Cutlass laughed easily. "To be expected, Mr. Prescott. They thought my last one was too much to take, but it went through! As this one shall. I can assure you of that."
"I see." Prescott made a brief notation. "What reaction do you expect from the corporations? If, that is, the President—"
"Oh, they've a powerful lobby of course. But, my boy—and of course this is off the record—it's simply a matter of putting the pressu—er, persuasion in the right places. The corporations will—I think they'll come around all right."
Prescott added to his notes.
"Is this new tax bill, Senator, to be your last for this session, or do you contemplate—"
Cutlass' chuckle was as velvety as the silent roll of the limousine's white-walled tires.
"My dear young man," he murmured, "I can't answer that question for the record. It depends to such a large extent on the many—rather personal considerations involved. But of course for a political reporter that should hardly be news."
Mentally, Prescott ground his teeth. "No, it's never been news, Senator," he raged silently. "You—you goddamned old pirate!"
In another Space, in another Time, an old man waited for a third signal.
But it never came.