Like the spider’s web after which it was nicknamed, the expanding circles were each linked by connected, threading corridors, all glassed and therefore all visible to everyone along his route to the vice president’s inner sanctum. As he walked the gauntlet, Parnell was aware of the attention and recognition of people on either side, and recognized the point to the pretentious, outer-space laboratory design. No one could approach the spider-like man without being seen, to initiate the paranoia. Is he being promoted over me? Have I made a dismissable mistake? Am I being reprimanded? Am I going to be fired?

It was a good feeling, not to be afraid: to be sure enough of himself and his international reputation to do what he was about to do.

Professor Dwight Newton was thin to the point of being emaciated, a cadaverous face dominated – almost overwhelmed – by overly heavy, black-framed spectacles, stick-thin arms protruding from the sleeves of a white laboratory coat. Forewarned by his outside secretariat, Newton was standing, a tall man although still shorter than the broad-shouldered, athletically bodied Parnell.

‘Good to see you again, Dick! Good to see you! Sorry it hasn’t been sooner. Must say, though, I don’t understand your memo…’ There was a helpless sweeping gesture towards the empire beyond. ‘So much to keep a handle on… never a moment…’

‘It’s a big operation,’ acknowledged Parnell.

‘The biggest, worldwide,’ said Newton. ‘And you’re part of it now.’

Parnell said: ‘That’s what I very much want to be, part of it. But a proper part.’

Newton’s affability went out like a switched-off light. He picked up and let drop Parnell’s meeting request and said: ‘So what’s all this about keeping all your equipment on hold and not advertising for staff?’