power-green tie picking up his striking eyes. A slight lean on the podium now offset his perfect posture. Despite being the heir to a textile fortune, he managed to project a man-of-the-people image. He was who we'd want to be if we were rich.
'Since I've promised a transparent campaign,' Caruthers said, 'let's state the obvious. Why are we in Harlem? We're both courting the black vote. The difference between me and my opponent is, I've actually come here to meet with community leaders numerous times in the past decade under circumstances far less contrived. How many times has my opponent?'
A cutaway to Andrew Bilton in his gray suit, lips pursed as if in amusement at youth's folly, though he and Caruthers were both in their sixties. An old, bitter rivalry, reaching back a decade and a half to when Bilton, as rising-star California governor, had acted as party hatchet man against the fiery then-vice president, cutting down Caruthers's first bid for the Oval Office.
I remembered my disappointment back then, watching Bilton paint Caruthers as too progressive for the time. Sneering from talk-show couches, riling up packed union halls, Bilton was paying his dues by acting as the public face of his party's negative campaigning, while allowing the nominee to remain above the fray. And Caruthers had failed to preempt and respond in the fashion he'd now perfected. There'd be no catching him short this go- around.
From the TV Caruthers continued, 'Well, Mr. President, this is your first visit to Harlem, is it not?' A welcoming smile. 'I'd recommend the deep-fried catfish at Sylvia's on Lenox.'
Before the erupting crowd, Bilton wore the same postsurgical expression that had frozen Quayle's face after Lloyd Bentsen told him he was no Jack Kennedy. I'd seen it live, but the replay was just as enjoyable.
Bilton produced his same even smile, and I almost felt sorry for him. A dutiful front man for his party, he was a pleasant-looking guy who filled out a suit nicely, spoke in clean, on-message paragraphs, and gave off an old- fashioned, subdued authority. But against Caruthers's aquiline nose, brilliant green eyes, and explosive charm, he seemed reduced to a divorce lawyer playing himself in a commercial.
I checked the clock again. Did I have to wait for the doctor before I could get out of here?
To soothe myself, I clicked over to Cartoon Network. A favorite-Bugs as a snake charmer teased an electric razor out of a clay bowl to pursue a hapless Elmer Fudd across an opera stage.
I love Looney Tunes. I love how Acme makes everything from flypaper to disintegrating pistols. I love how when a character goes through a wall, he leaves behind a perfect silhouette. I love how steaks are always shaped the same and make everyone drool.
I love how no one really dies.
A tap at the door and Reid Sever entered. I stiffened, unsure and a bit rattled. The door sucked closed behind him, and he took note of my reaction and smiled-not an expression that came naturally. 'Congratulations, hero.'
Telling my muscles to relax, I pulled my ruined clothes into my lap.
'We'll pick you out something nice from the gift shop. Or we can send an agent to your place, get whatever you need. Hell, after what you did for us?' Sever gave a little shrug. The civilian clothes accented his solid build. 'Your bill's covered, too. We understand that your COBRA insurance isn't the greatest.' He waited for a reaction, but I didn't give him one. 'Listen, I have a couple questions I need to run through with you. I'm sorry to do it so shortly after you've come to, but…'
'Go ahead.'
'Did the terrorist give you a fake last name also?'
I dug through the pajama bottoms, found my money clip in the pocket. 'I'm not following.'
'The nurse said you referred to him as Charlie. Did he give you a last name?'
It took me a moment to get my head around the nurse's reporting back to Sever. Or was the room bugged?
'No,' I said slowly. 'Just Charlie.'
'His real name was Mike Milligan.'
'The guy I met in there may have been a nutcase, but he wasn't a terrorist.'
'You've dealt with a lot of terrorists?' A follow-up smile sprang up fast on Sever's face, an attempt to extenuate his tone.
I fanned my thumb across the money clip. At the center of the bills, I always kept my driver's license and credit card back-to-back to protect the magnetic strip. But the credit card was flipped the wrong way. A lazy effort by whoever had searched my pockets, but then I was just an average dipshit who wouldn't notice. My heart rate ticked up another notch.
'Did you guys talk at all before we called?' Sever pressed. 'You and Milligan?'
I pictured the loose flesh beneath Charlie's eye, how it hadn't moved with the rest of his face when he'd winked at me. Trust no one.
I said, 'There wasn't much time.'
'So does that mean 'no,' or 'a little'?' A tight smile. 'He asked specifically for you. He must have said something when you first got there?'
'Nope. You pretty much blew him up first.'
'Well, we can all exhale now.'
'It's over?'
'Yup. Our intel shows Milligan was just a loose cannon looking to cause a disruption before the elections. We're convinced he was acting alone.'
Before I could respond, the door opened and
Wydell entered breathlessly, as if he'd rushed over. He nodded at Sever, who stepped back deferentially, ceding the stage to his boss. Wydell crossed and sat bedside. 'How you feeling?'
I just looked at him.
'You did a great thing.'
'Listen, Mr. Wydell-'
'Joe.' His lean features had arranged themselves into an accommodating expression.
'Okay, Joe. You almost killed me in there. And you lied to me-'
'We never lied to you, Nick. We misled you, and I apologize for that, but we needed you calm. You're not an agent, and unlike everyone else in L.A., you're not an actor. We couldn't send you into that building knowing you were delivering a cell phone packed with C-4. It wouldn't have worked, and if you think about it, you know that. We weren't only concerned with the bigger picture. Your own safety was at stake.' Wydell studied me, waiting for a reaction he didn't get. 'A major terrorist act was prevented, thanks to you.'
'A major terrorist act,' I repeated.
I sensed he wanted to ask if I knew that there'd been no bomb, but there was no way he could without showing his hand. Instead he said, 'This can be an enormous opportunity for you. Son of a former Secret Service agent, the whole thing. We have a press conference in an hour. We'd like you to be included.'
'I'm not gonna talk about my relationship with Frank.'
'You don't have to. There's plenty else to talk about after what you accomplished last night.'
'I'm not going to any press conference. I don't want my name released.'
Sever looked surprised at that-maybe even confused. 'Anything you do want?' he asked. 'This is a pretty big moment for you. A lot of powerful people will be looking to express their gratitude.'
I thought about what Frank had said that night I'd come upon him watching the Zapruder film, how people damn themselves with a thousand small decisions. One compromised choice leads to six more, and it goes from there.
'I don't want anything,' I said. 'You guys tricked me. I wasn't a hero. I was just the dupe who carried the bomb.'
'I think that's the least flattering interpretation possible.'
The bedside phone sounded, and Sever picked it up on a half ring. He'd been waiting right next to it. 'Yes, he's here.' He pressed the handset to his considerable chest. 'President Bilton wants to express his gratitude to you.'
I swallowed dryly. 'As in the commander in chief?'
'That's right. He'll have a window in about half an hour.'
