“And he’s got you opening doors?”

The man frowned a little. “We have to be careful—you never know who might show up unannounced.”

“Well, this information is confidential—for his ears only. I’ll leave if you want me to, but I don’t think your boss will be happy about that.”

The man hesitated but finally opened the door and stepped aside. “Come in,” he said. “The senator isn’t here, but he’s on the property— he’s doing a little hunting right now. I can reach him by cell phone; I’ll ask him if he wants to see you. Whom shall I say is calling?”

“Dr. Nick Polchak.”

“Does the senator know you?”

“Not yet.”

“Wait in there—that’s the senator’s study.”

The man disappeared around a corner and Nick wandered through the foyer and into the study. The room was cavernous, with a tall cathedral ceiling and shaved log beams that spanned the room from one end to the other. There was a desk in the center of the room so large that Nick thought anyone sitting behind it would look like a child. The walls were covered with so many framed certificates and diplomas and the display cases were crammed with so many awards that he wondered if the senator could have actually earned them all. Who knows? Maybe he inherited those too. To the right of the desk was a seating area, where four small upholstered chairs formed a half-circle around a stately leather wingback—Nick had no doubt whose place that was. In the far right corner, under a brilliant halogen accent light, was a stuffed black bear standing in a ferocious attack position—jaws open, teeth glaring, paws held high. Nick shook his head; he wondered if bears were ever stuffed in a sleeping position, or with their backs turned, running away.

Nick turned to his left, and to his surprise found two men standing at a round table, dressed in dark suits like the man who answered the door—except that they wore white shirts with ties. A set of blueprints was on the table in front of them—and right now they were looking at Nick.

“Sorry,” Nick said. “Your boss told me to wait in here.”

“Who?”

“Your boss—the guy who answered the door.”

Both men grinned. “We’re Secret Service,” one of them said. “That guy’s just some private security flunkie.”

“He said he was head of the senator’s security.”

The man chuckled. “He is, for a couple more weeks—then we take over.”

“I thought you people only guarded the president and people like that.”

“No, we cover presidential candidates too—starting a few months before the election. Do you mind? We’ve got a lot of work to do here.”