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brought out a little sweat, made her hands just barely
tremble, left a trace of moisture.
    She thought of a few ways of squashing the rumor of an
affair, if there was such a rumor, but none seemed immediately workable.
Perhaps it would amount to nothing; Congressional staffs were discreet, leaving
the impression that their bosses were purer than mere mortals, would never go
to bed with anyone but their spouses, and even then would not practice anything
but the traditional American male-on-top, and would pray first.
    Haskin again put away her “Sally Netherton” ID. “Sally”
would be gone not long after Thomas Conning became President of the United
States; “Sybille” would be gone whenever that identity became inconvenient. She
recalled her own birth name with distaste. Never again, she thought,
remembering the traumas of grades K through 12, inclusive, how the other kids
had taunted her, told her their dads had bombed and machine-gunned people with
names like hers.

Chapter 5: Two and a Half Years Before the
Assassination
    Over the next several months, Senator Conning began taking
very good notes during meetings of the Armed Services Committee, and those of
its subcommittees he belonged to, especially the Readiness and Management
Support Subcommittee, and passing these notes along to Haskin, of course
anonymously.
    The million a month came rolling in to various funds and
accounts, from PACs and SuperPACs and 501-C4s and patriotic organizations and
events.
    But to return to the Thursday following their second
meeting, and how Senator Conning stayed out of trouble in spite of himself:
    On that Thursday, Haskin received the promised email from
Conning and electronically shredded it, saving only a page or two. That poor
fool believed he was being useful. He will be, she thought, he will be very
useful; but not just now. She would take no chance that any national security
leaks could be traced back to him, even though her reselling them to one of
several foreign interests would have been very profitable.
    Accusations against Conning, proven or not, would ruin his
value before her investment had begun to pay off. The investment of her employers,
actually. Mustn’t forget that. Need to touch base with them tonight, tell them
everything was going well, that she was earning her keep, “kicking butt,” she
called it to herself, whenever she took advantage of a corrupt politician.
    But she wouldn’t use that idiom with her employers. Not
“kicking butt,” not ever. They wouldn’t like the image of butt-kicking or rat-fucking
or any other kind of physical intimacy, she knew; wouldn’t think it funny at
all. They would call her “American” in that angry, superior way they had. Would
ruffle their robes with annoyance.

Chapter 6: Seven Months Before the Assassination
    Congressman Ezra Barnes, in his third term representing Pennsylvania’s
seventeenth Congressional district, had been assessing his chances of unseating
Thomas Conning from the Senate. The election would be close, he was sure; and
if he lost he’d be out of Congress completely for at least two years. And then
he’d have to re-start his public career all over again, with the additional
disadvantage of being a “loser.”
    Barnes had several sleepless nights. His colleague in the
House, Johnny Ownby of Arkansas, had recently announced for the Senate,
emphasizing that God had told him to do so, as well as many thousands of
Arkansans. And, Barnes knew, the agriculture and livestock industries were
contributing to his future salvation as well.
    But Pennsylvania wasn’t like that. At least not the cattle
bit. And the God-thing wasn’t apt to win many votes and it would bother him to
make that claim anyway, risky to rely on support from outside Pennsylvania, he
meant, having nothing against God in particular.
    The time was nearing when he’d have to announce for the
Senate or for re-election to his almost-safe seat in the House. What to do? If
there was some