‘Senator, this is one time when I’m going to say no. The situation is urgent, we have the means to do something about it. Two days could make all the difference. I’m going to go way over your head with this information, and if I still don’t get anywhere. I’m going to the press.’

‘Professor,’ rumbled Shearson, gently. ‘I very much advise you against doing that.’

‘Try and stop me,’ snapped Professor Protter, and slammed his phone down.

Shearson held his own receiver in his hand for a few seconds, staring at it thoughtfully. Then, almost inaudibly, he said to Billy, ‘Get me Peter Kaiser again.’

*

At eight forty-five p.m., Karen Fortunoff was still waiting by the gate at Dulles Airport for Peter Kaiser to join her. She was wearing a smart camel-coloured suit, and she had bought herself a new week-end case especially for the trip. The flight had already been called twice, and she didn’t know if she ought to board the plane, with the risk that Peter wouldn’t make it in time, and that she would have to fly to Wichita alone – or if she should wait for him to arrive, and risk missing the flight altogether.

Outside, in the darkness, the Tri-Star’s engines were already whining, and she could see the last of the service vehicles driving away. She checked her watch. Maybe she should just forget the whole thing. She didn’t particularly like Peter anyway. If she hadn’t already told her friends that she was going to spend the week-end in the million-dollar vacation home of Senator Shearson Jones, and if she hadn’t been so worried about keeping herself up-to-date on the blight crisis, she would have gone back to her apartment and resigned herself to another Saturday and Sunday doing the same old things. Reading, drawing, watching TV.

She went to the window and stared out at the aeroplane. Most of the passengers were already in their seats, and she could see the stewardess counting heads for cocktails. Reflected in the dark glass, she could see her own face, too, like a silent and inquisitive stranger.

She heard someone talking in a loud, harsh voice, and she turned around. With relief, but with apprehension, too, she saw Peter hurrying along the carpeted corridor. He had to hurry because he was trying to keep up with one of the airline’s electric carts, on which in huge and weighty splendour sat Senator Shearson Jones, in a white suit as large as a circus marquee.

Peter gave Karen a quick half-smile when he saw her, and said, ‘Hi. You made it, then?’

Karen said, ‘Yes,’ but she was more interested in the spectacle of Shearson Jones easing his bulky body from the cart and waddling sweatily towards the gate. She felt as if she were in the presence of a political and physical phenomenon; a being who defied gravity and governments, both.