Ace In The Hole wc-6 Page 6

  She had. She felt cool sweat start at the roots of her hair as she remembered how her suspicions had begun to erode, then whirl away beyond her reach, like driftwood from a drowning woman's fingers. She had actually come to think she loved him-and all the time a minute internal voice cried, no, no, what's happening to me?

  She recalled sweaty skin friction, and him thrusting inside her, and she wanted to douche and never stop.

  He had controlled her, as he had controlled poor Roger Pellman that Cincinnati afternoon when her sister died. Had used her because he perceived her as she perceived herself as a poor imitation of her beautiful lost sister. At least they shared that obsession with what was lost.

  She had her proof, all right; she could still feel the points in her psyche where the puppeteer's strings had been attached. And sometimes when they coupled she heard the word Andrea grunted among the endearments, and something within her chilled even as her body and mind responded with eager need.

  But it was no proof at all to anyone who could not read her thoughts.

  She found herself drifting, realized she was being drawn by some journalist tropism toward Cluster 3, the function rooms clumped beyond the circular escalator well. In her growing frenzy to nail down some evidence that might convince an outsider, make him look beyond the sober statesman's mask, the air of compassion for all those touched by the wild card, that hid the puppet master from view, she had paid little attention to the phenomenon of the convention itself. The guilt stung her: You're supposed to be dealing with wild card affairs.

  Self-anger flared: What could be more important to jokers-to anybody-than that a psychopathic ace may become the next president of the United States? She thought of the puppet master's finger poised above the famed red button and wanted to vomit.

  Delegates and reporters were streaming from the big corner Sidney Room, flushed and noisy as schoolkids. "What's going on?" she asked one, mainly because he was little taller than she was.

  "It's Barnett's crazies," he told her. "They came up with something juicy on Hartmann." He was vibrating with gratified malice. He wore glasses and a big Dukakis button.

  Could this be it? she wondered, starting to feel cheated that it wasn't her hand that had driven the stake through the monster's heart.

  "They got to someone who was on the W. H. O. tour last year. Turns out Hartmann spent the whole time having himself a fling with some bimbo reporter from The Washington Post."

  The parade of delegates and politicians through Gregg's suite seemed endless-Gregg had to admit that Amy had done a tremendous job contacting people on extremely short notice.

  But then most delegates were anxious to meet with the front-runner among the candidates, and none of the elected officials wanted to offend the man who might possibly be the next president.

  As for Gregg, the afternoon was interminable and taking its toll. He thought he'd locked Puppetman away tightly. He'd even begun to hope that maybe, just maybe, the voice inside his head would stay silent for the rest of the week. But the bars holding Puppetman were beginning to weaken again. He could hear the power, alternately pleading and threatening.

  Let me nut! You have to let me out!

  He ignored it as well as he could, but his temper was shorter than usual, and his smile was sometimes more a grimace. It was worst with the politicians, most of whom he could have gotten to agree, with a touch of Puppetman's influence, and who now could say no with impunity. That was when Puppetman howled the most.

  Ohio Senators Glenn and Metzenbaum showed up on schedule. Ellen greeted them at the door; Gregg was changing his shirt in the bedroom. Gregg could hear Metzenbaum being his usual ingratiating self. "So it is true. Expectant mothers do glow."

  Ellen laughed as Gregg walked in. "John, Howard," he said, nodding to them. "Please grab something from the bar if you want, and thanks for coming on such short notice. I'm trying to meet as many influential people as I can on this-you were both at the top of that list."

  Get out. That's what he really wanted to say. I'm tired and ragged and my mind's splitting in half. Leave me alone. Metzenbaum smiled politely; Glenn, with the old astronaut's exaggerated calm, simply nodded, if anything more stonefaced than usual. The two were looking at Ellen pointedly. Gregg didn't need to say anything; Ellen was wellexperienced at picking up such cues.

  "Well, I'll leave you folks to your politics," she said. "I've a meeting of my own with the NOW delegates. You are backing the ERA, aren't you?" She smiled again and took her leave. Gregg walked her to the door. On impulse, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her deeply. "Listen, Ellen, I just want you to know how much I appreciate all your help today, without you… well, that incident this morning. Please don't think any more of it. I'm just tired, that's all. The stress…"

  He couldn't seem to stop talking. The words just kept tumbling out and he felt closer to her than he had in months. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt you.."

