"Rennie—"

"No, Dr. Mansfield, he's right," Shaeffer cut Griff off. "If we're going to do this safely, we've got to make sure the President winds up with only the options we want him to have."

I glanced at Rennie, saw a touch of surprise flicker across his face. Shaeffer's acceptance of his argument seemed to have pulled some of the wind out of his sails. "It gets worse," he said, a bit less belligerently. "If he jumps out of the plane anywhere near civilization, we get exactly the same problem."

"Yes, I'd caught that corollary, thank you," Shaeffer returned tartly. "Let me think."

For a moment the only sound in the room was the steady drone of a hundred cabinet fans. "All right," Shaeffer said at last. "He was in the air for approximately ninety minutes before the crash. We'll start fifteen minutes before the end."

"And what if he spots Morgan immediately?" Rennie growled.

"What if he does?" Shaeffer countered. "What's he likely to do?"

A slight frown creased Rennie's forehead as, for the second time in so many minutes, Shaeffer seemed to have taken him by surprise. "I thought the whole point of this exercise was to get him to pull the ripcord on the flight."

"Sure... but put yourself in his shoes for a second. What would you do if you were President and saw a Banshee appear in front of you?"

Rennie's frown darkened. "This isn't any time for guessing games, Shaeffer," he bit out. "If you've got some brilliant idea—"

"We wouldn't be lookin' in on him if the plane was just gonna crash," Morgan said slowly.

"What was that?" Shaeffer asked, an oddly tense look in his eye.

Morgan was frowning off into space. "Well, our business here's s'posed to be findin' out how these things happen... and if he was gonna crash, we oughta be concentratin' on the wings or engines or somethin'. If one o' us just sits there and watches him, maybe he'll think it's somethin' else gonna happen."

Griff inhaled sharply. "Like maybe... assassination?"

Shaeffer nodded, almost eagerly. "Right—exactly right. I'm expecting him to assume he's going to be the target of a simple attack, and that you're there to find out which of his aides is the one involved."

"So he'll sit there and make sure the door is locked," Griff nodded. "Makes sense."

"Or else he'll assume that there's a bomb in his private section," Hale put in.

Shaeffer's expression soured a little. "In which case he'll call for a quick search of the plane," he said shortly. "Either way, the thought of jumping shouldn't even cross his mind... until you start leading him out toward the exit."

I looked at Morgan, back to Shaeffer. "And what if the President doesn't notice him?" I asked.

"He will, Shaeffer said grimly. "This is our last chance, and we're damn well going to make sure he sees something this time. So. Dr. Mansfield, you'll be sending Mr. Portland into the slot T minus fifteen minutes to T minus six minutes—no later, understand? Ms. Cosgrove will be next, and after that Mr. Baylor here—all of them Jumping into the same fifteen-to-six minute time slot."

I looked at Griff, saw his eyebrows go up. "Didn't we decide," I said carefully, "that sending more than one person into the same slot—?"

"As each comes back," Shaeffer went on as if I hadn't spoken, "you will immediately administer a sedative, before there can be any indications one way or the other as to what the Jumper has seen or done. Understand?"

For a long moment Griff just stood there, looking as flabbergasted as I felt. Beside me, Morgan stirred. "Mr. Shaeffer," he said hesitantly, "I'd be the first to admit I'm not all that smart. But are you tryin' to say that if we don't know what the other Jumpers saw, then a lot of the problems go away?"

Shaeffer's mouth compressed into a tight line. "I'm hoping the paradoxes will, yes," he said. "It ought to work—it's a version of the Schr?dinger's cat setup—" He broke off, took a deep breath. "Anyway, we have to risk it; and we have to risk it now, Mr. Portland."

I looked at Morgan, expecting him to nod and take his position on the couch. "No," he said quietly.

—

I stared at him. We all did, for what seemed to be a very long time. "What did you say?" Shaeffer asked at last, very softly.

"I said no," Morgan told him, equally softly. "Sorry, Mr. Shaeffer, but even the way you got it I don't think it's safe enough. And if you're wrong..." He shook his head. "It all goes bad real quick."

"And you came to this conclusion all by yourself?" Shaeffer growled pointedly.

Morgan's forehead creased. "Just 'cause I never had much schooling doesn't mean I ain't got any common sense," he said without rancor.

"And common sense is important in abstract physics, is it?" Shaeffer bit out. He shifted his glare to Hale and Rennie. "All right. Which of you two put him up to this? Or would you rather the Marines upstairs ask the questions?"

"You don't need to do that," Morgan sighed. "It was Rennie who told me that you couldn't fiddle things so's it wouldn't be dangerous."

"Common sense may not be the best thing to go by here, Morgan," Griff put in quietly. "What about your sense of honor, your loyalty to the rest of us? What do they tell you?"

Morgan gave him a long look. "It's 'cause of that that I'm just quittin' straight out," he said. "Otherwise I'd prob'bly do what Hale thought I should: Jump, but stay as far as I could away from President Jeffers."

"Son of a bitch," Shaeffer ground out, turning his glare on Hale as his hand dipped briefly into his side coat pocket. "You're under arrest—both of you."

"On what charge?" Rennie asked calmly. "You had no legal authority to drag me back here to Banshee in the first place—there's been no declaration of martial law, and I wasn't served any kind of papers, Federal or otherwise. You have no power over me, Shaeffer—you or Griff. Arrest me and I'll sue your eyes out."

Behind him, the elevator opened to reveal two Marines. "These men are under house arrest," Shaeffer told them, pointing to Hale and Rennie. "Take them to their rooms and make sure they stay there." He looked at Morgan. "Last chance, Portland. Are you going to join them?"

Without a word, Morgan stepped over beside Rennie and Hale. Shaeffer nodded to the Marines and the entire group disappeared back into the elevator.

And as the doors closed on them, all of the starch suddenly seemed to go out of Shaeffer's backbone. His hands went up to rub his face and he actually staggered, and I found myself wondering just how much sleep he'd gotten the night before. Probably not much. "Dr. Mansfield, you'd better call Ms. Cosgrove down here."

I looked at Griff. "There's no way we can do this with just two Jumpers," I said.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Adam's right, Mr. Shaeffer. Especially if you still plan to go with sedation after each Jump."

"I'd say it's obvious that idea's not going to work as is," Shaeffer bit out. "Just get Ms. Cosgrove down here—let me worry about procedure."

Griff pursed his lips and for a moment I thought he was going to argue. Then, without a word, he stepped over to the control board phone.

Kristin arrived about fifteen minutes later, looking even worse than Shaeffer did. Her eyes were red and half-lidded, her hair had the disheveled look of someone who'd spent the night doing more tossing and turning than actual sleeping, and her feet seemed to drag as she walked toward us from the elevator. I stepped forward to take her arm; she sent me a halfhearted glare and pulled back from my grasp. "What's going on, Griff?" she asked.

"Mutiny," he told her grimly. "You and Adam seem to be the only Jumpers on our side at the moment."

"We—what?"

"Ms. Cosgrove," Shaeffer interrupted her, stepping over from the control station. "I understand you're still recovering from last night's Jump, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to do another one this morning."