Haut walked out of the airport in Washington DC and was ushered to a bulletproof limousine. Inside it was his close friend and backer William B. Donnelly. They shook hands as the vehicle moved off.

‘Sorry to be so mysterious about where we’re headed,’ Donnelly said, tipping back his huge Akubra hat that Haut had given him as a gift, ‘but given your current circumstances it’s best to keep everything private. We’re going to a meeting that is about as high-powered as you can make in this town. Only Potus’ attendance would make it stronger. And believe me, he is aware it’s going on. I’m making sure your area comes to his attention. He has an interest in it.’

‘You’re talking about his uncle’s writing up of Tesla’s notes?’

‘I am.’

The limousine pulled up at the impressive European so-called ‘Second Empire’–designed Eisenhower Executive Office Building.

As they were alighting from the vehicle, Donnelly remarked, ‘Just sit back during the meeting. There may be a bun fight.’

‘Over what?’

‘Your services.’ The Texan snapped his fingers and added, ‘Before I forget. Your seismic techniques are being used big time in Texas. The president will be able to announce soon that America is a net producer in oil and gas. We are already the world’s number one producer, taking over from Saudi Arabia and Russia. Thanks to you, Al!’

‘Think nothing of it, William. I’ve just added a trillion to the US’s wealth!’

‘You’re right, you know.’

‘I was obligated to do it. The head of my church, Chuck Flynn, wanted me to protect Potus, which meant supporting him and his goals through prayer. I really had no choice.’

Guards in naval uniform escorted them to an elevator that took them to a third floor and the Diplomatic Reception Room. There were twenty-two people seated or standing around chatting. Donnelly began introducing Haut. He was soon immersed in a lather of names from the navy, the army, the air force, NASA, aerospace companies such as Lockheed Martin and Tielisten Allan, the CIA, the FBI and the National Security Agency.

A few minutes later the meeting was chaired by the commander in chief of the navy, Admiral Richard Ingram, a well-built sixty-year-old with the bull neck of an ex-weightlifter who still worked out. Haut sat in pride of place next to him at the head of the table. Ingram called for comment from the CIA deputy director, the lean 44-year-old Melody Smith, the only woman at the table.

‘We have been involved with Mr Haut for some time,’ she said with a grin of acknowledgement to Haut. ‘We believe we should be his continuing case officer, if you will. He is, I believe, comfortable with our people now dealing with him at the Roosevelt. We have the resource, the skills and the firepower …’

The mention of ‘firepower’ caused Ingram to interrupt her.