Ed shrugged. "Let's just say that I don't think you're the only one who's thinking that way."

Stone didn't have to think that over.

Eagle changed the subject. "What are you doing with your day?" he asked.

"I'm taking Kate and the president out to Centurion Studios for a tour, and Peter's giving us all lunch."

"Peter has an excellent chef," Susannah said.

"Have you and Peter made a deal, Susannah?"

"We have. Contracts should be ready for signature in a day or two."

"Then I'll try not to run into Charlene Joiner while we're at the studio."

"I'd go armed if I were you," Susannah said.

They finished breakfast and rose to go their separate ways.

"Stone," Eagle said, "one thing I can tell you without violating a confidence: Pete Otero won't take the second spot on the ticket."

"How recently did you hear that?" Stone asked.

"About two hours ago, in a phone call."

- WHEN STONE GOT back to the house, he ran into Ann, who was going into the library. "I have a meeting with Sam Meriwether," she said, "but we'll be ready to leave for Centurion at noon."

"Ann," Stone said, "would you mind if I have a word with you and Sam right now?"

"Not at all. Come in."

They went into the library, where the senior senator from Georgia was having a cup of coffee. "Good morning, Stone," he said.

Stone took a seat. "Sam, what's the latest on the delegate count?"

"As best we can tell, Kate has a hundred and eleven, Willingham eighty-nine, and Otero fifty-one," the senator said.

"Not good," Stone said.

"Well, I think that's pretty good," Meriwether said. "We won't win on the first ballot, but we probably will on the second. And if it goes to a runoff, we're a sure thing."

"And is Otero still Kate's favorite for the second spot?"

"I believe so. She dislikes and distrusts Willingham."

"Is there anyone else in the running?"

"Not that I've heard discussed in the last twenty-four hours."

"Sam, I don't have any hard information to back this up, but I have reason to think there's a deal for Willingham to throw his delegates to Otero on the first ballot, then take the number two spot on the ticket with Otero."

Meriwether shook his head. "I don't think Willingham would join the ticket of someone who's younger and, in Willingham's eyes, less qualified than he. He's got too much ego for that."

"Then let me ask you this," Stone said. "If Willingham has a choice between the second spot on the ticket and nothing, which way do you think he would jump?"

Meriwether stared at him but said nothing.

"Oh," Stone said, "one more thing: Otero told someone I trust a couple of hours ago that he would not accept the second spot on any ticket."

"Oh, shit," Meriwether said, half to himself. He picked up a phone. "I've got to call Kate. And, Ann, would you see if you can get Dick Collins over here right now?"

"Sure, Sam." She went to another phone.

- KATE WAS ALREADY in the room when Governor Collins arrived.

"Kate, Dick," Meriwether said, "Stone has some information that you should hear."

Stone told them what he had just told Meriwether.

Kate looked shocked. "I really thought that Otero wanted to run on the ticket with me," she said.

"Did he ever tell you that?" Collins asked.

"No, but he asked me outright if I was going to choose a running mate before the balloting was done. I told him no, that I wouldn't trade the slot for delegates."

"Did he tell you that if you asked him, he wouldn't accept the slot on the ticket?"

"No, he didn't. It appears that Pete Otero is more ambitious than I thought."

"Do you think that Willingham would jump to Otero for the second spot on the ticket?" Collins asked.

"Stone," Meriwether said, "ask them the question you asked me."

Stone took a deep breath: "If Willingham were placed in a situation where he had to choose between the vice presidency or nothing, which way do you think he would jump?"

"Oh, shit," Collins replied.

Meriwether laughed. "Funny, that's exactly what I said."

"All right, then," Dick Collins said. "There are two things you can do, Kate."

"What are they?"

"The first is to call Willingham now and offer him the second spot on the ticket in return for his ballots."

"What's the other thing?"

"Well, if you don't want to offer it to him, you have to get enough of the undecided California delegates to go with you on the first ballot."

"How many do we have now?" Kate asked.

"Fifteen."

"And how many more undecided California delegates are there?"

"Twenty-six."

"So we need twenty-four of them, is that correct?"

"That is correct."

"All right," Kate said, "I want to tell you all something: I decided who I want for a running mate a few days ago. It's not Pete Otero. And it's certainly not Mark Willingham."

"Then who is it?" Meriwether asked, looking baffled.

"It's the governor of the great state of California," she replied.

Meriwether broke into a big smile. "I can live with that," he said.

"Dick," Kate said, "can you live with that?"

Collins looked at each of them separately, Kate last. "It would be my great pleasure and a great honor," he replied.

"Then you have my permission to tell any or all of your recalcitrant delegates that if they do the right thing, the next vice president of the United States will be their governor. But tell them in the strictest confidence. We don't want Otero or Willingham getting wind of this before the voting starts."

"Right," Sam Meriwether said. "They'll wait and see how the voting goes before they make their move. Willingham will want to know how many delegates he has to pass on to Otero."

Harry Gregg sat outdoors at a sidewalk cafe on Santa Monica Beach, drinking a cup of espresso. Harry worked as a gunsmith at the Centurion Studios armory, which housed all the weapons used in Centurion productions and also rented to independents. He looked around for the person he was meeting but didn't see anyone likely. He checked his watch: five minutes before noon.

Then somebody slid into the seat opposite him. A woman. It had been a man on the phone. What was this?

"Hello, Mr. Gregg," the woman said. She was dressed in a large floppy straw hat and dark glasses, and the lower part of her face was covered by a veil as if she were afraid of getting too much sun. He couldn't even tell how old she was.

"Look over my shoulder or out to sea," she said, "not directly at me. You shouldn't want to know who I am or what I look like."

"Okay by me," Harry said, shifting in his seat to turn toward the Pacific Ocean. "I believe you're supposed to have some work for me."

"Wet work," the woman replied. "Do you know what that is?"

Harry nodded. "I've been there. Who's the lucky guy?"

"His name is Ed Eagle," she said. "Ring any bells?"

Harry had heard the name. "Lawyer?"

"Right."

"In the papers a few weeks ago, won a big murder case?"

"Right."

"Sounds like the kind of guy I'd want to hire if this went wrong."

"If you do your work well, he won't be a candidate. And you won't need a lawyer anyway."

"He's real tall, right?"

"Six feet seven. Wears good suits with cowboy boots and a Stetson."

"Right, I've seen pictures. Where do I find him?"

"He's staying at The Arrington."

Harry shook his head. "Not good-too much security. I mean, the president is staying there, you know?"

"I understand you know something about explosives."

"I know everything about explosives," Harry said.

"You were a navy SEAL, weren't you?"

"No, army, Special Forces. Pretty much the same thing. My specialty was booby traps."

"Oh, good," she said. "He flies an airplane called a Citation Mustang."

"I know the one-small jet."

"What would it take to blow it out of the sky?"

"You want it in tiny pieces?"

"No, it would be better if you could make it unflyable so that it would crash not long after takeoff."

"I can do that," he said. "Where is the airplane?"

"It's parked at Atlantic Aviation, on the ramp. Eagle always stops there."

"I know the place. The ramp is accessible, if you know what you're doing. How about this: they use runway 21 for takeoff and landing. Where would he be flying to?"

"Santa Fe."

"East, good. On takeoff on 21, they fly straight out over the beach and the water, then after a minute or two they turn right. How about if the airplane is disabled right at that point? It would crash into the water, breaking into a thousand pieces."

"So they could never be sure of recovering all the bits, could they?" she asked.

"Nope, that's the beauty of it."

"Do you have access to the explosives?"