Reversion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 3) (22 page)

Larson didn’t expect that response, not from a fellow marine. He swallowed hard, feeling heat rise within his chest. He turned to face the giant.

Bruno reached across the security desk, putting his arm in between Larson and the guard. “I think it’s best if I escort you back, Counselor.”

Larson nodded, never taking his eyes off the man. “That’s been the procedure before. No reason to change it up now,” he told Bruno.

Bruno grabbed Larson’s arm, tugging him toward the security equipment a few yards away.

Larson emptied his pockets into a plastic bowl, all the while keeping watch on the men around him with his peripheral vision. He stepped onto the scanning platform of the full body scanner and put his arms over his head. His chest was pumping air at a high rate, making it a challenge to hold his position while the scanning arm swung around inside the device, using a steady, right to left motion. The machine beeped a few seconds later, then reset itself to the home position inside the glass-encased scanner bay.

“You’re clean. Step through,” Bruno said.

Larson put his arms down and moved off the platform. He stood next to Bruno, looking back at the marine who’d raised his ire. The brute’s facial expression and piercing stare hadn’t changed, either.

“What’s the story with that guy?” Larsen asked Bruno.

“I apologize. He’s usually not this cranky.”

“Cranky? That’s what you call it?”

“He’s going through a rough patch at home. His wife really did a number on him.”

“Hey, we all have issues. But that’s still no excuse. Does he know who I am?”

Bruno nodded. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“I should hope so. Otherwise, things will get much worse at home when he finds himself without a fucking job,” he said, finger-combing a few strands of blond hair over his ear. “Imagine what would happen if he acted like that toward President Lathrop. Heads would roll. Yours included.”

“Trust me, it won’t happen again. You have my word.”

“Fair enough,” Larson said, trying to decide if he should ask for the new guard’s name. He’d need it to file a formal complaint. Then he remembered something that had been tucked behind his full-charging ego: he was leaving town for good once he completed his to-do list and collected his bonus payoff from the buyer. There was no point in filing a disciplinary report when he wasn’t going to be around to enjoy its enforcement. He decided to focus his thoughts on Dr. Davies.

“Did you tell Griffith I was planning to stop by?”

Bruno stopped walking and turned. “Was I supposed to?”

“No. Just curious,” Larson said, never breaking stride. “Hopefully, he’ll have time to meet with me on such short notice.”

Bruno resumed his march down the hall, catching up to Larson with a quick shuffle-step. “If not, I’m sure we can arrange another day and time for you to meet, though he is a very busy man.”

Larson took that comment as a bit of a slight. “I’m sure he’ll make time for me. He and I go way back. In fact, Dr. Davies owes his entire marriage to me. I introduced them.”

Bruno didn’t say anything.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at Dr. Griffith’s lab. Bruno stepped forward and slid his security card through the door’s access scanner and started punching numbers into the keypad. The first two numbers were a seven and a four, but Larson couldn’t see the rest after Bruno slid his considerable backside in the way.

“What? Don’t you trust me?”

Bruno didn’t answer. He continued entering numbers, making the sentry unit beep each time his finger made contact. A few seconds later, a chime sounded, then Bruno pushed the door open and held it ajar. He looked at Larson with tightly focused eyes, but his lips never moved.

“I was just kidding,” Larson said. “Lighten up.”

“I’ll return in fifteen minutes, Counselor, then escort you next door. Is that sufficient time?”

“That’ll do,” Larson said, walking past Bruno and stepping inside the lab. He heard the lab door click shut behind him. He looked around for Dr. Davies but didn’t see him.

“Davies, are you and your saggy ass in here?” Griffith heard someone yell from across the lab. He flinched, sending the top of his head into the underside of the worktable hovering an inch above his toupee. His skull made a ringing
clang
sound when it smashed into the metal. A millisecond later, the pain seemed to take on a life of its own, entering his body through the tiny hairs on the back of his neck and traveling down along his aging spine, where it took root in the small of his back and exploded from there.

Two glass beakers fell from the table and hit the floor next to him, sending a spree of shards across the concrete and a few his way.

