Read J.M. Dillard - War of Worlds: The Resurrection for Free Online

when I get back from work tonight, we can do a little clothes shopping."
    "All right," Deb said glumly, but her expression said Fat lot of good that'll do. But at least she'd stopped crying and finished her cereal.
    Now, outside Ephram Jacobi's office, Suzanne rose at the sight of the director of the Pacific Institute
    The Resurrection walking toward her. He noticed her, and a smile lit up his lined sun-browned face. Hale-looking and square-shouldered, there was nothing in the way he held himself or moved to indicate his age. He'd worked on the Manhattan Project forty-five years before, when he was a young man; Suzanne calculated that he had to be at least in his early seventies, though he looked more like sixty. Apparently, being director of the Institute for the past twenty years agreed with him; she took it as a hopeful sign.
    As he approached, Suzanne nervously returned his smile.
    "Dr. McCullough." Jacobi adjusted his old-fashioned wire-rimmed glasses as if to see her better, then gripped her hand with strong, bony fingers. "So you're finally here at last. Good. I hope the move wasn't too traumatic." He spoke with the slightest trace of an accent; she tried to identify it and failed.
    "Not too," she said.
    "Please." Jacobi gestured her toward his office. She entered and sat down across from him at his desk, which reminded her very much of her kitchen table back home—full of clutter. How on earth did the man get any work done in such a disorganized environment?
    Jacobi settled himself into an old wooden chair on casters that creaked as he swiveled back and forth ever so slightly in it. Must be as old as he was, Suzanne decided. "It's so very good of you to have accepted our offer," he said.
    Good of her? Suzanne tried not to look skeptical. They'd offered her forty percent more pay than she'd gotten in Ohio, plus all expenses incurred in the move. And suddenly she panicked. Dammit, she knew it was too good to be true. But she'd laid it all out to Jacobi the very first interview. Yes, she'd worked on a secret project in Canton, but it was a joint project with NASA and had nothing whatsoever to do with biological warfare, which she absolutely refused to have anything to do with. And if that was what Jacobi was offering, she'd just leave now, thank you.
    He'd sworn it wasn't. Nothing like that, he'd reassured her. After all, hadn't he been one of the scientists on the Manhattan Project who'd later publicly denounced the use of atomic weapons, had demonstrated on the Capitol steps for peace? No, he permitted nothing like that to go on at the Pacific Institute. Not as long as he had a breath of life in him. And he spoke with such conviction that she'd believed him.
    What would she do now if he told her otherwise? Quit immediately, of course . .. But then what would happen to her and Debi? She'd never be able to reimburse them the moving costs, at least not for a while. ...
    That's what you get for behaving impulsively, moving all the way to California without knowing exactly what the job was all about. Sounds more like something Derek would do.
    "Dr. Jacobi," she said slowly, "I am terribly curious as to what the job entails. As I told you, I refuse to engage in any sort of research that could conceivably be used for biowarfare."
    His thin lips curved upward in a smile. "Ah, yes. A scientist of principle. And that's why I hired you, Dr.
    McCullough." He riffled distractedly through a stack of pink While You Were Out memos as he spoke. "But before we discuss details, I would like you to meet the man you'll be working with."
    "Dr. Jacobi—" she began, frustrated. She was going to say, I get a strong impression that you are trying to avoid answering my question . . . until you feel I'm caught too tightly in your web to say no.
    Jacobi held up his hand. "He'll be able to answer all your questions for you. Dr. Harrison Blackwood, the astrophysicist. Perhaps you've heard of him."
    "No," Suzanne answered, calming down a little. An