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"Ira Hagen, an old school chum of yours who used to be with the justice Department."
The President stared unseeing out the window as if recalling. "Seems like a lifetime since I've talked to Ira."
"No need to lie, Mr. President. You hired him to track down the ìnner core.' "
"I what?" The President acted genuinely surprised. Then he laughed. "You forget who I am. With one phone call I could have the entire capabilities of the FBI, CIA, and at least five other intelligence services on your ass."
"Then why haven't you?"
"Because I've questioned my science advisers and some pretty respected people in our space program. They agreed unanimously. The Jersey Colony is a pipedream. You talk a good scheme, Joe, but you're nothing but a fraud who sells hallucinations."
Hudson was caught off base. "I swear to God, Jersey Colony is a reality."
"Yes, it sits midway between Oz and Shangri-la."
"Believe me, Vince, when our first colonists return from the moon, your announcement will fire the imagination of the world."
The President ignored the presumptuous use of his first name. "What you'd really like me to announce is a make-believe battle with the Russians over the moon. Just what is your angle? Are you some kind of Hollywood publicity flack who's trying to hype a space movie, or are you an escaped mental patient?"
Hudson could not suppress a flash of fury. "You idiot!" he snapped. "You can't turn your back on the greatest scientific achievement in history."
"Watch me." The President picked up the car phone. "Roger, pull up and stop. My guest is getting out."
On the other side of the glass divider, the Secret Service chauffeur raised one hand from the wheel and nodded in understanding. Then he notified the other vehicles of the President's order. A minute later the motorcade turned onto a quiet residential side street and stopped at the curb.
The President reached over and opened the door. "The end of the line, Joe. I don't know what your fantasy is with Ira Hagen, but if I hear of his death, I'll be the first to testify at your trial that you threatened his life. That is, of course, if your execution hasn't already been carried out for committing mass murder in a swank restaurant."
In an angry daze, Hudson slowly climbed from the limousine. He hesitated, bent half in, half out of the car. "You're making a terrible mistake," he said accusingly.
"It won't be a new experience," the President said, dismissing him.
The President leaned back in his seat and smiled smugly to himself. A masterful performance, he thought. Hudson was off balance and building barricades on the wrong streets. Moving up the unveiling of the Leopoldville memorial by a week was a shrewd move. An inconvenience to the veterans who attended perhaps, but a boon to an old spook like Hagen.
Hudson stood on a grassy parkway and watched the motorcade grow smaller before turning on the next cross street, his mind confused and disoriented. "Goddamned mud-brained bureaucrat!" he shouted in frustration.
A woman walking her dog on the sidewalk gave him a distasteful look indeed.
An unmarked Ford van eased to a stop, and Hudson climbed inside. The interior was plush with leather captain's chairs spaced around a highly polished redwood table. Two men, impeccably dressed in business suits, looked at him expectantly as he slipped tiredly into a chair.
"How did it go?" asked one.
"The dumb bastard threw me out," he said in exasperation. "Claims he hasn't seen Ira Hagen in years and couldn't care less if we killed him and blew up the restaurant."
"I'm not surprised," said an intense-looking man with a square red face and a condor nose. "The guy is pragmatic as hell."
Gunnar Eriksen sat with a dead pipe stuck between his lips. "What else?" he asked.
"Said he believed the Jersey Colony was a hoax."
"Did he recognize you?"
"I don't think so. He still called me Joe."
"Could be an act."
"He was pretty convincing."
Eriksen turned to the other man. "How do you read it?"
