To see the past like this had been a horrible shock to me the first time, and though its impact had diminished since then I didn't think it would ever fade away completely. There was an immediacy to the experience; a sense of objective, 360-degree reality, despite the obvious limitations, that was nothing at all like viewing the event on a TV screen. For me, at least*and probably for most of the others,too*that sense came with a suffocating feeling of helplessness and stomach-churning frustration. I was here*really here*at the actual real-life scene of a real-life disaster about to happen...

and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

Griff had once brought in a psychiatrist who'd tried to tell us that everyone felt similarly when they saw disasters that happened to have been caught on film. If that revelation was supposed to make us feel better, it hadn't worked.

But all this was standard reflex, the thoughts and emotions that had come in one form or another with every Jump I'd made, and even as the frustration rose in my throat, the old professional reflexes came up to cut it back. Gritting my teeth*a sensation I could feel despite having no real body at the moment*I moved forward over the wing and dipped beneath its surface.

It was dark inside the wing, but there was enough light coming in from somewhere for me to make out the details of the fuel tanks and piping and all. It was eerily quiet, of course*vision on Jumps is as crystal clear as if we'd brought our physical retinas back in time with us, but there's no sound or other sensory input whatsoever. Like being wrapped in soundproof plastic, Kristin had once described it. For me it was just one more macabre touch amid the general unpleasantness.

I floated around inside the wing for several minutes, keeping a close watch for anything that might precede the explosion about to take place. From the settings the operators had made I knew I'd have fifteen minutes before the engine caught fire, but time sense distortion was a normal part of Jumping and I didn't want to be caught unawares. I'd been tethered to the right inboard engine pylon, the tether length adjusted to let me get nearly out to the outboard engine in one direction or to the fuselage in the other.

The tether was even more of a witchgadget than most of the Banshee equipment as a whole, consisting mainly of a charged electrical lead attached to a specific spot on a scale model of whatever your target vehicle or building was. With a tether in place a Jumper would stick with that piece of metal or wood or plasterboard through h.e.l.l and high water; without it, there was no way to hold your position even in a stationary building.

The experts could just barely explain the mechanism. The rest of us didn't bother trying.

I was just starting to drift toward the engine itself when the Ping-Pong ball caught my eye.

I'd poked around planes like this one a lot during my time with Banshee and in some ways knew more about them than their designers did; and I was pretty sure there weren't supposed to be Ping-Pong b.a.l.l.s floating around inside the fuel lines. Maneuvering around in front of it, I leaned in for a closer look... and it was then that I saw that the ball wasn't alone. A dozen more were coming down the line toward the right inboard engine, and a quick check showed that two or three more were already cl.u.s.tered up against the engine intake itself.

There had been a lot of times I'd wished I could touch something on a Jump, and this was one of them.

But there was still a lot I could learn with vision alone. The b.a.l.l.s were coated with something waxy looking*a gasoline-soluble paraffin, most likely. They were smaller than regulation Ping-Pong b.a.l.l.s, too, small enough to have been dropped into the plane's fuel intake or perhaps even hosed in through the nozzle along with the fuel.

I settled down near the engine, watching the b.a.l.l.s cl.u.s.tered there, and waited for the clock to tick down... and suddenly the b.a.l.l.s began spouting clouds of bubbles. I had just enough time to notice that flickers of flame were starting to dance at the b.a.l.l.s' surfaces when the whole thing blew up in front of me.

For a second I lost control, and an instant later had snapped back behind the wing to the full length of my tether. The trail of smoke Morgan and Hale had mentioned was coming out of the engine. In a handful ofseconds the engine would explode and everyone aboard would die... and if I ended the Jump right now, I wouldn't have to watch it happen.

I stayed anyway. White House cartes blanches or not, someone was sh.e.l.ling out a quarter of a million dollars for this trip. They might as well get their money's worth.

