Halon-Seven by Xander Weaver Page A

be in his early seventies but he might have been off a decade one way or another.
    “Mister Cooper,” the old man said with an outstretched hand. It was a statement, not a question. He seemed to know Cyrus on sight and felt no need to confirm his identity. “I’m sorry I didn’t telephone first. My name is Allan Underwood. I’m the attorney for Professor Meade’s estate.”
    Tentatively, Cyrus shook the old man’s hand. “Estate? Ah…please, come in?”
    Cyrus showed Underwood into the office and over to one of the chairs opposite his desk. He sat in the matching chair, choosing not to take his customary place behind the desk. If this man was whom he claimed, this was a matter of some delicacy.
    “You said you’re a lawyer for Meade’s estate?” Cyrus asked cautiously, starting the conversation where they’d left off. “Am I to assume that Walter is…” He let the statement hang rather the finish it himself.
    “Oh, my! I’m sorry. You didn’t know! You haven’t heard?” Underwood looked aghast, as if he had just made the most unforgivable mistake in the business. “I’m so sorry—I suppose you wouldn’t have heard. Walter said you only spoke sporadically. I’m sorry, yes, he passed several weeks ago.”
    “Meade—err—Walter, he spoke of me?”
    “Oh, yes! Frequently!” The old man chuckled. His smile was warm and Cyrus could see something more there. A deep regard for Meade, perhaps? “We spoke often about a great many things. Your name often came up in conversation. I hope you know, Walter held you in very high regard?”
    This brought a grin from Cyrus. “Well, I don’t know about that. We didn’t know each other all that well. We’ve only spoken a few times. He was a very interesting old fellow. But I can’t say I knew him all that well.”
    In part this was true, but to a larger extent Cyrus wanted to vet Underwood’s knowledge of the old man and their relationship. Much of what he and Meade discussed was sensitive in nature and he wasn’t comfortable discussing Meade’s business with anyone. Walter Meade had told him things in confidence, some of it fairly outlandish and difficult to believe but private just the same. Cyrus had never been sure if the old man was on the level, off his rocker, or somewhere in between. But Walter Meade had been brilliant, there was never any question about that. And he certainly was a person of importance in Washington. Cyrus had witnessed a demonstration of that first hand. He’d never seen the wheels of bureaucracy move so swiftly as when Walter Meade had been in trouble. Still, he didn’t know Underwood and this could be a snipe hunt. Early in their relationship Meade had asked for discretion pertaining to their discussions and Cyrus would honor that. Information here would flow in only one direction. But if Meade had indeed passed, arrangements would need to be made.
    “Didn’t know each other all that well?” Underwood asked. He gave Cyrus a sly and appraising glance. “I was Walter’s friend first and his attorney second. He would dine at my home several times a month. He loved my wife’s cooking. Anyway, the way he told it, you had a mind that was uniquely open to the mysteries of the universe.”
    “That does sound like something Meade—err, Walter would say.”
    “Walter had access to the greatest minds of our time and he had some very interesting opinions in regards to each and everyone of them. It would have made for an amazing memoir,” he cast Cyrus a knowing glance. “Were such a thing not subject to treasonous consequences.”
    Ok, maybe this guy did know the old man as well as he claimed.
    “But of all these so called ‘great minds,’ he was most impressed with you! He said you were the only person he ever met that would see him when he would show up out of the blue, day or night. You would let him throw absurd hypotheses about, and you would converse with him as frankly as you would discuss the day’s weather. I can