He bowed his head and prayed for strength. If he had, say, two months, he might have allowed himself the luxury of another day or two to take the hardest edge off his pain. But even the time he had was not really enough for all he had to do. For Annie, he told himself as he headed for his office. And he would remind himself of that every few minutes for as long as it took to keep himself going.
His relegating Annie to a sacred, protected part of his mind was not helped when he encountered Viv Ivins in the corridor outside his office. "I need to see you," she said in her crisp, delicate voice and Romanian accent. "My office or yours?"
He was so glad she had not begun with the obligatory "He is risen," which he and Mac and Abdullah and Hannah had decided they would respond to with "He is risen indeed," privately knowing they were referring to Christ. Perhaps Vivian eschewed the formality because technically she was outside the hierarchy. She did not even wear a uniform, though her light blue, dark blue, black, charcoal, and gray suits were uniform enough. She wore sensible shoes, and her blue-gray hair was teased into a helmet-like ball.
Giving David the option of meeting with her in his own office was unusual, for while Ms. Ivins bore no official title, everyone knew she was akin to the boss's daughter, or, in this case, the boss's aunt. She was not a blood relative, as far as anyone knew, but Carpathia himself made it plain that she was as close to him as anyone in the world. She had been a dear family friend and had, from almost the beginning, helped his late parents raise their only child.
She did not overtly lord it over anyone that she had clout without title. There was simply an unspoken knowledge between her and everyone. What she wanted she got. What she said went. Her word was as good as Carpathia's, and so she didn't have to assert herself. She employed her understood power in the same way everyone else accepted it.
"Please," David said, "come in." He enjoyed the brass of having someone so close to Carpathia sitting in his office, not six feet from the computer he used to subvert the potentate's efforts.
His assistant greeted him with a concerned look as he passed. David merely said, "Good morning," but she slowed him with, "Are you all right?" "Better, Tiffany, thanks," he said. When she noticed his visitor, she lurched to her feet. "Ms. Ivins," she said. Viv merely nodded. David held the door for her, and once she was inside and he shut it, she stood waiting for him to pull out a chair for her. He imagined saying, "Is your arm broken?" But there was almost as much feminist power in her expecting his chivalry as there would have been in her not doing so.
"I heard you say you were feeling better," she said, opening a folder in her lap and pulling a pencil from behind her ear. "So I won't belabor that. I trust you're able to get past your unfortunate incident with His Excellency?"
"Throwing up on the leader of the world, you mean?" he said, eliciting a grimace from her. "Except that such news travels fast and I doubt there is an employee in New Babylon not aware of it, yes, I try not to dwell on it."
"Senior management understands," she said.
He wanted to ask if they understood that barfing on the big boss was actually an answer to a desperate prayer to be spared from pretending to worship him.
Viv made a tiny check mark after her first listed item. David wondered what she might have written there as the discussion point. Regurgitation?
"Now then," she said, "a few more items. First, your new immediate superior will be James Hickman."
"My area will report to Intelligence?"
"No, Jim has been promoted to Supreme Commander to replace Reverend Fortunato."
David mused that having had Intelligence in Hickman's previous title was similar to Fortunato now having Reverend in his. "Surely this was Leon's, er, Commander Fortunato's choice, not the potentate's." David detected the hint of a smile, but Viv wouldn't take the bait. "So Jim will be relocating to Leon's old office?" he said.
"Please don't get ahead of me, Mr. Hassid. And I would urge you to use titles or at the very least Mister when you refer to personnel at such levels. You shall be expected to refer to Mr. Hickman as Supreme Commander and Mr. Fortunato as Reverend or Most High Reverend."
Do I get a vote? David wondered. He might rather have vomited on Leon than call him Most High anything. He bit his tongue to keep from asking Viv, er, Ms. Ivins, whether it had been Hickman's groveling that won him his promotion. Or perhaps that performance was in gratitude for a move that had already been put in place,
"And no," Viv continued, "the new Supreme Commander will not be moving into Reverend Fortunato's old office. Mr. Hickman will be sharing space with His Excellency's assistant."
"Real-ly," David said. "Seems Sandra's kind of cramped as it is."
"How shall I put this? Though Mr. Hickman will have the same title Mr. Fortunato had, the job may not have quite the same range of influence." "Meaning?"
Viv appeared frustrated, as if she were seldom asked to be more precise. "Mr. Hassid, it should be obvious to everyone that a leader whose deity has been publicly affirmed would not have need for the same level of assistance he may have in the past. Mr. Fortunato was, in essence, the chief operating officer to His Excellency's chief executive officer. Mr. Hickman's role will be more that of facilitator."
Like sergeant at arms or town crier? David wanted to say.
"And, of course, you are aware of Reverend Fortunato's new duties."
More than you are. But False Prophet may not look right on the business card. "Refresh me."
"He will be the spiritual head of the Global Community, directing homage to the object of our worship."
David nodded. To cover any unconscious look that might have given him away, he said, "And, what, ah, is to become of Leon's, excuse me, Reverend Fortunato's old office?"
"It will become part of the potentate's new quarters."
"Oh! I knew he wanted to expand upward. But out as well?"
"Yes, it should be magnificent. One of the benefits, so far anyway, of his resurrected body is that he is apparently immune to the need for sleep. Busy twenty-four hours a day, he needs variety in his work environment."
"Uh-huh." That's all we need. Satan with no downtime.
"The potentate's new office will be spectacular, Director Hassid. It will encompass both his and Mr. Fortunato's old spaces, as well as the conference room, and above the ten-foot walls will extend another thirty feet of windows to a clear roof."
"Sounds impressive, all right."
"I'm sure you will have your share of audiences with him," she said, "though you will more often meet with the new Supreme Commander."
"If I were the potentate, I would want an office large enough to allow plenty of distance between him and me."
"I don't understand."
"You know, the throwing up thing."
"Oh, yes. I get it. Amusing." But she did not appear amused.
"Will Mr. Hickman have a meeting area, or will we have to keep our voices down so as not to disturb the potentate's assistant?"
"I'm sure between the two of you, you'll be able to work something out. For instance, meeting here. Oh, my, look at the time. I have several other appointments, so you'll forgive me if I plunge ahead."
No, time's up. Get out. "Certainly, Ms. Ivins. I understand."
"During your incapacity, we were unable to wait on several important issues. We needed to get orders placed for several technical purchases that involve international shipping and manufacture."
David had to concentrate to keep from making a face. He knew exactly what she was talking about, and he had hoped he could stall such requisitions and frustrate the potentate's efforts.
"Technical purchases?" he said.
"Biochip injectors. And, of course, loyalty enforcement facilitators."
Loyalty enforcement facilitators!? Why not just call them cranium and trunk separators? "Guillotines, you mean?"
That made her wince. "Director, please. That has such an eighteenth-century sound to it, and you can understand why we want to avoid any language that bespeaks violence or conjures images of beheading and the like."