56

New York

Mitch saw the morning headlines on a rack of Daily News at Perm Station:

RIOT IN FRONT OF CAPITOL

Senate Stormed

Four Senators Die; Dozens Dead,

Thousands Injured

He and Kaye had spent the night eating by candlelight and making love. Very romantic, very out of touch. They had parted just an hour ago; Kaye was getting dressed, choosing her colors carefully, expecting a difficult day.

He picked up a paper and boarded the train. As he took his seat and spread the paper open, the train began to pull out, picking up speed, and he wondered if Kaye was safe, whether the riot had been spontaneous or organized, whether it really mattered.

The people had spoken, or rather, snarled. They had had enough of failure and inaction in Washington. The president was meeting with security advisors, the joint chiefs of staff, the heads of select committees, the chief justice. To Mitch, that sounded like a soft approach preliminary to declaring martial law.

He did not want to be on the train. He could not see what Merton could do for him, or for Kaye; and he could not picture himself lecturing on bonehead bone-ology to college students and never setting foot on a dig again.

Mitch slipped the folded paper onto his seat and made his way down the aisle to the public phone box at the end of the car. He called Kaye’s number, but she had already left, and he did not think it would be politic to call her at Americol.

He took a deep breath, tried to calm himself, and returned to his seat.