Warm orange light filled the office, and the air conditioner blasted hot air. Yet despite the heat, Hodgson's hands and feet felt icy. His throat worked as he forced out the words.
"Has it been an hour since I spoke with Professor Parsonkin?"
The secretary felt a chill too. He struggled to answer. "No. It's only been half an hour since Professor Parsonkin called you..."
Hodgson had faced all kinds of major crises lately, but those words still brought sweat to his forehead.
The base in Djibouti had been destroyed an hour ago. Yet half an hour ago, Professor Parsonkin had told him over the phone that Florence had performed magic at the base.
Had Professor Parsonkin lied? Or had the Professor Parsonkin on the phone been a dead man?
Remembering the Resurrection of the Dead recorded in the Seven Secret Doctrines of the Earth, Hodgson parted his lips. "Cut off all contact with Djibouti. Pull our people out... No, don't bring them home yet. Move them to other countries first. Bring them back only after we're sure there's no problem."
"Yes." Fear lingered on the secretary's face. There was no doubt something was wrong with Professor Parsonkin. If he had merely contacted the White House, they could have assumed he had left the base before it was destroyed and survived. But he had said on the phone that "Florence performed magic at the base."
Had Florence taken control of him, or had the Cthulhu Evil God's power corrupted him and turned him into a monster? Would he bring the Corruption back to the mainland? Would he bring disaster home?
In an instant, the secretary recalled every Hollywood disaster movie caused by a president's idiotic decisions. In those films, presidents never thought straight. They were either hopelessly softhearted or outright