Morgan had been right; it wasn't nearly as bad as some I'd seen. The right inboard engine caught fire and blew up on schedule, sending pieces of itself through the air toward me. I ducked in unnecessary reflex and watched as the rest of the wing caught fire, blazing more fiercely than it had any right to. The plane tilted violently, but for the moment the wing and the pylon I was tethered to were still attached and I stayed with it. Then the wing just seemed to disintegrate... and as I fell behind the plane with the tumbling debris I watched it arc almost lazily down toward the tree-covered slope ahead.

And coming to Earth far behind the crash site, there was no longer any reason for me to stay. I let go of the past, wishing as always that I could just as easily release the trauma of what I'd just seen; and a disoriented moment later, I was back on the couch.

The operators unstrapped me and began removing the tubes and wires.... and as my eyes and brain refocused I became aware of Kristin's face hovering over me. "Kristin," I croaked, trying to get moisture back into my mouth. My eyes were just the opposite: they were streaming freely. I turned my head to the side, feeling an obscure embarra.s.sment at her seeing me like this.

If Kristin noticed, she gave no sign of it. "Griff sent me to get you," she said. "He wants all of us in his office right away."

I blinked away the tears; and even as I struggled to sit up I noticed the tightness about her eyes. Still mad at me, I decided... until I realized her eyes were focused off in s.p.a.ce somewhere. "Is anything wrong?"

She licked her lips briefly. "I don't know, but something sure as blazes is happening. Griff and Shaeffer have been closeted up there since you left for your Jump... and Griff wasn't sounding too good when he told me to come get you."

I swallowed, hard, and concentrated on getting my blood up to speed again. With Kristin supporting me, we were upstairs in Griff's office five minutes later.

She was right: the whole gang was there... and one look at Griffs and Shaeffer's stony faces set my stomach churning. Something had indeed happened... I looked at Griff, but it was Shaeffer who spoke.

"Your report, Mr. Sinn?" His voice matched his expression.

I gave it to him without elaboration, describing as best I could the Ping-Pong b.a.l.l.s in the fuel line and the way they'd behaved. Shaeffer listened like a man who already had the answers and was merely looking for some confirmation, and when I'd finished he nodded. "The searchers on the scene already came to pretty much the same conclusion," he said grimly. "Catalyst bombs, sounds like*gadgets that get the fuel and the degraded fragments of flame r.e.t.a.r.dant to react together."

"Never heard of them," Rennie said.

"They're not exactly on-shelf technology. We've developed a type or two, and there are maybe two or three other countries doing similar work. That could be a blunder on the saboteur's part*exotic equipment makes any trail easier to trace. All right, Mr. Sinn, thank you." He took a deep breath, looked around at each of us in turn... and his expression seemed to get a little stonier. "And here now is where we get to the sticky part. I imagine you've been wondering why I came to Banshee in person instead of directing your investigation from Washington. It's because I want you to do something I don't believeyou've ever tried before. Something*I'll say this up front*that could turn out to be dangerous." He paused, and the tip of his tongue swiped at his upper lip. "I've read everything President Jeffers ever received on Banshee, and he and I both noted with a great deal of interest that you've been...

seen... on more than one occasion by the people you've been observing."

Kristin shifted in her seat... and a horrible suspicion began to drift like a storm cloud across my mind.

"Now, tell me," Shaeffer continued, sweeping his gaze across us Jumpers, "did any of you, during your Jumps the past few hours, ever get a look inside Air Force One itself?"

Hale, Morgan, and I exchanged glances, shook our heads. "That why Griff set the tethers so short?"

Morgan asked. "So we couldn't get inside?"

A flicker of surprise crossed the rock that was Shaeffer's expression. "I hadn't expected you to notice,"

he said. "Yes, that's precisely why I had Dr. Mansfield set them that way. You see... as of yet, the searchers at the crash site have located only a few of the bodies from the wreckage. It occurred to me early on that due to an unusual set of circ.u.mstances back at the President's retreat no outsiders actually saw him get onto that plane. And now you've told me that none of you have seen him there, either.

"Which means... perhaps he never was aboard to begin with."

A brittle silence settled, vise-like, around the table. "Are you suggestin'," Morgan said at last, "that you want us to go back there and change the past?"

