"Where the hell were you all night, anyway? You look like you got rolled in an alley."

"Just about." Kinsman told him about Diane and her campus activists as the convertible zoomed down the high- way.

"Sound like a bunch of Communists," McGrath growled.

Kinsman laughed. "We didn't discuss politics in bed."

"What an easy lay. She sure tried to recruit you, all right."

The Moffet Field turnoffwas approaching. McGrath slid into the exit lane.

"Neal ... I don't even know her last name!"

"So what?"

"So look her up for me, will you? Maybe the family could give her a little help . . . with her singing career."

"A Communist?"

"She's not a Communist, for Chrissakes."

"Worse, then. A liberal." But McGrath was grinning.

"See if you can help her."

"I'm a married man, kid," said McGrath.

Kinsman frowned at him. "I'm not asking you to get involved with her. But she's got a marvelous voice, Neal. Maybe somebody in the family can get her a break, some bookings ..."

"Going to reform her, eh? Make her rich and turn her into a capitalist."

"Yeah. Why not?" Kinsman studied McGrath's face. He was smirking. You just don't understand, Neal.

Later that afternoon, thirty thousand feet above the

Sacramento Valley with the sun at their backs, Kinsman felt the cares and fears of the Earth below easing out of his tense body.

"How'd you enjoy Frisco?" the pilot asked. "I didn't see much of it/' Kinsman said into his radio microphone.

"Didn't stay very long."

"Neither did you."

The pilot's voice in his earphones broke into a self- satisfied chuckle. "Long enough, pal. Overnight is plenty long enough if you know what you're doing."

Kinsman nodded inside his helmet.

They climbed higher. Kinsman watched the westering sun throw long shadows across the rugged Sierra peaks.