Ace in the Hole - By George R. R. Martin Page 0,154

drenched him in cold sweat. While David had talked them past the nurse, Tach had palmed pain killers from the evening medication tray. He had dry swallowed them in the taxi, but they hadn't taken effect yet, and he found he could hardly stand.

The agent on the door was eyeing the pair skeptically. The slender, .dark older man, his arm tightly about the Takisian's waist. Tach presented his press pass.

"There's no room in there, Doctor." He eyed Harstein suspiciously. "Where's your pass?"

"I don't have one. He's the one who needs to get in."

"There are no seats available."

"That's all right. I'll stand."

"I can't let you, it's a fire hazard. Go over to the Congress Center. You can watch on the big-screen TV."

Tachyon fought down a wave of dizziness and nausea. Ran a hand across his clammy face, and felt the scratch of stubble against his palm.

"Please," he whispered, and cuddled his mutilated arm to his chest.

" I think it would be a very good idea if you let him in," said David softly. "How much harm can it do? He's one small man."

"Yeah," said the guard hesitantly.

"He left the hospital just to be here for this moment. I know you'd like to help him."

"Oh, all right. What the hell. Go on in."

Tachyon squeezed Harstein's shoulder hard with his left hand. "David, don't disappear again."

"I'll be waiting."

8:00 P.M.

Spector was sweating buckets. Getting onto the podium had been no problem. Making himself stay there was. The convention hall was huge, much bigger than he'd imagined, seeing it on TV. Thousands of people, millions if you counted the TV audience, would be looking in his direction. He peered at the lighted network booths and strained to see if he could recognize Connie Chung, or Dan Rather, or what's-his-name from CNN. It kept his mind occupied enough to keep his feet planted on the stage.

Jesse Jackson was speaking, his powerful voice rising and falling in his usual Southern preacher style. Jackson's nomination as VP was obviously the price Hartmann had paid to get him to drop out of the presidential contest.

Spector couldn't see any way to get at Hartmann while he was on stage. Better to wait until he was escorting the senator back to his hotel and let him have it then. He could run off to telephone an ambulance and slip away. Everyone would be too caught up in the moment to miss him. Then it would be back to Jersey and a little peace and quiet. He just had to bide his time.

"It was all my idea. People are saying the campaign came up with it, but the whole thing was my call." Jack gave a theatrical sigh. " I was wrong, but it seemed like a good idea at the time."

The newscasters were filling time with celebrity interviews. Below the CBS skybooth, the convention was humming, awaiting the candidate. Half of them seemed to be masked.

Jack smiled ruefully into Walter Cronkite's crinkled eyes. "It all seemed to fit together. All the wild card violence-and remember, I was attacked twice myself-it all seemed aimed at hindering Senator Hartmann's candidacy and promoting the Reverend Barnett's. When I saw Barnett personally, I saw how charismatic he is. With people like Nur-al-Allah in the worldremember, he's another charismatic religious leader who happens to be a wild card-I just jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"So you are satisfied that there are no wild cards in the Barnett camp?"

Jack offered a pacticed, cynical smile. "If they're there, they're well-hidden." He laughed, disingenuous. "They'd have to be, Walter."

Behind Cronkite a couple dozen video monitors showed the cameras panning the convention. People waved signs, danced, laughed behind their masks. Sweating men in headphones busied themselves over consoles.

Cronkite seemed in an easy, conversational mood, hardly the hard-ass reporter right now. Still, his question stung. "Do you think you should apologize to the Barnett campaign?"

Jack gave another patent smile. "I already have, Walter. I delivered a personal apology to Fleur van Renssaeler yesterday afternoon." He tightened the smile, looked into the camera. Take that, Fleur, he thought.

"So how do you feel now that Gregg Hartmann has finally won the nomination?"

Jack stared into the camera and felt his smile freeze. " I think," he said carefully, "that I messed up a few too many times to feel happy with much of anything, Walter."

Cronkite put an over-the-audio speaker in his ear, listened for a moment, then looked up and said, "I understand the candidate is about to speak. Thank you, Jack, and we'll switch