His sentence ended on a whispered hiss. I looked back at Shaeffer, and to me it was abundantly clear that he knew exactly what it was he was suggesting... and that he was just as scared about it as the rest of us were.

But it was equally clear he was also determined not to let those fears stand in his way. "There's nothing of changing the past about it," he said firmly. "We don't know*none of us do*exactly what happened on that flight. If we don't know what the past is, how can we be changing it?"

" 'If a tree falls alone in the forest, is there any sound?' " Hale put in icily. "Do you have any idea what will happen if we meddle like this?"

"No*and neither do you," Shaeffer replied. "Face it, people, no one knows what changing even a known fact of history would mean. A known fact, notice, which is not what we're talking about doing here."

"Oh, aren't we?" Hale retorted. "All right, fine*let's a.s.sume for the moment that somehow we keep President Jeffers out of Air Force One. It's been over six hours now since the crash. Are you going to try and tell us that he and his whole Secret Service detachment have been sitting around listening to the news and no one's bothered to pick up a phone to let the world know he's still alive? Come on, now, let's be serious. We keep Jeffers out of the plane and we've changed history*pure and simple."

"Maybe not," Shaeffer said stubbornly. "It's possible he could be lying low while the crash is being checked out. Especially if sabotage is a possibility, he might want to give the perpetrators a false sense of security. You might recall that for days after the Libyan raid back in 1986 Quaddafi disappeared*"

Hale snorted. "Jeffers wouldn't duck and hide, and you know it. That shoot-from-the-hip style of his was practically his trademark."

"Maybe lying low wasn't his idea," Shaeffer snapped. "Maybe someone persuaded him to do so."I felt my hands start to tremble. "Shaeffer... are you saying you've been in touch with him?"

Kristin caught her breath and murmured something inaudible. But Shaeffer shook his head. "No, of course not. Do you think I want to risk frogging up your chances by contacting someone out there?"

"But if you call and find that he's there*" Rennie began.

"And if he isn't, then that's it," Shaeffer snapped back. "Right?" He glared around at all of us.

Morgan cleared his throat. "Mr. Shaeffer, we all of us understand how you feel 'bout... what's happened to President Jeffers. But denyin' the facts isn't gonna*"

"What 'facts,' Mr. Portland?" Shaeffer cut him off. "We have no facts at this point*just speculations and possibilities."

I looked at Griff, who had yet to say a word. "Griff...?"

"Yes, Griff, say something, will you?" Hale cut in. "Explain things to this idiot. Or has the wow-value of the big-city bureaucrat short-circuited your ability to think straight?"

Griff c.o.c.ked an eyebrow, but that was the extent of his reaction to Hale's harshness. "If you're asking whether or not I'm going along with Mr. Shaeffer's idea, the answer is a qualified and cautious yes. We're talking about the chance to save a man's life here."

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake," Hale snarled, his eyes flicking around the table once before returning to Griff. "Will you for one minute look past the lure of a real budget and think about what we're being asked to do here? We're being asked to change the past*Shaeffer's weaseling phrases be d.a.m.ned, that's what's really at stake here. Don't you care what that might mean?"

For a moment Griff gazed steadily back at him. "Certainly, Hale, you have a point," he said at last.

"Certainly this could prove dangerous. But have any of you stopped to consider the other side of the coin? If there's a single factor that consistently shows up on your psych evaluations, it's the frustrations Banshee creates in you*the stress of seeing disasters you can't do anything to prevent. Denials: anyone?"

I glanced around the table even as I realized that, for me, all further arguments were moot. The chance to save a life that would otherwise be lost*a life whose loss was filling an entire nation with grief and pain*was all the motivation I needed.

Besides which, Griff happened to be right. All of us hated the helplessness we felt during Jumps; hated it with a pa.s.sion. If we really could do something about the disasters we had to witness...

"So," Griff continued after a moment. "Then consider what we've got here: a chance to see whether or not the past can be safely changed. Doesn't that seem like something worth taking a little risk to find out?"

