"Pretty good," Gordian said. He hesitated. "Julia's moved back home for a while. Personal reasons."

Nordstrum gave him a meaningful look.

"Husband with her?"

Gordian shook his head.

"The dogs?"

"Probably napping on my sofa as we speak," Gordian said, and then motioned Nordstrum toward a chair.

Slam, Nordstrum thought. End of subject.

They sat facing each other across the desk. There was, to be sure, an aura of bedrock consistency and dependability here that Nordstrum, who had left his Czech homeland, a White House cabinet appointment, a D.C. town house, possessions, lovers, and most recently his multifaceted career behind with a lightness of foot equal to Fred Astaire sliding across a dance floor, found impressive and reassuring. It wasn't as if time was standing still--Gord's hair was a little grayer and thinner than it used to be, his once-petite secretary had filled out around the hips, and on the positive side, both had managed to stay reasonably in line with current fashions. But through tide and tempest, Gord's office was Gord's office.

"So," Gordian said. "How's temporary retirement agreeing with you?"

Nordstrum raised his eyebrows. "Temporary? You need to check your sources."

"Spoken like a true journalist," Gordian said. "Alex, you're under fifty and one of the most competent and knowledgeable men I know. I'd just guessed you would eventually want to get back to work."

"I won't reject the compliments," he said. "Fact is, though, that after the crypto brawl, and almost being hijacked aboard a nuclear submarine, and getting frozen so far out of the White House that its gardening staff fends me off with hedge clippers if I get too close, I don't feel the urge to be anything but a couch potato."

Gordian sat there without comment for several moments, Mount Hamilton visible through the window behind him, thrusting high above San Jose's urban development, extending the atmosphere of benign yet unassailable permanence beyond the confines of the room.

"I know you were at the Cape for the shuttle launch," Nordstrum said. "I'd tuned in to watch it on CNN." He shook his head. "A god-awful tragedy."

Gordian nodded.

"Not something I'll ever forget," he said. "The sense of loss ... of personal grief in that control room can't be described."

Nordstrum looked at him. "I've been assuming," he said, "that Orion's why you got in touch."

Gordian met his gaze and slowly nodded again. "I was conflicted about it," he said. "While I respect your wish to stay free of involvement, I could use your advice. A great deal."

"Every time I think I'm out of it they pull me back in," Nordstrum said.

Gordian gave him a thin smile. "Thanks for sparing me the full Pacino impression."

"Don't mention it."

There was another pause. Gordian steepled his fingers on the desk, looked down at them, then looked up at Nordstrum.

"You wrote an analysis of the Challenger disaster for Time magazine back in the eighties, before we knew each other," he said. "I never forgot it."