Holtzmann pressed the button, and Nexus forced his own neurons to pump sweet opiates into the rest of his brain.

He emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, calm, smiling, a little dreamy, but awake enough. A little bump of norepinephrine kept him moving even as the opiates made the pain and stress go away.

“You doing OK?” Barnes asked him.

Holtzmann smiled. “Better.”

They filed out to the Rose Garden and lined up for the ceremony. Holtzmann smiled at the TV cameras and waved at a staffer he knew. Then they waited. And waited.

The opiate calm faded. He felt a chill seep into his bones, even in the sweltering October sun. His breath was coming fast again. The hip ached. His hand started to tremble.

God, he could use another hit.

His head was pounding now. When would this start? He felt weak in the knees.

Another? he wondered. Even smaller?

No. Absolutely not.

Just a tiny, tiny little dose?

And then the door opened, and President Stockton walked out into the garden.

Holtzmann straightened himself. His throat was dry. The President gave a speech on courage and self-sacrifice and the need to stand up against those who would use violence to win their way. It was easy for him now. The assassination attempt had changed the race completely. Stockton was ten points up with just weeks to go.

I should have let him die, Holtzmann thought.

Stockton walked down the line, thanking the wives and children of the Secret Service men killed. Saying kind words and shaking hands and patting heads of the children for the cameras.

Holtzmann’s anxiety grew as the President came nearer. His heart was a jackhammer, beating faster and faster. He wiped a hand against his brow and it came away wet with his sweat. He felt so very cold and his muscles were cramping and all he wanted was another small surge of the opiates that would take this pain away.

No.

Then the President was in front of him. And Holtzmann stared at the man, his heart in his throat.

He’s going to know, Holtzmann realized. How could he not know? How did I spot the assassin? They’re going to figure it out.

“Dr Holtzmann, your keen eye and quick wits saved my life three months ago. The nation owes you a huge debt. I owe you a huge debt. In recognition of your service, I now award you this Distinguished Civilian Service Award. You’re a hero, Doctor. Thank you.”