His legs were already tingling from a lack of blood flow while seated in the crouched position, but when his vision filled with stars and the dizziness started, he couldn’t help but think he should’ve scooted the table out of the way to retrieve the marker pen he’d dropped earlier. Only a moron crawls around the floor like a two-year-old. He took a few moments to gather himself before answering his unexpected guest.

“Hang on a sec. I’ve got to unfold myself from under this station.”

He flicked two pieces of glass away to the corner, clearing a path to safely. He stood, rubbing the back of his head, checking for blood. There wasn’t any, but a nasty lump was forming and starting to throb.

He hated the idea of being injured and unable to perform tonight during his scheduled date with Stacy. His wife had been planning the bedroom festivities all week and he couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her. He made a mental note to find aspirin and a bucket of ice as soon as he was done with whoever just interrupted his work. He was about to take a condescending tone with the visitor but decided against it when he saw the university’s lead counsel standing just inside the lab door.

“Randol?” Griffith said, using his most pleasant voice.

“Jerking off again, Davies?”

“What? No! Never! I was fine-tuning some equipment I knocked out of alignment.”

“Like I said, jerking off. I’ve never heard anyone call it ‘fine-tuning his equipment’ before, but whatever. Next time, lock the door or do it in your car. None of us wants to be a witness to that. I’m sure there’s a rule or two somewhere in the bylaws of this fine institution about being a perv on the state’s nickel.”

Griffith felt his face flush with embarrassment. He didn’t know what to say.

“Relax, I’m just fucking with you,” Larson said with a half-smile on his lips. “Damn, Grif. You really need to take some time off once in a while. Spend it with that beautiful wife of yours. You’re wired so tight that if a fly landed on you right now, it’d start a chain reaction and you’d shit blood.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means, don’t take everything so damn serious all the time.”

“Why are you here, Randol?”

“I have a job for you.”

“Do you have a work order? I need authorization.”

“It’s for the university.”

Griffith fiddled through the items on top of the table and sorted them back into place. “Everything I do is for the university. But I still need authorization. There are procedures in place.”

“President Lathrop sent me down here with this,” Larson lied, taking a swatch of fabric from his case. He crossed the room, weaving between the setups around the lab. He put the material on the table.

Griffith’s eyes widened when the fluorescent lights glistened off the gold circuitry covering the fabric. He backed away, bumping into the same table he’d smashed his head against, sending more equipment falling to the floor. This time, though, it didn’t sound like anything shattered.

For a moment, he thought it was the same sample Professor Kleezebee had sent down for him to test earlier. He pictured the envelope he’d given to Bruno and couldn’t remember if he’d sealed it properly. Had the swatch fallen out accidentally? Somewhere in the hallway or on campus? Was he responsible? Kleezebee would be pissed and have his job. His career could be over. Stacy would leave him. He’d die alone, broke and miserable.

Panic was about to take control of his mind and body when a calmer version of himself rose up after realizing that the shape of Larson’s material was slightly different than Kleezebee’s sample. This one had a denser circuity pattern near its perimeter and one of its corners was cut at an angle instead of being squared off at ninety degrees.

Larson shook his head. “What the hell is wrong with you, other than the usual geek stuff? Get it together, man. It’s just a piece of cloth.”

Griffith nodded, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Where did you get this?”

“That’s really not your concern, now is it?” Larson put one finger on the center of the swatch, pushing it closer to Griffith. “Let me make this simple for you. I need to know what it is, what it’s made of, where it came from, and what it’s for.”

“That’s it?” Griffith said with his most sarcastic tone.

“And I need it yesterday. I mean, President Lathrop needs it yesterday. This needs to be kept absolutely quiet and is on a strictly need-to-know basis. That includes your wife and those two eggheads across the hall. You read me?”

Griffith nodded.

“When can you have the results?”

“I don’t think I can.”

Larson squinted and tilted his head. “Have you forgotten you owe me? Big time?”

“No, I remember. But this is my job—my career we’re talking about. There are rules.”

