The night had emptied out the Midwest branch office of the DSC. Hallways were dark save the security lamps illuminating deco pillars up and down the hall. Through glass doors framed in brushed brass, a partly lit library with mahogany bookcases was home to the coffee and fatigue of agents Wallace and Forrester.
Eric Wallace growled as he looked up from a file rubbing his eyes. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere around square one," Ella replied without looking up from her stack.
Eric looked across the table at his colleague, tracing the curve of her jaw and neck with his eyes. Sitting back he asked "still nothing on this Anaximander?"
"No, Eric," she said suddenly looking up. "I've been thinking… maybe he was referring to the historical Anaximander."
Her enthusiasm and the light dancing in her eyes gave her such a powerful sincerity that Eric had to catch his breath. "How so?"
"Anaximander paints this image of the reality we know, the world, matter, everything, floating as a crust on an infinite sea he calls the boundless. He called the true work of philosophy getting under the surface."
"So maybe Anaximander was Dr. Whitney's inspiration?"
"Maybe… here is something you can relate to," Ella said with a coy smile. "The reason Anaximander looked for a boundless to be the source of everything is that if everything were made of just one of the elements, say water, it would mean that the world was founded on injustice. There had to be something greater, more primary behind it all."
"You thinking there is something more primary behind me?" Eric chuckled. "Now you really are getting out of your field of study. You know I read your file…"
"Is that supposed to surprise me?"
"Why did you do it Ella? Why join DSC anyway. You have a doctorate in Philosophy and another in Mathematics, and here you are playing damn good detective."
"If you read my file you know the answer." Ella's voice held a tension that cooled their playful mood.
"I know you lost your dad in the Omaha terrorist attack, but this is no place to get closure. You're smart enough to know that."
She flashed him a twisted smile, the light in her eyes retreating behind a cloud of some untold end-game. "I have my reasons," she said with a sigh throwing her head back. She stretched an took her hair down then said, "Lets get back to work."
She stood over Wallace's shoulder as they pursued again the moleskine of sketches.
Beep-Beep, Beep-Beep. The sound accompanying the red flashing light on the notepad on the table awoke agent Forrester. She had fallen asleep her head rested on her arm sprawled across the table. Wallace was on the rich leather of the couch, shoes kicked off, tie undone, collar open and white panama over his face.
Ella turned and whispered, "Eric, we have something."
Wallace, arrayed in a fresh suit, burst into the holding cell of the sleeping Gnomon lab tech throwing over a chair. Forrester also followed, fresh faced.
"You've been less than candid Clark!" Wallace punched the words into the air.
"Gnomon labs sent over your computer contents," Forrester chimed in.
"Seems once they learned what you have been up to, they were more than happy to cooperate."
"Especially when they found that your work was simply the ravings of a mad man," the beautiful Forrester laughed in his face. "You, crept your way into real scientists confidences so that you would have something to talk about. Does it make you feel important? Knowing all those secrets?"
"No you just like wearing the lab coat, isn't that right Clark?"
"No, No, I was Dr. Whitney's right hand man, I was his inspiration. He couldn't have done it with out me."
"I don't see it," Wallace said. "The good doctor did all he could do to get you transferred or fired, didn't he?"
"No! He needed me. He would never…"
"We found memos on your computer that you intercepted to save your own butt," Forrester lashed.
"I did that for him. He couldn't go on with out me. I am Anaximander. I am his Anaximander!"
"You'd like to think that wouldn't you. Your pathetic," Wallace turned a disgusted face.
"That's what Whitney told you isn't it?" Forrester said coolly.
"Is that why you killed him?"
"No! No." Clark, shaken sat sobbing quieting as the moments went by. "I needed him. I needed the goggles, when he crashed I knew my life was over."
"Who were you scared of? Bustamonte?"
"No, these men are dangerous, terrorists the lot of them. I knew they would kill me soon and that my life was worthless, that is why I came clean about Bustamonte."
"Not clean enough."
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