As it turned out, Griff's precaution proved unnecessary. He and Shaeffer were back in the bas.e.m.e.nt, looking over a computer printout, when the circuit breakers snapped and Kristin gasped for air.

They were beside me instantly. "Well?" Shaeffer demanded.

Griff shushed him and held Kristin's hand until her eyes slowly came back to focus. "Griff?" she whispered in a husky voice.

"Right here," he a.s.sured her. "That was a long Jump; how do you feel?"

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "Okay."

"What happened?" Shaeffer asked, hope and apprehension struggling for prominence in his voice.

But Kristin shook her head. "He didn't see me," she said. "I'm almost sure he didn't. He was talking to one of his people all the way to the airfield, and it was sunny and*" she broke off, squeezing hereyes shut as a shudder went up through her. "He didn't see me."

I looked at Shaeffer; but if he was discouraged it didn't show. "All right, we'll just try it again," he said grimly. "Dr. Mansfield, do you have any idea whether or not the Banshee images acc.u.mulate? In other words, will the President see only one of them no matter how many Jumpers have visited that particular time frame?"

"I have no idea," Griff admitted. "We don't even know what these images are that people see. The Jumpers don't see them, certainly*they never see each other, no matter how many of them are present in a particular slot."

"It's entirely possible that only those about to die can see them," Rennie's voice came from behind me. I jumped; I hadn't heard him come up. "That was the way a real banshee operated, wasn't it?"

"Depends on which legends you listen to," I told him shortly. Kristin's eyes flicked briefly to mine, then turned away.

"Try to recall we're talking reality here, not legends," Shaeffer said tartly. His eyes studied Rennie for a second. "I believe it's your turn now, Mr. Baylor."

I looked at Griff, expecting him to remind Shaeffer that it was after ten o'clock and that he'd pushed the usual late-night limits by a couple of hours already. But he remained silent, his attention also on Rennie.

Rennie, however, wasn't nearly so reticent. "I was under the impression, Mr. Shaeffer, that the goal here was to rescue the President, not turn Banshee's Jumpers inside out. It's getting late, and if you keep this up you're going to kill us."

"Mr. Baylor, if you don't understand what the h.e.l.l we're doing here, please ask Dr. Mansfield to explain it to you," Shaeffer bit out icily. "The longer it takes us to make contact with President Jeffers, the greater the risk of changing known history. Remember? Whenever one of you finally gets seen by the President, I'm banking on him recognizing the image as that of a Banshee Jumper and coming to the proper conclusion."

"That he's going to die?"

Shaeffer's brow darkened. "Of course not*that he needs to stay incommunicado until the risk of changing the past is over. Except that from his point of view it'll be the future, of course."

"Would he really think things out that clearly?" Kristin asked.

"If he doesn't, there could be trouble," Shaeffer admitted. "But I think he will. He's been following Banshee's progress closely ever since you were first set up*he's fascinated by the whole concept."

"So how do you expect him to know when he can come out?" I asked Shaeffer. "You think he can postpone letting the world know he's still alive for a full three days?"

"That's precisely the reason I'm pushing to make contact as soon as possible," Shaeffer snapped. "Once we know he's off the plane, I can call California and let whoever's answering the phone know that he can come out. Understand?" He didn't wait for an answer, but turned back to Rennie. "Mr. Baylor? It's your turn."

I held my breath... but apparently Rennie wasn't yet ready for the big confrontation. "All right," he said heavily. "I don't suppose I can fight you, Griff, and Adam on this one, can I?" Turning his back on us, hestepped over toward the prep area.

"This isn't supposed to be a fight*" Griff began.

Shaeffer cut him off with a hand motion. "Ms. Cosgrove," he said to Kristin, "whenever you feel ready, I'd like you to come upstairs for a short debriefing."

"I'm ready now," she said, struggling to sit up. Griff put an arm around her shoulders and helped her get her feet on the floor.

We were halfway to the elevator when Rennie's voice stopped us. "I trust you realize, Mr. Shaeffer, that if President Jeffers does see me we'll change known history right then and there."

Shaeffer turned back, annoyance on his face. "You're a.s.suming he won't think fast enough to avoid making any phone calls*"

"Actually, I was referring to the fact that Kristin has already seen this same slot of history and knows he didn't react to her presence. Her presence or, presumably, anyone else's.

We all stood there a long moment, grouped around Kristin, as the silence thickened like paste in the air.

"G.o.d," Griff said at last, very softly. "He's right. We can't send him back to the same slot."

Shaeffer's eyes were defocused. "We don't know how the President would react, though. Do we? He could have seen but not have given any indication... d.a.m.n." He took a deep breath, looked at Kristin.

"d.a.m.n it all. Ms Cosgrove, where was he when you ended the Jump?"

"He was just getting out of the car and starting toward the landing strip. It was so sunny I figured that if he hadn't seen me inside the car he wouldn't see me out*"

"Yes, yes," Shaeffer cut her off. "d.a.m.n, Dr. Mansfield, can you hit that same end point with the next Jump?"

