When Justice had finished at the urinal he came over to the row of washbasins, one removed from where Harper stood, and began to soap his hands. Harper studied him as he replaced the towel on its rack. Nondescript; average height, average weight, brown hair and brown eyes, no distinguishing features or marks. A cipher in every respect. He knew that the President had been spending a considerable amount of time with the man lately, discussing God knew what as if they were intimate friends, and he wished he understood what it was about Justice that inspired this confidence. That fawning deference of his, perhaps; Augustine had always had a weakness for people who told him he was right, strong, a great leader.

Harper said, “Have you talked to the President this morning, Justice?”

Justice straightened, as if coming to attention. “Yes sir,” he said. Colorless voice, too, full of servility. “I just left the Oval Office.”

“Did he say anything about the press conference yesterday?”

“Well, he feels people misunderstood his remark on Israel.”

“Of course. Which is exactly why he should not have made it.”

“Sir?”

“Suppose you were a Jew,” Harper said. “How would you feel about the President today?”

“I’m not a Jew, Mr. Harper.”

“Do you know any Jews?”

“Yes sir.”

“Have you talked to any of them this morning?”

“No sir.”

“Maybe you should, Justice. Maybe you should.”

Harper caught up his briefcase and went to the door. As he turned the knob he glanced back at Justice, saw him standing before the basin and frowning slightly into the mirror. An odd feeling of satisfaction touched Harper; he nodded once at Justice’s reflection and then opened the door and went out.