Gibson came to on the floor of Conference Room Three. He lay on his back, staring up at acoustical tile. The room was empty but not emptied. It reminded him of one of those apocalyptic zombie movies—food wrappers, paper cups, briefcases, laptop cases, all strewn about the floor. The vice president’s suit jacket still hung on the back of a chair. It looked abandoned.

He had felt better. His body still carried the aftereffects of having been hung by a rope, and Lombard’s punch hadn’t done him any favors. He sat up slowly, somewhat surprised to discover his wrists weren’t shackled. Denise Greenspan sat in an armchair, studying a stain on the carpet.

“Am I under arrest?” he asked.

Denise, preoccupied with her own thoughts, took a long time answering. “No.”

“I’m free to go?”

“Yeah.”

He gathered up his belongings and stood. At the door, he stopped and turned back to Denise.

“You okay?”

“No, I am not okay,” she said. “How about you?”

“Head hurts. I got punched. Don’t know if you saw,” he said and offered her a smile.

Denise didn’t return it.

“Actually, I’m a little hazy on what happened.”

“What happened?” By way of an answer, Denise cupped her hands together at her waist, and then raised them up over her head. She made the rumbling sound of an explosion.

“That bad?”

“Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

He nodded.

“Well, you got it. Hope you’re happy.”

She held out a business card. He took it. It was Grace Lombard’s number.

“You have any trouble, you’re to call Mrs. Lombard direct.”

“Anything else?”

“Shut the door behind you.” She left without another word.

Out in the hall, staffers stood in frightened clumps, whispering among themselves. They were like children who knew the grown-ups had been fighting but didn’t understand what it was about. They watched Gibson pass but didn’t speak to him.

He rode the elevator down. The gloom that had engulfed the vice president’s floor had not yet made its way down to the lobby. Gibson threaded his way among cheery mobs of party fat cats, delegates, and convention staff. The good times were just getting rolling as far as they knew.

Enjoy it while you can, folks.

Ahead, a pair of bellman’s carts weighed down with luggage and garment bags were being wheeled cautiously across the lobby. Calista Dauplaise followed in its wake. She was barking furiously into a phone and didn’t notice him, but Gibson took an involuntary step back anyway.

What’s your sin, Calista?

Gibson was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the girl.