"It's . . . it's just not possible. So—"
'Tell you what, then, I'll just rent one here. It'll cost a few dollars, but I can't wait around all day."
"Isaac, I—" She never used his first name, at least not to him, but he took no notice.
"Don't worry about it. It'll just go into project overhead. Be a tax write-off for Bates." He laughed, without noticeable humor. "He understands all about such things."
'That's awfully expensive," she said, her voice still sounding strange. "Maybe it'd be better to wait—"
"Damn it. I'll be there in a couple of hours."
"Dr. Mannheim . . ." Her voice would have sounded an alarm to most people. But then most people listened. Isaac Mannheim rarely bothered. Especially where women were concerned. You simply did what had to be done. It was that simple, but most women seemed unable to fathom matters of such obvious transparency.
He slammed down the phone and strode out into the morning sunshine. The private aviation terminal was about a half mile down an ill-paved road, but he decided the walk would do him good. The breeze would feel refreshing after the smoky, stuffy terminal. The problem was, Athens was already getting hot. That's why he liked the islands. They were always cooler this time of year.