Squaring his shoulders he faced the door of Hartmann's suite. Perhaps as Hiram believes there is some logical explanation.
But Digger Jay claimed witnessed Hartmann watching with pleasure as a hunchback ace with hands like buzz saws eviscerated Kahina in the office of the Crystal Palace.
And last night that same hunchback had attempted to kill Sara and Jack.
He killed Andi, he killed Chrysalis, and now he's going to kill me
… me.. me… ME.
The rap of his knuckles on the door sounded loud in the hall. From below the sound of merrymaking drifted upward. Gregg was going over the top, top, top!
And I'm out of time, time, time.
Carnifex opened the door. He seemed shrunken somehow. Misery lurked in his green eyes.
"I need to see the senator, Billy."
The ace indicated with his free hand. Tachyon entered the suite. Gregg was seated in a chair by the window rolling a drink between his palms.
"Celebrating?"
The senator glanced up in surprise. "Well, not just yet, but soon I expect. Where have you been? I sent Jack to look for you. I wanted you to visit Ellen with me."
Tachyon stared at that smooth face. The laugh lines about the eyes. The sensitive mouth that had tightened in anger as the senator had been confronted with barbarism in Syria and South Africa. Tachyon's power quivered like a live thing, but he held it in check, terrified to penetrate the mind behind that familiar, friendly face.
Tachyon stirred slightly. His continued silence seemed to be angering Hartmann.
"What the hell is wrong with you? I'm about to get the nomination."
"Send Ray away."
"What?"
"Send him away."
Hartmann rolled expressive eyes toward the ace. Clearly a humor him expression. The agent nodded and left.
"Now Tachy, what's this all about? Drink?" He hefted the bottle.
"You are an ace."
Gregg barked out a laugh. "Really, Doctor, you've been working too hard-"
"I tested the blood on the jacket you wore in Syria." For a brief instant the man went rigid. But the face he presented to Tachyon was bland.
"I deny it. Categorically."
"It is written in your blood."
"The wrong jacket. The wrong blood. A plot by my enemies."
"The wrong blood." Tachyon rolled the words about his mouth, tasting them. "Yes, you did deal in the wrong blood when you had Chrysalis killed."
"I had nothing to do with Chrysalis's death."
"You left too many loose ends, Senator. Digger, Sara. It's unraveling, all of it."
"No one will ever believe them. Or you."
"I have the blood test."
"And you'll never publish it." Hartmann grinned, reading the answer in Tachyon's face. "Even assuming it were true, which it's not." He refilled his glass, and lounged back on the sofa exuding confidence.
"A touch of my power, and you'll lie naked before me," warned Tachyon. "I can see you. Read the truth of what you are."
Naked panic twisted the politician's face. He leaped up from the sofa, bourbon darkening the carpet as the glass fell from his hand. "This is insane, you've lost your mind. Ray. RAY!"
Tachyon hit him. Hard. Two swift body blows to Hartmann's gut. Anger gripped the alien like a physical force. He was trembling with rage and betrayal. Gregg tottered backward, clutching his stomach, mouth working as he gasped for breath.
Tachyon's power lanced out, gripped the human, brought him upright. He could see the terror in the human's eyes as he stood helpless in the grip of the Takisian's mental imperative.
He stepped into a place of putrescence. Slitted eyes burning with rage and hatred regarded him. A thing beyond all imaginings. Puppetman. It howled and fought, twisting as Tachyon, with the precision of a surgeon, laid back the years like flaps of rotting skin. Read a tale of death and pain and terror.
The frenzied greedy feeding as the baby and Gimli fell away into darkness. Sucking at Ellen's pain and fear. Rising lust as a joker, freed of all restraint, fell upon a woman and brutally raped her. A blood feast in Berlin as the maddened and unpredictable puppet Mackie Messer shredded his former companions. Not-wet and salty. Mackie's emotions as he had sucked on Gregg's cock. Bribing and then murdering the technician who had blood tested him. The crunch of bone as Roger Pellman slammed a rock into Andrea Whitman's face. Tasty. Tasty. An orgasmic sensation. Bloated and distended the thing fed upon the helpless, the lonely, the afraid.
So strong were the emotions and memories that Tachyon felt an answering heat in his own groin even while his stomach heaved with disgust. He screamed in fury that this thing, this monster could draw upon his own darkest nature.
Puppetman laughed, a swirling, nauseous mass of violet and red. Tachyon formed himself into a silver and crystal blade. Flew at the monster. Beat it back into its den. Threw up bars of flame. It was the most terrifying and powerful construct the Takisian had ever encountered.
Withdrawing into his own body Tachyon became aware of the stench of his own sweat, the violent trembling that shook his body. Hartmann sprawled on the sofa.
"You will never be president. Never!"
Gregg rose slowly, the action filled with menace. Loomed over the tiny alien. "You can't stop me. How can you stop me… us, little man?"
The Takisian retort rose without thought, but Tachyon suppressed it before it could pass his teeth, Kill you. No, the last thing he could do. Sudden death would lead to autopsy, and autopsy to… ruin.
Spinning on his heel he left the room.
Spector pushed his fist against the wall until he could hear his knuckles begin to crack. He gripped the knob to the adjoining door and tried to turn it. No luck. He took a deep breath, picked up the briefcase, and walked back into the bedroom. He set the briefcase down on the bed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Hartmann was playing them all for suckers. Tony had gotten the shit kicked out of him for nothing. The jokers in the park were supporting a fraud. The fucker was an ace, and a crazy one at that. He was a damned kingpin, just like the Astronomer, manipulating people into doing his dirty work while keeping his own hands clean. Spector gritted his teeth. He'd fallen for Hartmann's line, too. And he didn't like getting caught with his pants down. Rage boiled the pain up inside him. He had to do something, what he'd been hired to do in the first place.
Tachyon would probably be useless. He was so choked on his own fucking sense of self-importance that he'd figure withdrawing his support was enough. What a pathetic, little jerk. Treating the symptom instead of the disease, as usual, and leaving someone else to do the really hard work. Spector was too pissed off to tell how long it had been since Tachyon left the senator's room, but he could still hear Hartmann moving around next door. Now was the time to nail him, before any more Secret Service showed up. He straightened the shoulders on his jacket, stepped out into the hall, and paced over to Hartmann's door. His hand was on the knob when he heard someone call out.
"Who are you?"
Spector pulled his hand away from Hartmann's door like he'd taken an electric shock and turned to the sound of the voice. It was Jack Braun, and the Golden Boy looked suspicious and unhappy. Spector didn't think, he ran. He could hear heavy footfalls as Braun came after him.
Spector sprinted down the hallway and yanked open the door to the stairwell. Something grabbed his forearm as he stepped through. A tall, blond Secret Service agent tried to spin him against the wall. Spector knocked off the man's glasses and locked eyes. Why wouldn't these Hitler youth refugees let him alone? Golden Boy came through the doorway just as the dead agent hit the floor.
Jack sat downstairs at Hartmann HQ and ate pizza, waiting for Tachyon to finish his meeting with Hartmann. The mood was generally jubilant. Hartmann was less than a hundred votes from the 2,082 necessary to win, and it looked as if all the efforts of a platoon of secret aces might not be able to stop his progress. Flying ace gliders soared across the room. Amy Sorenson was laughing as she chatted in the corner with Louis Manxman. Even Charles deVaughn was occasionally allowing moments of cheerfulness to break through his scowling self-involvement.