'He's very creative keeping score,' said the oldest staffer on the right. 'He cheats.'
'At any rate,' continued Evan, waiting until the grins—mostly forced—had left the assembled faces. 'I meant it when I said I wanted to be completely frank with you, Mr. Vice President. These are the things I have to think about. I've lost four, almost five years, of a career—a business—I worked extremely hard to develop. I was short-circuited by a mad killer and forced to sell because people were afraid to work for me. He's dead and things have changed; they're getting back to normal, but the European competition is heavy. Can I do it by myself or should I actively campaign for the ticket and, if I succeed, have certain guarantees that result from holding the office? On the other hand, do I really want to spend the additional years and the enormous amounts of time and energy that go with the job?… These are questions only I can answer, sir. I hope you understand.'
And then Kendrick heard the words he had hoped beyond hope to hear—hope in this case far more meaningful than in his statement to Bollinger.
'I know it's late for your staff, Orson,' said the tall, lanky man in the open shirt that set off his suntanned flesh, 'but I'd like to talk a little further.'
'Yes, certainly,' agreed the Vice President, turning to his aides. 'These poor fellas have been up since dawn, what with the dreadful news about Ardis and all. Go home, boys, and have Christmas with your families—I brought all the wives and kids out here on Air Force Two, Evan, so they could be together.'
'Very thoughtful, sir.'
Thoughtful, hell. Maybe they all have black belts… You're dismissed, troops. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve, and if I remember correctly, the next day's Christmas. So unless the Ruskies blow up Washington, I'll see you in three days.'
'Thank you, Mr. Vice President.'
'You're very kind, sir.'
'We can stay, if you wish,' said the oldest, as each successively got out of his chair.
'And have you mauled by your two associates?' asked Bollinger, grinning at the expressions of the others. 'I wouldn't hear of it. On your way out, send in the butler. We might as well have a brandy while we solve all the world's problems.'
See-No-Evil, Speak-No-Evil and Hear-No-Evil left the room, programmed robots reacting to a familiar marching tune. The man in the gold-buttoned navy blue blazer leaned forward in his chair, his stomach making it difficult for him. 'You want to talk frankly, Congressman? Real frank and real honest? Well, we're going to do that.'
'I don't understand, Mr… I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.'
'Cut the shit-shit!' exclaimed the florid Bostonian. 'I've heard better crap from the ward heelers in Southie.'
'You may fool the pols in DC,' said the small man in the too-large chair, 'but we're businessmen, too, Kendrick. You've got something to offer and maybe—just maybe—we've got something to offer.'
'How do you enjoy southern California, Congressman?' The tall man with the open shirt and the outstretched legs spoke loudly as a butler entered the room.
'Nothing, nothing,' exclaimed Bollinger, addressing the servant. 'Never mind. Leave us.'
'I'm sorry, sir, I have a message for you,' said the butler, handing the Vice President a note.
Bollinger read it; his face at first grew red, then rapidly paled. 'Tell him to wait,' he ordered. The butler left the room. 'Where were we?'
'At a price,' said the man from Boston. 'That's what we're talkin' about, isn't it, Congressman?'
'That's a little blunt,' answered Evan. 'But the term is in the realm of possibility.'
'You should understand,' said the small man with the pinched face, 'that you passed through two separate powerful detectors. You may get sick from the X rays but you have no recording machines on you.'
'They'd be the last things I'd want.'
'Good,' said the tall man, getting out of the chair as
