ease the new settlers through the rigours of their first night.
There were, of course, the discordant, even jarring items. The helicopters, the tracked anti-aircraft guns, the patrolling aimed men, the army engineers at a distance on either side busily erecting steel barricades-those did tend to project a disturbing hint of violence to come. And yet they were not entirely alien there: so bizarre were the circumstances that the normal would have tended to look sadly out of place. The unreality of it all, when matched up against the outside world, had its own strange reality in this particular point in time and place. And for those participating in the scene, the reality of their situation was all too self-evident. No one smiled.
The cameras were in position, so were the hostages, the three newly arrived men and, behind them in the second row, sat the journalists. The photographers had taken up positions best suited to themselves, none of them more than a few feet distant from an armed guard. Facing them, in solitary splendour, sat Branson. Close by him on the ground lay a peculiar object, a length of heavy canvas with cone-shaped objects embedded in it: beside it lay a heavy metal box, its lid closed.
'I will not detain you unnecessarily, gentlemen,' Branson said. Whether or not he was enjoying his moment of glory, the knowledge that he held some of the most powerful men in the world at his complete mercy, the consciousness that a hundred million people were looking at and listening to him, was quite impossible to say. He was calm, relaxed, unnervingly confident of and in himself, but displaying no other visible emotion. 'You will have guessed why we all find ourselves here and why I am here.'
The reason Why I'm here, I take it,' Quarry said.
'Exactly.'
'You will bear in mind that, unlike you, I am not a law unto myself. The final decision is not mine.'
'Appreciated.' Branson could have been conducting some urbane seminar in an Ivy college. 'That comes later. First things first, don't you think, Mr Quarry?'
'Money.'
'Money.'
'How much?' Quarry's reputation for disconcerting bluntness bad been easily earned.
'One moment, Mr Secretary.' The President had his weaknesses no less than the two 'hundred million people for whom he was the elected head of state and high on the list was an almost pathological dislike of being upstaged. 'What do you want this money for, Branson?'
'What's that got to do with it, supposing it's any of your business?'
'It is my business. I must state categorically if you want it for any subversive activities, for any evil practices whatsoever, and especially for any anti-American activities - well, I tell you here and now that you can have my body first Who am I compared to America?"
Branson nodded approval. 'Stoutly spoken, Mr President, especially considering the fact that you have left your speech writers behind. I hear the voice of our founding fathers, the clarion call of the conscience that lies at the grass-roots of America. The Grand Old Party are going to love you for that. It should be worth another two million votes come November. However, quite apart from the fact that you don't mean a word you say, I have to reassure you that this money is required for purely apolitical purposes. It's for a private trust, in fact. Branson Enterprises, Inc. Me.'
The President wasn't a man to be easily knocked off stride, if he were he wouldn't have been President 'You have just mentioned the word "conscience". You have none?'
'I don't honestly know,' Branson said frankly. 'Where money is concerned, none. Most of the really wealthy men in the world are moral cripples, basically criminally-minded types who maintain a facade of spurious legality by hiring lawyers as morally crippled as they are themselves.' Branson appeared to muse. 'Multi-millionaires, politicians, lawyers-which of them lies furthest beyond the moral pale? But don't answer that-I may unintentionally be putting you in an invidious
There were, of course, the discordant, even jarring items. The helicopters, the tracked anti-aircraft guns, the patrolling aimed men, the army engineers at a distance on either side busily erecting steel barricades-those did tend to project a disturbing hint of violence to come. And yet they were not entirely alien there: so bizarre were the circumstances that the normal would have tended to look sadly out of place. The unreality of it all, when matched up against the outside world, had its own strange reality in this particular point in time and place. And for those participating in the scene, the reality of their situation was all too self-evident. No one smiled.
The cameras were in position, so were the hostages, the three newly arrived men and, behind them in the second row, sat the journalists. The photographers had taken up positions best suited to themselves, none of them more than a few feet distant from an armed guard. Facing them, in solitary splendour, sat Branson. Close by him on the ground lay a peculiar object, a length of heavy canvas with cone-shaped objects embedded in it: beside it lay a heavy metal box, its lid closed.
'I will not detain you unnecessarily, gentlemen,' Branson said. Whether or not he was enjoying his moment of glory, the knowledge that he held some of the most powerful men in the world at his complete mercy, the consciousness that a hundred million people were looking at and listening to him, was quite impossible to say. He was calm, relaxed, unnervingly confident of and in himself, but displaying no other visible emotion. 'You will have guessed why we all find ourselves here and why I am here.'
The reason Why I'm here, I take it,' Quarry said.
'Exactly.'
'You will bear in mind that, unlike you, I am not a law unto myself. The final decision is not mine.'
'Appreciated.' Branson could have been conducting some urbane seminar in an Ivy college. 'That comes later. First things first, don't you think, Mr Quarry?'
'Money.'
'Money.'
'How much?' Quarry's reputation for disconcerting bluntness bad been easily earned.
'One moment, Mr Secretary.' The President had his weaknesses no less than the two 'hundred million people for whom he was the elected head of state and high on the list was an almost pathological dislike of being upstaged. 'What do you want this money for, Branson?'
'What's that got to do with it, supposing it's any of your business?'
'It is my business. I must state categorically if you want it for any subversive activities, for any evil practices whatsoever, and especially for any anti-American activities - well, I tell you here and now that you can have my body first Who am I compared to America?"
Branson nodded approval. 'Stoutly spoken, Mr President, especially considering the fact that you have left your speech writers behind. I hear the voice of our founding fathers, the clarion call of the conscience that lies at the grass-roots of America. The Grand Old Party are going to love you for that. It should be worth another two million votes come November. However, quite apart from the fact that you don't mean a word you say, I have to reassure you that this money is required for purely apolitical purposes. It's for a private trust, in fact. Branson Enterprises, Inc. Me.'
The President wasn't a man to be easily knocked off stride, if he were he wouldn't have been President 'You have just mentioned the word "conscience". You have none?'
'I don't honestly know,' Branson said frankly. 'Where money is concerned, none. Most of the really wealthy men in the world are moral cripples, basically criminally-minded types who maintain a facade of spurious legality by hiring lawyers as morally crippled as they are themselves.' Branson appeared to muse. 'Multi-millionaires, politicians, lawyers-which of them lies furthest beyond the moral pale? But don't answer that-I may unintentionally be putting you in an invidious
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