"And if it leads to disaster?" Hale demanded. "What then? It doesn't matter a d.a.m.n how pure or n.o.ble our motives were if we screw things up royally. I say we just forget the whole idea and*"

"Mr. Fortness, you're relieved of duty," Shaeffer said quietly.

The words came so suddenly and with such conviction behind them that it took a moment for me to register the fact that the man giving the order had no authority to do so. An instant later everyone else seemed to catch on to that fact, too, and the awkward silence suddenly went rigid. "Someone die andleave you boss?" Hale growled scornfully.

"That's enough, Hale," Griff said quietly. "Go back to your room."

From the looks on the other's faces it appeared they were as flabbergasted as Hale was.

"Griff*you don't mean*" Kristin began.

Griff looked at her, and she fell silent. The awkward silence resumed as Hale got up from the table, face set in stone, and left the room. I half expected him to slam the door on his way out, but he apparently was still too stunned by it all to be thinking in terms of theatrics. Griff let the silence hang in the air another couple of seconds before looking back at Kristin. "I believe, Kristin," he said, "that the next Jump is yours. I know it's getting late, but I'd appreciate it if you'd try anyway. If you feel up to it, that is."

A muscle twitched in Kristin's cheek as she threw a glance at Shaeffer's tight face and stood up. "I'll try, Griff. Sure. Shall I go downstairs and start getting prepped?"

"Please. I'll be there shortly to set the tether and slot coordinates and see you off."

She nodded and left the room. Shaeffer watched her go, then turned back to lock Morgan, Rennie, and me into a searchlight gaze. "I realize that in a tight-knit organization like Banshee strangers like me are not especially welcome," he said, his soft voice underlaid with steel. "But at the moment I don't give a nickel d.a.m.n about your feelings. We have less than sixty-six hours to get President Jeffers off that plane and into temporary hiding; and the longer it takes us, the greater the danger of exactly the sort of thing happening that you've all voiced concerns about." He paused, as if waiting to see if any of us would follow Hale's lead. But we said nothing, and after a moment Shaeffer turned to Griff. "All right, Dr.

Mansfield. Let's get started."

"Now remember," Shaeffer said, leaning close to Kristin as if she were asleep or deaf or both. "You go right up in front of the President's face and hover there where he can see you*don't get out of his sight. If he doesn't seem to see you, or else ignores you, come back and we'll try again. Under no circ.u.mstances are you to stay long enough to see him climb up the steps to the plane. Understand?"

I half expected Kristin to remind him that this was the third replay of these same instructions and that she'd caught them all the first time around. But she merely nodded and closed her eyes. Griff gave the high sign, and with the usual flickering of lights she was gone.

Taking a deep breath, I moved away from Griff and Shaeffer, lingering by the two-foot model of Air Force One and the tiny model limo that now sat on the table beside it. The tether lead's alligator clip was attached to the limo; Shaeffer was pushing this contact as far back as he reasonably could, all the way back to the President's drive to the landing field. Pa.s.sing the models, I kept going, heading for the rows of equipment cabinets at the building's west end. My father had always gone for a walk in the woods when he needed to think through a particularly knotty problem, and during my two years at Banshee I'd discovered that the maze of gray cabinets back here was an adequate subst.i.tute. I hoped the magic still worked. Upstairs, half an hour ago, I'd made my decision... but with Shaeffer's pep talk beginning to fade, things no longer looked nearly so clear cut. The greatest good for the greatest number, and attention paid whenever possible to the individual; those were the rules I'd been taught as a child, the standards against which I'd always measured my actions. But to make such judgments required information and wisdom... and I could find nothing in past experience that seemed to apply to this case.

How was I supposed to weigh the pain and suffering that could be caused by changing the past?"h.e.l.lo, Adam."

I jerked out of my reverie and spun around. Rennie stood there, leaning against one of the computer cabinets, arms crossed negligently across his chest. Blocking my way out.

I made a conscious effort to unclench my teeth. "Rennie," I said with a curt nod. "You taken to wandering the Banshee room, too?"

"Hardly," he sniffed. "I just noticed you head back here and thought I'd see what Banshee's own little White Knight was up to."

