Dupart had recently been appointed senior advisor to the president on climate change. Officially this tasked him with the presentation of the real-life, scientific, practical and political impact of global warning and the so-called ‘climate emergency’. But as with almost all of Cunningham’s personnel appointments, Dupart’s remit went much further than that.

The president had not even heard of Dupart before Christmas. And now, a month later, he was an essential part of the team. One of the long list of men and women who had come and gone from the White House Office in the three years of Knowles’ administration. All of them there to play a small, isolated part in Cunningham’s bigger picture.

‘The tide has turned over the last decade or so, Mr President,’ Dupart explained, in answer to Knowles’ question. ‘Of course, we still have die-hards and hold-outs on the question of climate change, but the vast majority have now bought the science. And of that majority, a good chunk are getting pretty damn militant about it, sir. How are we planning to address that?’

‘That’s a good question,’ Knowles replied. He turned to Cunningham. ‘Any thoughts on that one, Kelvin?’

‘What was it Lincoln said, Mr President? You can’t please all of the people all of the time?’

‘I’m fairly sure Lincoln was talking about fooling the people, Kelvin. Not pleasing them.’

‘With all due respect, Mr President, what’s the difference? Every one of us in this room knows the science. Every one of us in this room knows that the arguments against fossil fuels – against oil, against coal, against fracking, even – are indisputable. If we stick to the science, we lose. And we can’t afford to do that. None of us can. So if we’re to keep the majority happy – if we’re going to change our political direction without causing an outcry – we’re going to have to fool them.’

Cunningham looked around the room as he spoke, at its eight other occupants. All now primed to follow the script he had given them over dinner.

A charade, Cunningham thought to himself. But a necessary one.

‘But that doesn’t answer Nick’s question, does it?’ Knowles observed, bringing Cunningham’s attention back to him. ‘How are we going to do that? How do we overturn the majority feeling on the subject and get the public’s support?’

‘I have some arrangements in place for that, Mr President.’

The comment came from Mark Luthor. The youngest of the six guests, the thirty-four-year-old was both the COO of the world’s largest social media provider and the de facto majority shareholder of its only real rival. It was a monopoly hidden from the Bureau of Competition thanks to the patronage of the organisation, which in turn owned most of what was left of both companies.

A patronage that Cunningham would never allow Luthor to forget.

‘And with the release of sufficient funds,’ Luthor continued, ‘I think we can go much further still.’

‘What do you have in mind?’ Knowles asked.