Of them all, Fox News had been lucky. They had an entire recently recorded show to fall back on, less than a week after its first broadcast. Which was why, unusually, the network was Dempsey’s choice today.

It would soon become an iconic interview, Dempsey could see that already. With Victor holding court – the very definition of confidence – and with his blistering debate performances adding colour, it would, Dempsey realised, become the ultimate example of ‘what could have been’.

It is not often that the world sees a myth in the making. But that was exactly what Dempsey was now witnessing. And he knew it.

Victor was incredibly charismatic. Or, more accurately, had been. Classically handsome even as he approached sixty, the man’s practised charm eclipsed every other person around him. Place Dale Victor in any room and no one else mattered.

Victor had been one of America’s most famous men for almost forty years. Born wealthy, he had been the main investor in a fledgling software company which, in just two years, had revolutionised home computing. That one investment had made Victor a billionaire many times over. From there he seemed to have moved from one success to another. Always the consummate front man; a public relations master.

Even more impressive had been his skill as an orator. The way he could deliver a speech. The changes in tempo. In inflection. Even the placement of his pauses. It was a once-in-a-lifetime talent that could sweep up a crowd and take them to places they would never have thought to go.

And that was exactly what had concerned Dempsey.

Dempsey’s career had shown him more of the world than most people had seen. In that time he had seen democracies rise and fall. And he had seen autocracies do the same. He had watched entire populations manipulated, cajoled and ultimately abused, all to serve the interests of the few.

And he had no doubt that manipulation was exactly what Dale Victor had been doing. He had just never seen anyone else do it so well.

‘Thank God we won’t be dealing with that next year.’

Dempsey had not heard the room’s glass door open and so ISB Director Elizabeth Kirk was already halfway into her own office before she spoke.

He rose to his feet at the sound of her perfect Upper New York State diction.

‘Ma’am.’

Dempsey was rarely taken unawares. It was a testament to the magnetism of Dale Victor’s performance that Kirk had managed it now.

‘Sit down, Joe.’ Kirk reached up and touched Dempsey’s shoulder as she passed, applying the gentlest of downward pressure.

‘Ma’am.’

Dempsey retook his seat, switched the TV off with the remote and turned to face Kirk’s desk as she sat down behind it.

Just five foot two with a waif-like build, Elizabeth Kirk was tiny in comparison to most of the agents in the building. Others might have felt daunted by this, but Dempsey doubted that such a thought had ever occurred to Kirk. She was as confident in herself and in her own abilities as anyone Dempsey had ever met. After two years as her Primary Agent, he had no doubt that confidence was well-earned.