When Sanderson regained consciousness he was lying on the couch in Sjoberg’s office. Looking down at him were Sjoberg and a uniformed EMT.

He blinked, and said, “What happened?”

Sjoberg said, “You passed out, Arne.”

“Passed out?” He wrestled up to a sitting position, only then realizing that a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his arm.

“Are you on any medication?” the EMT asked.

“No.”

“Has anything like this happened before?”

“No, of course not.”

The EMT removed the blood pressure cuff.

“How long was I out?” Sanderson asked.

“Only a few minutes,” Sjoberg said. “You went pale as a ghost and over you went. Forsten caught you before you hit.”

With that picture in his mind, Sanderson’s humiliation was complete. He rubbed his forehead and tried to stand.

“Easy,” said Sjoberg. “There’s no hurry.”

“I’m fine,” Sanderson said. He felt the EMT at his elbow, and on reaching his feet made every attempt not to waver.

“Did you eat anything this morning?” the EMT asked.

“No—I’m sure that’s all it was. And I have been working hard.”

“Yes,” Sjoberg agreed, “he’s been under considerable stress.”

“Have you ever had a seizure of any sort?”

“Seizure? No, never.”

The EMT addressed Sjoberg. “Well, he seems all right. I’ll leave you now, but I’m just downstairs if you need me.” He turned to Sanderson. “Get something in your belly, and then rest. If anything like this happens again you should see your doctor.”

The man left, and Sjoberg said, “Well, Arne, if this doesn’t convince you I don’t know what will. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll have Blix drive you.”

Sanderson did not argue.

*   *   *

Evita was given a ride to her assignation by a friend from work, an undependable woman who for once showed up on time. Traffic was light, and when they arrived Evita asked to be dropped two blocks away from the hotel. She thanked her friend and checked the time. As feared, she was early. Seeing no upside in punctuality, Evita spotted a pub nearby and decided to shore up her nerve.