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think?”
    “Well, Mr. Tomlinson—”
    “Frank.”
    “Um, okay, Frank … I don’t know much about politics, and even less about how a political campaign is run.”
    Tomlinson actually laughed. “That’s no problem, Jake. I’m surrounded by campaign managers, aides, volunteers. They all tell me they know exactly how to get me elected.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “What I need is somebody who knows about science. What I need is an issue, a new idea, something that will show that I’m different from Leeds. Different and better.”
    “A new issue.”
    “Sure! Like Jack Kennedy and going to the Moon. Something exciting. Something to get people stirred up.”
    “I see.”
    Tomlinson leaned forward in the chair, toward Jake. In a voice that suddenly was deadly serious, he asked, “Think you can find me a new idea that I can campaign on?”
    And Jake wanted to do it. He looked into Tomlinson’s sapphire blue eyes and saw that they were unwavering, deadly earnest. He realized that he wanted to help this man succeed.
    “I can try,” he said.
    Tomlinson’s smile returned. “That’s all I can ask of you, Jake. Try your best.”
    “I will.”
    “Good. You come up with an electable issue and I’ll name you as my science advisor.”
    “How quickly will you need it?”
    Tomlinson cocked his head slightly, calculating. “It’s August now. The election’s next November. That gives us fifteen months.”
    “Fifteen months,” Jake echoed.
    Raising a warning finger, Tomlinson said, “But we’ll need that issue long before then, of course. I’ve got to decide whether I’ll file for the race by the end of the year. I’ll need a good issue from you before then.”
    “In four months?”
    “Sooner, Jake. In a few weeks, if you can.”
    “I’ll do it,” Jake promised.
    “Good! Wonderful!” Tomlinson got to his feet and Jake hauled himself up to stand beside him. He realized that he was actually an inch or so taller than Tomlinson.
    “I’ll have something for you in a couple of weeks,” Jake promised.
    Tomlinson took Jake’s hand in both of his own. “I’ll look forward to it.” He led Jake toward the door of the library. “In the meantime, enjoy the party.”
    “Thanks.”
    As he reached for the doorknob, Tomlinson said, with a sly grin, “You’ll enjoy politics, Jake. Great way to meet women.”

AMY WEXLER
    The party was still going strong, dozens of people talking, laughing, drinking. Jake watched as a pair of older men, both portly, both in dark business suits, came up to Tomlinson.
    “Where’s your jacket, Frankie?” one of them demanded; he was bald, florid-faced. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the din of the others.
    “I left it in the library,” said Tomlinson, with a good-natured smile.
    The bald man shook his head disapprovingly. “If you’re going to be a United States senator—”
    Raising a warning hand, Tomlinson said, “I haven’t made up my mind about that yet.”
    The other old man smiled knowingly. “Yes you have, you just don’t want to admit it in public yet.”
    “Now, really, Mr. McPherson…”
    Jake felt a tug on his sleeve. Turning, he saw Amy Wexler standing beside him. She leaned toward him and said into his ear, “How did it go?”
    “Okay, I guess.”
    “You’re going to join the staff?”
    “I don’t know. Mr. Tomlinson wants a good idea to campaign on.”
    Her sculpted face looked somewhere between curious and skeptical. “A good idea?”
    Jake nodded. The party seemed noisier than ever, and he didn’t like shouting to make himself heard.
    Amy seemed to understand. Taking his arm in her grip, she tugged him toward the French doors. As he meekly followed her Jake glimpsed Bob Rogers in the crowd, talking earnestly with a stubby little guy who looked vaguely familiar: maybe a news anchor from one of the local TV stations, Jake thought.
    Amy led Jake through the French doors and out onto the patio. It was still blazing August hot outside, but