"Cheers, then, guys," he offered. They returned the gesture. "Well," he began, "it's good to see you two again. Trip okay? How'd you make it up so soon—rent a jet?" He opened his cigar box as he spoke and pushed it across the desk toward them. "Smoke?"

"Yes, good trip. Thanks, Felix," Hunt replied. "Avis." He inclined his head toward the window behind Borlan, which presented a panoramic view of pine-covered hills tumbling down to the distant Columbia. "Some scenery."

"Like it?"

"Makes Berkshire look a bit like Siberia."

Borlan looked at Gray. "How are you keeping, Rob?"

The corners of Gray's mouth twitched downwards. "Gutrot."

"Party last night at some bird's," Hunt explained. "Too little blood in his alcohol stream."

"Good time, huh?" Borlan grinned. "Take Francis along?"

"You've got to be joking!"

"Jollificating with the peasantry?" Gray mimicked in the impeccable tone of the English aristocracy. "Good God! Whatever next!"

They laughed. Hunt settled himself more comfortably amid a haze of blue smoke. "How about yourself, Felix?" he asked. "Life still being kind to you?"

Borlan spread his arms wide. "Life's great."

"Angie still as beautiful as the last time I saw her? Kids okay?"

"They're all fine. Tommy's at college now—majoring in physics and astronautical engineering. Johnny goes hiking most weekends with his club, and Susie's added a pair of gerbils and a bear cub to the family zoo."

"So you're still as happy as ever. The responsibilities of power aren't wearing you down yet."

Borlan shrugged and showed a row of pearly teeth. "Do I look like an ulcerated nut midway between heart attacks?"

Hunt regarded the blue-eyed, deep-tanned figure with close-cropped fair hair as Borlan sprawled relaxedly on the other side of the broad mahogany desk. He looked at least ten years younger than the president of any intercontinental corporation had a right to.

For a while the small talk revolved around internal affairs at Metadyne. At last a natural pause presented itself. Hunt sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and contemplated the last drop of amber liquid in his glass as he swirled it around first from right to left and then back again. Finally he looked up.

"About the scope, Felix. What's going on, then?"

Borlan had been expecting the question. He straightened slowly in his chair and appeared to think for a moment. At last he said:

"Did you see the call I made to Francis?"

"Yep."

"Then . . ." Borlan didn't seem sure of how to put it. ". . . I don't know an awful lot more than you do." He placed his hands palms-down on the desk in an attitude of candor, but his sigh was that of one not really expecting to be believed. He was right.

"Come on, Felix. Give." Hunt's expression said the rest.

"You must know," Gray insisted. "You fixed it all up."