“Senator,” the Attorney General calls out brusquely after him. “You forgot something.” He throws him the tape. Abelman doesn’t even try to field it. He lets it drop at his feet. “You keep it. A personal memento of a major skirmish in the campaign to subvert the human race.” He goes out the door and is immediately engulfed by the waiting, news-hungry throng.

When he’s alone, the Attorney General picks up his vidphone, the one on the doubly secured, monitor-proofed band. He punches up a number. Moments later, Pierce Spencer’s face appears on his screen.

“Success?” asks Spencer.

“Total and complete,” answers the Attorney General. He presses a button under his desk. A tape pops from out of a concealed slot. He holds it up to the screen.

“You know what to do with it,” says Spencer.

“Indeed I do.” The Attorney General punches out.

He walks to the wall. He pulls down the cover on his office flash station, and drops the tape inside. He closes the door. A red light winks on and off. When he reopens the door, there is nothing left of the tape except for a small mound of dust. A press of a button, and even the mound disappears, sucked out into the atmosphere, there to become indistinguishable from the trillions of other lung-searing black particles which, together, compose the hazy pall that passes for Washington’s air.

11

KILLERBOWL XXI, THE GAME

Saturday, January 1, 2011, 9:30 A.M.

Despite a liberal coating of warming balm, T.K.’s lips are still badly chapped from the cold. In the huddle, he makes a double fist of his hands and blows into it at the juncture of his thumbs. The breath coming out of his mouth seems little warmer than the chilly Boston wind swirling around him. In a better effort to heat his hands, he crosses his arms just above the wrist and sticks his hands into his armpits.

Before T.K. can make his call, Varnie Pfleg gives him an observation. “The right side tackle and end are stunting.” He means they’re exchanging defensive assignments. Instead of going for the man directly in front of them, they’re swapping off and attacking each other’s man, giving them each an angular advantage. Properly handled, it’s fairly effective as an occasional change of pace. It can also become a disaster if the offense anticipates it and runs a play directly against it. Wordlessly, T.K. acknowledges Pfleg’s report. T.K. usually has great success working off stunting linemen. Normally, he would call something against it immediately. This time, he has other considerations. Since he still has absolutely no idea which one of his own teammates is an IBC dupe, he has to weigh each and every suggestion not only for individual merit but for possibly hidden implications as well.