By eleven o’clock he was walking up the steps towards the Quebec City offices of Hydro Development. It had been about an hour drive, first along the narrow streets, among the heavy traffic, and then through in a lesspopulated area to the office, which was located in a business center outside the city. Helen and Jessie were out sightseeing; he had left them talking animatedly to Mr. Poisson at the front desk about who and what to see.

The building welcomed him with a warm blast of air, prickling his skin and drying the little beads of nervous sweat that had formed on his forehead. A pretty, young woman ran by carrying a stack of papers, while other men and women in business suits walked past looking purposeful and sure of themselves. The area with all the activity seemed to be roughly the size of a city block.

He straightened his tie and studied the best way to weave through the traffic, aware that the huge gold clock on the wall above him pointed to just past eleven. He fought his way to the elevator and got off on the third floor. The hallways were thickly carpeted and the walls paneled with a rich, chocolate wood, which deadened any sound. He felt as if he were being swallowed whole. He found room 313 without any trouble, tried a quick knock, got no answer, and turned the knob.

He heard raised voices, but all conversation stopped as soon as he entered. There was an uncomfortable silence that lasted for a few seconds, then a white-haired man at the head of the table stood up, leaning his hands upon the tabletop for support.

“You must be David Pierce.” This was said with a clipped, prep school accent, and David could only think oh, shit before he was told, “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m still finding my way around the city. And you are?”

“Peter Thompson, head of Hydro Development’s engineering division here in Quebec City.” He pointed to a worried little man in a rumpled suit on his other side. “This is my associate, Ronald Stevens. And these”—he swept his arm towards the three men and a woman across from him—“are representatives from the FERC and the Canadian Government. The man in blue is Dan Flint from the FERC—” (the man at the far end of the table raised his hand in greeting) “—and he’ll be reporting all of our discussions to the Commission. They have many, many questions, and at least one interesting thing to say. I’m sure they’ll be glad to enlighten you.”

“I’m sorry,” David said. He hadn’t even had the chance to move from the doorway. “I thought this was just a meet and greet.”

Flint glared at Thompson and then slid a folder across the tabletop without a word. David picked it up and read the title on the first page.