"Twelve thousand," she said. "Four thousand people are being bused from Texas alone. We have a lot of support in Orange County less than an hour from the convention center-"

"John Wayne country."

"That's right. Our people there have organized a Freedom Freeway caravan to drive to San Diego," Kat told him. "That should bring us another three thousand. We have smaller groups coming from other parts of the country, and we believe individuals will come just to be part of something new and exciting."

"The press likes caravans of ordinary folks," Rodgers observed.

Kat smiled. Like her namesake, Like her namesake, Rodgers thought. Rodgers thought.

Orr continued speaking. Rodgers just now noticed that he barely consulted his note cards. He had taken the time to memorize his speech. He was using the silences to make eye contact with the crowd.

"There may be voters in my great home state who feel abandoned by this change in party affiliation," Orr continued. "To those people I say, only the label has changed. The Texan is still a Texan. Don Orr is the same man. He is still a champion for the young who want to work and the elderly who don't want to retire. He believes that service to the nation, to its industry and its economy, should be honored. To those Americans who do not yet know me, I ask that you listen to what we have to say over the next days, and weeks, and months. We are not vainglorious politicians interested in power. We are not puppets controlled by special interest groups or special interest money. We are proud Americans who want to restore our nation to what it was and can be again. A country of scholars and adventurers. A land of bounty, not just in food and natural resources but also ideas ideas. A launching pad of extraordinary new goals worthy of an exceptional people. A nation of justice and equality for the wealthy and those less fortunate, for the healthy and the infirm, for people of all ages."

"Leave no vote unharvested," Rodgers whispered to Kat.

"Perhaps, but the senator isn't pandering, General," Kat said. "He means it."

"I believe he does," Rodgers said. "In fact, I'm counting on it." The general was doing more than that. He was responding to it. Whether it was his own situation with Op-Center or a general frustration with bureaucracy, politics, and a fragmented national focus, he was becoming enthusiastic for the first time in years.

"And finally, a few words to our friends abroad," Orr said. "United States First does not mean United States only only. We believe that a strong and vital America is essential to the health and prosperity of the world. But we believe our role should be as a beacon, not as a bank. We will be trailblazers, not nursemaids. The world is best served by a United States of America that is not a crutch but a foundation, strong and unshakable. This is the platform of our party, one that is designed to serve the proud people of our nation. Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your gracious attention today and in the days to come. G.o.d bless you all, and G.o.d bless these United States."

As the crowd cheered, Kendra maneuvered the senator from the podium and reporters. Questions were being shouted about William Wilson, but they were being ignored. Kat was making notes in a PalmPilot about who was asking the unfriendly questions. Those reporters would probably find access to the senator restricted until that was no longer an issue.

Link had gone ahead to a waiting sedan. Kendra tucked the senator into the back of the black limo and slid in beside him. When they drove off, Rodgers followed Kat toward a table where beverages and snacks were available. They grabbed two cups of coffee before the reporters came by, then walked slowly across the lawn behind the Capitol.

"You know, if a major party candidate had said all that, they'd call it bl.u.s.ter and rhetoric," Rodgers told her.

"That's the difference between Senator Orr and the others," Kat said. "Do you disagree?"

"Not a bit. I found it inspiring," Rodgers said.

"Really?" Kat asked.

"Yeah. Especially the part about people not getting retired."

Kat smiled. "You know, I didn't even think of that."

"I am curious, though. Why was Kendra running interference over there instead of you?"

"We wanted to make the senator's departure seem like a security concern rather than blocking the press," she said.

"That makes sense," Rodgers said. At least in an image-sensitive Washingtonian way. At least in an image-sensitive Washingtonian way. "Meanwhile, what's happening with the Wilson matter?" "Meanwhile, what's happening with the Wilson matter?"

"You mean did the other murder take the pressure off?" she asked. "Somewhat, though a few reporters privately wonder if we were responsible for both."

"Were you?"

"Oh, absolutely," Kat replied dryly. "This whole thing is like a homicidal 'House That Jack Built.' This is the candidate who hired a killer to slay the realtor to cover the a.s.sa.s.sination that got him the attention for the campaign that Kat built." The young woman shook her head. "There are always-always-going to be three groups of reporters and commentators. Those who think you're guilty of something, those who think you're innocent, and those who think the topic is a sideshow. You only need the last two groups to stay in the race."

"As far as public relations are concerned," Rodgers said.

"Right. It doesn't help if you're actually guilty."

Lucy O'Connor caught up to the two. She looked tired. Rodgers noticed the red light on her microca.s.sette recorder was on. The tape was still turning.

"Good morning," the reporter said. "That was a terrific speech."

"Thanks. I'll tell the senator you thought so," Kat replied.

