It was a big room, with the desk set at the far end so that visitors would have plenty of time to lose self-confidence while they walked its length.
Martin Krobis specialized in tricks like that.
He leaped up as Boone came through the door—face stiff, nostrils flaring.
Then: "Boone—!"
"That's right." Boone heeled the door shut behind him. "You're a hard man to see these days, Krobis. This time I couldn't wait."
Krobis straightened slowly, a small, sharp-featured man with too-short legs. Twin spots of color came to mark his cheekbones, and his black eyes grew hard and shiny. "I don't believe I understand you, Boone."
Boone laughed, harsh and bitter. "You understand, all right." He strode forward. "That's why you gave orders to the guards to keep me away from you and off the ramp."
"So—?" This out of a thin-lipped, mask-like face.
"So Eileen Rey doesn't take the Titan run." Boone gestured with the gun. "Let's go, Krobis."
"You realize what you're doing, of course, Boone?" A raw, raging edge crept into Krobis' voice. "You know that this finishes you with IC? That as soon as my report goes in, it's the end of your career?"