"No problem," Griff a.s.sured him. "The instruments record both ends of the Jump and we can get it to the exact second. But if he was already at the strip*"

"Then we don't have much time left," Shaeffer said harshly. "I know, d.a.m.n it. But we don't have any choice."

Griff nodded. "I'll set the coordinates myself. Adam...?"

I took his place at Kristin's side, and he headed over to the control board. Shaeffer watched him go, then turned back toward the elevator with a hissing breath. "Come on, you two. Let's get upstairs."

Kristin's debriefing was short, calm, and*at least as near as I could tell*totally worthless.

Jeffers had gotten into his limo with some aides and Secret Service men, gone straight to the semi-private landing strip where Air Force One was waiting, and headed off toward the plane on foot. If there were a banshee or ghost where Kristin was hovering, neither he nor any of the others ever saw it.

Afterwards, Kristin let me escort her back to her room, but she was clearly not in a talkative mood and we reached the door with barely a dozen words having pa.s.sed between us. She went inside, and I trudged two doors down to where my old room had been set up for me.It looked about the same as I remembered it, with the minor exception of a new television replacing the ancient model that had been there before. I resisted the lure of the remote control while I got undressed...

but even before I crawled into bed I knew I was too wired up to sleep right away. Flicking the set on, I began to scan the channels.

Unsurprisingly, there wasn't much on except late-night summaries of President Jeffers's death.

It was thoroughly depressing. The cold hard facts themselves were bad enough, even though the media didn't yet know what we did about the cause of the crash. But for me, the interspersed segments of national and world response were even worse. Mine had been one of the landslides of votes that had reelected Jeffers a year ago, but it wasn't until now that I really understood on a gut level how truly popular with the people he'd been. The cameras showed at least half a dozen candlelit memorial marches from cities all across the country and even one or two from overseas. People talked about the shock and the fear and the pain... and I lay there and soaked it in, hurting right along with them.

Hurting with people, after all, was part of what being a White Knight meant.

White Knight. A college friend had first coined that nickname for me, and for a long time I'd felt proud of it. It was a statement of my ability to care for people; to serve them and to take whatever bits of their suffering that I could onto myself. It was a fine, n.o.ble calling*and I was good at it. It was almost second nature now for me to take the smallest piece of meat at dinners and cookouts, or to give up my days off helping people move or do home repairs. My ability to sacrifice for others enabled me to give away my money, even if I had to do without something myself.

It had enabled me to quit Banshee almost a year ago. And to not tell anyone why.

I watched the news for another half hour, until I couldn't take it any more. Lying in the dark, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of big-city traffic around me, I finally fell asleep.

The news that it was sabotage broke sometime during the night, and by morning the news programs were hauling in experts to give their speculations as to who was responsible and why. Combined with the eulogies still pouring in from leaders around the world, it made it that much harder, an hour later, to watch a man already dead walking casually across the tarmac toward his plane.

And to labor in vain to warn him. The others had been right: the sunlight was far too bright for the President to have any hope at all of seeing anything as insubstantial as a ghost.

Mine, Shaeffer had told me before the Jump, was to be the last effort in this particular slot, and so I kept at it all the way up the stairway. But it was no use. I did every kind of aerial maneuver I could think of to try and get his attention, but not once did he so much as take a second look in my direction. Eventually, he pa.s.sed the limit of my tether, fastened to Air Force One's door, and vanished into the communications section at the front of the plane.

Third strike, and Banshee was out.

I came back to find Griff and Shaeffer leaning over me. "Well?" Griff demanded.

"Uh-uh," I shook my head. The motion sent a brief spasm of pain splitting through my skull. "He never saw me."

Griff seemed to slump. "d.a.m.n," he breathed, "Mr. Shaeffer... I'm sorry*""It's not over yet," Shaeffer cut him off, icy calm. "All right; if we can't stop him getting on the plane, the next step is to try and get him off it before the balloon goes up." He stepped back from the couch and gestured, and as I struggled up onto my elbows I saw Morgan standing nearby. "Mr. Portland, you're next. You'll be Jumping as soon as the equipment is ready."

Morgan nodded silently. His eyes met mine for an instant, and then he turned away from us.

I should have realized right then that something was wrong. But with the Jump and my recovery from it taking all my attention, Morgan's odd reaction missed me completely. "If you're going to try and get him off," I told Shaeffer, working myself to a vertical position, "you'll need to have the tether a lot further forward. When I left he was heading into the forward section of the plane."

Shaeffer nodded abstractly. "He'll be back in his private section before take-off, though. That's where we'll have to try and get to him."

"Ah," Griff said, offering me a hand as I swung my legs off the couch and more or less steadied myself on my feet. "You're talking about getting him out during the flight, then?"

"Right. There are parachutes stored near both exit doors. If we can contact him, all he'll have to do is grab one, open the door, and jump."

"Is that all?" an unexpected voice cut in.

We all turned around. "Hale, you were told to stay upstairs," Griff growled.

