Maybe, jack thought, it was Fleur who was the secret ace, not Barnett. He wondered if Fleur had been in the military. "After this morning," Rodriguez being tactful, " there's no approaching them. Someone talked to Fleur whatsername: she says No. Doesn't even want to talk about it."
Jack rose to his feet, scowling toward the massive battleship-prow of the podium as Jim Wright called the convention to order and announced there would be another ballot. The damned vote would take forever: the managers had totally lost control of the delegates and each delegation would have to be polled man-by-man. The move to suspend the convention rules would come after the vote total was announced. And then that would have to be voted on-God, how long could this go on?
"Fuck! Fuck!" Rodriguez was shouting into his cellular phone. He slammed the thing into its cradle, then looked at jack. "Dukakis will go along with it. He hasn't got anything to lose, and maybe he can pick up some of Jackson's delegates. But we cant change the rules without Barnett. We need a three-quarters vote."
"This sucks, ese."
"Barnett 's going over the top if this Jackson stunt doesn't work." Rodriguez took a breath. "Okay. Here's what Devaughn wants. We're gonna start spreading the rumor that Jackson is dropping out, that all he wants to do is address the convention and make a plea on behalf of his constituency. Nobody's calling the shots with his individual delegates anymore. Maybe Barnett's troops won't pay attention when he tells them to vote no."
"Maybe."
Rodriguez shrugged. "The whole scheme's a maybe." Jack felt his hands balling by his sides. There had to be some way to repair things, some way to repair the damage that the assassin aces had done-hell, that Jack had done.
He remembered longshoremen dancing on a countertop. David Harstein, he thought wildly. Get Harstein on the platform. Use him to influence the entire convention to nominate Hartmann by acclamation.
No. Stupid. Everyone would notice. People watching on TV would wonder how come they weren't as enthusiastic as the people at the convention. And the air-conditioning might blow Harstein's pheromones away.
Harstein's power was subtle; it had to be used subtly. He could only influence a few people at a time.
Maybe, Jack thought, a few important people. Maybe Barnett's campaign manager.
Jack thought of Fleur dancing on tabletops, flinging her underwear into the Omni atrium, calling Leo Barnett on the phone to tell him how good Tachyon was in bed… Jack gloried in this picture for a moment before the whole thing fell apart.
David Harstein hated his guts. Who was he to make plans for the man?
The hell with that. Harstein wanted Hartmann elected, right? If nothing else, Jack could resort to blackmail. He knew Harstein was a secret ace. He could threaten to reveal it.
He thought of himself weeping in the tunnel and his stomach turned over.
Jim Wright read Alabama's delegate total. All for Barnett. That decided it. Jack was moving, walking from California to New York across the massive front of the podium. Harstein was seated in the bleachers watching his daughter address the New York delegation. His look was both sad and proud. Jack slapped Harstein on the shoulder and pinned him to his seat.
The actor's eyes were veiled, cautious, watching. " I thought we had reached an understanding. You leave me alone. I leave you alone."
Jack spoke quickly. "Listen, it's important. In a few minutes there's going to be a motion to suspend the rules of the convention in order to let Jackson speak. He's going to withdraw and give his support to our man."
"Good for Gregg Hartmann." Scowling. "What's that got to do with me?"
"The vote has to be damn near unanimous. Barnett has enough votes to block us. I figure we can talk to Fleur van Renssaeler and make her change her mind."
"We?" The pointed emphasis made Jack want to melt into the ground. "Is this your plan? Or have you told Hartmann about me?"
Jack shook his head. He was trying not to cringe. "Nobody knows but me. I won't say anything, but you've got to help me."
Harstein rubbed wearily at his forehead. "And you expect me to talk my way into Barnett's headquarters and change everybody's mind?" He seemed almost to be talking to himself. "What year do you think this is? 1947? This sort of thing didn't work then, and it isn't going to work now."
He was right. It was so obvious. How could Jack have been so stupid?
Jack caught himself just on the point of shrugging and walking away. Harstein's pheromones had already got Jack agreeing with him. What did he mean, it didn't work then?
David had talked Franco right off his throne. Still, when he spoke, he didn't sound convincing even to himself.
"If we don't do this, Barnett's going to win. This will all be for nothing." Sweat poured down Jack's face. He felt as if his heart was going to explode any second. "All we have to do is change one mind. Fleur's."
Davidson looked away, thinking. Jack took a desperate lungful of air, tried to calm his trembling limbs.
"I've made a life," Davidson said. "I've got a family. I can't risk them. My counterfeit identity won't stand up to thorough investigation." He looked at Jack. "I'm an old man. I don't do that sort of thing anymore. Maybe it should never have been done."
Surprise sang in Jack's veins. He wants my understanding, he thought.
"You're doing that sort of thing now," Jack said. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't trying to influence people."
"Jack, you still don't get it, do you? I can't help but influence people. I can't turn my power on or off. That's why I'm not a delegate. That's why I keep to myself. What right have I got to replace a man's opinion with mine? Is mine necessarily any better than his?" Harstein shook his head.
Jack fought against the ferocious urge to just agree with Harstein and walk away. "Our opinions," he said, fighting to get every word out, "are one hell of a lot better than the ravings of a man who threatens us. Your daughter-" He pointed at her and remembered her name, Sheila. "Sheila has the wild card. You've got a full dose, both chromosomes, and even if your wife didn't have the virus, you couldn't help but give Sheila a latent. And if she marries someone with another latent, their kids could end up with a full wild card."
Harstein said nothing. His eyes traveled to where his daughter stood among the other delegates. Sheila was looking back, her face worried. She knew, then, of her father's identity, guessed that Jack knew as well.
"Do you know what will happen to them if Barnett becomes president?" Jack went on. "They'll be confined to a nice hospital in some remote location, a hospital with a razor-wire fence. And you won't have grandchildrenBarnett'll see to that."
Harstein turned to Jack. The ice had returned. "Kindly don't mention my daughters again. Don't you ever use that line of argument with me. You don't give a damn for them, or me."
Harstein fell silent. Looked at his daughters again. Spoke softly. "We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves." He looked at Jack. "That was an unfair argument. But it convinced me; I will do what I can." He hesitated. "I'm a little surprised. I thought you'd threaten to expose me. I'm glad to see I was wrong."
That's always an option, Jack thought. But didn't say it. He didn't mind developing a reputation for decency for a change.
It took only a minute to walk from the Omni complex to the Omni Hotel next door. It was almost ten minutes before Jack and Harstein could get an elevator to Barnett's headquarters. A lot of Barnett's people were around: there was a lot of staring. Jack ignored them and did a lot of thinking.
Their convention IDs were enough to get them into the hotel, and probably into the operations room. Security would be greatest around the candidate, and Barnett's room was on another floor. Jack's problem would be staying in the operations room long enough to get next to Fleur and let Harstein's pheromones do their work.