On Monday, Bond hung his suit jacket in his office’s closet and slipped on a white lab coat. His phone rang, and when he’d hung up he’d been summoned to the administrator’s office. No reason given, just “Mr. Bonné would like to see you in fifteen minutes, if that’s convenient.”
The secretary was polite about it, but, convenient or not, it was a summons, and he wasn’t about to be late. As he rode the elevator to the third floor, he puzzled over the purpose of the meeting, but came up blank.
When he stepped into the boss’s reception area from the hall, the secretary pointed at Northman Bonné. He stood in the doorway to his office, a stocky man of middle age with a bald spot on his crown and neatly trimmed fingernails, studying some papers in his hand.
Bond said, “You asked to see me, Nort
