Triggers

He found it slightly amusing to be called “sir” by someone a quarter of a century older than himself, but he let it pass; Mrs. Stilwell was from the South, and manners still counted down there.

“And,” he said, “speaking of the Secret Service, there’s an agent named Gordo Danbury.”

Bessie frowned. “You mean there was an agent by that name.”

“Exactly. Do you know who Leon Hexley is?”

Another frown, then: “The director of the Secret Service.”

“That’s right. A few days ago, I came upon him in the Oval Office, and he was talking to someone on his phone…” Seth paused to catch his breath, then: “…and I think he was talking about Gordo Danbury. Do you remember me hearing that conversation?”

“This is so strange,” Bessie said.

“Yes,” agreed Seth. “But do you remember it?”

“I don’t remember a conversation about Gordo Danbury.”

“No, Leon didn’t say his last name. Just ‘Gordo.’ He said, ‘Tell Gordo to…’ something. Do you remember that?”

“No.”

“Please try.”

“Gordo. That’s a funny name.”

“It’s short for Gordon. ‘Tell Gordo to…’ ”

“I sort of remember it,” Bessie said, “He said, ‘Tell Gordo to aim…’ ”

To aim! Yes, that was right! It was one more word than he himself had initially been able to remember. But Jesus: to aim! “There was some more,” Seth said. “Some numbers, maybe?”

“That’s all I can recall,” Bessie said.

“If any more of it comes to you…”

“Of course,” she said. “But…”

“Yes?”

“I’m trying not to recall your memories,” she said. “I don’t like knowing your thoughts, sir. I don’t like it at all. I voted for you. I’ll tell you the truth: I was hoping one of the others would get the Republican nomination; you’re too middle-of-the-road for my tastes. Still, I always vote Republican—always have, always will. But a lot of what you said on the campaign trail was lies.”

“I admit it perhaps wasn’t always the full truth, but—”

“It was lies,” Bessie said. “In many, many cases. You said whatever you had to say to get elected. When I recall your memories, I feel ashamed.” She looked directly at him. “Don’t you?”

Seth found himself unable to meet the eyes of this woman who could see right into his mind. “It’s not an easy thing, getting elected,” he said. “There are compromises to be made.”

“It’s a dirty business,” said Bessie. “I don’t like it.”

“To tell the truth, I don’t, either. I’m not sorry I ran, though, and I’m going to do as much good as I can while I’m in office. But you’re right: I compromised to get here. And you know what? That was the right thing to do.”

“Compromises are one thing,” Bessie said. “Lies are another.”

“No one who told the truth all the time could get elected—and so we bend the truth on small matters to accomplish the important things. An evil politician is one who lies all the time; a good one picks and chooses when to lie.”

“Horsefeathers,” she snapped.

He paused. “Well, then, think of it this way, Bessie—may I call you Bessie? Think of it like this: you’re my conscience from now on, for as long as these links last. I won’t be able to lie because you’ll know that I’m lying. You’ll keep me honest.”

She responded immediately. “You can count on it.”

Eric Redekop was delighted the lockdown was over. He headed down to the staff entrance on the first floor, and—

And there was Janis Falconi; she was heading out, too.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, and he took a moment to look at her and think. The flood of her memories continued unabated. He knew now how the rest of her day had gone, what she’d had as an afternoon snack—who’d have guessed pork rinds?—and…

And she was clean, at least at the moment. She hadn’t shot up since…

Well, good for her! It’d been three days, but…

But she was dreading going home, dreading going back to Tony, dreading her whole damned life. He thought about whether she’d yet told Tony that the lockdown was over; she hadn’t.

The staff had to check out with the Secret Service, just like the visitors to the hospital, although they had a separate line down here. Jan was in that line.

“Great work, Eric,” said a doctor as he crossed the room. “Heard all about it.”

“Thanks,” Eric said, his eyes still on Jan.

Another person touched his arm as he continued to close the distance. “Congratulations, Dr. Redekop!”

“Thanks,” he said again. There were eight people behind Jan and twice as many in front. She still hadn’t noticed him, and if he just joined the end of the line, she’d get out long before he did.

Which shouldn’t matter. Which should be fine.

But…

But…

He walked up to her. “Hey, Janis,” he said.

She turned and smiled—a radiant smile, a wonderful smile. “Dr. Redekop.”

“Hey,” he said again, disappointed by his own repartee. Then he said, “Um.” And then he turned to the man behind them. “Do you mind if I…?”

The man smiled. “You saved the president today. I think that entitles you to cut in.”

“Thanks.” He looked at Jan and lowered his voice. “So, um, I guess you’re also one of those affected by that experiment.”