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easy, sweet. People are beginning to look at us.”
    “And the time I screamed,” cried Jenny, unheeding, “because I saw a man whose face had been mutilated?” “Jenny, pull yourself together. They’ll throw us out.”
    “Vanessa is alive,” said Jenny. “I know she is. Butshe needs help. What can I do, Simon? Oh, God, what can I do?”
    Sir Joseph Humboldt, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, strolled in the garden at Number Ten Downing Street with Richard Haynes, his First Private Secretary, and half a dozen paras. The presence of the paranormals—two sensitives, one rapport, two blockers and a seeker—were necessary even when Sir Joseph was only admiring his roses. One never knew when some ambitious agent might try to probe the mind of the Prime Minister.
    “Well, Dick, what do you think of that for a Western Sun?” Sir Joseph paused by a bush laden with great golden blooms.
    “Magnificent, sir.” Haynes was well aware of the great pride the Prime Minister took in the fact that he always found time to tend his own roses. He tried a frail joke and instantly regretted it. “Even the Opposition will allow that you have green fingers.”
    The Rt. Hon. Thomas Green, M.P., was the leader of the New Consensus Party; and in the current session Sir Joseph had given him a fair pounding, chiefly on the recent Security of the State Bill, by which the government reserved the right to recruit, enlist, commandeer all persons of known paranormal talent for the protection of the state.
    Sir Joseph, being in a good mood, laughed. “Something might be made of that. Work it up and try it on our friends of the press. They will need such trifles to fill their pages in the silly season.”
    “Yes, sir.” Haynes realised that he had got off lightly. Sir Joseph had the knack of delivering a compliment like a forearm smash.
    The two men, with their retinue of paras, passed asingle bush that displayed red, white and blue roses. It was the gift of the President of France. Sir Joseph looked at the bush and sniffed. He did not care for the French President. He was amazed that the bush was doing so well.
    “What about Professor Raeder?” he asked abruptly.
    “I have no news, sir. Security forces are on maximum alert.”
    “I want him dead,” said Sir Joseph. “I don’t care how it is done, but I want him dead. Let it be known.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Only because he wants me dead,” went on the Prime Minister. “As a private person I could accept risks. But as the king’s First Minister, I cannot. You understand?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Then see to it, Dick. Get those well-paid security people off their fat backsides. Dammit, the man is mortal. He exists, and he exists in the United Kingdom. If our people cannot take him out, they are not worth their salt.”
    “Yes sir… Sir, you have a Parliamentary Question.” Haynes took a House of Commons order paper from his pocket and began to read: “Question twenty-three: To ask the Prime Minister if he can assure the House that Vanessa Smith, a British citizen, is not being restrained forcibly at Random Hill Residential School, an institution for children of paranormal talents, against her will.”
    Sir Joseph stopped by a splendid rose bush bowed under the weight of a large number of full red blooms. He plucked one of the best and gave it to his Secretary. “Put that in your lapel, Dick. It’s a beauty.” He gazed distastefully at a neighbouring bush of Papa Meilland, also laden with blooms. “Far superior to this Frenchcrap… Vanessa Smith? Who the devil is Vanessa Smith?”
    “She is an orphan, sir. Seventeen years old. A paranormal of exceptional powers.”
    “Tom Green is having his fun, I suppose. Wants to show that I am pre-empting the Bill? Well, what about this Vanessa Smith? Is she at Random Hill? Can we produce her? Will she say that she is having a fine time and loves everybody?”
    Haynes swallowed, and fumbled with the rose he had just been given. “Sir,