The Memory Painter

FEBRUARY 10, 1982

Michael was growing weary of defending himself. “Nothing has been compromised. If anything, we’re closer now than we ever thought possible.”

“Closer to what?” Conrad’s voice rose as he waved his arms in frustration. “Losing our grant? Let’s just tell the NIA that you can recite the Hexapla in ancient Greek after popping our pill and see how that flies.”

Michael looked around, relieved that everyone else was too far away to hear their conversation. He and Conrad, along with Finn and Diana, were sequestered in a booth in a back corner and not many customers were around. In fact, the sprawling Old New England–style restaurant looked deserted.