I felt my teeth clamp together again. I'd hoped a year might have changed Rennie at least a little, but it was becoming clear that it hadn't. "Just looking for a little peace and quiet," I told him shortly. "If you'll excuse me*"

"Must be a great thrill for you," he continued, as if I hadn't spoken. "A chance to save a real person from real death*why, I'll bet you're so happy about it you haven't even bothered to consider that you might skewer a few billion innocent people on your lance in the process."

"If you're talking about Hale's rantings, yes, I'm aware of the risks involved. You can also drop that 'White Knight' business any time."

He radiated innocence. "You're the one who tagged yourself with that t.i.tle*or had you forgotten?

The White Knight: defender of the lame, guardian of the helpless, picker-up of those fallen flat on their faces*"

"Do you have something to say?" I interrupted. "If not, you're invited to step aside."

"As a matter of fact, I do." Abruptly, all the mockery vanished from his face, and his expression became serious. Though with Rennie, I reminded myself, expressions didn't necessarily mean anything. "I wanted to see if you were as taken in by this whole pack of manure as you'd looked upstairs."

"If you're referring to Shaeffer's plan," I said stiffly, "I think it's worth trying, yes. At least as long as he continues to go about it in a rational manner."

Rennie snorted. "You mean that frog spit about not letting Kristin see if Jeffers actually gets on the plane because if she does that'll make that a 'known' fact? Word games; that's all it is. We know Jeffers got on that plane, Adam*whether we actually saw it or not, we know he got on it. Anybody who tells you otherwise is either kidding himself or lying through his teeth."

"Keep that sort of thing up and you'll be joining Hale in exile upstairs," I warned him.

"Maybe I ought to," he shot back. "That'd be the surest way to cancel this whole thing. Especially if I can get Kristin and Morgan to join me*I'd like to see you handle all the Jumps alone, especially with the breakneck schedule Shaeffer's trying to run."

Abruptly, I was very sick of this conversation. "I can do it all if I have to," I bit out. "Though I expect you'll find Kristin and Morgan have better ethics than you give them credit for."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Or maybe you'll find that they can see beyond the life of a single man. The way White Knights like you don't seem capable of doing."

Clamping my teeth together, I walked toward him, ready to flatten him if he gave me even the slightest cause to do so. But he was smarter than that, even flattening himself slightly up against one of the cabinetsto give me room to pa.s.s. I brushed by him without a word... but I couldn't help but notice the small smile playing across his lips as I pa.s.sed.

A moment later I was back in the more open areas of the Banshee room... and I'd made up my mind.

Whatever legitimate points Rennie may have had, I knew from long and painful experience that everything he did always had an ulterior motive buried somewhere within it. And in this case that motive wasn't hard to find.

He was out to destroy Griff.

The seeds of the conflict had been there from almost the very beginning, when Rennie's perfectionism had run straight into Griffs severe lack of administrative skill. It had become a simmering feud by the time he and I had left Banshee.

I had gone voluntarily; Rennie hadn't. Which had almost certainly soured his feelings toward Griff even more.

Standing across the room by the couch, Griff half-turned from his tete-a-tete with Shaeffer and beckoned to me. "Adam," he said as I joined them, "Mr. Shaeffer and I are going to head upstairs and see if anything new has come in from the crash site. Would you mind waiting here with Kristin, just in case she finishes her Jump before we get back?"

"No problem," I a.s.sured him.... and as he and Shaeffer headed for the elevator I realized that I had no choice anymore as to where I stood on this experiment. Rennie was willing to scuttle the chance to save President Jeffers's life in order to give Griff a black eye; and if I had to join Shaeffer in order to stand by Griff, then that was it. End of argument.

I looked down at Kristin's closed eyes, her dead-looking face. The trauma of coming back from a Jump had always been hard on her, and Griff clearly was still maintaining his old practice of making sure either he or another Jumper was on hand to comfort her during those first few seconds of disorientation.

Griff would never win any awards for administration or appropriations appearances... but he took good care of the people in Banshee. For me, that was what really mattered.

Pulling up a chair, I sat down next to Kristin and waited for the Jump to end.