After dinner, he and Lyra would be hosting an evening with Manny Garfield, the Pulitzer Prize–winning poet. He didn’t particularly care to spend two hours listening to poetry he didn’t even understand, but it was part of his responsibility as president. No way he could disappear from the proceedings. Next week, Maury Petain would be in to play his violin. Ray had warned the president against trying to pass himself off as a lover of the arts. Political enemies would accuse him of being an elitist. Cunningham had explained patiently: It wasn’t a matter of passing himself off as a lover of the arts. It was a matter of serving as a responsible host.

And anyhow, he had a taste for Rachmaninoff. What’s wrong with that? I’m president of the United States. I’ll listen to whatever music I want.

26

“Blood pressure: 127 over 68 . . . pulse, normal . . . heart, missing.”

Bucky sighed as he sat on the edge of his desk. “Most people get a doctor. Me, I get a comedian.”

“Just repeating what I read in the papers,” said the medic, with a smile.

“I thought it was my brain that was supposed to be missing.”

The medic shook his head. “The White House is claiming you could have hired more than two hundred thousand men and women for the money you’re spending on the Moon shot. That means you’ve cost two hundred thousand Americans and an unspecified number of illegal immigrants their jobs.”

“They really said that?” asked Bucky, amused.

“Don’t you listen to the news?”

“Not when I can help it.”

“Well, you’re a heartless, mendacious villain who’s costing us jobs,” said the medic.

“Can’t argue with that, not when Cunningham’s keeping a bunch of caddies and golf courses in business.” Bucky began putting on his shirt. “So, am I fit to go?”

“You’re fit to fly to Montana. You’re even fit to breathe in that thin mountain air. I don’t know if you’re fit to fly to the Moon.”

“I thought I passed all the tests back in your clinic last week,” said Bucky, frowning.

“And you were fit to go to the Moon last week. As for today, I can’t state it with certainty unless I run another barrage of tests.”

“Fortunately, you don’t have to. I’m the guy who makes the final decision.” Suddenly he grinned. “Admit it. Would you rather it was my hand on the button?”

“I thought we got rid of all our nukes.”

“Except for the ten or twelve thousand we held back for self-defense.”

“You’re really feeling your oats this week,” said the medic. “I think maybe the best thing we can do with you is stick you on the Moon.” He paused. “Do you really think Sidney Myshko landed there?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why?”

“Ask me when I get back.”

“If he didn’t land, are you coming back?”

Bucky smiled. “I’ve been wrong before, I’ll be wrong again. I’m not ashamed of it.” His face hardened. “But I’m not wrong this time.”

“I know you and the guy you hired away, Jerry what’s-his-name, think the two of you know something the rest of us don’t know. But answer me one question: If Myshko was the first man on the Moon, why the hell would he keep quiet about it?”

“That’s what I plan to find out.”

The medic shook his head. “You’re not following me. I mean, if it was me, if I was the first man on the Moon, nothing in the world could have kept me from bragging about it.”

“And nothing in the world did keep him from bragging about it,” agreed Bucky. The medic looked at him questioningly. “Something on the Moon kept him from bragging about it.”

“What?” insisted the medic. “Little green men?”

Bucky shook his head. “He’d have brought one back to show us. Or maybe they’d have kept him to show their people.”

“Then what could keep him quiet?”

“Like I said, ask me in a month.”

“You’re a very frustrating man to speak with,” said the medic grumpily. “I’ll bet your blood pressure hasn’t changed in an hour. Mine’s probably gone up forty points just during this conversation.”

Bucky laughed and put an arm around the medic’s shoulders. “Then we’d better get you out of here while you’re still alive,” he said, walking him to the door. “And thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for paying for the clinic’s new wing.”

“Well, you never know. I might get my face slapped by a beautiful redhead right in front of the clinic and have to come in to have you staunch the bleeding.”

The medic turned to face him. “You are a loud, vulgar, arrogant, brilliant, manipulative, conscienceless man, and I wish I didn’t like you so much, so that I could hate you just a little.”

“Don’t give up hope, Doc. Your day may come.”

The medic left the office, and Bucky sat down at his desk.

“He’s right, you know,” said Gloria, swiveling her chair to face him.

“Are you going to start in on me, too?” asked Bucky.

“No,” she said. “I happen to admire those qualities. It means the corporation won’t go under anytime soon.”

“I knew there was a reason I hired you, besides the way you look when you walk away.”

“I haven’t looked like that in twenty-five years,” said Gloria. “Well, twenty, anyway.”

“I have an active memory.”

“But thankfully you don’t have active hands, at least not around me.” She smiled. “There was a time when I wondered why not, what was wrong with me.”

He chuckled. “There was nothing wrong with you. You were just too damned valuable to me and this organization to take a chance of offending you to the point where you quit.”

She smiled. “That’s actually perfectly in keeping with my appraisal of you. You make selfishness a virtue.”

“Funny. It doesn’t sound like one when you describe it like that.” He pulled out a cigar and lit it. “Don’t tell the doctor.”

“My lips are sealed,” replied Gloria. “Don’t blow it this way, or I’ll have to seal my nostrils, too, and then how will I breathe?”

“Clint knows he has to be at the airfield at 3:30, right?” asked Bucky suddenly.

“That’s the third time you’ve asked,” said Gloria. “Yes, he knows he’s flying you and Jerry to Montana. The rest of your crew has been there since yesterday.”

“Just anxious to be off,” said Bucky.

“Why is Jerry going along? He’s not part of the Moon shot, so he’ll just have to come back once you take off.”

“Clint’s got to bring the jet back anyway, and we’ll have some local cameramen, as well as the national news, covering the takeoff, and I want Jerry there standing next to the ship for everyone to see, just like I want him waiting for us when we land in Nebraska after coming back from the Moon.” He paused. “You made a face.”

“I wrinkled my nose.”

“Same thing. What did I do wrong?”

“It’s liftoff, not takeoff.”

“Does anyone really care?” asked Bucky.

“The press will correct you.”

He smiled. “Let ’em. The public holds them in less esteem than used-car dealers and congressmen. If they criticize me, it’ll make me warmer and more human.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked dubiously.

“Probably not. But it sounds good.”

Suddenly, her computer came to life, and, a moment later, Ray Chambers’s face appeared on her screen.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “I believe you know who I am. I’d like to speak to Morgan Blackstone, please.”

Gloria turned questioningly toward Bucky, who nodded and faced his screen.

“Good afternoon, Morgan,” said Chambers’s image.

“It’s Bucky. What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling on behalf of the president.”