The president rose, his face tight, blinking hard. Wordlessly, he sat down again. He had talked down recalcitrant opponents before, had directed the high beams of his charm at the disaffected and resistant, and had brought them around. He could do this.

“I have devoted my life to public service,” he told Janson, his rich baritone swelling with grave sincerity. “The welfare of this country is my life. I need you to understand that. The decisions that have been made in this room have not been made thoughtlessly or cynically. When I was sworn into office, I took an oath to protect and defend this nation—the same oath my father had taken twenty years before. It is an obligation I take with utmost seriousness … .”

Janson yawned.

“Derek,” the president said, turning to the director of Consular Operations and the one man at the table who had said nothing so far. “Talk to your guy. Make him understand.”

Undersecretary Derek Collins removed his heavy black glasses and massaged the reddened grooves they left on the bridge of his nose. He had the look of someone who was about to do something he would probably regret. “I kept trying to tell you—you don’t know this man,” Collins said. “None of you do.”

“Derek?” The president’s request was clear.

“To protect and defend,” Collins said. “Heavy words. A heavy burden. A beautiful ideal that sometimes requires doing some ugly things. Uneasy rests the head, right?” He looked at Janson. “There aren’t any saints in this room, make no mistake about that. But let’s show some respect to the basic idea of democracy. There’s one person in this room who’s gone a long way on some scraps of common sense and some common decency. He’s a tough son of a bitch, and he’s as true a patriot as they come, and, agree with him or not, at the end of the day, this has to be his call … .”

“Thanks, Derek,” President Berquist said, solemn but pleased.

“I’m talking about Paul Janson,” the undersecretary finished, facing the man at the head of the table. “And if you don’t do what he says, Mr. President, you’re a bigger fool than your father.”

“Undersecretary Collins,” the president barked, “I’d be happy to accept your resignation.”

“Mr. President,” Collins said in a level tone, “I’d be happy to accept yours.”

President Berquist froze. “Goddamn it, Janson. Do you see what you’ve done?”

Janson stared at the director of Consular Operations. “An interesting song for a hawk,” he said with a half smile.