he had displayed that afternoon to the wellspring of jaw de vivre presently at her side.
As they left the restaurant, Runyan tried to drum up enthusiasm to go dancing. Danielson was in a mood to go along, but quickly followed Isaacs's lead when he demurred.
The ride back to La Jolla was, nevertheless, made in good spirits. Danielson mostly listened as the men traded anecdotes about Washington politics. The perspective of the three scientists was similar, deriving from the National Academy of Sciences and experience with certain congressional liaison committees. They were highly entertained, therefore, by the different view Isaacs provided from his wife's exploits as a lawyer.
When they arrived back at the Bishop's School, their spirit of camaraderie spilled out of the car into the absorbing stillness of the campus. Runyan locked arms with Danielson and escorted her up the stairs of the dormitory to her door. Isaacs followed along behind. He had enjoyed the evening, but had continued to view with some jaundice Runyan's attention to Danielson and her ready response. He forced a grin as Runyan stopped with Danielson at her door and proceeded with comic formality to kiss her hand in farewell. Isaacs made sure Danielson was safely in her room, then walked on down to his.
Runyan climbed the stairs to his own room. He switched on the light and stood for a moment viewing the casual disarray. The desk was strewn with books. Many were opened face down, others were face up with any convenient object — calculator, coffee cup, pencil — used as a place holder. Soiled and clean clothes were intermingled in a pattern discernable only to the occupant.
The evening's look of merriment was gone from Runyan's face. He relieved himself in the bathroom and then sat at the desk. His first thoughts were of Pat Danielson. Bright woman. He unquestionably wanted to get in the sack with her. He pondered the dilemma of the modern age. How do you treat a competent woman professionally when your cave-man hormones are singing their atavistic song? In Danielson's case, he could sense she was ripe. If the circumstances had been a little different, a chance for some intimacy, one of them might at this very moment be sneaking down the hall towards the other's room. He pictured her face as he gently unbuttoned the blouse she had worn today. Whoa! He shook his head. Enough torture of that sort. Let's try another. He rummaged for a pencil and a pad of lined paper on which he began to scratch a long series of calculations. After an hour he rose and stretched and then moved to a softer chair next to a reading lamp. A journal devoted to astrophysics lay open on the arm, draped face down. He retrieved it and began— to read. As he read, he half consciously waited for someone to come and explain where he had gone wrong in his thinking. No one did.