"So that Shaeffer can dismantle the stability of the universe in peace and quiet?" Hale snorted. "Fat chance."

I looked at Griff. He shrugged fractionally in return, a worried frown starting to settle onto his face. Hale had always been something of a borderline neurotic anyway, but this seemed to me to be a pretty drastic slippage. "Hale*" I began.

"You just shut up," he snapped back. "You cut out on us once*coming back now just because Griff wants a yes-man on his side doesn't win you any points."

I opened my mouth, closing it again in confusion... and only then did I spot Rennie lounging against the wall near the elevator.

And finally understood.

That confrontation among the equipment cabinets hadn't been an effort to convince me to join him in opposing Griff. Instead, he'd been trying to drive me solidly onto Griffs side... so that he could use the others' animosity toward me as a lever to get them on his side.

"Hale, if you have any specifics to bring up," Griff said soothingly, "we're willing to discuss them*"

"I have one," Rennie spoke up, strolling over. "Mr. Shaeffer, you're talking as if all the President has to do is open the door and jump out and that's that. Right?"

"He was in the Air Force for six years," Shaeffer said stiffly. "He knows how to handle a parachute."

"I'm sure he does. Has it occurred to you that if the pilot radios that they've got an open door the known past will be changed?"

I looked at Shaeffer, the muscles of my shoulders tightening. "Would they broadcast something likethat?" I asked. "Or would it just show up on the flight recorder?"

"Depends on whether the pilot was on the radio at the time it happened, I suppose," he said. "If he wasn't..."

"And when someone notices the President is missing?" Hale shot back.

Shaeffer took a deep breath. "All h.e.l.l breaks loose," he admitted grudgingly.

For a moment we all looked at each other. "Well?" Griff said at last. "What now, Mr. Shaeffer?"

Morgan cleared his throat. "If President Jeffers recognizes us as being from Banshee, as you've suggested he might, wouldn't he realize he has to give the pilot instructions not to mention his departure?"

"Oh, come on," Rennie scoffed. "I, for one, have no intention of just hoping he'll think of all these things on the spur of the moment*h.e.l.l, Shaeffer, you've been working on this scheme for twelve hours or more and you still missed this angle."

"Rennie*"

"No, Dr. Mansfield, he's right," Shaeffer cut Griff off. "If we're going to do this safely, we've got to make sure the President winds up with only the options we want him to have."

I glanced at Rennie, saw a touch of surprise flicker across his face. Shaeffer's acceptance of his argument seemed to have pulled some of the wind out of his sails. "It gets worse," he said, a bit less belligerently.

"If he jumps out of the plane anywhere near civilization, we get exactly the same problem."

"Yes, I'd caught that corollary, thank you," Shaeffer returned tartly. "Let me think."

For a moment the only sound in the room was the steady drone of a hundred cabinet fans. "All right,"

Shaeffer said at last. "He was in the air for approximately ninety minutes before the crash. We'll start fifteen minutes before the end."

"And what if he spots Morgan immediately?" Rennie growled.

"What if he does?" Shaeffer countered. "What's he likely to do?"

A slight frown creased Rennie's forehead as, for the second time in so many minutes, Shaeffer seemed to have taken him by surprise. "I thought the whole point of this exercise was to get him to pull the ripcord on the flight."

"Sure... but put yourself in his shoes for a second. What would you do if you were President and saw a Banshee appear in front of you?"

Rennie's frown darkened. "This isn't any time for guessing games, Shaeffer," he bit out. "If you've got some brilliant idea*"

"We wouldn't be lookin' in on him if the plane was just gonna crash," Morgan said slowly.

"What was that?" Shaeffer asked, an oddly tense look in his eye.

Morgan was frowning off into s.p.a.ce. "Well, our business here's s'posed to be findin' out how these things happen... and if he was gonna crash, we oughta be concentratin' on the wings or engines or somethin'. If one o' us just sits there and watches him, maybe he'll think it's somethin' else gonna happen."Griff inhaled sharply. "Like maybe... a.s.sa.s.sination?"

Shaeffer nodded, almost eagerly. "Right*exactly right. I'm expecting him to a.s.sume he's going to be the target of a simple attack, and that you're there to find out which of his aides is the one involved."

"So he'll sit there and make sure the door is locked," Griff nodded. "Makes sense."

"Or else he'll a.s.sume that there's a bomb in his private section," Hale put in.

Shaeffer's expression soured a little. "In which case he'll call for a quick search of the plane," he said shortly. "Either way, the thought of jumping shouldn't even cross his mind... until you start leading him out toward the exit."

I looked at Morgan, back to Shaeffer. "And what if the President doesn't notice him?" I asked.

"He will, Shaeffer said grimly. "This is our last chance, and we're d.a.m.n well going to make sure he sees something this time. So. Dr. Mansfield, you'll be sending Mr. Portland into the slot T minus fifteen minutes to T minus six minutes*no later, understand? Ms. Cosgrove will be next, and after that Mr.