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〃Why； Gavin？ Who's after me？ Talk to me； Gavin。〃
〃I'll talk to you when I get there。〃
〃I don't know。 Thomas is dead because he talked to you。 I'm not that anxious to meet you right now。〃
〃Darby； look； I don't know who or why； but I assure you you're in a very dangerous situation。 We can protect you。〃
〃Maybe later。〃
〃He breathed deeply and sat on the edge of the bed。You can trust me； Darby。〃
〃Okay； I trust you。 But what about those other people？ This is heavy； Gavin。 My little brief has someone awfully upset； wouldn't you say？〃
〃Did he suffer？〃
〃She hesitated。I don't think so。〃 The voice was cracking。
〃Will you call me in two hours？ At the office。 I'll give you an inside number。〃
〃Give me the number； and I'll think about it。〃
〃Please； Darby。 I'll go straight to the Director when I get there。 Call me at eight； your time。〃
〃Give me the number。〃
* * *
THE BOMB EXPLODED too late to make the Thursday morning edition of the Times…Picayune。 Darby flipped through it hurriedly in the hotel room。 Nothing。 She watched the television； and there it was。 A live shot of the burned…out Porsche； still sitting amid the debris in the parking lot； secluded nicely with yellow tape running everywhere。 The police were treating it as a homicide。 No suspects。 No ment。 Then the name of Thomas Callahan； age forty…five； a prominent professor of law at Tulane。 The dean was suddenly there with a microphone in his face； talking about Professor Callahan and the shock of it all。 The shock of it all； the fatigue； the fear； the pain； and Darby buried her head in the pillow。 She hated crying； and this would be the last of it for a while。 Mourning would only get her killed。
* * *
EVEN THOUGH it was a wonderful crisis； with the ratings up and Rosenberg dead； with his image clean and polished and America feeling good about itself because he was in mand； with the Democrats running for cover and reelection next year in the bag； he was sick of this crisis and its relentless predawn meetings。 He was sick of F。 Denton Voyles and his smugness and arrogance； and his squatty little figure sitting on the other side of his desk in a wrinkled trench coat looking out a window while he addressed the President of the United States。 He would be here in a minute for another meeting before breakfast； another tense encounter in which Voyles would tell only a portion of what he knew。
He was sick of being in the dark； and fed only what bits and crumbs Voyles chose to throw his way。 Gminski would throw him a few； and somehow in the midst of all this crumb scattering and gathering he was supposed to get enough and be satisfied。 He knew nothing pared to them。 At least he had Coal to plow through their paper and memorize it all； and keep them honest。
He was sick of Coal； too。 Sick of his perfectness and sleeplessness。 Sick of his brilliance。 Sick of his penchant for beginning each day when the sun was somewhere over the Atlantic； and planning every damned minute of every damned hour until it was over the Pacific。 Then he； Coal； would load up a box of the day's junk； take it home； read it； decipher it； store it； then e in a few hours later blazing away with all the painfully boring mishmash he had just devoured。 When Coal was tired； he slept five hours a night； but normal was three or four。 He left his office in the West Wing at eleven each night； read all the way home in the back of his limo； then about the time the limo cooled off Coal was waiting on it for the return ride to the White House。 He considered it a sin to arrive at his desk after 5 A。M。 And if he could work a hundred and twenty hours a week； then everyone else should be able to do at least eighty。 He demanded eighty。 After three years； no one in this Administration could remember all the people fired by Fletcher Coal for not working eighty hours a week。 Happened at least three times a month。
Coal was happiest on mornings when the tension was thick and a nasty meeting was planned。 In the past week this thing with Voyles had kept him smiling。 He was standing beside the desk； going through the mail while the President scanned the Post and two secretaries scurried about。
The President glanced at him。 Perfect black suit； white shirt； red silk tie； a bit too much grease on the hair above the ears。 He was sick of him； but he'd get over it when the crisis passed and he could get back to golf and Coal could sweat the details。 He told himself he had that kind of energy and stamina when he was only thirty…seven； but he knew better。
Coal snapped his fingers； glared at the secretaries； and they happily ran from the Oval Office。
〃And he said he wouldn't e if I was here。 That's hilarious。〃 Coal was clearly amused。
〃I don't think he likes you；〃 the President said。
〃He loves people he can run over。〃
〃I guess I need to be sweet to him。〃
〃Lay it on thick； Chief。 He has to back off。 This theory is so weak it's ical； but in his hands it could be dangerous。〃
〃What about the law student？〃
〃We're checking。 She appears harmless。〃
The President stood and stretched。 Coal shuffled papers。 A secretary on the inter announced the arrival of Voyles。
〃I'll be going；〃 Coal said。 He would listen and watch from around the corner。 At his insistence； three closed…circuit cameras were installed in the Oval Office。 The monitors were in a small； locked room in the West Wing。 He had the only key。 Sarge knew of the room； but had not bothered to enter。 Yet。 The cameras were invisible and supposedly a big secret。
The President felt better knowing Coal would at least be watching。 He met Voyles at the door with a warm handshake and guided him to the sofa for a warm； friendly little chat。 Voyles was not impressed。 He knew Coal would be listening。 And watching。
But in the spirit of the moment； Voyles removed his trench coat and laid it properly on a chair。 He did not want coffee。
The President crossed his legs。 He was wearing the brown cardigan。 The grandfather。
〃Denton；〃 he said gravely。 〃I want to apologize for Fletcher Coal。 He doesn't have much finesse。〃
Voyles nodded slightly。 You stupid bastard。 There are enough wires in this office to electrocute half the bureaucrats in B。C。 Coal was somewhere in the basement hearing about his lack of finesse。 〃He can be an ass； can't he？〃 Voyles grunted。
〃Yes； he can。 I have to really watch him。 He's very bright and drives hard； but he tends to overdo it at times。〃
〃He's a son of a bitch； and I'll say it to his face。〃 Voyles glanced at an air vent above the portrait of Thomas Jefferson where a camera watched it all below。
〃Yes； well； I'll keep him out of your way until this thing is over。〃
〃You do that。〃
The President slowly sipped from his coffee and pondered what to say next。 Voyles was not known for his conversation。
〃I need a favor。〃
Voyles stared wi