* * *Eight days later, while Neal was reading on the verandah, a sky-blue Jeep Wagoneer emerged from the trees and pulled into the yard, filling it with the birdlike chirp of a loose compressor belt. He put down the book and watched as the car stopped near the breadfruit tree, close enough to make out the Concord Space Systems door decal.
The man who stepped from the vehicle wore a crisp-looking suit of light linen. He was trim and tanned, athletic in his movements, and had a full head of brown hair, groomed to the point of resembling a small tidy animal perched on his head. His age—middle forties, Neal guessed—was given away by a set of fluffy silver sideburns. These clashed with his overall youthfulness and seemed somehow bogus, as though pasted on for effect.
Unaware tha
