"You haven't seen him this morning?" Gregg frowned, irritated.

"Not yet. And it isn't exactly like him to pass up a meal-though he'll probably bring his own in since I hear even the Bello Mondo isn't up to his standards." A grimace and shrug. "Hey, I know the reason you wanted this breakfast meeting was to get the two of us to patch up our differences, and I appreciate the sentiment-I'd like it, too. But maybe Hiram isn't quite as forgiving as you think."

"I don't believe that, Jack."

Jack gave Gregg a lopsided, bitter smile. "He's never served you a plate of thirty silver dimes, either."

"Amy…"Gregg began.

"Already gone, sir," his aide said. "I'll find him or starve trying. Save me a roll, okay?"

As she left the room, Gregg turned to Braun. "Okay, we'll go ahead and eat. If Hiram shows, he shows." The words snapped out more sharply than Gregg intended. He was in no mood for games, not with Puppetman slamming against his restraints. Braun was looking at him strangely again, but before the ace could say anything, Gregg shook his head and waved the anger away. "God, that sounded horrible, Jack. I'm sorry. I'm just not myself this morning. Point me in the direction of the coffeepot, would you?"

Strange, Jack thought. He'd never felt uncomfortable in the presence of Gregg Hartmann before. Yet here he was, face to face with the man he hoped would be the next president, the man who had talked him into coming out of his public isolation and joining his crusade for office, and something was missing..

I'm tired, thought Jack. So is Gregg. No one can be charismatic every minute.

He poured himself coffee. The cup rattled in the saucerhangover, maybe, or nerves. If it hadn't been Gregg asking for this meeting, he wouldn't have come. "I saw a car full of Nazis outside," he said. "Nazis in uniforms."