He had Treasury reports going into fine, granular detail about Blackstone’s abrogation of federal–state cost and revenue sharing agreements, and more Treasury reports, from the Secret Service this time, particularising his administration’s many and complex contractual arrangements with foreign governments and corporations, all of them of contested legality, all of them designed to siphon off income that should have been going into the federal budget. Salvage agreements, mining and pastoral leases, technology transfer, even military sales. Blackstone was effectively running a shadow state. It didn’t matter how many times they dragged him off to the Supreme Court, his state law officers simply played to delay, or reformatted any commercial agreements to negate the case against them. Or sometimes, thought Jed with a great deal of chagrin, Blackstone just did as he damned well pleased and flipped off any court ruling he found inconvenient. As Kipper and he had discussed to the point of collapse, a law that cannot be enforced is not a law. It is a fatal weakness and a provocation to calumny.

He collected his jacket from the hanger on the back of his door, accepting that he would be back here later in the evening, probably working until the early hours. Because somewhere in that mountain range of files, he knew there had to be some point of weakness where he could apply pressure and break the administration of General Jackson Blackstone like a dry twig.

As he left the office, the two Marines standing guard outside, both of them armed, snapped to attention.

‘Thanks, fellas,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry you got this shit job, but I’m very grateful that you’re doing it. When is your changeover?’

‘We will be relieved at 2100 hours, Mr Culver,’ replied the Marine nearest him. ‘It could be worse, sir. We could be standing sentry out in the cold.’

‘I suppose you could,’ he conceded. ‘And at least you’ll get to see some pretty secretaries walk by when they all go home in half an hour.’

‘Sir, yes sir!’ the men replied in unison, bringing a smile to Culver’s face.

‘Okay, same drill as always, then. Nobody goes in there but me. Also, the damn window is rattling around. I’ve got it locked, but I really don’t want to trust the security of the nation to a Depression-era thumb latch. So maybe if you just put your head in there occasionally and chase off any cat burglars who might come by, that’d be cool too.’

‘I’m a dog person, sir. It would be my pleasure,’ said the first Marine.

‘Good to hear. There’s hope for this country yet.’

He gave them a friendly wink and left to find his driver.

*