“Well, you’re going to have to find a way to make it happen. Rearrange your schedule, prioritize your action items, think positive, say ten Hail Mary’s or whatever. But you need to do what I’m asking. What the president is asking. We’re in a hurry, and this is more important than anything else on your to-do list. Trust me.”

Griffith stared at Larson for a moment, trying to decide if he should break protocol and run the analysis without authorization. Then he remembered the promise he’d made to Dr. Kleezebee. He owed Larson, but he’d already given his word to the dean of the department.

“You of all people know how hard it is for me to refuse,” Griffith said, hating himself for never having the backbone to say no—to anyone.

“Then don’t. Just do what I ask and we’re square. I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

Griffith’s skin tingled along his ribs, sending a rush of resolve into his soul. He clenched his fists and took deep breaths. “I want to help, Randol. I really do. But I can’t. I’m sorry. Not without full authorization from Dr. Kleezebee. I can’t risk my job.”

Griffith saw Larson’s eye start to twitch and the artery in his neck expand. He knew the look and knew what was coming.

“You owe me, Grif, and I’m here to collect. All you need to do is turn on your little machines and work your nerd magic. Nobody will ever know.”

Griffith shook his head.

Larson rammed his fist into the table, sending several of the instruments into the air with its recoil. “Just run the tests, damn it!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” Davies said, wondering where the words of defiance were coming from.

“You smarmy little shit!”

“I need you to leave before I call security,” Griffith said, fighting the urge to run. He needed to stand his ground and not cave. Just this once.

“Hmmm. I wonder what President Lathrop or Kleezebee would say when I tell them how you met your wife?”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Oh yes, I would. I’m sure they’d love to hear how smoking-hot Stacy looked when you first saw her working that pole on stage. How she took you into the VIP room and unzipped your pants to take your mind off your problems. I’ll bet she swallowed, too.”

Griffith felt his throat tighten. “I was going through a rough divorce back then. I was drunk, and you forced me into going.”

“That’s not how I remember it. Imagine what the rest of the faculty will say when they learn you married a slutty, sex-crazed stripper, who sold herself for money.”

“She wasn’t a prostitute. She was an aerial dancer.”

“That’s how you want to spin this? So, tell me. What did that blow job cost you in the VIP room? A hundred? Two hundred? That’s sex for money, Doc. Illegal and grounds for immediate dismissal.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can. Because you owe me. Because you never would’ve met your wife if it weren’t for me,” Larson said, walking the room like he was preparing to do battle. “You don’t know this, but I used to take Stacy into the back room at the club at least once a week . . . yeah, that’s right. Me and her in the dark. Alone. And let me tell you, she took really good care of me. And I’m not just talking about a little knob polishing. Every regular knew her deal. All you needed to do was pump a few shots of Patrón into her and damn, she really cut loose and broke all the house rules. Imagine how many other men over the years took her in the back and changed her oil? Probably while you two were dating. All strippers lie and slut around, Grif. It’s their nature. Stacy was no exception.”

“That’s my wife you’re talking about!” Griffith yelled. His lips wouldn’t stop quivering.

“Shit, before she sat on your lap that night and started rubbing your cock to work another twenty out of your wallet, I’ll bet she was in the back room humping half of Tucson.”

“Stop it!”

“I’ll stop when you agree to run the analysis.”

Griffith sucked in his lower lip, throwing the swatch of material at Larson. “No! I’m not helping you. Get out of my lab and take whatever that is with you. I don’t care what you say or who you say it to. My wife and I love each other. It’s genuine. It’s forever. And nothing you or anyone else can say will ever change that.”

“Don’t test me, Davies!”

“Tests are over. Get out, now!” Griffith said, walking away. He pulled out his cell phone and held it up with his finger on the number one button. “How about I call Dr. Kleezebee right now and report you. I don’t believe for a second that President Lathrop authorized any of this. You’re the pervert, not me. You’re the one who gets drunk every day. Everyone knows where you go at lunchtime. Maybe I should call your wife? I’ll bet she’d love to hear all about our trip that night to the club and what you were doing with that chubby dancer. What was her name? Chastity?”