Free Tintagel by Paul Cook Page B

and take a look. Talk to some of the locals. We should run through that emergency relief bill as soon as we can."
    Ken chortled. "If we can get Randell off the floor."
    "How long's the filibuster been going?"
    "Just two days now, but there's a lot of work to do before the holidays set in. And they just don't seem anxious to get any of it done. Particularly Senator Randell."
    Katie lit up another cigarette. "Don't worry about Albertson. One phone call will fix his wagon. I'll see to that. Can't have that boy ruining things for us."
    She fell silent. Ken waited.
    "Listen, Ken," she spoke softly. "Those Japanese terrorists may get their hands on another nuclear device and do something very stupid again. We all know that. And the Saudis can strangle the Japanese economy. We can't have things like this happening so often. It's a vicious circle. We need Floyd. Do what you can about finding out just what happened at that party. I want guest lists, a list of the orchestra members, and any of the hired help. Run a correlation on all of them through DataCom as soon as you can. If there are any terrorist connections, I want to know about them. Besides, I have to do something publicly significant soon if I don't want to get shot at again."
    She didn't laugh, nor did she mean her remark to be funny. But Ken knew that for as long as she was President, she would be paying for it. The assassination attempts had become more and more frequent. The splinter groups and the wackos that roamed the country swore to see her dead before the year was out. Her term in office she often saw as a sentence. She had already racked up more assassination attempts than any President in the history of the nation, a record she wasn't too particularly proud of.
    As Ken turned to go, Katie looked up from her papers. "Hey, is that music out there?" She glanced beyond the door.
    "Sure is," he smiled. "It's synthesized music. All the radio stations have it. Two students at Cal Tech tried to commit suicide a couple of weeks ago to computer music, but the Syndrome wasn't triggered. Those two grad students are practically heroes now."
    "I wasn't aware of that."
    "Unusual, isn't it? But it's better than no music at all." He grinned. "You should listen to the news at night. There are all sorts of things going on in the world."
    "Well, I'll be damned," said the President of the United States.
    Nebraska , Lanier guessed, gazing appreciatively out over the wide vista of green wheat before him.
    He had never known the prairie to be so beautiful before, even back in the real world. The sky blazed the purest blue he had ever seen, as huge rich gray-white cumulus puffed along in the lazy breeze that skudded the tops of the bending wheat. Flowers of a wide range of colors grew at the crowns of the low hills in the distance. And at his feet were hollyhocks and Indian paintbrush, and other flowers for which he had no names. In a distant meadow, dandelions washed in the wind like a wave on a golden sea.
    It was a perfect world in which to hide.
    Lanier paused, letting the vibrations resonate throughout his body, and the landscape. Floyd Matkin , he thought, there .…
    A farmhouse across the field ahead of him was the only human structure nearby. Matkin had to be there. Why not ? At least it seemed likely. The burdens he carried as the Secretary of State would naturally compel him to seek the security of the pastoral landscapes of middle America. Matkin had grown up in the Midwest, and the Midwest would naturally be a place he might want to return to in times of stress. Times such as these.
    A slight chill hovered about Lanier as he walked through the wheat, which was only inches high. He buttoned the wide collar of his long coat, careful to keep the priest's collar in sight for the dreamlings, or anyone else, who might see him. He strolled through the low wheat toward the farmhouse.
    Something's out of whack , he thought suddenly. Something's wrong .…
    An uneasiness crept into his