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.

Harstein's mention of blackmail had set Jack's mind working.

While waiting for the elevator, Jack got some hotel stationary from the front desk and penned a note, then wrote Fleur van Renssaeler on the back.

The note said: I need five minutes of your time. If I don't get it, the world (and Reverend Barnett) will find out about your sins of the flesh with Tachyon.

He considered signing it Yours in Christ, Jack Braun but decided that might be pushing things a little far.

The elevator doors opened and Jack stepped inside, surprising the hell out of two Barnett supporters of the little-blue-haired-lady variety. Jack smiled politely as he entered and pressed the button for Barnett HQ.

People waiting for the elevators did a lot of double takes as Jack stepped out, but nobody stopped him as he headed for the operations center. He walked right through the door, past a lot of young women on telephone banks, and failed to see any sign of Fleur. He grinned at the nearest worker.

"Where's the boss lady?" he said.

The girl stared. She was maybe seventeen, cute in an unformed blonde way. Her glasses slid down her nose. Her name, according to her name tag, was Beverly.

"I-" she said. "You're-"

Harstein bent close to her and said, "Go ahead. You can tell him." He smiled reassuringly.

"Ah-"

Harstein's expression was gentle. "It's really all right, Beverly," he said. "Mr. Braun's here on business, and I'm just tagging along."

Beverly pointed with a pencil. "I think Miss van Renssaeler is in her office," she said. "Two doors down. 718."

"Thank-you."

The room was beginning to buzz with alarm. People were glaring at Jack and dialing phones. He smiled at them all reassuringly, gave them a wave, and left. Harstein followed.

"I hope it's a small room," Harstein said. "You have no idea what the advent of air-conditioning has done to my power. "

Heads poked from the door as Jack strolled to 718 and knocked. He could hear televisions, and a phone ringing in the room. The phone cut off, and he heard steps coming to the door. It opened.

A silver-haired man stood there, his eyes widening in shock, then narrowing in anger. He flushed.

"Yes." Fleur's voice, on the phone. "I guess he's here. Thank you, Veronica."

"You are not welcome here," the silver-haired man said. "I'd like to see Miss van Renssaeler," Jack said.

The man tried to slam the door. Jack held it open with his hand. "Please," he said.

The door jerked open. Fleur looked at Jack from over the rims of square-cut reading glasses. Her mouth was a grim slash. Two other men stood behind her, in various uneasy postures. Televisions turned to various networks babbled along one wall.

"I don't think we have anything to talk about, Mr. Braun," she said.

"We do," Jack said. "I'd like to apologize, for a start."

"Fine, you've done that," Fleur said. She started to close the door.

"I'd like to speak to you for just a few moments."