Marked Cards by George R. R. Martin
"We're not done, Hannah," he said, ignoring the voice. "There's another way - if you're willing to trust me."
"I still don't know you well enough to trust you."
"Father Squid tells me that you couldn't trust Quasiman in the beginning, either."
That nearly brought the tears again. "Poor Quasi ..." Hannah covered her mouth with her hand, then wiped at her eyes as she looked out at the skyscraper canyon around them. "What is it you want to do, Gregg?"
"First, I have to know how much you're willing to risk," he said.
Hannah tossed her hair defiantly. "To expose the Sharks? Anything."
"This would be a true gamble. If it doesn't work, we'd have nowhere else to go. It would involve playing almost our full hand, laying it all out in the open. All or nothing. Either we cause things to break loose, or we find out once and for all that no one cares." And just incidentally, it will also give me the most exposure. Yes! I should have pushed for this from the beginning.... "On the other hand with hindsight and the publicity from the break-in, I think it's probably the way we should have gone in the first place. What do you think?"
"You're saying that we go public anyway - just lay it all out for everyone to see."
"Yes. And I think I know how."
"I'm still listening."
"Great." Gregg smiled at her. "First I think we'll stop midtown and see someone...."
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
"Are you ready, Mr. Hartmann?"
Gregg gave the floor director a grim-faced nod and a thumbs-up. He hadn't expected to be this nervous. He'd been on Peregrine's Perch a dozen times or more over the years, though the last time - a few months after the debacle of the '88 convention - had been an unmitigated disaster. Stripped of Puppetman, shamed by Tachyon's brutal mind-controlling, and unable to speak freely with Tachyon there on the stage with him, he'd only reinforced his image as a man with a few loose wheels.
He was ready this time. This time would be much, much different.
Through the thick stage curtains, Gregg could hear the audience settle into silence. On the backstage monitor, he saw the house lights dim. The band swung into "Peri's Theme" as a single spot plucked Peregrine's announcer out of the darkness. "From our studio high atop New York City, here she is: PEEEEERRRRRegrine."
The announcer's spot flicked off. A trio of searchlights arced out over the open balcony of the studio, lancing the New York skyline with blue-white lines. In the intersection of the three beams, Peregrine appeared, the searchlights gleaming from her snow-white wings and blue-sequined flying costume. She soared into the applause, flying through the open studio windows and onto the stage as the audience roared. She smiled into their adulation and blew her traditional kiss to the back row.
As the applause died, Peregrine let her wings fold behind, no longer smiling but looking seriously into the front camera. "Thank you," she said "Thank you very much. Tonight's format is going to be a little different. As you know, our original schedule had Elephant Girl, Tom Cruise, and Cosmos & Chaos. They've consented to appear on a later show because of the importance of what we're going to talk about tonight."
The stage curtains billowed open behind Peregrine, revealing the traditional set: a couch, Peregrine's stool - the Perch. Gregg was standing alongside the couch as the curtains opened. Peregrine offered him a hand and turned her cheek. He gave her a perfunctory kiss, being careful - as the makeup people had warned him - not to actually touch skin. "Gregg Hartman," she announced to the camera.
The applause that followed was polite but hardly overwhelming. Peri's live audience, at least recently, tended to be largely jokers. Since the rise and fall of the Rox, New York had lost much of its luster as a tourist city, and nats tended to stay away from anything having to do with the wild card. Hartmann's reputation among the jokers was mixed. To some he was still the saviour of J-Town; to others, he'd been tarnished by the '88 failure and his recent stand against the Rox. He could feel their coolness toward him, washing from the tiers of seats like a winter wind.
Not yet. They aren't ready yet.
Peregrine had wanted to tape the show. It was Gregg who had insisted on the live audience, knowing that he needed them. He nodded to them now: his tools. For the last four days, the network had been running teasers: a black-and-white still picture of Peregrine's empty set and the legend underneath: WARNING: WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO LEARN ON FRIDAY WILL SHOCK YOU. The secret of Peri's guest list held; speculation and curiosity had peaked. The promos and resultant publicity had resulted in huge lines for tickets to the show; it was estimated that Peri's Nielsen ratings would go through the roof tonight.
