"They're good," Peggy said.
"It's us," Herzenhagen said. "It's our style. That's how we operate."
Peggy stared at him. "What are you saying?"
"This may not be a battle. This may be a coup."
Peggy considered this. "Who?" she said.
"Brandon. The General. Casaday. Who knows? But we've both had narrow escapes today."
"And all the ID connected with this body," Peggy said, "was left at Latchkey. Which makes this body a suspect."
Time for the backup plan, Herzenhagen thought. He couldn't know who was doing this, but things had grown too dangerous, and he still had his deus ex jumper. Time for a new lease on life.
"I've got to get the Quarantine Bill out of committee," he said.
Peggy seemed dubious. "How? Flynn's dead."
"We've got one jumper left. And one President. Sounds like a fair trade to me."
Disbelief entered Peggy's eyes. "Who have we got that ballsy? And who could pull off an impersonation of Barnett?"
Herzenhagen smiled. "Ever want to make it in the White House?"
Peggy looked shocked. Then she smiled.
"Wno knows?" she said. "They say power is an aphrodisiac."
"Just long enough to sign the Quarantine Bill. And then Barnett and Zappa can have an accident, one with enough freaks and jumpers to turn the public against wild cards for all time."
And then there was a crashing at the door, and Herzenhagen and Peggy turned to stare down the bores of police shotguns.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Just long enough to sign the Quarantine Bill. The words sent cold fingers up Shad's spine.
"Ever want to make it in the White House?" Croyd mocked. "These old Sharks sure talk about fucking a lot."
Shad laughed, but a train of thought had been set in motion. Herzenhagen and Faneuil and Durand, Hughes with his redhead ... older men, most of them, with younger women. Shad wondered if there was some pervasive potency metaphor at work here in Sharkland, if the whole organization was based on a bunch of fading, hollow old men trying to recapture the power and splendor of youth, reviving a time where they were in charge, unchallenged by the wild card.
They watched as DC cops drove Herzenhagen and Durand away. Media lights burned bright on the two stolid faces.
"Do you think we stopped it?" Shad said.
"Stopped what? The Sharks?" Croyd laughed.
"No. Jumping the President."
Croyd laughed again. "Who cares? If Leo Barnett ends up in some French bitch's head, that's copacetic with me. What's that cracker ever done for me except stick me on Governor's Island and wave bye-bye?" He laughed again.
Shad shook his head. "I don't want that Nazi cocksucker in the President's head, not for one second."
"Easy enough to put a stop to it, then." Croyd's brilliant eyes glittered.
"Yeah. We'll see."
We'll see how long those two stay in jail, he thought.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Early next morning, Crypt Kicker's body strolled out of the little Maryland medical examiner's office where it had been stashed pending an autopsy. People who saw him go were understandably disinclined to stop him leaving. Shad wished he'd known the man regenerated so quickly; he'd have taken the body and been waiting when the Kicker woke up.
Herzenhagen was released next morning, after questioning. No charges were filed, at least so far. Peggy Durand, whose body seemed to have been named Dolores Chacon, didn't quite have Herzenhagen's clout, and remained a guest in the DC women's facility.
It only cost Shad a few minor bribes to see her privately - Shad loved legal institutions in the East, where everyone was corrupt. Though he was dressed as a lawyer, in a blue blazer and tie, still the smell of a jail, the antiseptic mingled with foul body odor, sent a cold charge up his spine. And when the steel door of the interrogation room slammed behind him. Shad had to clench his hands in his pockets to keep them from trembling.
Make this short, he thought.
Peggy Durand seemed a lot less nervous than he was. She managed to make a shapeless prison jumpsuit seem elegant, and she'd gotten makeup from somewhere. A wisp of smoke rolled up from a cigarette in her hand.
And then her eyes leaped as she saw Howard Hughes.
"Hi, there," Hughes said.
Durand stared. Hughes gave her the thumbs-up pilot's sign and stayed by the steel door with a grin plastered to his face.
"What's going on?" Durand demanded.
"Housecleaning, Peggy," Shad said firmly. "A tad overdue, actually. Would you like some cigarettes?" He offered a pack of Marlboros.
"I smoke Dunhills." She flashed the cigarette in her hand.
"Keep them. You can use them for money in here."
Durand looked thoughtful for a moment, then took the pack of cigarettes and put them in her jumpsuit pocket.
Shad pushed Mr. Diamond's spectacles back up his nose, opened the briefcase, took out a tape player. "I assume you're a pragmatic woman, Miss Durand."
Durand's pupils dilated at the name. "You've got me confused with someone else," she said "My name is Chacon."
"Goddam Gravemold." Hughes muttered to himself. "Motherfucker!"
Durand's eyes flicked to Hughes, then back to Shad. "Who are you exactly?"
"I'm an employee of an agency that is known to you."
She seemed amused. "An American agency?"
Shad feigned annoyance. "Of course. It is an organization that has been tasked with the ... Card Sharks matter."
"The what?"
"The Sharks," Shad began, "have been useful to friendly interests over the years. Because of their usefulness, they were granted a certain degree of ... unofficial latitude in regard to their, ah, viral obsession. A recent reevaluation of their status indicates that they have now become a liability, and even worse, an embarrassment. It has therefore been decided to bring the Sharks operation to an appropriate termination. As you are no doubt aware, certain Shark assets deemed too intransigent to be of further use have already been annulled. Whereas those who might continue to be of further use may be retained in another capacity."
Durand sat expressionlessly in her metal chair - lips clenched, eyes contracted to pinpricks. Thinking furiously. She jerked her head toward Howard Hughes.
"And Howard? Isn't he supposed to be dead?"
"Mr. Hughes has long-established links to the intelligence community," Shad said. "Those links will continue to be of service to this country."
"Fuck yes," Hughes mumbled. "But who'd have thought the smelly bastard would have screwed me on the docks?"
Durand drew on her cigarette, leaned forward "And what precisely do you want from me?"
"You are, I believe, a practical woman. Your history demonstrates your resourcefulness and adaptability. I suggest that you acquire an attorney of your own - not the one the Sharks have found you - and turn yourself in to the federal witness protection program. You would know best which of the available prosecutors' offices would be immune from Shark penetration."
Durand peered at him. "Witness protection? You anticipate prosecutions? Public prosecutions?"
Shad smiled thinly. "That would be for the prosecutors to decide, wouldn't it? But the decision has been made that something has to go on the public record. Too many incidents have been without explanation for too long."
"Why don't you simply arrest me?"
Shad permitted his smile to broaden. "My agency does not have powers of arrest within the borders of the United States."
"Ah. Of course. You can't arrest, you can only ..."
"Terminate."
Durand stubbed out her cigarette, bit her lip nervously. "I'm not in every loop. I'm just - " She flashed a seductive smile. "I'm just a friend of some very powerful men. I only know what they tell me. They use me."