  Glenn and Metzenbaum were staring. Ellen stopped his words with a quick kiss. "You have guests, dear," she said, looking at him strangely.

  Gregg smiled apologetically; it felt more like a death'shead grin. "Yes, I supppose… I'll see you in a bit for dinner: Bello Mondo, right?"

  "Six-thirty. Amy said she'd call to remind you." Ellen hugged Gregg wordlessly. "I love you." She gave him another long look, and stepped out.

  Down below, Puppetman howled for attention. Gregg felt sweat beading on his brow. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and turned back into the room.

  "Ohio's been very good to me, gentlemen," he said. "You two are largely responsible. I suppose you're both aware that we're looking for support on 9(c) and the California-" They weren't listening. Gregg stopped in mid-sentence. "What?" he asked.

  "We have a bigger problem, Gregg," Glenn said. "Bad news, I'm afraid. There's a nasty story going around about you and Morgenstern on the aces junket…"

  Gregg was no longer listening. Sara Morgenstern. His career seemed to be inexorably linked to hers. Puppetman's first victim had been thirteen-year-old Andrea Whitman, Sara's sister. Gregg had only been eleven at the time. It was only bizarre coincidence that had caused Sara to suspect, many years later, that Gregg had been involved in Andrea's death. To nullify Sara, and to satisfy Puppetman's own needs, he had taken Sara as a puppet the year before. On the wild cards junket, as discreetly as possible, they'd become lovers.

  Gregg could see it all unraveling-the nomination, the presidency, his career. What had happened to Gary Hart could, after all, just as easily happen to him.

  Inside, hardly muffled at all, Puppetman screamed.

  For a while she simply wandered.

  When she got back to her room in the Hilton the message light on the phone was glowing like a telltale on the console of a reactor on overload. When she called the desk, there were about twelve-thousand messages from Braden Dulles in D.C. waiting for her. Another call came in as she was getting the word, and the harried-sounding hotel operator patched it through.

  "Is this true?" he asked.

  She felt her breath congeal in her throat. It had been like this the one time she tried cocaine, back when she was still married to upwardly mobile lawyer David Morgenstern: the muscles of her chest just refused to work.

  "Yes. "

  At the door, the first knock came.

  5:00 P.M.

  Amy Sorenson met Gregg and Ellen behind the podium screen. On the other side of heavy velvet curtains, Gregg could hear the loud conversations of the reporters; the glare of video lights washed under the red folds. "They're all primed," Amy said. "I have your guests next door; I'll get them after you go in." She touched the wireless receiver in her ear and listened for a second. "Okay, Billy Ray says everything's fine. Are you ready?"

  Gregg nodded. It had been a long, hard afternoontrying to get news from New York, working with Jack and a mostly soused Danny Logan (Logan was definitely one puppet he'd driven too far) on the strategy for the California fight later tonight, putting
out brushfire rumors about his affair, arranging things with the justice Department, setting up this press conference. He'd worried that the stress would bring Puppetman back to conciousness, but the power was still silent and buried. He could sense only the barest rustle of its struggling.

  But Gimli-if it was Gimli… That presence was still very much with him. Gregg could hear the dwarf's evil chuckling, and he wondered, as he'd wondered much of the afternoon, if he weren't approaching some kind of breakdown. With the thought, the Gimli-voice surged forward.

  You are, Greggie, he said. I'm going to fucking make sure of it.

  Gregg took a deep breath and pretended he'd not heard the voice. He took Ellen's hand, squeezed it, then patted the swell of her belly. "We're ready. Let's get on with the circus, Amy."

  Gregg fixed a smile on his face as Amy held the curtains aside. He took the three steps up to the stage at a bound, Ellen following slowly. Cameras clicked like a plague of mechanical insects; electronic flashes stuttered their brief lightning. At the podium, Gregg waited until the reporters had quieted in their seats, looking down at the outline of Tony Calderone's speech in his hand. Then he raised his head.

