Norton laughed at him.
“A half million, then.”
“Remember that excommunication, senator. It’s got to be worth my while to take a chance like that.”
“A million,” said the senator. “And that’s absolutely final.”
“A million now,” said Norton. “Cold cash. No receipt. No record of the transaction. Another million when and if I can deliver.”
The senator rose slowly to his feet, his face a mask to hide the excitement that was stirring in him. The excitement and the naked surge of exultation. He kept his voice level.
“I’ll deliver that million before the week is over.”
Norton said: “I’ll start looking into things.”
On the street outside, the senator’s step took on a jauntiness it had not known in years. He walked along briskly, flipping his cane.
Those others, Carson and Galloway and Henderson, had disappeared, exactly as he would have to disappear once he got his extra hundred years. They had arranged to have their own deaths announced and then had dropped from sight, living against the day when immortality would be a thing to be had for the simple asking.