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an approved question session, so nothing has been through the boys.’ He winked at me, leant over and held the door shut until the driver rounded my side of the car and opened it.
    â€˜My lips are sealed,’ I smiled, ‘no need to worry. I know the drill.’ As I uncoiled from the back seat of the Mercedes, camera flashes lit the darkness, catching me for a split second, painting my face white and hair grey. These would be good pictures for the morning papers—good pictures of my new grunge image. The last company polling had revealed a dip in the past six months in the youth groups. My jeans and baggy sweater, and the new messed hair that cost a fortune to perfect, would be across the inside pages of all the tabloids in the morning, helping improve my ratings with the young.
    The rain was a mere drizzle now, just enough to dampen but not flatten my hair. I paused to sign four or five autographs and turned to a new battery of photographers.
    â€˜Jack, Jack.’ Two reporters broke from behind the photographers, both flashing hand-held recorders in my direction as though offering prizes. ‘Jack, just a couple of questions, please.’
    â€˜Come on, chaps, you know the rules,’ said Bebe from his customary position just behind my left shoulder.
    â€˜Sure,’ I said to the reporters. Bebe closed in on me, grabbed my elbow and attempted to guide me toward the open hotel door. He knew Taikon strictly prohibited any comments by me unless made at a press conference where my appearance wasthe product of hours of preparation. Much like a presidential TV debate, questions were anticipated and answers formulated by a select group of advisers. All I did was remember the script. Saying anything impromptu in a situation like this would be taken badly by the company executives, and Bebe would be held to account. I know he apologised, but he really shouldn’t have made that comment about Caroline.
    â€˜What’s your response to Frank Driesler’s recent comments, Jack?’
    â€˜Much the same as I felt about his old ones.’ I saw the look of surprise on the journalists’ faces. They knew how choreographed I was; suddenly they sensed a story and moved closer. Bebe’s grip tightened and I felt his spindly fingers dig into the flesh of my arm. He was pushing toward the door with his body now, but I resisted and held firm. ‘In fact he doesn’t seem to have anything new to say, but I guess that’s what you get when you only have one idea.’ I sensed the crowd around heave closer as other journalists closed in on this unexpected bonus.
    One reporter took a more decisive step and blocked my route to the hotel door. ‘How do you feel about these attacks, Mr Mitchell? Driesler seems to be getting personal.’ Even before I answered I saw a disturbance in the crowd closest to the hotel door as minders from inside, now aware of what was happening, came forward to pull me away from the reporters. My actions had taken them by surprise. They should have been outside waiting for me, but because I never stopped they had become lazy. Great security. Imagine if the man in front of me was a madman with a gun. Bebe was pushing again and so I was jammed up tight to the reporter. I leaned toward his tape recorder.
    â€˜I’ll tell you how I feel.’ Suddenly Bebe was using all hisstrength and for a moment I thought he might move me. ‘I want Driesler to put up or shut up. It’s easy for him to sit there and crap on about how he’s got this marvellously different way of doing science and it shows I’m wrong, but where’s the proof of what he’s saying? Well, I’m sick of waiting, sick of his stalling and promises to reveal all when the time is right. Come on, Frank, put whatever it is on the table and open it to peer review. Let’s see what you’re talking about. Until then I suggest you shut up.’
    Hands on my shoulder from