She licked her lips briefly. "I don't know, but something sure as blazes is happening. Griff and Shaeffer have been closeted up there since you left for your Jump... and Griff wasn't sounding too good when he told me to come get you."

I swallowed, hard, and concentrated on getting my blood up to speed again. With Kristin supporting me, we were upstairs in Griff's office five minutes later.

She was right: the whole gang was there... and one look at Griffs and Shaeffer's stony faces set my stomach churning. Something had indeed happened... I looked at Griff, but it was Shaeffer who spoke. "Your report, Mr. Sinn?" His voice matched his expression.

I gave it to him without elaboration, describing as best I could the Ping-Pong balls in the fuel line and the way they'd behaved. Shaeffer listened like a man who already had the answers and was merely looking for some confirmation, and when I'd finished he nodded. "The searchers on the scene already came to pretty much the same conclusion," he said grimly. "Catalyst bombs, sounds like—gadgets that get the fuel and the degraded fragments of flame retardant to react together."

"Never heard of them," Rennie said.

"They're not exactly on-shelf technology. We've developed a type or two, and there are maybe two or three other countries doing similar work. That could be a blunder on the saboteur's part—exotic equipment makes any trail easier to trace. All right, Mr. Sinn, thank you." He took a deep breath, looked around at each of us in turn... and his expression seemed to get a little stonier. "And here now is where we get to the sticky part. I imagine you've been wondering why I came to Banshee in person instead of directing your investigation from Washington. It's because I want you to do something I don't believe you've ever tried before. Something—I'll say this up front—that could turn out to be dangerous." He paused, and the tip of his tongue swiped at his upper lip. "I've read everything President Jeffers ever received on Banshee, and he and I both noted with a great deal of interest that you've been... seen... on more than one occasion by the people you've been observing."

Kristin shifted in her seat... and a horrible suspicion began to drift like a storm cloud across my mind.

"Now, tell me," Shaeffer continued, sweeping his gaze across us Jumpers, "did any of you, during your Jumps the past few hours, ever get a look inside Air Force One itself?"

Hale, Morgan, and I exchanged glances, shook our heads. "That why Griff set the tethers so short?" Morgan asked. "So we couldn't get inside?"

A flicker of surprise crossed the rock that was Shaeffer's expression. "I hadn't expected you to notice," he said. "Yes, that's precisely why I had Dr. Mansfield set them that way. You see... as of yet, the searchers at the crash site have located only a few of the bodies from the wreckage. It occurred to me early on that due to an unusual set of circumstances back at the President's retreat no outsiders actually saw him get onto that plane. And now you've told me that none of you have seen him there, either.

"Which means... perhaps he never was aboard to begin with."

A brittle silence settled, vise-like, around the table. "Are you suggestin'," Morgan said at last, "that you want us to go back there and change the past?"

His sentence ended on a whispered hiss. I looked back at Shaeffer, and to me it was abundantly clear that he knew exactly what it was he was suggesting... and that he was just as scared about it as the rest of us were.

But it was equally clear he was also determined not to let those fears stand in his way. "There's nothing of changing the past about it," he said firmly. "We don't know—none of us do—exactly what happened on that flight. If we don't know what the past is, how can we be changing it?"

" 'If a tree falls alone in the forest, is there any sound?' " Hale put in icily. "Do you have any idea what will happen if we meddle like this?"

"No—and neither do you," Shaeffer replied. "Face it, people, no one knows what changing even a known fact of history would mean. A known fact, notice, which is not what we're talking about doing here."

"Oh, aren't we?" Hale retorted. "All right, fine—let's assume for the moment that somehow we keep President Jeffers out of Air Force One. It's been over six hours now since the crash. Are you going to try and tell us that he and his whole Secret Service detachment have been sitting around listening to the news and no one's bothered to pick up a phone to let the world know he's still alive? Come on, now, let's be serious. We keep Jeffers out of the plane and we've changed history—pure and simple."

"Maybe not," Shaeffer said stubbornly. "It's possible he could be lying low while the crash is being checked out. Especially if sabotage is a possibility, he might want to give the perpetrators a false sense of security. You might recall that for days after the Libyan raid back in 1986 Quaddafi disappeared—"

Hale snorted. "Jeffers wouldn't duck and hide, and you know it. That shoot-from-the-hip style of his was practically his trademark."

"Maybe lying low wasn't his idea," Shaeffer snapped. "Maybe someone persuaded him to do so."

I felt my hands start to tremble. "Shaeffer... are you saying you've been in touch with him?"

Kristin caught her breath and murmured something inaudible. But Shaeffer shook his head. "No, of course not. Do you think I want to risk frogging up your chances by contacting someone out there?"

"But if you call and find that he's there—" Rennie began.

"And if he isn't, then that's it," Shaeffer snapped back. "Right?" He glared around at all of us.

Morgan cleared his throat. "Mr. Shaeffer, we all of us understand how you feel 'bout... what's happened to President Jeffers. But denyin' the facts isn't gonna—"

"What 'facts,' Mr. Portland?" Shaeffer cut him off. "We have no facts at this point—just speculations and possibilities."

I looked at Griff, who had yet to say a word. "Griff...?"

"Yes, Griff, say something, will you?" Hale cut in. "Explain things to this idiot. Or has the wow-value of the big-city bureaucrat short-circuited your ability to think straight?"

Griff cocked an eyebrow, but that was the extent of his reaction to Hale's harshness. "If you're asking whether or not I'm going along with Mr. Shaeffer's idea, the answer is a qualified and cautious yes. We're talking about the chance to save a man's life here."

"Oh, for God's sake," Hale snarled, his eyes flicking around the table once before returning to Griff. "Will you for one minute look past the lure of a real budget and think about what we're being asked to do here? We're being asked to change the past—Shaeffer's weaseling phrases be damned, that's what's really at stake here. Don't you care what that might mean?"

For a moment Griff gazed steadily back at him. "Certainly, Hale, you have a point," he said at last. "Certainly this could prove dangerous. But have any of you stopped to consider the other side of the coin? If there's a single factor that consistently shows up on your psych evaluations, it's the frustrations Banshee creates in you—the stress of seeing disasters you can't do anything to prevent. Denials: anyone?"

I glanced around the table even as I realized that, for me, all further arguments were moot. The chance to save a life that would otherwise be lost—a life whose loss was filling an entire nation with grief and pain—was all the motivation I needed.

Besides which, Griff happened to be right. All of us hated the helplessness we felt during Jumps; hated it with a passion. If we really could do something about the disasters we had to witness...

"So," Griff continued after a moment. "Then consider what we've got here: a chance to see whether or not the past can be safely changed. Doesn't that seem like something worth taking a little risk to find out?"