The newfound power inside Gregg ached.
In the last few weeks, he'd consolidated their information. Gregg had called everyone with whom he had a vestige of influence, asking questions with a growing enthusiasm, researching the erratic trail of the Sharks and uncovering a filmy web of deceit and ugliness that amazed even him. He'd consulted with Furs, once one of his campaign directors and now a media consultant, deciding with him, Hannah and Father Squid the best way to present their case. What they'd put together was powerful, powerful enough that even Gregg was moved by it.
He didn't hate the Sharks as Hannah did. He loved them. They were going to turn things around for Gregg Hartmann, and tonight, tonight was the beginning.
Peregrine took her perch. Gregg sat on the couch. "I don't think Gregg needs introduction. He's an ex-Senator from New York, a man who won the Democratic nomination for president before an unfortunate incident ended that dream, a man who has always been a champion of the rights of people of the virus."
Peri patted Gregg's hand - his left hand - and smiled at him. "And I find, Gregg, that I don't know quite where to start. What you've brought for us tonight... well, let's just say that it's nearly unbelievable."
"Unfortunately, it's all too real, Peri," Gregg answered "My investigations have convinced me of that. As to where to start, well, let's begin with a fire."
Furs had chosen and edited the footage. The studio monitors flickered; an orange inferno, a harsh roar, and the camera pulled back to show a church steeple lost in hell, wreathed in flame and smoke as sparks danced toward the sky. The scene shifted to news footage from the next morning: destruction, the ruins of the church steaming in the mist, the street a snarl of firehoses and equipment, twisted and blackened bodies sprawled in rubble.
The video was at once horrible and fascinating.
"The Church of Jesus Christ Joker burned last Black Queen Night," Gregg's voice said over the film. "We all remember that disaster, when over a hundred innocent jokers were murdered by an arsonist who blocked the church doors and then set fire to the church while those inside were worshipping. The alleged arsonist was found, but not before he killed himself in an accidental explosion. The official explanation is that the arsonist acted alone. But that's not what the chief investigator of the fire believes. I'd like you to meet Hannah Davis, whose task it was to find the arsonist."
The tape faded, and the cameras swung to follow Hannah's entrance onto the set. Gregg had to admit that the woman managed to give Peri a run for her money, and she was perfect for the revelation tonight: pretty, yet vulnerable. Again, Furs had chosen the image and tailored Hannah to match it: a blond nat, just like the millions of other whitebread Americans watching - and that fact would give more credence to the story. Furs had insisted that Hannah rest, and makeup had done the rest. The dark shadows were gone from under her eyes, and she looked rested and attractive.
Like Andrea, Gregg realized with a start, or Succubus. The memory of those two caused a stirring inside as he gazed at Hannah, and the voice rose to scold him. She isn't why you're here, it said. You're here to make amends.
Gregg could feel Hannah's nervousness as she blinked into the stage lights and the audience's applause. "You'll be fine," he whispered as she sat alongside him. He let the power ride along with the words, and was gratified to see her smile in response. He sat back as Per
"I was called by my boss, Malcolm Coan, around midnight," Hannah began. Her voice was hesitant at first, but Gregg let the new Gift nudge her - a touch here, a caress there - and as Hannah fell into the tale, she spoke more forcefully. "The fire had just gone to five alarms and we realized that there was going to be significant loss of life. The NYFD had already reported the blocked exits ..."
Yes, very attractive ...
