The trip from Healtheon’s main office on the northern fringes of San Jose to downtown San Francisco took an hour. We rolled up in front of a skyscraper, parked illegally, strolled into the elevator, and pressed a button. Up, up, up we rose, and as we did I became aware of his incongruity. Downtown San Francisco was one of those old-fashioned places where businessmen went to work in suits and measured their status by their views of the Bay. Clark wore a yellow polo shirt, khaki slacks held up by a soiled sailor’s belt, and his rat-gnawed pair of sneakers with their grimy MEPHISTO label. The
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