There was a certain type of girl who delighted in this knowledge - they assumed he would need mothering. Several of them entered his bed, but none of them became part of his life. But he hid nothing from the people he was summoned to see twelve times a year. They couldn't tolerate deception of any kind, and were highly suspicious of his real motives when they learned of his father's criminal record. He told them simply that he wished to make amends for his father's disgrace, and refused to discuss the subject any further. At first they didn't believe him. After a time they took him on his own terms, but it was still to be years before they trusted him with any classified information. It was when he started coming up with solutions for problems in the Middle East that the computer couldn't handle that they began to stop doubting his motives. When the Clinton Administration was sworn in, the new team welcomed Scott's particular expertise. Twice recently he had penetrated the State Department itself to advise Warren Christopher. He had been amused to see Mr Christopher suggest on the early-evening news a solution to the problem of sanctions-busting by Saddam that he had put to him earlier that afternoon. The car turned off Route 123 and drew to a halt outside a pair of massive steel gates. A guard came out to check on the passenger. Although the two men had seen each other regularly over the past nine years, the guard still asked to see his credentials. 'Welcome back, Professor,' the uniformed man finally offered before saluting. The driver proceeded down the road and stopped outside an anonymous office block. The passenger climbed out of the car and entered the building through a turnstile. His papers were checked once again, followed by another salute. He walked down a long corridor with cream walls until he reached an unmarked oak door. He gave a gentle knock and entered before waiting for a reply. A secretary was sitting behind a desk on the far side of the room. She looked up and smiled. 'Go right in, Professor Bradley, the Deputy Director is expecting you.' Columbus School for Girls, Columbus, Ohio, is one of those establishments that prides itself on discipline and scholarship, in that order. The headmistress would often explain to parents that it was impossible to have the second without the first. Breaking school rules could, in the headmistress's opinion, only be considered in rare circumstances. The request that she had just received fell into such a category. That night, the graduating class of '93 was to be addressed by one of Columbus's favourite sons, T. Hamilton McKenzie, Dean of the Medical School at Ohio State University. His Nobel Prize for Medicine had been awarded for the advances he had made in the field of plastic and reconstructive surgery. T. Hamilton McKenzie's work on war veterans from Vietnam and the Gulf had been chronicled from coast to coast, and there were men in every city who, thanks to his genius, had been able to return to normal lives. Some lesser mortals who had trained under the Nobel Laureate used their skills to help women of a certain age appear more beautiful than their maker had originally intended. The headmistress of Columbus felt confident that the girls would only be interested in the work T. Hamilton McKenzie had done for 'our gallant war heroes', as she referred to them. The school rule that the headmistress had allowed to be waived on this occasion was one of dress. She had agreed that Sally McKenzie, head of student government and captain of lacrosse, could go home one hour early from afternoon class and change into clothes of a casual but suitable nature to accompany her father when he addressed the class later that evening. After all, the headmistress had learned the previous week that Sally had won an endowed national scholarship to Oberlin College to study medicine. A car service had been called with instructions to pick Sally up at four o'clock. She would miss one hour of