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Michael.
    Michael’s lips twisted in satisfaction. He’d have plenty of time to find out for certain. The decision to ask Doud to stay on, at an exorbitant salary, to assist with the transition had been exactly correct.
    The phone at his side buzzed softly. “Sir, please buckle your seatbelt. We’re beginning our descent into Parks St. Louis.” In the few weeks since Michael had taken delivery on the Gulfstream, he’d grown to appreciate his pilot’s calm, efficient demeanour.
    Michael’s hired car dropped him at the unobtrusive entrance to the windowless, tan, three-story box of a building. He passed through two pneumatic glass doors to a strikingly high-tech security desk manned by a sleek, black-clad guard with piercing dark eyes and a large black gun butt protruding from a holster under his left arm.
    Michael knew the guard was not just for show. The man not only had a Special Forces background but had earned a Ph.D. from
Georgetown
University
with a thesis on industrial espionage.
    “Good afternoon, Sir.” The words were clipped with military precision. “Mr. Doud is expecting you.” His lips tightened to a thin smile. “Do you know your way or shall I call his secretary to escort you?”
    Their eyes united in mutual respect. “I’ll find my way.”
    “Very good, Sir.” The man handed Michael an electronic security badge and nodded toward another glass door to his side. “Please enter the cubical and stand for sixty seconds until the light over the rear door turns green. Then pass through and put on a white lab coat over your clothes. The badge clips to the metal bracket on the pocket.”
    With almost an entire population of engineers, the building’s orderly layout was no surprise. Michael also appreciated the placement of administrative offices on the ground floor with the labs on the two floors above and the classified labs, servers and document storage in a reinforced, fireproof bunker below ground. He could easily and quickly find his way. But he had no intention of passing quickly to Doud’s office. He wanted to poke his head unexpectedly around corners and through doors, to stroll, to observe, to absorb and, most importantly, to feel.
    After twenty five minutes of winding through spare, methodically transverse hallways, observing and occasionally stopping a passerby or opening a door to pleasantly converse with an office occupant, Michael was close to Doud’s office and very ready to get there. He contemplated the fact that no one had questioned his authority and, though no one had given him classified information, they’d been willing to answer his questions. He’d have to discuss this with Doud.
    He was striding swiftly, deep in thought, when a solid grey door opened and a tall woman rushed out, almost running him down. He gripped the arms of her white lab coat in time to prevent himself from being impaled on the hard corner of the large, plastic covered book she gripped tight to her bosom. She looked up at him, her flushed face not too far below his. She was obviously flustered and her dark eyes were oddly glazed.
    “Whoa!” he said, smiling kindly down at her rather plain face. “Slow down so you don’t kill someone.”
    Her eyes focused and her face mottled a deeper pink. “I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”
    He scrutinized his white front and the immaculate dark lapels peeking from underneath for signs of her startling red lipstick and, thankfully, found none. “I’m fine.” He paused, again smiling benevolently down at her. “May I ask whose office this is?” Again she flushed – very unattractive, not to mention puzzling, he thought.
    “Mr. Smith. Ward Smith. He’s one of our managers.”
    “Thank you.” He tipped his head politely, dismissively, and knocked on the door. Steel. The thought was nudged aside by her low, stifled gasp and the tap of her footsteps rushing off down the hall like Alice ’s white rabbit. More and more interesting.
    “Come in.” The even