For the next forty-five minutes, Gregg and Peregrine, with Hannah's assistance, walked the viewers through the serendipitous discovery of the Sharks. The presentation was a careful mixture of live interviews, tapes, and stills of various photos and documents. Father Squid, to a tremendous acclamation from the audience, was brought on early to give his account of the fire and add his corroboration of Hannah's evidence. Dr. Finn had adamantly refused to go on with them - "Even if I absolutely believed in the conspiracy, and I don't, this isn't the way to go about dealing with it. And Hannah, Gregg Hartmann, of all people?" - but the AIDS outbreak at Dr. Faneuil's Kenya clinic was public knowledge and easily covered; Margaret Durand's role in the X11A tragedy was outlined; Cameo channeled Nick Williams' fedora to give the Marilyn Monroe connection; the Hedda Hopper documents indicting Hoover, Hughes, and others as Sharks were shown; the three failed attempts against Hannah's life were chronicled; Battle's connections with Iran, the Rox, and the botched burglary of the Jokertown Clinic were exposed.
Gregg kept one thing out: Brandon van Renssaeler and the assassination or Robert Kennedy. Whether van Renssaeler was directly involved with the Sharks or not, he was right about one thing - until they found Lamia's photograph of Brandon and Sirhan Sirhan, there was no hard evidence against the man. Lamia had seemed relieved when Gregg and Hannah had told her that they weren't going to ask her to appear.
And Pan Rudo - his name was never specifically mentioned but Gregg knew that any reporter with half a brain could put together the connections of this mysterious, unnamed figure who kept cropping up in the tales. There would be people on Rudo's doorstep tomorrow. "Leave the media with some mud to sling on their own," Furs had advised them. "Believe me, they're more vicious than any Shark - it might also keep us out of a quick lawsuit."
It was ugly. It was brutal. It was extremely effective.
Gregg could feel it as they broke for the last commercial segment. The anger and disgust radiated from the audience like a bank of infrared lamps. They were primed now. Ready.
It was Gregg's turn.
The Gift that had been given him wasn't nearly as strong as his old ace. His meeting with Ackroyd had proved that, if his failure with Judge Sweeney hadn't. Jay hated Gregg so much that Gregg's power was useless. He could put the conviction in his voice, but the ones he affected had to have the core of belief already in place. It was only Creighton's odd reaction to Battle's name that had enabled him to be successful there. Gregg knew that if he tried to sway the audience before they'd seen the evidence, he would fail.
But now ...
The cameras zoomed in on Peregrine. "Gregg," she asked, leading into the question they'd agreed upon, "conspiracy theories are as old as humanity. We seem to have a difficult time believing that things simply are the way they are. Somehow it's strangely comforting to believe that there is some force acting upon us, some sinister group who controls all the hidden strings - I don't know why, maybe that way we can evade responsibility for our lives. The evidence you've all just shown is certainly compelling, but you'd be the first to admit that it's still very circumstantial. You ask for a certain leap of faith if we're to give credence to the Card Sharks. How would you answer those who say that the Sharks are just another Illuminati?"
Gregg gave a slow, deliberate sigh as if bending under the awful burden of what they'd just shown. As he did so, as the cameras panned in on his face, he opened the gates in his mind and let the Gift spill out. His words found the emotions of those listening and followed the threads back, strengthening them, deepening the flow, beginning the slow feedback between himself and them.
"Peri, I would tell you first that I've never earned your trust," he began, and heard the echo inside: You're damned right about that ... From some of the audience there came a soft protest, but Gregg raised his right hand, smiling sympathetically as the prosthesis glittered dully in the lights.
"No. I'd like to believe that I've made some small contribution, but - for whatever reasons, and I'm beginning to question just what those reasons might be - I've never accomplished all I could or hoped to do. I ask you this, first of all: please, please do not let my own failures blind you to the truth of what we've brought here tonight."
Gregg paused, looking back at Hannah, at Father Squid, at Peregrine and the others on the stage. He could feel the pulse of the studio inside himself, all the emotions beating in time to his own heart. "I don't expect you to believe because Gregg Hartmann says it's so," he continued. "We had people refuse to appear tonight because of my involvement, and I can sympathize with their feelings. They're right. Gregg Hartmann doesn't deserve that kind of trust. Instead, believe because you've seen and heard our evidence with your own eyes and ears. Believe because you've felt the hatred and prejudice yourselves. Believe because you've experienced the pain and now you look at Hannah and Father Squid and you see your own pain reflected in their lives. Believe - "
Gregg stopped. The linked emotions of the crowd hammered at him, made him take a breath that nearly sobbed. He rose from the couch where he sat with Hannah, Father Squid, and Cameo. He felt the tears gather in the corners of his eyes. Careful ... You can't let this be seen as another breakdown....
