The intercom buzzed, and Dr. Wong turned away to open the dial.
"David? What's happened to you? I've been waiting here in the lab a quarter of an hour."
"Sorry, Karl. I thought I had more time. Be right down."
He reached for his white lab coat and shoved his long arms into the starched sleeves. "That's all we have time for now, Leah. Can you get an early lunch and be back here this afternoon at two?"
But she was not listening. She was leaning over to look at the desk, staring avidly at the open pages of Dr. Wong's notebook. Without comment he picked up the book, closed it, put it in the top drawer and locked the drawer. She watched him with curious eyes.
"What funny marks those were, Dr. Wong! Do you keep your notes in a private system of shorthand?"
"No. I write them in Coptic. For the sake of privacy."
"What's Coptic?"
"A dead language, spoken by the ancient Egyptians thirty or forty centuries ago."
"But you're Research, not Linguistics! It's against the law for you to know other languages. Are you a traitor?"