It made it impossible for him to forget the power of nature which the grey London streets spreading in all directions shut out. Without the wind, up here it was easy to feel godlike, floating among the clouds high up above the earthbound common humanity. His offices were deeply carpeted, elegantly designed, air-conditioned, his private lift shot him up to this level in seconds. From the floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall he looked down on cars like toys and people like ants. Only the threat of the wind tugging at the walls and windows, trying to wrench them up and toss them away, reminded him that he, too, was human, and could be blown away. Paul had a superstitious streak; he was afraid of hubris, of losing touch with reality and being destroyed by it. That morning, though, he was too absorbed in work; absorbed – and humming with the energy of someone under threat. Adrenalin was running high inside him. Salmond was on his tail and he had to shake him off somehow. He still didn’t quite know how.
