None. None at all.
There was nothing else we could do, right? Absolutely. Nothing else.
Puppetman was smug.
When Billy opened the door of the campaign staff room for Gregg, a cardboard Peregrine floated out. Someone had whited-out her costume and penned in pubic hair and enormous nipples on the bare breasts. "Flying Fuck" was stenciled on the side.
The place was a happy chaos. Gregg could see Jack Braun in one of the bedrooms with Charles Devaughn and Logan. Half the Ohio delegation seemed to be in the living room of the suite, dipping into the booze stashed behind the wet bar and waiting for their own meeting with Devaughn. Junior staffers were riding the phone lines while volunteers bustled in and out. Room service trays littered the floor near the door, the carpet was sticky with spilled soda. The place smelled like a week-old pizza.
Gregg watched the mood shift as soon as he entered. Puppetman felt the hysterical jubilation darken as the noise level dropped to nothing. Everyone turned to look at Gregg.
Devaughn broke away from Jack and Logan. His well-groomed figure cut a wedge through the crowded room. "Senator," he purred. "We're all very sorry. How's Ellen?",
Puppetman could feel very little actual sorrow or concern inside his campaign manager-Devaughn felt nothing unless it directly impacted him, and then everything was a crisis-but Gregg nodded. "She's doing a good job of pretending that she's a lot better than she is. This has been a blow to all of us, but especially to her. I'm not going to stay here too long, Charles. I need to get back to the hospital soon. I just wanted to touch bases. I know I haven't been much help to you people…"
"You're mistaken there, Senator. That press conference at the hospital-" Devaughn shook his head. The yuppie-cut hair stayed perfectly in place. "John's meeting with Florida, Georgia, and Mississippi right now; it looks like we might be able to swing a lot of the Southern Gore delegates away from Barnett."
They're heavily into the strength of the family unit and that type of thing; we've got a lot of sympathy pull to use there." Devaughn didn't even notice the callousness of the remark, though aides around them audibly gasped. "Christ, man… one of them exclaimed.
Devaughn simply plowed on. "I've been talking with Jack and the West looks solid, too." Devaughn couldn't keep the grin from his face. "We've got it, Senator," he said eagerly. "We're within 150-200 votes of the majority, and the swing our way is getting deeper. Two more ballots, three at the most. Barnett's drifting and going nowhere, and we're picking up everyone's defectors. It's all over but the VP decision. You'd better start making your final decision on that."
Some of the workers around them gave a cheer at the declaration. Gregg allowed himself a small half-smile. Jack had followed Devaughn over and was standing beside him. He grimaced at the display and Puppetman felt a faint spill of distaste.
"I'm sorry, Gregg," he said, giving Devaughn a hard glare. "Really. No one would have blamed you for dropping out. I think I would have given it up in the same situation. I know there's nothing anyone can say to make it hurt less."
"Thanks, Jack." Gregg clasped the ace on the shoulder. He heaved a great sigh and shrugged self-conciously. "Whether you believe it or not, hearing that does mean something. Listen, you're one of the main reasons I dropped back here. Ellen's asking to see both you and Tachyon. I think she wants to make certain I've got good people around me for protection."
Gregg felt a twinge from Billy Ray at that: more guilt. Just for the pleasure it would give Puppetman and because for the first time in weeks he could do such things without worry, he tweaked the guilt and let Puppetman savor it. Ray's intake of breath was audible.
"Tachy's over at the Omni, I think," Jack said.
"Then could I ask a favor? Would you find him and drag him back to the Marriott? We'll go over together, if it's all right with you two."
It had been easy enough to arrange. Ellen was a long-time puppet and extremely pliable. It would add to the favorable press the accident had given him. He could see the photo now:
Senator Hartmann, Golden Boy, and Dr. Tachyon at Mrs.
Hartmann's bedside. From the slight twist to Braun's mouth, it was obvious the ace had come to much the same conclusion, but he shrugged.
"I guess. Let me go see if I can round up Tachy."
"Good," Gregg said. "I'll wait for you in my room."
4:00 P.M.
Jack hadn't found Tachyon at the Omni, and decided to go on to the hospital without him. Jack didn't have the heart to tell the candidate that Tachyon was probably back at the Marriott screwing Fleur van Renssaeler.
Hartmann stared silently at the back of Billy Ray's head as the limousine inched its way through bumper-to-bumper traffic on its way to the hospital.
Jack thought about the secret ace. If the fragment of Sara's photocopy clue was anything to go by, the unknown ace had to be a veteran who had somehow got his blood test suppressed.
This left out Jesse Jackson, who, being a seminary student, had a draft deferment. The other candidates were all veterans, but the way Jack figured, the most likely suspect was Leo Barnett.
Barnett was a populist charismatic preacher who claimed to interpret the word of God, whose flock had mostly voted for Reagan in the last two elections, but who had followed him blindly into Democratic ranks. He preached against the wild card and wild card violence, but he didn't have the votes to take the nomination unless so much chaos broke out at the convention that a backlash gave him the nomination:
Maybe Barnett had been off in his tower praying for disasters to befall Gregg Hartmann. Maybe the angels had obliged him.
Or maybe it hadn't been the angels who had obliged. There was another possible clue in Sara's "secret ace" paper, the doodles that included a row of crosses. Maybe Sara made those crosses when thinking about the Reverend Leo Barnett.
Jack held off making a judgment until he saw the videotapes. Dukakis impressed him as hardworking, intelligent, and fairly dull. Hardly the sort to employ twisted aces to chop up his enemies. But Barnett was riveting.
In the videos, he prowled the stage like a wary panther, wiping away buckets of sweat with a succession of huge handkerchiefs, his voice ranging from a mild, just-folks West Virginia twang to a lacerating, scornful jeremiad shriek. And he was clearly no brainless ranting Holy Roller. His ice-blue eyes burned with fearsome intelligence. His messages were so well-constructed, so well-reasoned-at least within their apocalyptic framework-that his communications skills had to be the envy of any of the other candidates' speechwriters.
And Barnett was-Jack hated to admit this-sexy. He was still under forty, and his blond Redford good looks and dimpled chin obviously had his female audience in thrall.
There was one incredibly revealing scene, Barnett straddling a prostrate young semi-deb who had been possessed by the Spirit, Barnett shouting into his phallic microphone while the girl babbled in tongues, and writhed and grunted in what to Jack's jaded Hollywood mind seemed clearly to be a series of staggering sexual climaxes… And Jack, looking into the preacher's intent face and ferocious predator eyes, knew that Barnett knew he was bringing the girl off just with the power of his presence and voice, and that Barnett rejoiced in the twisted sexual glory of it all…
Jack remembered a night in 1948, sitting after a Broadway debut in a Sixth Avenue coffee shop with David Harstein, the member of the Four Aces whose pheromone power hadn't, at that point, been revealed to the public. Unknown to them, a meeting of the Communist Party USA was being held down the street. The meeting ended and several of the party members showed up in the coffee shop and recognized Jack and Harstein. What started out as autograph-seeking turned into a combative political debate, as the comrades, fired-up from their meeting, demanded ideological concurrence from the two celebrities. Hunting Nazis and overthrowing Juan Peron was all very well, but when were the Four Aces going to proclaim solidarity with the workers? What about assisting anti-Dutch forces in Java and Mao's army in China? Why hadn't the Aces fought alongside the ELAS in Greece? What about assisting the Russians in purging Eastern Europe of unsound elements?