"Is anything new, on or off the record?" Lucy asked. She looked at Rodgers, and he looked at her. She repeated the question with her eyes.

"Apart from the senator running for president of the United States? Nothing," Kat said. "What are you hearing?"

"A lot of backlash from the rush-to-judgment mentality everyone had yesterday," Lucy replied.

"Did people really think Senator Orr was behind the a.s.sa.s.sination?" Rodgers asked.

"I would categorize it as a perverse hope," Lucy replied.

Rodgers shook his head. "Perverse "Perverse is a good word." is a good word."

"A story like the Hypo-Slayer is where above-the-fold by lines and book deals come from," Lucy added. "Speaking of stories, General, are you ready to tell me what you're doing here?"

"There will be a press release at the appropriate time," Kat told her. "You will have it early, of course."

"Any word on a likely running mate?" Lucy asked. "I noticed Kenneth Link was here."

"The ticket will not be announced before the convention," Kat said.

"Come on, Kat. Off the record. I promise."

"Sorry," Kat replied.

Lucy turned to Rodgers. "What about the Op-Center investigation, General Rodgers?"

"What about it?"

"I hear that a gentleman named Darrell McCaskey is on his way over to talk to Admiral Link."

"What?" Kat said. She stopped, took her cell phone out, and speed-dialed the admiral's number.

"How do you know that?" Rodgers asked.

"Friend of mine with the postal police was talking to him. McCaskey wouldn't tell him what it was about. Ed thought I might know." Lucy smiled. "He wanted to help."

Kat had turned her back to the others. She was only on the phone for a few seconds when she snapped it shut. "I'll see you later," she said to Rodgers and Lucy, and hurried off.

"Come on, Katherine," Lucy said, running after her. "I just gave you a major heads-up-"

"I know that, and I appreciate it."

"Show me!"

"When I can," Kat promised.

That did not make Lucy happy. Rodgers started after Kat, and Lucy tugged his arm. "General, I can help you," she insisted.

"Thanks."

"It doesn't work like that," Lucy said, giving him another tug. "You have to help me, too."

Rodgers withdrew his arm and started walking after Kat. Lucy followed him. Her persistence did not bother him. That was her job. What frustrated him was something that was roiling in his gut.

"General, talk talk to me. Just tell me what you're doing with Senator Orr. Are you working for him or for Op-Center?" to me. Just tell me what you're doing with Senator Orr. Are you working for him or for Op-Center?"

"What do you think?"

"I think that if you were working for Op-Center, Kat would have known about the Darrell McCaskey interview," she said.

"Makes sense," he said.

"I know. That's a direction, but it isn't a story. Give me something I can use. Anything. A lead, an off-the-record observation, a quote I'll attribute to an anonymous source-"

"The Hypo-Slayer," Rodgers said.

"Beg pardon?"

"Is that what you came up with last night when you said you needed a name for the killer?"

"Yes," Lucy said. "It was the best I could do before deadline."

"It's good," he said.

"Thanks. Now, how about it? Lend me a hand here."

Rodgers stopped. "You know what? I'm out of the hand-lending business. It's nothing personal, but I helped j.a.pan. I helped the United Nations. I helped the entire Indian subcontinent. Do you know what it got me?"

"Not a lot of personal press."

"I don't care about that," he said. He was about to cross the fail-safe point but did not care. "It got me downsized."

"You were released from Op-Center?"

"Released is what you do to a wounded condor or a seal with a coat of crude oil. I was canned, Lucy." is what you do to a wounded condor or a seal with a coat of crude oil. I was canned, Lucy."

"Jeez. General, I'm so sorry. May I quote you?"

"Why not? You can also quote me as saying that loyalty is missing in action, along with honor and integrity. Not just at Op-Center but throughout society. Real service is rewarded with lip service, and opportunists are calling the plays. I've been invited to join the senator's team in some capacity to try to change that. I plan to accept because I trust in the American people to see the difference between arrivistes and people of character and principle. Close quote," he added.

"Would you mind if I asked Paul Hood to comment?"

"No," Rodgers said. "But Lucy?"

"Yes?"

Rodgers hesitated. He wanted to tell her not to make him sound bitter. However, he did not know how to say that without acknowledging that he was was bitter. bitter.

The reporter seemed to read his thoughts. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll make it come out right."

Rodgers smiled softly.

Lucy thanked the general and left. Rodgers stood there for a moment, not sure how he felt. He had not planned to say those things, but then he had not planned on being downsized, either. Or losing Striker in the field. What was it Trotsky had said? The more time you have to plan, the more mistakes you'll make. This came from the heart.

Rodgers jogged after Kat. He wanted to let her know what he had done, though he did not think she would mind. His comments were not about Orr; they were about Mike Rodgers and Op-Center. Besides, there was a benefit to what he had just done.

