that's not vying for his services, and the private sector has offered him contracts reserved for former presidents and secretaries of state at least twice his age.'
'He must be a hell of a lawyer or the youngest foreign service expert on record,' interjected Margaret Lowell.
'He's neither,' countered the white-haired spokesman of Inver Brass. 'He's considered the foremost technologist of computer science in the country, perhaps in the West. Fortunately for us, he comes from considerable wealth and isn't tempted by private industry. In his way he's as committed as Milos Varak in pursuit of the nation's excellence… In essence, he was one of us when he understood his gifts.' Winters leaned forward over the table and pressed an ivory button. 'Will you come in, please?'
The heavy door of the extraordinary library opened and in the frame stood a young man still in his twenties. What set him apart from most others of his age were his striking looks; it was as though he had walked out of a glossy advertisement for men's fashions in an expensive magazine. Yet his clothes were subdued, neither tailored nor cheap… just ordinarily neat. It was the chiselled, nearly idealized Grecian face that was startling.
'He should forget computers,' said Jacob Mandel quietly. 'I have friends at the William Morris Agency. They'll get him a television series.'
'Do come in, please,' interrupted Winters, placing his hand over Mandel's arm. 'And, if you will, introduce yourself.’
The young man walked confidently but without arrogance to the west end of the table below the black cylinder that when lowered was a screen. He stood for a moment looking down at the pools of light on the table.
'It's a particular honour for me to be here,' he said pleasantly. 'My name is Gerald Bryce, and I am currently director of GCO, Department of State.'
'GCO?' asked Mandel. 'Another alphabet?'
'Global Computer Operations, sir.'
* * *
The California sun streamed through the windows of the hospital room as Khalehla, her arms around Evan, gradually released him. She sat back on the bed above him and smiled wanly, her eyes glistening from the residue of tears, her light olive skin so pale. 'Welcome to the land of the living,' she said, gripping his hand.
'Glad to be here,' whispered Kendrick weakly, staring at her. 'When I opened my eyes, I wasn't sure it was you or whether I was… whether they were playing more tricks on me.'
'Tricks?'
'They took my clothes… I was in some old corduroy pants—then I was back in my suit—my blue—’
'Your “congressional threads”, I believe you called them,' interrupted Khalehla gently. 'You'll have to get another suit, my darling. What was left of your trousers after they cut them away was beyond a tailor.'
'Extravagant girl… Christ, do you know how good it is to see you? I never thought I'd see you again—it made me so goddamned angry.'
'I know how good it is to see you. That hotel carpet has been worn through… Rest now; we'll talk later. You just woke up and the doctors said—’
'No… To hell with the doctors, I want to know what's happened. How's Emilio?'
'He'll make it, but one lung is gone and his hip is shattered. He'll never walk properly again, but he's alive.'
'He doesn't have to walk, just sit in a captain's chair.'
'What?'
'Forget it… The island. It's called Passage to China—’
'We know,' broke in Khalehla firmly. 'Since you're so rotten stubborn, let me do the talking… What you and Carallo did was incredible—’
'Carallo?… Emilio?'
'Yes. I've seen the photographs—my God, what a mess! The fire spread everywhere, especially over the east side of the island. The house, the grounds, even the dock where the other boats exploded—gone; all gone. By the time the Navy choppers arrived with Marine assault troops, everyone on the place was
