The reverend tried to writhe away as the doctor stepped forward, but the man simply jabbed the syringe into his IV and stepped back.

“How long will it take to work?” Mrs. Calhoun asked.

“I don’t know,” the doctor said. “I don’t know if it will work at all. Apparently, Dr. Calhoun is the only human being ever to receive it.”

“I’m a goddamned guinea pig!” Dr. Don screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks.

KINNEY SAT at his kitchen table eating a chicken Caesar salad that Nancy had prepared. Both were wearing only terrycloth robes, which Kinney had purchased for the occasion.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Kinney said.

“You are awful,” she replied. “Eat your lunch.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Where are you getting all this sexual energy?”

“I’ve been saving it up for about four years,” he said.

She stroked his cheek. “Poor baby.”

He pushed back his chair, swept her into his arms, and marched back into the bedroom.

“We’ll starve,” she said, kissing him.

“It’s worth it.” He ripped off both their robes and took her. They were both in climax when the phone began to ring. Kinney answered on the tenth ring. “Yeah?” he panted.

“It’s Smith,” Kerry said. “Are you all right? You sound out of breath.”

“I just got in from jogging. What’s up?”

“Calhoun is responding to the treatment the Brits sent,” Smith said. “His temperature is down nearly to normal, and he’s taking solid food.”

“Good news. What did we get from the TV cameras, anything?”

“No, the handshaking on the front steps is not televised. However, there was a security camera working. The tape is on its way here.”

“You get out to Peachtree DeKalb Airport and charter an airplane. I want to look at it with you.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll be in Washington just as soon as I can.”

“Call me when you know your ETA, and I’ll meet you in my office.”

“Will do.” Smith hung up.

Kinney collapsed into Nancy ’s arms. “We may have caught a break,” he said.

“Oh, good,” she replied. “Are you ready to fuck me again?”

“Mercy,” he cried. “Mercy!”

She dissolved in laughter. “Well, I’m glad to know you can be worn out.”

“Give me a few minutes,” he replied. “Oh, God.”

KINNEY WATCHED as a TV and a VCR on a stand were rolled into his office and plugged in. “Have you seen this?” he asked Smith.

“No, sir. I left for the airport the minute the tape was in my hands.” He switched on the TV and shoved the cassette into the machine. An image, in black and white, appeared, sharp and clear. A series of poles and velvet ropes were being set up on the church steps. The shot was from above, at a nice angle.

“Thank God Calhoun’s people are using high-resolution equipment,” Kinney said. “I was afraid we’d get something like a convenience-store image.”

“Here comes Calhoun,” Smith said, “and here comes the crowd.”

“Where are the marshals?”

“Calhoun declined federal help, said he’d provide his own security. A lot of good it did him.”

The man was sixth or seventh in line, waiting patiently to move forward.

“Jesus, what kind of clown is that?” Kinney asked.

“A clown in a clown suit,” Smith replied. “He can’t be for real.”

“Get our video people on this and see if they can get an image of him without all the disguise.” Kinney watched as the man stepped up to Dr. Don and grabbed his hand. Calhoun’s face reflected shock and pain, and the man was hustled away by attendants. “Well, at least we have a clear image of a man wearing a disguise,” Kinney said. “Did our Atlanta people interview any witnesses?”

“Yes. The people behind the guy in line saw him, but from behind. We’ve managed to get one person who saw him in the parking lot.”

“Anybody see him get into a vehicle?”

“No, but there was an RV in the line of cars waiting to get out of the lot. There are always RVs there on a Sunday,” Smith said. “People come from all over to hear the reverend preach.”

“So we have nothing specific-a plate, a brand of RV?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Something occurs to me, though.”

“What?”

“Our man is running out of ways to kill. He’s repeated himself, now.”

“Thank God he didn’t use a bomb. The carnage at the church would have been horrific.”

“Yes, it would have.”

“Get our video people and an artist on that image right away,” Kinney said. “Call people at home and get them in here. I want to know what he looks like without the getup.”

26

JEB STUART CALHOUN of South Carolina, newly that state’s senior senator, rose in the well of the Senate to address his colleagues.

“Mr. President,” he intoned, bowing slightly toward the senator who was presiding that day, “we have now reached a new low in the meanness of politics. The left in this country is now stooping, almost weekly, to actual political assassination!”

A dozen senators were on their feet, shouting “No!” and “Shame!” above a general uproar, as the presiding senator banged his gavel for order. Nearly ten minutes passed before quiet was restored.

“And,” Calhoun went on, “responsibility for these acts must be laid squarely at the feet of the president of the United States!”

This time the uproar was so loud and the epithets hurled so abusive, that the chair was unable to restore order. After all else had failed, he declared the Senate in adjournment, banged his gavel, and walked out of the chamber. Capitol guards were called in to protect Senator Calhoun and walk him back to his office, while other senators threw newspapers and other trash at him.

WILL AND KATE watched the scene together on the evening news. “I don’t believe it,” Will said. “I knew it was coming, but I still don’t believe it.”

“I think it might actually help,” Kate said.

“How?”

“Calhoun has disgraced himself by uttering those words, and that will make it more difficult for others to utter them. By the way, did you know that he and Dr. Don are first cousins?”

“No, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Their daddies are brothers. That kind of insanity must run in the family.”

“Dr. Don is recovering nicely after the injection of the British antidote,” Will said glumly. “But Kinney reports that the security camera tape from Atlanta wasn’t much help in identifying the suspect.”

“He has hairy wrists,” Kate said.

“What?”

“The suspect has thick, gray hair on his wrists, unless he was wearing a wrist wig, too. That was the only part of his body, except for his neck, that was of any help to the FBI. I read the report this afternoon.”

“His neck and his wrists?”

“He was wearing two wigs, a false mustache, maybe false ears, and heavy, horn-rimmed glasses. It’s surprising how the glasses helped conceal his face. They made it difficult to tell much about his nose, which is normally a major ID point. They could tell from the size of his neck and wrists that he wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as he had made himself look with the padding, so they put his weight at between one-fifty and one-eighty.”

“Such a big range?”

“His neck and wrists may be larger than natural from exercise, but then again, maybe not. Oh, his height is about six feet. They got that by comparing him to Dr. Don, who is also six feet. That’s if our guy wasn’t wearing lifts in his shoes, which he may well have been.”

“I don’t believe it. They got the guy on high-resolution videotape and all they can figure is his neck, his wrists, and his weight within thirty pounds?”

“And that’s just a guess. This guy is very smart, Will, and he’s not going to be easy to catch. I feel sorry for Kinney, because the whole thing rests on his shoulders, and he’s got almost nothing to work with. I think the profile he’s drawn up is good, but since he was unable to find a current or recent employee of federal law enforcement or intelligence who matches it, he’s at a dead end.”