He was with them now, mind and soul.

TWENTY-TWO.

Fallbrook, California Tuesday, 5:45 A.M.

For Tom Mandor, it was about the money. For Wayne Richmond it was about the money, but it was also about the danger. That was why he had gone to Alaska to drive a rig. That was why he came back to work as muscle.

At five A.M., he had left his cabin and had walked a quarter mile east, into the cold, dark hills. He did that once or twice every week in the late spring, summer, and early fall. That was when the peak was a place of perfect danger. Here, Richmond could confront as much danger as he wanted. He chose more than he needed just to test himself. Life should should be a constant series of trials. It was the only way to grow, to be a constant series of trials. It was the only way to grow, to be be alive rather than simply act it. It was a way of controlling your adversaries and, thus, have a measure of control over your own life. alive rather than simply act it. It was a way of controlling your adversaries and, thus, have a measure of control over your own life.

Wearing high tan western boots and carrying a finely honed Bowie knife, Richmond walked through the windy predawn darkness. He was dressed in a heavy denim jacket and black leather gloves to protect him from the near-freezing temperatures. Here, nearly four thousand feet up, there was even occasional sleet and snow. As he neared the ledge, he saw the dimly lit tops of white clouds a thousand feet below. Above there were still only stars and navy blue sky. When the sun finally began to rise over the sharp, curving ridge and warmed the rocky ledge, danger also wakened. That was where the diamondback rattlesnakes lived.

The snakes nested in a line of boulders right at the edge of a cliff. Each season there were hundreds of them to be harvested. The first light of dawn woke the poikilotherm quickly, raising its blood temperature to the temperature of the new day. The triangular-headed snakes, anywhere from one to three of them, would move out in search of field mice, wild hares, early birds, or any small animals they could devour. It was not necessary for them to see their prey, which was why they could hunt before the sun had fully risen. The pits on the head of the rattlesnakes sensed the warmth of a living creature while their extended tongues could taste the prey on the air, the equivalent of Richmond smelling cooking in the kitchen. It allowed the snakes to pinpoint prey with deadly accuracy. An average adult diamondback was four to five feet long and could leap nearly that far.

The snakes were the color of dirt, invisible to the casual observer until their distinctive rattle warned potential attackers away. It sounded like the buzzing of a large hornet unless the snake was coiled to give it height and striking distance. That position raised the rattle completely off the ground, making it sound more like a pepper grinder. The coiled position also brought the snake's head up in two or three seconds.

The diamondbacks were defensive rather than offensive creatures. Typically, they minded their own business and sought to avoid confrontations with larger animals like bobcats, coyotes, and humans.

That was why Richmond liked to poke them first with the end of his fifteen-inch blade. He did not want them to shy from a confrontation. He usually crouched and touched the tip of the knife to the tail. Most of the time the snakes moved away. If they did, he circled widely and blocked their retreat. He forced them to coil, which gave him the fight he wanted.

This morning, as Richmond sat on a rock and watched the dawn, he saw two snakes emerge from the rocks. One was fully grown, and the other was about ten inches long. Parent and offspring, out for a hunt. The smaller snake stopped behind a rock and curled into a tight spiral. It obviously was not happy with the chilly wind. The other snake continued to move away from the nest.

Diamondbacks are born live, and Richmond figured the smaller one to be about two weeks old. There were probably more in the nest. They would feed on whatever insects pa.s.sed by, perhaps click beetles. Richmond decided he would kill them both, starting with the youngster.

Richmond moved from the large, cold rock. He did not carry a cell phone on these excursions. If he were careless enough to get bitten, Richmond felt that he deserved to die. Besides, calling 911 would be pointless. By the time an ambulance or helicopter reached him, he would be dead. The venom would instantly cause hemolysis, the destruction of red blood cells, preventing tissue oxygenation. That caused the major organs to shut down. He would be dead within ten or fifteen minutes.

The smaller snake sensed his approach. It moved closer to the rock, uncoiled, and slid onto the opposite side. Richmond smiled. He put the sole of his right boot on the top of the rock. It was a pyramid-shaped rock about a foot high and relatively flat. He waited until the tail disappeared then tipped the rock over. It landed on the snake, pinning it in the center. The tongue shot in and out and the tail wriggled angrily, but it was helpless. Richmond checked to see where the other snake was. Its beaded skin reflected the first yellow rays of sun as it moved from the ledge. The creature was intent on feeding, not on aiding its sp.a.w.n. Richmond stepped on the rock, putting his weight on it, to make sure the smaller snake was truly pinned. Then he went around front, crouched in front of it, and drove the knife straight down into the tapered area behind its head. The head dropped off, the tongue still flicking for several moments as the black soil swallowed the blood seeping from its body.