As she passed through the atrium she noticed a man staring at her. In his gray suit he could have been any one of the thousands of Senate aides who worked on the Hill. He was good-looking, though, thirtyish, fair, tall, close-cropped blond hair, blue eyes, square jaw. But why was he staring at her like that? She wasn't dressed in any way to make her stand out from any of the other women passing through the atrium.

Nothing special about her sedate, navy pinstripe suit, just a knee-length skirt and a short fitted jacket. So why was he ogling her like she was wearing a micromini and a halter top?

It made her uncomfortable. She was glad when she found the bank of elevators. She turned a corner and put some of that white marble between them.

The elevator on the end was marked "Senators Only." Gin rode one of the brightly lit peon cars to the seventh floor and began to look for Senator Marsden's office.

The oEhces occupied the perimeter of the Hart Building, the hallway, actually a ramp that ran around the inner walls, overlooked the atrium and the sculpture. She noticed a gray, powdery coating on the upper surfaces of the mobile. The clouds needed a good dusting.

Down on the floor she noticed someone standing in the center of the atrium, becalmed while everyone else flowed around him. That same man, the one in the gray suit, was staring up at her.

What's year problem, mister?

She looked away and walked on. Quickly. She found 752 at the far end of the hall. A simple black nameplate on the oak door said Sen. H. Marsden.

Vertical blinds blocked her view through the full-length windows that flanked the entrance. She reached for the door, then hesitated.

This is ridiculous, she thought, blotting her moist palms on her skirt.

I've been through premed, med school, internal medicine residency, I've brought people back from the dead, I've been up to my elbows in blood and guts, and here I am nervous as a sixth grader outside the principal's office.