The two of them were in bed in Amy’s condo, celebrating Christmas together. Jake had bought her a pendant of Russian amber set in silver: he thought it complemented her dark blond hair. She cooed over it and wore it in bed. She had given him a set of solid gold cuff links and shirt studs. “For the tuxedo you’re going to wear at Franklin’s victory party,” she said.

They had both been at Tomlinson’s house for his family’s Christmas Eve party. It was a huge bash, centered around a Christmas tree that scraped the lofty ceiling of the mansion’s living room. It was dripping with ornaments and lights; Jake had never seen such an opulent tree, except in old movies.

Tomlinson introduced Jake to his father, Alexander. The man must have been at least eighty, but he was erect and slim as a cavalry saber. His hair was iron gray, cropped in a flat military buzz cut. His skin looked almost waxy, like old parchment. But his handshake was firm as he greeted Jake in front of the tree.

“You’re my son’s science advisor, are you?” His voice was surprisingly deep and strong.

“Yessir,” Jake managed to reply.

“Stay away from nuclear energy,” Alexander Tomlinson said sternly. “It’s a lousy issue; nothing but trouble.”

Jake nodded dutifully. “I will, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Good. Make sure that you do.”

And Jake began to realize what was driving B. Franklin Tomlinson into politics. This old man had all the single-minded determination of a charging bull—and about the same amount of finesse.

Amy was at Tomlinson’s side through much of the evening, dressed in a low-cut gown of white and gold that dripped with sequins. At precisely eleven thirty, Tomlinson asked everyone to be quiet.

“I’m going to be making a public announcement in a couple of days,” he said as the crowd gathered around him. “But I wanted you—you who’ve been friends to my family and me for so many years—to hear it first.”

He paused dramatically. Everyone stood in their tuxedos and fine gowns and jewels, silent, expectant. Amy was standing next to Tomlinson, looking glitteringly beautiful; the elder Tomlinson stood at his son’s other side.

Tomlinson crooked a finger in Jake’s direction. “Jake, you come up here, too. You’re a major part of my team.”

Feeling shabby in his old blue suit, Jake came up and took his place beside Tomlinson’s father.

“I want you all to know,” Tomlinson said, his eyes sparkling as if he were handing out Christmas presents, “that I will be a candidate for the United States Senate in next November’s election.”

It came as no surprise, but everyone gasped and then cheered and applauded. Jake saw that Amy was clutching Tomlinson’s arm with both her hands, gazing up at him adoringly.

*   *   *