The FBI steadily refused to say anything about the Sinclair killings except to report, “The investigation is in progress.” But Amy kept Tomlinson’s publicity team driving hard on the links between gambling and organized crime—and by associating Senator Leeds with the state’s casinos they associated him with narcotics and murder.

Jake’s work on the NASA proposal had sunk out of sight. There isn’t any time for it, he told himself. The truth was that he’d lost interest in it. Despite himself, the political campaign was absorbing all his energies. He worked closely with Bob Rogers, wrote pop-science pieces for the newspapers and television news shows, coached Rogers when Bob had to be interviewed or give a talk about MHD to some civic or social group.

One afternoon, as the October weather turned almost wintry, Jake popped into Rogers’s office.

The physicist was poring over a huge blueprint that was draped over his desk, its corners drooping almost to the floor.

“What’s this?” Jake asked, walking around the desk to stand beside Rogers.

“Topping plant,” Rogers said. “I’m expecting—”

His phone buzzed. Rogers picked it up, nodded vigorously, and said, “Bring him right here, to my office.”

Jake raised his brows questioningly.

“Guy from the NAEU,” Rogers said.

“National…”

“The electric utilities gang. You know, O’Brien’s people.”

“What’s he here for?”

Rogers tapped the blueprint. “He wants to see the topping plant.”

Jake wondered what a topping plant might be, but before he could ask the office door opened and the department secretary ushered in a young, stocky fellow in a gray three-piece suit.

One of Francis X. O’Brien’s people, Jake said to himself. They must get group discounts at Brooks Brothers.

“Hello,” the young man said. “I’m Don Garza.”

To Jake, Garza looked like a newly graduated student who’d gone through college on an athletic scholarship. He was no taller than Jake himself, but his shoulders were wide and his body solid. He had a pleasant smile, bright teeth contrasting nicely with his olive complexion. Handsome kid, Jake thought. I wonder how smart he is.

Rogers came around the desk to shake hands with the kid. Turning, he introduced Jake. Then he led them both around his desk and the three of them looked down at the oversized blueprint.

Suddenly the smiling young man became all business, and quite knowledgeable.

“So what’s the temperature of the gas when it exits the MHD channel?” Garza asked.

“About four thousand Fahrenheit,” said Rogers.

Shaking his head, Garza muttered, “Way too hot for the turbines. You’ll melt their blades off.”

“No, no,” Rogers countered, tapping the blueprint. “The exhaust gas goes through the heat exchanger, here. The heat boils water for your steam turbines, and by the time the plasma leaves the heat exchanger it’s cool enough to run it through a set of gas turbines, here.”

“I see,” Garza muttered. “Very damned clever.”