trust whose twin aims were to understand and alleviate mental illness. He saw his job as making sure that administrative and financial problems did not distract the medical people from their work. Billie liked him.
His office had been the dining room of the original Victorian mansion, and it still had the fireplace and the ceiling mouldings. He waved Billie to a chair and said: 'Did you speak to the people from the Sowerby Foundation this morning?'
'Yes. Len was showing them around, and I joined the party. Why?' .
He did not answer her question. 'Do you think you could have said anything to offend them?'
She frowned, mystified. 'I don't think so. We just talked about the new wing.'
'You know, I really wanted you to get the job of Director of Research.'
She was alarmed. 'I don't like your use of the past tense!'
He went on: 'Len Ross is a competent scientist, but you're exceptional. You've achieved more than him and you're ten years younger.'
'The Foundation is backing Len for the job?'
He hesitated, looking awkward. 'I'm afraid they're insisting on it, as a condition of their grant.'
'The hell they are!' Billie was stunned.
'Do you know anyone connected with the Foundation?'
Yes. One of my oldest friends is a trustee. His name is Anthony Carroll, he's godfather to my son.'
'Why is he on the board? What does he do for a living?'
'He works for the State Department, but his mother is very wealthy, and he's involved with several charities.'
'Does he have a grudge against you?'
For a moment, Billie slipped back in time. She had been angry with Anthony, after the catastrophe that led to Luke's leaving Harvard, and they never dated again. But she forgave him because of how he behaved toward Elspeth. Elspeth had gone into a decline, letting her academic work slide, and was in danger of failing to graduate. She walked around in a daze, a pale ghost with long red hair, getting thinner and missing classes. It was Anthony who rescued her. They became close, though the relationship was a friendship rather than a romance. They studied together, and she caught up enough to pass. Anthony won back Billie's respect, and they had been friends ever since.
Now she told Charles: 'I got kind of mad at him, back in 1941, but we made it up long ago.'
'Maybe someone on the board admires Len's work.'
Billie considered. 'Len's approach is different from mine. He's a Freudian, he looks for psychoanalytical explanations. If a patient suddenly loses the ability to read, he assumes they have some unconscious fear of literature, a fear that is being suppressed. I would always look for damage to the brain as the likeliest cause.'
'So there might be a keen Freudian on the board who is against you.'
T guess.' Billie sighed. 'Can they do this? It seems so unfair.'
'It's certainly unusual,' Charles said. 'Foundations normally make a point of not interfering with decisions requiring professional expertise. But there's no law against it'
'Well, I'm not going to take this lying down. What reason did they give?'
'I got an informal call from the chairman. He told me the board feels Len is better qualified.'
Billie shook her head. 'There has to be another explanation.'
'Why don't you ask your friend?'
'That's exactly what I'm going to do,' she said.
.
3.45 P. M.
A stroboscope was used to determine exactly where weights should be placed so that the spinning tub would be perfectly balanced - otherwise the inner cage would vibrate within the outer frame, causing the whole assembly to disintegrate.
Luke had looked at his street map of Washington before leaving the Georgetown University campus. 'The Institute was in a park called the Mall. He checked his watch as he drove along K Street He would be at the Smithsonian in about ten minutes. Assuming it took him another five to find the lecture theatre, he should arrive as the talk was ending. Then he would find out who he was.
It was almost eleven hours since he had awakened to this horror. Yet, because he could remember nothing from before five o'clock this morning, it seemed to have been going on all his life.
He turned right on 9th Street, heading south towards the Mall with high hopes. A few moments later, he heard a police siren blip once, and his heart skipped a beat He looked in his rear-view mirror. A police cruiser was on his tail, lights flashing. There were two cops o the front seat. One pointed toward the right-hand kerb and mouthed: 'Pull over.'
Luke was devastated. He had almost made it.
Could it be that he had committed some minor traffic violation, and they wanted to ticket him? Even if that were all, they would still ask for his driving license, and he had no kind of identification. Anyway, this was not about a minor traffic violation. He was driving a stolen car. He had calculated that the theft would go unreported until the owner got back from Philadelphia later tonight, but something had gone wrong. They intended to arrest him.
But they would have to catch him first He clicked into escape mode. Ahead of him on the one-way street was a long truck. Without further thought, he stamped on the gas pedal and pulled around the truck.
The cops switched on their siren and followed.
Luke pulled in front of the truck, going fast Acting on instinct now, he yanked the parking brake and spun the wheel hard to the right The Ford went into a long skid, turning as it did so. The truck swerved left to avoid it, forcing the patrol car all the way over to the left side of the street Luke shifted unto neutral to prevent the car stalling. It came to rest facing the wrong way. He put it into drive again and stepped on the gas, heading against the traffic on the one-way street Cars veered wildly left and right to avoid a head-on collision. Luke swung right to miss a city bus, then clipped a station wagon, but ploughed on amid a chorus of indignant horns. An old prewar Lincoln swung onto the sidewalk and hit a lamp post. A motorcyclist lost control and fell off his machine. Luke hoped he was not badly hurt He made it to the next crossing and swung right onto a broad avenue. He raced two blocks, running red lights, then looked in his mirror. There was no sign of the police car. '
He turned again, heading south now. He was lost, but he knew the Mall was to his south. Now that the patrol car was out of sight, he would have been safer to drive normally. However, it was four o'clock, and he was farther away from the Smithsonian than he had been five minutes ago. If he was late, the audience would have gone. He stepped on the gas again.
The southbound street he was on dead-ended, and he was forced to turn right. He tried to watch for street names as he sped along, swerving around slower vehicles. He was on D Street. After a minute he came to 7th and turned south.
His luck changed. All the lights were green. He hit seventy crossing Constitution Avenue, and he was in the park.
Across the lawn to his right, he saw a big dark-red building like a castle in a fairy tale. It was exactly where the map said the museum would be. He stopped the car and checked his watch. It was five past four. The audience would be leaving. He cursed and jumped out He ran across the grass. The secretary had told him the lecture was in the Aircraft Building around the back. Was this the front or the back? It looked like the front. To the side of the building was a path through a little garden. He followed it and came out on a wide two-way avenue. Still running, he found an elaborate iron gateway leading to the back entrance of the museum. To his right, beside a lawn, was what looked like an old aircraft hangar. He went inside.
He looked around. All kinds of aircraft were suspended from the ceiling: old biplanes, a wartime jet, and even the sphere of a hot-air balloon. At floor level were glass cases of aircraft insignia, flight clothing, aerial cameras, and photographs. Luke spoke to a uniformed guard, I'm here for the lecture on rocket fuels.'
'You're too late,' the man said, looking at his watch. 'It's ten past four, the lecture's over.'
'Where was it held? I might still catch the speaker.'
'I think he's gone.'
Luke stared hard at him and spoke slowly. 'Just answer the fucking question. Where?'
The man looked scared. 'Far end of the hall,' he said hastily.
Luke hurried the length of the building. At the end, a lecture theatre had been improvised, with a lectern,
