"And that's what the people at Highlands think."

"Exactly. If this treatment were standard medical practice, they'd have no excuse not to admit Bianca. But because they can label it experimental, there's no way they'll admit her. Because they know they'll lose money."

"Why does Denver have a chamber like this?" Ray said. "We don't have many scuba divers around here."

"It's used for diabetics and other people with poor circulation," Escobedo said. "So it's popular in areas with a large middle-aged and elderly population that's well insured. It's an expensive treatment with a high profit margin for the hospital. Which is why they don't want to tie up the chamber with a charity case."

"Okay, I get the picture," Eleanor said. "Now, who is in charge of Arapahoe Highlands Medical Center?"

"The chief administrator is Dr. Morgan," Escobedo said.

Eleanor stood up and yanked her jacket off the back of the chair. "Let's go kick his white ass," she said.

Ray and Escobedo looked astonished and glanced at each other, a bit nervously. "You might want to call ahead and find out where he is first," Ray suggested.

"I'm sure that an important man like Dr. Morgan has a secretary who is very good at putting people like me off - over the phone," Eleanor said. "The more I get in that secretary's face, the more helpful she'll be."

"This may not be an appropriate time for me to get political," Ray said, after they had been driving in silence for a few minutes, humming down Broadway toward the rolling, prosperous southern suburbs. "But this is going to be a long drive and I can't help myself."

"Shoot," Eleanor said. " It would be unlike you not to get political."

"Okay. Well, there is one question you have forgotten to ask me about this whole affair."

"What question is that?"

"Why did the Ramirezes suddenly jump into their truck and take a six-hour drive across the prairie in the middle of the night?"

Eleanor thought that one over, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I thought you said this was what migrant workers do. They migrate."

"They're human beings," Ray said.

"I know that," Eleanor said, somewhat testily. Ray had a tendency to be a little too obnoxious in his political correctness.

"So they have to sleep. They generally do it at night. And they drive during the daytime, like everyone else."

"Okay. So tell me, Ray, why did the Ramirezes suddenly get it into their heads to jump into their truck and go on a long night drive?"

"Because a couple of months ago, after the State of Union address, there was a stock market crash."

Eleanor looked over at Ray. He was smiling back at her mysteriously.

"I'll bite," she said.

"The capital markets crashed. People sold their stocks and needed somewhere else to put their money. In times of economic uncertainty, people tend to invest in commodities. So, on the Chicago Board of Trade, the price of beef went up. Raising cattle became a money-making proposition. But it takes time to raise cattle, you don't make a full-grown steer overnight. So cattlemen in this state began to raise a larger number of calves than usual.

"In the expectation that they'd be able to make more money off them when they were full-grown," Eleanor said. She did not know the first thing about ranching but this concept seemed simple enough.

"Right. Well, by now, these calves are starting to get big and starting to need more food - you know how growing children are. In this part of the country, cattle graze - they eat grass out on the range. Much of the range land is owned by the federal Government, and cattlemen are allowed to graze their cattle on that land.

"There is a nice patch of BLM land that I know about six hours from here. It's in the basin of the Arkansas River, so it always has plenty of green grass, but unlike a lot of the other land around there it hasn't been converted to truck farming yet."

"Truck farming... that means vegetables and so on?"

"There's a lot of that stuff down there along the Arkansas," Ray said. "Migrants work there, picking vegetables for shipment to Oklahoma and Texas."

"Okay. Go on."

"Last year, when the price of beef was low, no one wanted to use this land and so a number of migrant workers - including the Ramirezes - went there and parked their trucks and trailers on it and started living there. Set up a little community. Planted some little gardens and so on. Waiting for the next harvest to come in."

"But last week, a cattleman in that area found that he was running out of land on which to graze all of these calves that he started when the price of beef got high. And now, in place of the community of migrant workers that used to be on that land, this man's cattle are there, eating the lush green grass."

"You're saying that the Ramirezes were kicked off the land."

"They and all the other people living there were evicted yesterday," Ray said. "The closest place for the Ramirez family to stay was Anna's sister's house, here in Denver. So they put the kids in the back of the truck and came here."

"Oh."

"Hundreds of people are on the road today, all over the High Plains, because some cattle got hungry," Ray said. "And I wouldn't be at all surprised if there were several more cases of carbon monoxide poisoning in the backs of pickup trucks that we haven't heard about yet."

"If I am a cattleman," Eleanor said, "and I want to use a piece of BLM land, and some migrant workers happen to be living on it, then what is the mechanism? How do I make those workers go away? Call the cops?"

"No you don't call the cops. There are a number of approaches one could take," Ray said, "but if I had the right connections, my first choice would be to make a phone call to the Alamo."

Eleanor thought this one over for a minute.

"Ray, if nothing else, you just guaranteed Bianca Ramirez a spot in the hyperbaric chamber," she said.

Eleanor was right. Dr. Morgan did have a very capable secretary.

She could tell just by looking at the woman that she knew her business.

"Good morning, my name is Eleanor Richmond and I just got off the phone from talking to my boss, Senator Marshall," she lied, "and based on the results of that conversation I think I can promise you that the single most important thing that your boss Dr. Morgan will do this whole month, possibly this whole year, will be to have a conversation with me right now."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ray and Dr. Escobedo grinning at each other. This was like a carnival ride for them.

Dr. Morgan's secretary was cheerful enough about it. If she was pissed off, she was good enough not to show it in front of Eleanor. She reached Dr. Morgan on his car phone; he was on his way in.

Within fifteen minutes, Dr. Morgan, Eleanor, Ray and Dr. Escobedo were all sitting around a table in Morgan's office. They made small talk about what kind of additives they wanted in their coffee and what a nice day it was. Then things got quiet, and Eleanor found that everyone was looking at her expectantly. She folded her hands in her lap and composed herself for a moment.

"I'm not very good at this sort of thing," she said, "so maybe the best way for me to proceed is just to come out and say something."

"Shoot," Dr. Morgan said.

"This is an exercise in raw political brute force. You will give Bianca Ramirez treatment in the hyperbaric oxygen chamber or else the Senator, I'm sure, will make it his mission in life to turn this medical centre into a smoking hole in the ground."

"Consider it done," Dr. Morgan said cheerfully. "Dr. Escobedo, you'll make the arrangements to send Bianca over?"

"Yes."

"Excellent," Dr. Morgan said. He seemed pleased and cheerful, as if he woke up every morning of his life and got slapped around by a U.S. Senator. "Now, is there anything else on the agenda?"