CHAPTER SEVEN

Sunday July 24, 1988

With one cheap towel wrapped around her dripping body from breasts to thighs and another wound around her hair, Sara emerged from the bathroom in a breath of steam. Motion was effort; she had rigor mortis to the depths of her soul.

"We can't rely on Tachyon anymore." She forced her words out like lumps of plasticine through a window screen. They weren't a question.

The man who called himself George Steele sat on the bed in trousers and undershirt, looking down at the backs of his hands. They were hairy, like his shoulders. He raised his head. "We cannot."

"You know the plan we discussed earlier?" His eyes narrowed. "Yes."

"I'll do it." She turned and went back into the bathroom to dry her hair.

Hospitals were tasty and Puppetman was getting hungry. Gregg leaned away from the Compaq Portable III and rubbed his eyes. He typed a quick message: Tony, I'm taking a break. The speech looks good, and I'm sending my last edit.

I'll leave the computer on and pick up the draft when I get back. Thanks.

He sent the file via modem to Calderone's portable and rubbed his eyes.

"Tired, love?" Ellen smiled at him from her hospital bed, half-asleep herself "I think the next president of the United States ought to get some sleep. You had a long night last night, and Jack tells me you and Jesse stayed up till all hours planning the campaign."

"It was a glorious night, Ellen. Jesse's speech was a wonder. I'm sorry you weren't there. None of it was possible without you."

She smiled at that, tinged with sadness. She was still pale, her skin almost translucent, and her eyes were puffy and dark. The death of their child had marked her more permanently than he had thought possible. "I'm coming to hear your speech tonight. Nothing could stop me. Kiss me, next president of the United States."

"Picked up on that phrase, have we?"

"After last night's roll call? `The great state of New York casts all its votes for the next president of the United States: Gregg Hartmann!' How many states are there?" She held her arms out.

Gregg leaned over the bed and kissed her softly on the lips. Puppetman nudged at him. Give her to me.

No. Leave her alone. We've put her through enough. Getting sentimental, are we? The power mocked him, but didn't seem inclined to argue. Then let's go elsewhere. I'm hungry.

Gregg hugged Ellen. "Listen," he said. "I'm going to take a short walk. Thought I might see some of the patients, shake a few hands."

"Campaigning already," Ellen gave a mock sigh. "Mr. Next-President-of-the-United-States."

"Get used to it, love."

"You'll get tired of handshaking before it's all over, Gregg."

He gave her a strange grin. "I doubt it," he said. Inside, Puppetman echoed him.

11:00 A.M.

Spector woke up groggy. There was a metallic taste in his mouth and he hurt all over. All his stuff was at the motel, so he couldn't shave or brush his teeth. He'd have to stop by there and clean up before making his visit. He sat on the corner of the bed and rubbed the grit from his eyes.

He picked up the phone book and thumbed through until he came to hospitals. He found the one Tony was in, hesitated for a moment, then punched in the numbers.

"Tony Calderone, please," he said to the switchboard operator. It rang several times before being answered. "Calderone. "

"Uh, yeah. This is Jim. I wanted to explain about the other day."

"Right. Colin said you were up in my room. Hope you didn't get mugged again." Tony sounded glad to hear from him.

" Nothing like that. Got sidetracked with business is all." Spector wanted to tell him everything, but knew Tony wouldn't believe it. He was too committed. "I just wanted you to know I was all right."

"Yeah, I was a little worried. Got the speech done. Best thing I ever wrote. Hope you get a chance to catch it." Tony paused. "You sure nothing's wrong?"

"Nothing getting back to Jersey won't cure." Spector twisted the phone cord. "It was really great seeing you again. I mean that."

"We'll do it again sooner than you think. In Washington." Tony sounded completely confident.

"Right." Spector knew that by the end of the day Tony would hate his guts forever. So much for his one friend. But he knew he couldn't walk away now. "Look, I have to get moving. Still got a thing or two to take care of before I go."

"Okay. Well, after things get settled you give me a call. In the meantime, look after yourself."

"So long." Spector set the phone lightly in its cradle. He couldn't let this sentimental crap take away his edge. He was going to need it.

Spector put the whiskey bottle in his coat pocket, he gave the room a slow look before leaving. He knew he wouldn't be coming back.

12:00 NOON

Jack hadn't found Blaise on any of his intermittent searches, and he decided it was time to head for the hospital and tell Tachyon that Blaise was gone.

Hell. The kid would probably be right by his grandad's bedside.

Hartmann supporters were wandering about the Marriott lobby in various attitudes of inebriation or exhaustion. Yellow warning tape fluttered around the hole that Jack had driven into the floor. Jack saw the pert waitress he'd noticed before and gave her a wink. She grinned at him. He was sufficiently preoccupied with notions concerning the waitress that he didn't see Hiram until he almost tripped over the huge suitcase-almost a trunk-that the man had set next to him.

Hiram seemed as surprised as Jack. The big man's eyes were wide in alarm. Maybe the suitcase contained something valuable.

Hiram had a man with him, a thin joker with a little mustache and webs of skin over hollow eye sockets.

"Oh. Sorry." Jack stepped around the suitcase. He looked up at Hiram.

"Won't you be staying for the acceptance speech?"

"Ah. No. I've-uh-stayed longer in Atlanta than I meant to, anyway." Hiram's eyes gazed at Jack out of bruised sockets. He was a mess: his hair awry, his collar open to reveal the sore on his neck. Maybe he'd slept in his suit. He took Jack's arm and led him away, out of earshot of the thin joker. "Actually, I've been wanting to speak to you."

"I'd been hoping to see you, too." Jack ventured a smile. "I wanted to thank you for the other day. You maybe saved me from getting hurt, making me light that way."

"I'm glad I was able to be of assistance." Hiram glanced over his shoulder at the joker and gave a nervous smile. He turned back to Jack. "I wanted to tell you something," he said.

His tone sent a little warning signal down Jack's spine. Whatever was coming, Jack knew he didn't really want to hear it.

"Sure," he said.

"I wanted to say that I understand now," Hiram said. His voice was leaden. "That you were right when you said that you didn't know till you've been tested."

"Oh," said Jack. He didn't want to hear this confession. Whatever Jack was, whatever he'd done, he didn't want anyone else's sins rattling around in his own head. He had trouble enough coping with his own.

"When I was attacking you the other day," Hiram went on, "I was really attacking myself. I was trying to deny my own betrayals."

"Yeah." Jack just wanted Hiram and his soap opera to leave. What kind of betrayal could someone like Hiram pull olf, anyway? Buy second-rate cuts of veal for his restaurant?

Hiram looked at him, eyes bright, as if he was expecting some kind of wisdom from Jack, some way to handle this burden of self-knowledge. Jack didn't have much to give.