"He will be here?" Moskov asked.
Conrad cleared his throat. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.
"Joe—I mean, Dr. Waters—sent an answer to our request." He read:
"'I take my vorpal sword in hand. Beware, Jabberwock—I come. Joe Waters.'"
"The courage of youth," Sir Manly said, but he smiled.
Moskov looked at his watch. "He should be here, then."
"I am."
They all turned at the sound of that voice, and rose as Joe Waters strode in. Just thirty years old, athletic, brilliant. He was accompanied by a wizened character in a baggy brown suit and crumpled felt hat.
"Gentlemen." Joe said, and bowed. They all sat down.
"A friend," he explained, indicating his companion. "Name of Mike."