Senator--an honest
effort to get a day's work done."

"You mean to tell me the meeting that's been set up here is routine?"

Brent shrugged. "Meetings are meetings, Senator."

Crane ticked it off on his fat fingers. "Pender of the Army, Bright of
the Navy, Jones of the Air Force, Hagen of the FBI, Wilson from
Treasury--they all trooped through here into your private conference
room." He pointed pompously at his own chest. "But Crane of the
Senate--"

"You forgot Birch of the State Department," Brent cut in. "Or hasn't he
arrived yet?"

"--Crane of the Senate is barred! Now just what in the hell--?"

There are times for tact and times for bluntness, and this was a time,
Brent decided, for the latter. "What goes on here, Senator," he said,
"is none of your business. Otherwise, you would have been invited."

Crane's face darkened and Brent thought pleasantly of a brain hemorrhage
blowing the top of his fat head off. But this was too much to hope for.

"Brent," Crane exploded, "I'll get you! So help me, I'll get you! Just
who the hell do you think you are--demeaning the dignity of the United
States Senate? Just who are you to say what the people should or should
not know?"

"Decisions of that nature are made upstairs, Senator. I don't presume to
possess the judgment needed in such matters."

"You're an arrogant bureaucrat! Your kind comes and goes because when
you get too goddamned arrogant the people rise up in their wrath and
knock you off."

Marcia Holly, Brent's secretary, was studiously transcribing some notes
and Brent turned his scowl on her because, damn it, she was laughing
like hell at the whole thing. And, by God, a secretary didn't have the
right to laugh at a United States Senator, even with her eyes, no matter
how much a congenital idiot he was.

"I'm sorry, Senator," Brent said. "If you have a complaint, please take
it up with my superiors. Just now I--"

"Your superiors? And who the devil are they? Who can find them? Where do
they have offices? Go around trying to find your superiors and nobody
ever heard of you."

Brent half smiled as he felt a sneaking admiration for Crane. The
son-of-a-bitch had a disarming quality of honesty. If he planned to
knife you, he drove straight in, the knife held high.

"One of the disadvantages of being a negative personality, Senator,"
Brent murmured.

"Sure! You're about as negative as a charging grizzly," Crane snorted
and headed for the door as though