“I’ll be right up,” he said, marveling at the calmness in his voice.
Kennon couldn’t help comparing this meeting with the one a year ago. The location was different—the conference room in Alexandria was more formal than Blalok’s parlor but the same people were present: Alexander, Blalok, Jordan, and himself. Somehow Alexander seemed to have shrunk. He was no longer as impressive as he had been. But the man still radiated force, even though it didn’t seem quite so overpowering. The year, Kennon thought, had done much to build his self-confidence. He felt assured rather than nervous.
“Good to see you, Kennon,” Alexander said. “Reports say you’re doing a good job.”
“I can’t claim the credit,” Kennon said. “Eighty-five per cent of our success is due to co-operation from the operating staff. And that’s Blalok’s doing—he knocked the heads of the division managers together and they took care of their staffs. Otherwise we could have had a bad time.”
“But you didn’t,” Alexander said. “And you were the motive force.”
“I’ve darn near motivated myself out of a job,” Kennon said. “They co-operate all too well nowadays.”
“Which goes to prove that my theories on preventive medicine are right,” Alexander said, turning to Blalok.
“It looks that way,” Blalok admitted, “but that could be because you picked a good man.”
“He’s good in more ways than one,” Alexander said. “Or did he tell you he saved Douglas’s life out on Otpen One?”
“He’s never said a word.”