  "As usual, I don't have much in the way of a formal statement," he said, waving the single page of handwriting. That received the small laugh he'd expected-Gregg had a reputation as an off-the-cuff speaker who regularly strayed from Tony's prepared text, and most of the reporters in the audience had been with him on the campaign trail for months. "There's a good reason for that, too. I really don't have much to say at this press conference. I feel that the less one responds to vicious and unfounded rumors, the better. And I know what you 'll all say to that: `Don't blame us. The press has its responsibility.' I hope you all feel better for having that out of the way."

  There was more chuckling at that, mostly from those he knew were in his camp. The rest waited, solemn.

  He paused, glancing again at the notes Tony, Braun, Tachyon, and he had made. At the same time, like a person constantly probing at a broken tooth, he felt for Puppetman and sensed nothing. He relaxed slightly. "We all know why you're here. I'm going to say my piece, answer a few question if you want, and go on to other things. I've already seen fellow candidate ruined by what was essentially innuendo an circumstance. Whether Gary Hart actually did anything was immaterial. He was injured by rumors and might have to credibility even if he'd actually done nothing at all."

  "Well, I'm not Gary Hart; he's better looking. Even Ellen says so."

  They grinned at that, almost universally, and Gregg himself smiled with them. He placed his notes carefully an visibly to one side, and leaned on his elbows toward them. "I think I can point out a few other differences. The Stacked Dee wasn't the Monkey Business. We went to Berlin, not Bimini And Ellen was along on the entire trip."

  Gregg glanced over to Ellen and nodded. On cue, s returned his smile.

  "Senator?" Gregg squinted into the glare oflights and sa Bill Johnson of The Los Angeles Times waving his notebook Gregg gestured for him to go ahead. "Then you're denying that you and Sara Morgenstern have had an affair?" Johnson asked "I certainly know Ms. Morgenstern, as does Ellen, an she's been a family friend. She has her own problems, and have no knowledge of precisely what she's said or hasn't sat recently. But I don't go sneaking around behind my wife i back."

  Ellen leaned in close to Gregg with a mischievous look "Bill, I did catch Gregg eyeing Peregrine from time to time but he was hardly the only one doing that."

  Laughter. The cameras began flashing again, and th tension in the room visibly dissolved. Gregg grinned, but th expression went cold and dead on his face. Gimli's voice seemed to whisper just behind his ear.

  You screwed her, Hartmann. You spread her legs on five different continents, and your little ace made her smile and think she enjoyed it. But she didn't, did she? Not really. She doesn't think much of you now, not at all. Not without Puppetman.

  Ellen sensed Gregg's distress. He knew his hand was clammy in hers. She was still smiling, but behind the eyes was worry. He shook his head slightly, pressing her fingers.

  Such a fucking professional wife you have, too. She knou exactly what to do, doesn't she? Smiles at just the right time, says just the right thing, even lets you knock her up so she'll be nice and matronly for the convention. You're so proud, such a good daddy. You're a bastard, Hartmann. I am too, and this little bastard's going to wreck your life. I'm going to make your pet ace rip you open so everyone can see.

  Listening to the voice, he'd waited a beat too long. He could hear the laughter dying, the moment passing. He hurried to catch them again, refusing to listen to Gimli's continuing stream of invective.

  "Okay, as Ellen has pointed out, I'm guilty of some of Jimmy Carter's lust of the heart. I doubt there's very many of us who aren't-Peregrine would be disappointed if it were any other way. Beyond that, I'm afraid that you've been duped. There's a rumor, and nothing else. From today on, I'm going to consider this whole question answered, and we'll try to concentrate on real issues. If you want more of a story about this, look at your sources. Ask yourself what ulterior motives were responsible for spreading this kind of trash."

  "Are you accusing Leo Barnett or his staff?" A voice from the back: Connie Chung of NBC.

  "I'm not naming names, Ms. Chung; I don't have them. I'd like to believe that a God-fearing man such as Reverend Barnett would refuse to use such tactics, and I'm certainly not going to cast the first stone." Another wave of laughter. "But the lie started somewhere-track it down. I notice Ms. Morgenstern hasn't been quoted directly by any of you. I haven't seen anv tangible proof at all. That should tell you something immediately, I'd think."

