21

The Weeder keyed his computer for the last time before erasing all traces of Stufftingle from the memory bank. He listened to the rotors humming behind the partition. In the morning, he thought, he would put the whole business behind him. Nature would take its course. Wanamaker would have no choice but to cancel Stufftingle. Operations Subgroup Charlie would go back to keeping track of terrorists. And he would lose himself in the dusty stacks of libraries; in history.

Pinpoints of light danced on the screen. Then two words appeared. “The telephone.”

It struck the Weeder as odd that someone had come to the office over the weekend, and the only thing he or she had uttered was, “The telephone.” What to make of it?

It could be the cleaning lady tidying up. Or part of a longer conversation that the computer had somehow missed.

Whatever it was, it certainly didn’t seem important.