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He tidied away the scientific reports and pulled over a tottering sheaf of folders dealing with the expatriate population. Most Americans still lived overseas, and tending to their needs and the demands of their host governments was about half of what he did nowadays. The Brits were looking for territorial concessions, pressuring him to give up US claims over the Antarctic oil fields. The Australian Prime Minister wanted him to visit to ‘discuss’ the future co-funding arrangements of the Pacific Fleet.

A dull pain was growing behind his left eye when his personal secretary burst into the office.

‘Mr President! Mr President! You have to come, sir. Right away!’

‘What’s up?’ he asked, suddenly worried.

Just then two secret service agents bustled past her into the room and urgently requested he come with them immediately.

‘No, goddamn it, I won’t. What the hell is going on?’

‘We need to get you away from here, Mr President,’ one of the men repeated. ‘We’ll explain on the way, sir.’

‘Oh no you don’t.’ President James Kipper jumped up from his desk. ‘I’m not going anywhere with anyone until you tell me exactly what’s happening, right now.’

‘It’s the Wave, sir,’ cried Ronnie. ‘It’s gone.’