'No, sir,' Byron said. 'He seems to have disappeared completely.'

The elevator doors slid open, and the two men entered. Buher pressed the only button the elevator had, the one that let him out at the rear entrance to the spacious office that was now his.

Byron waited until they were perhaps three floors up before hitting Buher with his zinger for the day: 'Richard wants to see you right away.'

Buher was startled, but only for a fraction of a second. He recognized the ploy. He'd used it hundreds of times himself in his climb to the top. What Byron was trying to say was: Richard is back early from his vacation. I know it and you don't. He wants to see you. Now. That probably means you are in trouble. I referred to him as Richard. I have never called him anything but Mr Thorn before. This perhaps means that he and I are on a new level of intimacy, one that has been achieved behind your back, while you were busy redecorating your office and getting your face on the cover of Fortune magazine. It is possible that I may even know why Richard, as I know call him, is so anxious to see you.

But Byron was playing against the best. It was as though he had opened up a chess game with the Capablanca defense against Capablanca himself. 'Oh?' said Buher calmly. 'Is he in already?'

Byron was crushed. 'Yes,' he said, frowning, trying desperately to think of something else to say. He finally added, 'And he's got a great suntan too.’

As both men knew, it was a hopelessly inadequate retort.

***

When Buher walked in, Thorn was sipping coffee at one end of a table that could have seated an entire UN delegation. Before Buher even had a chance to say hello, Thorn snapped out at him. 'And what the hell is Pasarian doing in India?'

Buher set his briefcase down on the table and seated himself before answering. It gave him time to think of what he wanted to say. And to read the signs. The collar of Thorn's monogrammed Brooks Brothers shirt was open. He wore no necktie. He needed a shave. All of this was Thorn's prerogative, of course, but he would not appear in the offices of his own firm looking like this unless he had been brought back from his rest by a matter of some urgency.

Thorn wasn't just acting angry; he was angry.

'I needed a second opinion on some of our proposed land purchases there,' said Buher. 'Who better—?'

'Are we buying already?' Thorn asked. He was genuinely startled.

'You agreed I could activate the conclusions of my report in full,' Buher said, more defensively than he intended. ‘That was a condition of my acceptance of the presidency.'