Nightrise

industrialist Diego Salamanda, had said that one of the children who called themselves the Gatekeepers was coming to Peru.
    He had said he would have no trouble tracking him down. But now it seemed that Salamanda himself had been killed and the boy was still at liberty. The chairman didn't care about Salamanda. That was one less pair of hands to share in the rewards. But the fact that the boy might have survived…that was unsatisfactory. That was a loose end. In his part of the organization, it wouldn't have been allowed.
    The private telephone on his desk suddenly rang. Very few people in the world had the number that connected to it. Any call that came through on this line had to be worth taking. He set the brandy glass down on his desk and picked up the phone.
    "Good evening, Mr. Chairman." It was Susan Mortlake. She was calling him from Los Angeles.
    "Mrs. Mortlake." As ever, the chairman sounded neither happy nor sad to be hearing from her.
    "My congratulations, sir." Of course she had heard what had happened in Peru. "It's wonderful news."
    "What have you got to report, Mrs. Mortlake?" Even at a time like this, business came first. The executives of Nightrise didn't telephone each other simply to scratch each other's backs.
    "I've been thinking about Charles Baker," Susan Mortlake replied. "The presidential campaign. In view of what's happened, it's even more critical that he should win."
    'Yes." The single word showed that the chairman was getting impatient.
    'You've seen the latest figures…"
    John Trelawny was edging farther ahead in the polls.
    "Of course I've seen them, Mrs. Mortlake."
    "And our agent in New York has been unable to come up with a strategy?"
    "I'm afraid Mr. Simms has resigned."
    Two days before, Mr. Simms, the New York executive, had plunged headfirst into the Hudson River. In fact his head had entered the water several minutes before his body. The two of them had later been found washed up, fifty feet apart.
    "I believe I may have a solution to the problem, Mr. Chairman. As a matter of fact, it was something that Mr. Simms suggested himself…while he was still with us. He said that the only answer might be to assassinate Trelawny."
    "I think he was joking."
    "But I'm not, Mr. Chairman."
    The chairman considered. Killing a presidential candidate was possible but it would not be easy. Quite apart from the fact that Trelawny was continually surrounded by Secret Service men and that nobody with a gun could come close, the real problem would come later, if the attempt succeeded. There would be a public outcry and the police investigation would be huge and never-ending. It might even lead them to Nightrise. You pay someone who pays someone who pays a madman to fire the fatal bullet, but still the line can be traced back. Assassination was messy and full of danger. It was always a last resort.
    But Susan Mortlake was confident.
    "Suppose Trelawny was shot by someone who was close to him," she said. "Someone who had absolutely no link with us. Suppose the killer was caught immediately and was unable to explain his actions but seemed to have suffered some sort of massive nervous breakdown. There would be no doubt about his guilt. He would be tried, sentenced, and executed. There would be no further investigation.
    Trelawny would be dead and that would be the end of it. Of course, someone weaker would take his place, but it would be too late. He'd never catch up. Meanwhile, Charles Baker would look sad and somber. He might even attend the funeral. In fact, that would help his poll ratings. Nothing would stop him becoming the next president of the United States."
    "Can you do this?" the chairman asked.
    ''Yes, Mr. Chairman. I can."
    The chairman thought for a few seconds. But he knew Susan Mortlake well. He recognized the confidence in her voice.
    "Then do it," he said. And hung up.
    He reached out again and lifted up the precious brandy, contemplating its color, swirling it in the glass.
    The Old Ones needed time. More than that, they needed a world that was ready to do things their way.
    He had no doubt that Charles Baker would be the right man in the right job at the right time. He smiled to himself and lifted the glass to his lips. But at the last second he changed his mind and upended it, pouring the last inch into a potted plant.
    Expensive fertilizer.
    Then he got up and walked quietly out of the room.

    ***
    New
    York
    The car carrying John Trelawny pulled up outside the great tower at