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Lenton
's
forehead
was
a
furrowed
study
in
suspense
.
He
had
the
completely
unenviable
job
of
being
Byerley
's
campaign
manager
in
a
campaign
that
was
n't
a
campaign
,
for
a
person
that
refused
to
reveal
his
strategy
,
and
refused
to
accept
his
manager
's
.
"
You
ca
n't
!
"
It
was
his
favorite
phrase
.
It
had
become
his
only
phrase
.
"
I
tell
you
,
Steve
,
you
ca
n't
!
"
He
threw
himself
in
front
of
the
prosecutor
,
who
was
spending
his
time
leafing
through
the
typed
pages
of
his
speech
.
"
Put
that
down
,
Steve
.
Look
,
that
mob
has
been
organized
by
the
Fundies
.
You
wo
n't
get
a
hearing
.
You
'll
be
stoned
more
likely
.
Why
do
you
have
to
make
a
speech
before
an
audience
?
What
's
wrong
with
a
recording
,
a
visual
recording
?
"
"
You
want
me
to
win
the
election
,
do
n't
you
?
"
asked
Byerley
,
mildly
.
"
Win
the
election
!
You
're
not
going
to
win
,
Steve
.
I
'm
trying
to
save
your
life
.
"
"
Oh
,
I
'm
not
in
danger
.
"
"
He
's
not
in
danger
.
He
's
not
in
danger
.
"
Lenton
made
a
queer
,
rasping
sound
in
his
throat
.
"
You
mean
you
're
getting
out
on
that
balcony
in
front
of
fifty
thousand
crazy
crackpots
and
try
to
talk
sense
to
them
--
on
a
balcony
like
a
medieval
dictator
?
"
Byerley
consulted
his
watch
.
"
In
about
five
minutes
--
as
soon
as
the
televison
lines
are
free
.
"
Lenton
's
answering
remark
was
not
quite
transliterable
.
