Parley

Tate peered over both his shoulders, doffed his hat and looked again. No sign of Urquhart, or more to the point, of any disturbance or police action. "Seeing that I've got you all together and that Boris is not in evidence," Tate said, "I wonder if we could retire somewhere for a little serious talk."

The foursome shrugged. "We're hardly dressed for it," Thea noted, "but I always like to talk to you, Stevie."

Tate nodded with perhaps more than his usual solemnity and led the way past the merrymakers and a cordon of Campus Security into the lobby of the Tower, where they crowded into a tiny, oak-paneled elevator which Thea hadn't known existed. After a brief ride up they stepped out into a smallish room that smelled of tung oil and saddle soap.

"Office of the President," Tate explained. "It'll do for privacy."