He gestured, softly pounding a fist into the cupped palm of the prosthesis as if it were the top of a lectern. "Believe because everything good in you is crying out in outrage and fury. And with belief comes the next question: what do we do about it?"
Like a wave crashing against rocks, the question sent shattered anger flashing. There were shouted answers from the audience, but Gregg raised his hand for quiet again.
"Hannah had to face that question." Gregg gave Hannah a long glance, knowing that the cameras would follow his lead. He extended his hand to her; they touched fingers briefly. "Imagine this young woman's dilemma, if you will. Imagine uncovering something more vile and disgusting than anything you or I have ever imagined, and then finding that no one wants to believe you. Imagine having to give up your job, your home, the whole structure of your life, because that's the only way you can find the truth. And imagine, if you can, being hounded, reviled, threatened, and nearly killed for your efforts. Hannah - "
Gregg stopped, shaking his head, and he let the gift swell and build until the sympathy of the audience threatened to burst. "Hannah knew that if she came forward with this, she would not be believed. She knew that she didn't have the clout to force those in power to listen. At best, her hard work would be swept under the rug and buried. She also knew that if she waited too long, the Sharks would find her and her evidence, and they would ... well, that's best left unsaid. So, in wisdom or folly, she looked for a voice who would speak for her. She came to me."
Gregg smiled at Hannah. She nodded back to him. Gregg held the pose long enough to know that the cameras caught the interchange, then turned back.
"I think Hannah thought she'd made a mistake there at first." Gregg gave the half-smile that had been the political cartoonist's icon for him over the years. "You see, like many of you, I couldn't just accept what she'd given me. I had to do some investigation of my own. I had to check and verify all the facets of her story. And I could do one thing Hannah couldn't. I immediately confronted the man whom Hannah's evidence cites as the current head of the Sharks. Why? Because, like you, I needed to get rid of that last little shred of skepticism. I laid out what Hannah had given me, and I dared him to tell me that it was a mistake. I challenged him to refute the evidence. He did not. Instead - "
Gregg stopped. He took a long breath. They were hanging on his words
"Instead, he coldly admitted that it was true," Gregg finished.
The howl of outrage drowned out anything else he might have said, and the power of their anger surged back through his Gift, nearly too powerful to handle. Gregg gaped momentarily, open-mouthed, then clamped down on his ace, slammed the mental floodgates. Careful ... This was not as easy to control as Puppetman's power had been. He felt like he was wearing mental mittens - he hadn't wanted the emotions to peak so fast. "Who is he?" someone shouted in the audience, too loud to ignore. Gregg cursed under his breath, shaking his head. Too early ...
"We can't tell you that yet. Not until we have all the evidence we need to convict him," he answered. The answer was clumsy, out of sequence in the script they'd planned. Gregg was momentarily lost.
"Why this forum, Gregg?" Peregrine asked, saving him. One of her wings fluttered softly; a snowy feather drifted to the stage floor. "Why come here?"
"I can answer that very simply, Peri," Gregg said, finding himself once more. "First, I did it for safety, for the safety of all of us here tonight. Hannah already knows that these people will go to any lengths to stay hidden. If Hannah had been killed before she came to me, this whole mess would have stayed in the shadows, in the darkness it likes so much. Not now. Now it's too late to hide."
He turned away from Peri, letting his gaze travel over the audience as the gates of his power opened and touched the chord of their emotions. "And because we need help. We need the aid of all people of conscience, and we need the courage of those who have already been touched by the Sharks. Now that all of you know that the beast exists, we hope that more of you will come forward with your own stories, and more and more light will glare down until everyone can see exactly what horrors this prejudice and hatred bring."