“Who else?” Cardwell smiled his odd little smile. “Oh, the senator’s working through other parties, I’m sure. Straw men. But ask yourself: Who will benefit if Tomlinson is defeated in the primaries?”

Jake nodded. “I guess you’re right.”

Hunching closer, Cardwell asked, “Now what about this electrode problem? What are they doing to overcome it?”

For the better part of an hour Jake went over everything Bob Rogers had explained to him about the MHD generator’s electrodes.

“Screwing them in like the lead in a mechanical pencil,” Cardwell mused. “That’s ingenious.”

“Younger’s going to set it up on the big rig, up in Lignite.”

“I hope it works.”

“If it doesn’t, MHD will flop.”

Cardwell shook his head. “No, Jake. It won’t fail. It’s too good an idea to fail.”

“I wish I had your confidence, Lev.”

The older man’s smile widened a bit. “It’s just a matter of perspective, Jake. You’re thinking about the election in November. I’m thinking about the next century. MHD will work, eventually.”

“After we’re dead and gone.”

Cardwell said, “You know, Charles Babbage invented the programmable computer back in the nineteenth century. It was a mechanical monster—they didn’t have electronics then, not even electricity. It never worked quite right, either. But it was a real computer, and it could have worked. It eventually led to today’s computers. He’s the grandfather of our modern computer age. He died a bitter old man, but his work was seminal.”

Jake hunched his shoulders. “I’d like to see MHD a success while I’m still here.”

“So would I, my boy. But the important thing is that it becomes a success, becomes useful, someday. Doesn’t matter if we’re here to see it. I’d like to be, but in the long run that doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“Good!” Cardwell said, with a grin. “Impetuous youth. Every new idea needs that kind of enthusiasm, that kind of vigor. You can’t build new ideas with old farts like me.”

Jake stared at him. “Lev, sometimes you’re weird.”

Laughing, Cardwell said, “Stick to the technical side of the game, Jake. Let Tomlinson and his father root around in the dirt. That’s not your field of expertise.”

Feeling far less than satisfied, Jake got to his feet. “I guess you’re right.”

Standing beside him, Cardwell said, “Of course, if you’re determined to do something, you might try checking out Sinclair’s file on some of the computer search engines. There might be something there that could help shed light on his behavior.”

“You think so?”

As he walked Jake to his office door, Cardwell said, “There’s a lot of information floating through the Internet. Who knows what’s in there about Sinclair?”

“I wonder.”

“It might be worth a try.”

“Might be,” Jake agreed.