Unformatted text preview: omething else. Mitch Flanagan absolutely believed this being existed. And so did this Talamasca which kept calling him. And so did Rowan herself! Of course this thing existed. There was as much proof of its exis- tence as there is of bubonic plague. Lark was the last one to reach the gate. Great timing, he thought again, no waiting, no standing. Just as he handed his ticket to the young stewardess, someone took his arm. "Dr. Larkin." He saw a tall robust man, very young, blond with near-colorless eyes. "Yes, I'm Dr. Larkin," he answered. What he wanted to say was Not now. "Erich Stolov. I spoke to you on the phone." The man flashed a little white card in front of Lark. Lark didn't have a free hand to take it. Then the stewardess took his ticket and he took the card. "Talamasca, you told me." "Where are the samples?" "What samples?" "The ones Rowan sent you." "Look, I can't . . ." "Tell me where they are, please, now." "I beg your pardon. I'll do nothing of the sort. Now if you want to call me in New Orleans I'll be seeing your friend Aaron Lightner there tomorrow afternoon." "Where a...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10