Evans climbed into his car and slumped down on the seat beside the President. He looked at the new puppet Brandon had forced into his hand before he could refuse.
"Is Brandon Secretary of Taxation?" the President asked hopefully.
Evans shook his head from side to side. What had gone wrong? They had known Brandon was a stubborn man, that was why things were done as they were. The offering of worthless positions had been a feint. He should have grabbed at something he could handle. And the tax forms! That was supposed to be the last straw. They had been loaded, prepared just for Brandon, to break his resistence. Yet they had failed. Why?
"Did he suspect?" The President eyed Evans.
"I don't think so, Sir." Evans said. "I had the pen in his hand. He was ready to sign. Then something went wrong. I can't understand it!"
The President looked the other way, found his eyes fastened on his own reflection on the window. The cabinet had been wrong thinking it was a job for a psychologist like Evans. Brandon was an individual, a decided rarity in this day and age.
"I'm glad," the President said softly to the glass.
"What was that, Sir?"
The President turned. "I said, I'm glad he didn't sign."
"You can't mean that, Sir!"