Grant searched under the keyboard, the monitor, the drawers. Nothing. But then he got down on the floor and peered under the desk. Gotcha! The fastidious Mr. Channing wouldn’t want anything as untidy as scraps of paper lying about. Instead, there was a tiny envelope, pasted in precise alignment to the underside of the desk. Grant slid the card from it and stood. Working as fast as he could, he retrieved the tablet from his briefcase, typed on it furiously, and then returned the card to its hiding place.
He hurried to the couch, praying his spur-of-the-moment idea would work. If it didn’t, his only fallback plan was the tank.
Ten minutes later, Channing entered the office. “We’re ready for you, Director. If you’ll accompany me, please?”