  He had them. He'd turned it around. He could see it, feel it. Yet there was very little sense of triumph in Gregg. Beneath everything, he could sense a familiar stirring. Puppetman was rising, still deep down, but heading for the surface. Just another day, he thought. Give me that much time.

  You can't keep it down even that long, Hartmann. You're addicted. That's all Puppetman is: your goddamn drug. And you both need a fix, don't you? Gimli chuckled. To get it, you've got to get around me. Ain't it a fucking pity.

  Both Ellen and Amy were staring at him. He was standing stock still, frozen. Gregg gave them an apologetic shrug and continued.

  "A few minutes ago, Bill Johnson called me `Senator.' Now, it's been over a year since I gave up my seat to run for this candidacy, but I understand the mistake. Bill's been calling me Senator-when he hasn't been calling me other things-for years now."

  A slow amusement moved through the ranks in front him. "That's habit," Gregg told them, sliding easily back into Tony's speech. "It's easy to let habits rule us. It's easy for us to cling to ancient prejudices, clouded outlooks, and outright fables. But we can't do that, not now. We hear too many rumors and believe them without foundation. We've had the habits and listened to the lies for years: that jokers are somehow accursed; that it's right to hate people-jokers o otherwise-because they look or act differently; that people can't change, and the way it is is the way it must be. If yo believe opinions and feelings are set in concrete, you 'r right-you can't change, you can't grow. But when we can d something that defies such beliefs, well, to me that's worth more coverage than sensational rumors about infidelity." Gregg glanced over to Ellen; she nodded back. Gimli still there and Gregg's head ached with the sound of his voice but he blinked and went on. He wanted to get off the podium, to be alone in his room. He was rushing, speaking too fast; he forced himself to slow down.

  "I'm pleased to say that some things we think eternal pass. I've based my entire campaign on the idea that now is the tim to heal the wounds. Opinions change. We can embrace those we once hated. That's important. That's newsworthy. And it's also not my story. I can understand a person who takes his o her fervor too far. I can understand passionate conviction even when I don't agree with them. We all have things w believe in strongly and that's good. It becomes a proble when such passion crosses t
he line beyond fervor to violence. There have been joker organizations that have sometimes stepped over that line."

  Gregg gestured to the back of the stage. "Amy, pleas(bring them out."

  The curtains at the back of the stage parted, and jokers stepped into the light. One had skin marked with fine serrated ridges; the other was shadowy and the ghost of the curtains could be seen through him. The press began t murmur.

  "I'm sure I don't need to introduce File and Shroud t you. Their faces were prominent in your papers and on your broadcasts last year when the JJS was finally broken up." Gimli laughed inside at that; Gregg swallowed hard. "Some of the JJS, those who seemed peripheral members or harmless, were simply fined and released. Others, the ones deemed truly dangerous, were incarcerated. File and Shroud have been in a federal prison since that time. Perhaps deservedly so-both have admitted to extremely violent acts. Yet… I was the direct victim of some of that violence, and I've spoken to File and Shroud extensively in the last year. I feel that they've both learned a hard and painful lesson and are genuinely remorseful."

  "I will stand by my own words and convictions. I believe in reconciliation. We need to forgive, we need to strive to understand those less fortunate than ourselves. Today, in an agreement with Governor Cuomo of New York, the Justice Department, and the New York Senate, I've arranged to grant parole to File and Shroud."

  Gregg placed his arms around the jokers: the rough skin of File, the misty shoulders of Shroud. "This is far more important than rumors. This is genuine, and it's also not my story-it's theirs. I'll let them convince you as they convinced me. Talk to them. Ask them your questions. Amy, if you'd moderate -"

  As the first questions were shouted from the crowd and File stepped to the microphone, Gregg took a deep breath and retreated.

  Don't you understand? Gimli taunted as Gregg left the room and headed for the elevators. You haven't gotten rid of me. You can't run away from my particular obsession. I'm here. And I'm staying. I don't forgive. Not at all.