After handing over their coats, they made their way in to a large, comfortable space, recently hacked out of the old building layout. It smelled of fresh paint and high-quality coffee, roasting on a sideboard next to a silver tray piled high with fresh bread rolls, smoked salmon, and pastries. There was no filing system to be seen. No computer on his desk. No signs of a wall safe.

‘Oh, the Governor has just stepped out,’ his secretary said. ‘I’m sure he’ll be back momentarily. Please make yourselves comfortable. Can I pour you some coffee?’

‘No, we’ll be fine, thank you,’ replied Musso.

The secretary left them.

An array of framed photographs, plaques, awards and certificates hung along a wall of what appeared to be highly polished cherry. In one image, a backdrop of burning oil wells bracketed a young group of officers standing on top of a blackened Iraqi tank. In another photo, a smiling Colonel Blackstone shook hands with Bill Clinton without a hint of the reserve evident in the officers around him. A third photo, a faded colour image, showed a pair of oldsters pinning a set of lieutenant’s bars on a very young man.

At the centre of the wall was a shadow box filled with a substantial collection of ribbons, qualification badges and division patches. Musso didn’t waste a second glance at the wall, perhaps because he had seen it all before. Caitlin took the opportunity to inspect the whole display more closely, as it afforded her an opportunity to walk around the office and scope it out.

Ty McCutcheon sidled up next to her and removed his sunglasses. ‘Impressive career. Enlisted at eighteen for Nam and ended up as a Ranger. You’ll have to forgive him for that.’

‘Not a fan of the 75th Regiment?’ she asked.

‘I was air force once upon a time, like you, Colonel,’ McCutcheon replied as if that explained it. ‘Drove me a Warthog. The General, though, he’s the real deal. Rose from the ranks the old-fashioned way. By killing those in need of it. Did his time and got a slot at Officer’s Candidate School. First in his family to go to college, you know.’

She did know, but said nothing.

‘Did well there,’ McCutcheon continued. ‘Third in class. Picked up his commission and then they sent him off to college.’ The Governor’s aide pointed up at the framed Bachelor of Arts in political science from NYU.

A toilet flushed at the far end of the office, followed by the sound of running water.

‘And the rest is a very boring story for the most part,’ a new voice called out. ‘Don’t let Ty blow too much smoke up your ass on my account. It feels nice, but the Surgeon General says it’s bad for you.’