“Yes, that too,” Amy agreed.

“See?” Rogers smirked. “I can be political, too.”

The parking lot was baking in the noontime sun. Rogers said good-bye and walked back toward the electrical engineering building and more tests on the little rig.

“How soon can you brief Franklin?” Amy asked Jake.

“I’ve got to teach my planetary astronomy class at two,” Jake said. “I’m free after that.”

“Cocktails at the Tomlinson residence, then,” she said, all business.

“And dinner afterward?”

She smiled at him. “We’ll see.”

Then she slipped into her silver BMW and revved the engine to life. Not even a peck on the cheek, Jake said to himself ruefully.

It was slightly after five P.M. by the time Jake got to the Tomlinson residence. It really is a mansion, he realized as he rolled up the paved driveway; an honest-to-god mother-loving mansion. He parked his Mustang on the circular driveway and by the time he’d walked to the front door the white-haired butler already had it open, waiting for him.

“Mr. Tomlinson is expecting you, Dr. Ross. He’s at the pool.”

“Um … is my car okay there?” Jake asked.

“Perfectly all right, sir,” said the butler, in a ghostly whisper.

Jake glanced back at the gray convertible; it looked shabby and out of place. So do I, I guess, he thought. Jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt. Campus informal. He felt decidedly scruffy as he followed the butler through the mansion.

Tomlinson was in orange bathing trunks, stretched out on a recliner by the pool, a tall glass of something that looked cool on the little table by his side. Amy sat on the edge of the recliner next to him, bent toward him in earnest conversation. She had shed the business suit for a golden yellow bikini. Her hair was glistening wet, pulled back off her face. At least she’s thrown a robe over the bikini, Jake saw, although the short terry-cloth robe hung open as she talked animatedly.

He started to frown, but then he thought, What the hell, I’ve seen more of her than that. Then he wondered if Tomlinson had too, and his frown returned.

“Jake!” Tomlinson called as he approached them. “Want to take a dip? There are spare suits in the cabana.”

It was hot out in the glaring sun, but Jake shook his head. “No thanks. I’m okay as is.”

Without straightening up, Tomlinson reached out and picked up the phone on the table next to his recliner. “Charles, a piña colada for Dr. Ross, please.”

Jake sat uneasily beside Amy on the edge of the recliner. She smelled of chlorine and cool self-assurance.

Tomlinson gave Jake one of his dazzling smiles. “Amy tells me you’re going to win the election for me.”

Jake felt his cheeks redden. “I don’t know about that, Mr. Tom—”

“Frank. Remember? I call you Jake and you call me Frank.”

Bobbing his head, “Okay … Frank.”