Prescott followed the immaculately attired Cutlass through the Statler's front doors to the sleek black limousine waiting at the curb. Its engine was idled to an inaudible purr, and the tonneau door was opened by a uniformed chauffeur as they approached. Cutlass nodded politely to a couple of alert Secret Service men. The Law. Friends now, of course. Within soundless seconds the luxurious vehicle had pulled into Washington traffic, and it was Cutlass who opened the conversation. "I thought perhaps you could better obtain what you'd like in somewhat more pleasant surroundings, Mr. Prescott. I've a little place just outside the city--prefer it, I assure you, to the Embassy room!" They both laughed, Prescott a little self-consciously, wondering just what kind of a write-up Cutlass was expecting. As if he didn't know.... "Well sir, if I could get a little background to what happened on the floor this morning, before I attempt to go into too much detail.... Your new tax bill--I understand there was rather, well--some rather spirited opposition this morning--" Cutlass laughed easily. "To be expected, Mr. Prescott. They thought my last one was too much to take, but it went through! As this one shall. I can assure you of that." "I see." Prescott made a brief notation. "What reaction do you expect from the corporations? If, that is, the President--" "Oh, they've a powerful lobby of course. But, my boy--and of course this is off the record--it's simply a matter of putting the pressu--er, persuasion in the right places. The corporations will--I think they'll come around all right." Prescott added to his notes. "Is this new tax bill, Senator, to be your last for this session, or do you contemplate--" Cutlass' chuckle was as velvety as the silent roll of the limousine's white-walled tires. "My dear young man," he murmured, "I can't answer that question for the record. It depends to such a large extent on the many--rather personal considerations involved. But of course for a political reporter that should hardly be news." Mentally, Prescott ground his teeth. "_No, it's never been news, Senator_," he raged silently. "_You--you goddamned old pirate!_" In another Space, in another Time, an old man waited for a third signal. But it never came.