His coat was flipped onto the hook of the stand, alongside the i oat of the Country Chief.

You'd better come in, you'd better talk.'

He look a plastic cup and filled it with water from the dispenser. He walked across the deserted outer office and through the open door and into the Country Chief's office. It was a lowering, dark evening outside, and there was rain in the heavy cloud that settled over the square. He was waved to a seat.

Dwight Smythe shrugged. 'I reckon, Ray, I can cope with most sort of men. I failed with that bastard. Is he some sort of zealot? I thought Quantico was supposed to weed that sort. Right, he's rude, I can live with that. Right, he's aggressive, I can handle it.

Where we part company, he elbows into a small and unsuspecting life, a young woman's life, and puts together a web to trap her, and does it cold. Me, I'm surplus to requirements, the chauffeur that's no longer needed.'

'Did you read his file?'

'No.'

'Do you know about him?'

'Not before I picked him up yesterday.'

'Happy to make a judgement?'

'My assessment of him, yes, I feel comfortable with it.'

'My opinion, Dwight, you're a lucky guy.'

'How come, Ray, I'm a lucky guy?'

'A lucky guy, Dwight, because you have personnel and accounts and running this station to keep busy with.' The eyes needled on Dwight Smythe. 'You have fuck-all of nothing to worry about.'

'That is not fair.'

'And true as hell. You, Dwight, are promotion material. You keep the leave charts regular, you keep wiping your ass, you keep the budget and expenses in blue, you keep your butt clean, you keep us all in surplus paper-clips, and you don't have to worry because that is promotion material. It's the road, Dwight, to the big office back home and the pile carpet, but it's not that joker's road.'

'That is not fair, Ray, because without administration-'