Ace In The Hole

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sunday July 24, 1988

With one cheap towel wrapped around her dripping body from breasts to thighs and another wound around her hair, Sara emerged from the bathroom in a breath of steam. Motion was effort; she had rigor mortis to the depths of her soul.

"We can't rely on Tachyon anymore." She forced her words out like lumps of plasticine through a window screen. They weren't a question.

The man who called himself George Steele sat on the bed in trousers and undershirt, looking down at the backs of his hands. They were hairy, like his shoulders. He raised his head. "We cannot."

"You know the plan we discussed earlier?" His eyes narrowed. "Yes."

"I'll do it." She turned and went back into the bathroom to dry her hair.

Hospitals were tasty and Puppetman was getting hungry. Gregg leaned away from the Compaq Portable III and rubbed his eyes. He typed a quick message: Tony, I'm taking a break. The speech looks good, and I'm sending my last edit.

I'll leave the computer on and pick up the draft when I get back. Thanks.

He sent the file via modem to Calderone's portable and rubbed his eyes.

"Tired, love?" Ellen smiled at him from her hospital bed, half-asleep herself "I think the next president of the United States ought to get some sleep. You had a long night last night, and Jack tells me you and Jesse stayed up till all hours planning the campaign."

"It was a glorious night, Ellen. Jesse's speech was a wonder. I'm sorry you weren't there. None of it was possible without you."

She smiled at that, tinged with sadness. She was still pale, her skin almost translucent, and her eyes were puffy and dark. The death of their child had marked her more permanently than he had thought possible. "I'm coming to hear your speech tonight. Nothing could stop me. Kiss me, next president of the United States."

"Picked up on that phrase, have we?"

"After last night's roll call? `The great state of New York casts all its votes for the next president of the United States: Gregg Hartmann!' How many states are there?" She held her arms out.

Gregg leaned over the bed and kissed her softly on the lips. Puppetman nudged at him. Give her to me.

No. Leave her alone. We've put her through enough. Getting sentimental, are we? The power mocked him, but didn't seem inclined to argue. Then let's go elsewhere. I'm hungry.

Gregg hugged Ellen. "Listen," he said. "I'm going to take a short walk. Thought I might see some of the patients, shake a few hands."

"Campaigning already," Ellen gave a mock sigh. "Mr. Next-President-of-the-United-States."

"Get used to it, love."

"You'll get tired of handshaking before it's all over, Gregg."

He gave her a strange grin. "I doubt it," he said. Inside, Puppetman echoed him.