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throughout the rest of the day. Everyone involved feels that progress is being made. To avoid compromising the process, however, I'm not going to discuss any specifics about the meeting or the ongoing investigation."
    "Did you discuss Chief Justice Kincaid's widow?" a reporter shouted. "Is she a suspect?"
    The question unsettled McKenna since it meant there was a leak. Someone on the commission was talking to the press. The Kincaids had a troubled marriage, and Liddy Kincaid had made unusual cash withdrawals shortly before Black Wednesday, but the information had not been made public.
    "As I said," the spokesman replied, "I'm not commenting on any specifics of the investigation-or unfounded rumors, for that matter."
    "Any progress on the tattoo on the assassin's neck?" another reporter asked.
    "Again, I won't comment on what was discussed today, but I can say that we continue to urge the public to contact our hotline if you have any information."
    The best lead had been a guarded secret until a few days ago, when the commission, desperate for something to go on, had disclosed that the assassin was caught on a security camera outside the Supreme Court Building. It was the best image they had of the man, who had skillfully avoided having his face captured on any of the court's outdated security cameras. This image, the result of weeks of FBI computer enhancements, also provided no clear view of his face. It did, however, reveal one distinguishing feature: a mark on his lower neck. It looked like a tattoo or a burned brand of the letters "CB." The mark was visible in only one frame, taken right after the assassin had shot and killed a young officer who was trying to lockdown the building. The officer had fallen onto the shooter, pulling down his shirt collar, exposing his neck for a crucial half-second. The image had since appeared on the front page of every newspaper in the country.
    As the commission's spokesman continued fencing with the press, the screen switched to the anchor, a woman in her early thirties with blonde hair and plastic-framed glasses, who segued to another story.
    "In related news, the administration and congressional leaders appear close to an agreement on a deal to fill the vacancies on the high court, but not everyone is happy about it." The screen flipped to a well-known pundit: "I think this so-called three-three deal, in which both sides get a free pass on three nominees of their choosing, is nothing less than a gamble with the future of American law. It is dumbfounding why the administration couldn't have just chosen to nominate six moderates. History has shown that moderates get confirmed with little problem. But what this three-three deal will mean is that the court will be packed with three liberal extremists and three conservative extremists. The president apparently thinks this is acceptable since two of the three surviving justices, who are sometimes considered swing votes, are still solid conservatives, giving his side the majority. The administration's tactics to rally public support for the deal, going so far as to use Twitter and Facebook, are shameless and the American people should know better."
    Another talking head flashed on the screen. "I don't see anything wrong with reaching a compromise on the nominations. It's not like there's a manual on the right way to deal with this unprecedented situation. And let's not forget that all the Constitution says is that the president shall seek the `advice and consent' of the Senate, which is effectively what's occurred. If there's a bipartisan agreement, that's got to be better than having gridlock in the process. 'hat's why the public is behind this."
    McKenna looked over to his gate to see if they were boarding the flight, when a boy about four years old ran by with his arms outstretched, pretending to be an airplane. A few travelers looked on disapprovingly as the kid circled a terminal bench, making a loud vroom sound. Then, on his third lap