Although the team wandered toward the dining room, the four authors quickly disappeared into the large safe-house sleeping room. No one attempted to eavesdrop, but the walls were not thick enough to hide the fact that an argument, sometimes hushed and sometimes heated, was in progress.
Maria got lunch onto the serving line five minutes early, and Heather placed a Reserved sign on one of the dining tables.
Sam smiled and nodded from the line of people filling their trays.
Half an hour later, as most team members were getting desserts, the four authors emerged to discover, to their surprise, that plenty of food remained.
They glanced at the reserved table, looked at each other sheepishly, and lined up at the serving counter.
With both Heather and General Bo-seklin setting the example, no one bothered the authors for a decision. The team members savored desserts, looked over their notes, or called the University to arrange for teaching substitutes.
Heather slipped out a few minutes before one o’clock to change clothes.
When the authors emerged from the dining room, everyone else was milling about. The four guests found General Bo-seklin.
“We would like to speak to your team,” Doctor Po-tirel said.
Sam nodded to Sarah and Lisa, they whispered to others, and within a minute, everyone was seated.
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The woman author stood. “It is challenging to collaborate on such a complex project with language and cultural differences sometimes making communication difficult. But . . . we have tentatively agreed to pursue your idea of seeking publication by a more . . . public . . . publisher.”
The entire team burst into applause. No one but Susan and Betty, in the back row, noticed who started it.
Doctor Donella Po-tirel almost blushed. “The truth is, our manuscript sits, probably forgotten, at several large publishers, including one in this city. We just have no idea how to motivate them to look at it.”
“That’s where we come in,” General Bo-seklin said from Heather’s chair.
“If you will permit us to grease some wheels, I believe we can work a little magic.”
The woman sighed. “We would be honored, as long as nothing is actually
. . . cast in concrete . . . until all four of us sign a publishing contract.”
General Bo-seklin stood. “Of course. If you will go with Colonel Ma-soran to her desk, she will get a little information from you and make a few phone calls. While you’re doing that, the team will be signing some endorsements we’ve put together . . .”
The facility was abuzz with chatter and activity for the next half hour as endorsements were signed, phone calls made, and feelings of anticipation shared.
The authors, seated around Colonel Ma-soran’s desk, tried to contain their nervousness as they listened to one side of several telephone calls. After the last call, Sarah put down the telephone and looked at them. “We have an appointment with the chief editor at three o’clock today.”
“But how did you . . .” one of the men started to ask.
“It’s amazing what can be done when national security is involved.”
Colonel Ma-soran stood, announced the situation, and began making arrangements for a blind transport and a car to depart at fourteen hundred.
The three generals all indicated they were going. Sarah glanced at Heather, who nodded.
The authors dashed to their sleeping rooms to freshen up.
The professors huddled, and decided to not crowd the chief editor too
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much, so they asked Doctor Bo-leden the philosopher to present their endorsements.
Drivers and security people were quickly selected, and as two o’clock approached, a corporal held the steel door to the garage as the large group filed down the stairs and into the awaiting vehicles.
Doctor Bo-leden and Heather winked at each other as he followed the authors toward the blind transport, and she went with the generals in the car.
Back upstairs, Colonel Ka-markla switched on the security lamp so those who remained could share their hopes and fears. Maria had all the help she needed cleaning up from lunch and starting dinner.