"He just wasn't having any, sir. Said he'd answer to a Joint Council
hearing, and nothing less."
"Stubborn old goat. He knows I've got nothing that will stand up in a
Council hearing." Towne went back to the papers again, still tapping
the floor with the cane. "_Damn_ that Roberts!"
The attaché glanced down at Benjamin Towne with some curiosity.
It was easy to see how the man drew such powerful support from
his constituents. There was something overwhelming about his
appearance--the heavy jaw and grim mouth line, the shock of sandy hair
that fell over his forehead, the burning green eyes, the stout, well
muscled body. The attaché's eyes drifted down to the withered left leg
and the grotesque twisted foot, and he looked away in embarrassment.
What was so awe-inspiring about a crippled man who accumulated great
power? Towne certainly had done that. Some said that Ben Towne was the
most powerful man in North America. Some also said that he was the
greatest man, but that was something quite different indeed. And some
said that he was the most dangerous man alive. The attaché shivered.
That was none of his business. If he went probing _that_ line too far
they'd be calling him Psi-High, and he liked his job too much to risk
that.
The inner door opened and a tall man with prematurely gray hair strode
in, followed by a girl in her early twenties. "Sorry to keep you,
Councilman," the man said. "No, no, don't get up. We can talk right
here."
Towne had made no effort to rise. He glared at the man, and then his
eyes drifted to the girl and widened angrily. "I said a _private_
conference, Roberts. I don't want one of these damned brain-picking
snakes in the same room with me."
The man nodded cooly to the girl. "Sit down, Jean. Councilman, this is
Jean Sanders. If you're here about the Alien investigation, I want her
to sit in."
Ben Towne slowly set the papers down on the floor. "Record this,
Roger," he said to the attaché. His eyes turned to Roberts. "I
understand he slipped out of your hands again yesterday," he said with
vicious smoothness. "A pity."