Maria laughed. In the back of her mind a voice said, The president is joking with me about Fidel Castro! In a swimming pool! She said: "Sometimes Pierre asks me to write a press release, which is the part I like best."

"Tell him to give you more releases to write. You're good at it."

"Thank you, Mr. President. I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"You're from Chicago, is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where are you living now?"

"In Georgetown. I share an apartment with two girls who work in the State Department."

"Sounds good. Well, I'm glad you're settled. I value your work, and I know Pierre does too."

He turned and talked to Jenny, but Maria did not hear what he said. She was too excited. The president remembered her name; he knew she was from Chicago; he thought highly of her work. And he was so attractive. She felt light enough to float up to the moon.

Dave looked at his watch and said: "Twelve thirty, Mr. President."

Maria could not believe she had been here for half an hour. It seemed like two minutes. But the president got out of the pool and went into the changing room.

The three girls got out. "Have a sandwich," Dave said. They all went to the table. Maria tried to eat something--this was her lunch break--but her stomach seemed to have shrunk to nothing. She drank a bottle of sugary soda pop.

Dave left, and the three girls changed back into their work clothes. Maria looked in the mirror. Her hair was a little damp, from the humidity, but it was still perfectly in place.

She said good-bye to Jenny and Jerry, then went back to the press office. On her desk was a thick report on health care and a note from Salinger asking for a two-page summary in an hour.

She caught the eye of Nelly, who said: "Well? What was that all about?"

Maria thought for a moment, then said: "I have no idea."

*

George Jakes got a message asking him to drop in on Joseph Hugo at FBI headquarters. Hugo was now working as personal assistant to FBI director J. Edgar Hoover. The message said that the Bureau had important information about Martin Luther King that Hugo wished to share with the attorney general's staff.

Hoover hated Martin Luther King. Not a single FBI agent was black. Hoover hated Bobby Kennedy, too. He hated a lot of people.

George considered refusing to go. The last thing he wanted was to speak to that creep Hugo, who had betrayed the civil rights movement and George personally. George's arm still hurt occasionally from the injury he had received in Anniston while Hugo looked on, chatting to the police and smoking.

On the other hand, if it was bad news George wanted to hear it first. Perhaps the FBI had caught King out in an extramarital affair, or something of that kind. George would welcome the chance to manage the dissemination of any negative information about the civil rights movement. He did not want someone such as Dennis Wilson spreading the word. For that reason he would have to see Hugo, and probably suffer his gloating.

FBI headquarters was on another floor of the Justice Department building. George found Hugo in a small office near the director's suite of rooms. Hugo had a short FBI haircut and wore a plain midgray suit with a white nylon shirt and a navy blue tie. On his desk was a pack of menthol cigarettes and a file folder.

"What do you want?" said George.

Hugo grinned. He could not conceal his pleasure. He said: "One of Martin Luther King's advisers is a Communist."

George was shocked. This accusation could blight the entire civil rights movement. He felt cold with worry. You could never prove that someone was not a Communist--and anyway, the truth hardly mattered: just the suggestion was deadly. Like the accusation of witchcraft in the Middle Ages, it was an easy way to stir up hatred among stupid and ignorant people.

"Who is this adviser?" George asked Hugo.

Hugo looked at a file, as if he had to refresh his memory. "Stanley Levison," he said.

"That doesn't sound like a Negro name."

"He's a Jew." Hugo took a photograph from the file and handed it over.

George saw an undistinguished white face with receding hair and large spectacles. The man was wearing a bow tie. George had met King and his people in Atlanta, and none of them looked like this. "Are you sure he works for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference?"