Rising Storm

is.'

'Yes,' Ron said. 'Why shouldn't I want that kind of power? Think of the good I could do for the cause with that kind of influence.'

There was the strangest feeling then, as though, without moving, they'd all drawn back from him in disgust.

'That's the sort of thing someone who'd already made up his mind might say to excuse being greedy,' Sauron observed. 'You already have a lot of influence with your little television show.'

'Influence with power behind it will go a lot further,' Labane insisted. 'And there's no telling how high this road could climb. This is a golden opportunity for our cause.'

The six of them exchanged glances around him.

'I suspect that we have different goals,' Death told him.

'We all want to save the planet!' Labane said in exasperation.

Once again their eyes met, excluding Ron.

'Fine,' he snarled. 'Just forget it. I'm outta here.'

'Ron.' Sauron stopped Labane with his hand on the doorknob. 'Just in case the thought has crossed your mind, I'd like to discourage you from any ideas you might have of turning us in.' He shook his head. 'That would be a very bad idea.'

'I do know something about loyalty,' Ron said.

'If you're going to be a politician that'll be the first thing to go,' Dog Soldier told him, snickering.

'You do us the dirty and you'd better watch your back, Labane,' Death warned, her dark eyes narrowed to slits.

'You know what:'' Ron said. 'Don't call me, I'll call you.'

'Thanks for dropping by, Ron,' Sauron called just before the door slammed.

They were quiet for a while. Then Maleficent observed, 'He's gone over to the other side. He just doesn't know it yet.'

'And he never will,' Dog Soldier said. 'That kind of insight takes time.'

'Death to traitors,' Balewitch growled.

They crossed glances again. This time they smiled.

ROUTE 91, MASSACHUSETTS

Ron felt better once he'd left Connecticut behind him. Being with that crowd was always a trial, but tonight! Tonight had been different. The idea that they had been watching him made his stomach clench like an angry fist. How dare those sick little bastards spy on him? How long has this been going on?

And how far had it gone?

The thought frightened him and the fear broke the fever of his outrage with a cold sweat. Had they been in his apartment?

No, he assured himself, they couldn't have; I'd have smelled them. The contempt felt good.

Besides, he paid a premium to live in a building with first-class security. It was

one thing to watch MacMillan enter his building and to guess where he was going. It was quite another to actually break in.

His eyes flicked to the mirror to watch a car coming up behind. A little frisson of fear shivered through his belly. Was it them? Were they up to something?

As the vehicle passed him he saw that it was one of those pickups with a complete backseat and what seemed to be an eighteen-foot bed— known in some circles as an 'adultery wagon.' Ron relaxed, feeling himself loosen, almost deflating behind the wheel. Even in deep disguise, that crowd wouldn't go near one of those things. Unless they planned to bomb it.

He forced himself to be calm. They had no reason to be after him. He'd never betrayed them. And I don't need to betray them now. Without him to keep them on an even keel, they'd be in police custody in a month. Most likely they'd betray one another.

Geniuses! He gave his head a little shake. A lot of the time they had no practical sense at all. They wouldn't last long enough to create problems for him.

And if they did… well, he knew some other people, too.

THE VICTORIAN INN, AMHERST,

MASSACHUSETTS

Labane entered the pleasant guest room—plenty of froufrou and color, to match the theme—and flung his jacket onto the tiny sofa; then he pulled off his tie and threw that down, too. Unbuttoning his cuffs, he entered the bathroom, unbuttoned his collar, and turned on the tap. He splashed cold water on his face,

dried off with one of the inn's luxurious towels, and stared at himself in the mirror.

He looked almost as exhausted as he felt.

Last night had run later than he'd planned, but the company had been good.

Besides, he suspected that he'd been too keyed up for an early night. Then today there was the traditional campus tour, followed by the obligatory meeting with the campus's ecology clubs, an interview with the local press, a formal dinner with the president of the college and all of the faculty and guests from the surrounding colleges—of which the area held a multitude—and then his address to the college. After which there was a mill-and-swill where some people introduced themselves and spoke with him, and more people stared at him from a distance as though he were on exhibit.

God, it was good to be alone again. He went back into the room and sat in one of the comfortable club chairs; he wondered idly if they were Victorian. Didn't seem likely. The chair didn't try to make him sit ramrod straight and the cushions accepted the shape of his posterior without the apparent resentment of true Victorian furniture.

He'd ordered coffee, and though he knew that the average guest would have been denied, his celebrity status got him what he wanted.

Ron smiled; life was good. He was tired, but it was worth it. Seeing all those eager young faces, knowing they were hanging on his every word, shaping their lives to fit his philosophy. He closed his eyes, hands folded across his stomach, and sighed contentedly. It just didn't get any better than this.

There was a discreet knock at the door.

'Room service.'

'C'mon in, it's open,' Ron called out from his chair. 'You can just put it there on the coffee table.'

Then he realized that there was more than one person entering the room. He opened his eyes, annoyed, but smiling through it. Sometimes being a celebrity got you what you wanted, but sometimes the fans wanted something back in return; like the opportunity to show you off to their friends.

Then he realized he was looking at Hate and Dog Soldier. The artificial smile froze on his face, then slipped away. 'What's up, fellas:'' he asked.

Hate handed Dog Soldier a pillow from off the bed. Dog soldier pulled out a huge gun and wrapped the pillow around it.

'Wait a minute!' Ron said, holding up his hand.

'Not even,' Dog Soldier said cheerfully, and shot him between the eyes.

At least that was where he'd been aiming. With large-caliber ammunition it was sometimes hard to tell exactly where the bullet struck.

Hate picked up the phone and dialed room service. 'I'm so sorry.' he said in a nearly perfect imitation of Labane's voice. 'I have to cancel that request for coffee. I'm suddenly so tired I couldn't even take a sip. I apologize for the inconvenience.'

Dog Soldier watched him as he put the gun down on the coffee table.

'Oh, thank you,' Hate said into the phone pleasantly.

Dog raised a brow as he flung the pillow back onto the bed and took out a small box.