"The person who banged into me and probably saved my life was following me purposefully," he said. "Tailing me."

"To hurt you?"

"No. I think to protect me."

"Do you want to tell me who that was?"

"I don't, Drew. I sort of promised to think carefully before I told anyone. But I'm prepared to now."

Again, Gabe could see Stoddard's intellect rapidly processing the information as it had been presented so far.

"Whoever this is was tailing you from the White House at two in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Secret Service?"

Gabe wasn't surprised at how quickly the president put things together. This was a man who, after the accident at Fairhaven, had gone from being a middle-of-the-pack student at Annapolis to first in his class, to a governorship, and finally, to the presidency.

"Working undercover," Gabe replied.

"To what end? At whose order?"

"I can answer the second question, but I'm not so certain about the first. The head of internal affairs sent the agent in. I think the goal was to learn how much truth there was to-"

"To the rumors that I was going nuts," Stoddard said.

"Yes, sir, plus maybe to search for information that might shed some light on what happened to Jim Ferendelli."

Again, Gabe could almost feel the president working through the facts, reasoning out the possibilities.

"It's that woman, isn't it," he said suddenly, "that nurse my pal Mike Posnick in California called me about, asking me to set her up in the Secret Service."

"Alison Cromartie. Yes, Mr. President, it is."

"And she was in Baltimore with us, right? I thought I knew her from someplace else. I'd only met her once, maybe a couple of years ago. Interesting looking."

"I have to agree."

Stoddard glanced over at Gabe with something of a glint. He grinned momentarily. Then just as quickly his expression darkened.

"They're closing in, Gabe," he said. "Like goddamn hyenas smelling the rot, they're closing in."

He took a computer printout from the floor next to him and passed it over. It was a nationally syndicated column from the Montgomery Mirror, based on the latest Gallup Poll numbers, which indicated a drop in the Democrats' lead from 12 to 8 percent-the smallest gap since shortly after the Republican Convention.

WHERE THERE'S SCHMUCK, THERE'S FIRE

Question: What chief executive risked his health and the leadership of this country in a grandstand play at a Baltimore meeting of big-bucks liberal supporters? You see, the chief executive in question was in the midst of an asthma attack severe enough to cause him to break off his speech in the middle. And we all know how severe that must have been. Was it the behavior of a rational man to return to the podium after just a few minutes of treatment?

I think not.

Perhaps the rumors swirling about the nation's capital have some truth to them-maybe a lot of truth. The rumors are telling us that a good deal of the time the man in the golden chair, with the golden boy looks and the liberal, suck-gold-from-the-workingman philosophy, is showing an irrationality that can only be called Nixonesque. That's right, that's right, Tricky Dick was a Republican and here I am bashing him in a way most foul-by lumping him in with he who should not be named.

Well, crazy is nondenominational and apolitical, and if our chief executive, the man with his pointer finger on the BIG BUTTON, is losing it, I don't care what party he is. So, Prez, I say be afraid of these latest poll numbers. Be very afraid. The American public is getting concerned about what I have known all along-namely, that you are not all there. You're not the first chief exec to try and keep big secrets from us law-abiding wage earners, and you undoubtedly won't be the last. I suspect that by the time your poll numbers and Brad Dunleavy's cross for the final time, we'll know the truth.

Gabe set the printout down and exhaled audibly.

"Hyenas is the word," he said.

"We've got to get to the bottom of this before it blows up in our face."

"I'm working on it, Drew; I really am."

"And?"

"I need another day; then we'll talk."

"Have you heard from your psychologist friend?"

Gabe stiffened at the question. Among the many things he had decided to keep from Drew, at least for the time being, was the attack on Blackthorn at the airport hotel, and especially the missing briefcase. Hopefully, as Blackthorn had promised, there was no accessible information in there.

"I haven't spoken to him since he returned to Tyler," Gabe said, "but his initial impression was that somehow a toxic chemical was intermittently entering your body."

"Like poison?"

"Not necessarily. There are other explanations. Drew, you're the boss here, but I really would rather get some more data before telling you what I've been able to learn."

"You're the doc. But make it quick, Gabe. You read that column."

"I understand; believe me, I do."

"Just tell me a couple of things. Do you think the guy who tried to kill you killed Jim?"

Tomorrow, Gabe had decided. Tomorrow after he and Ferendelli had spoken, he would bring Drew up to speed on the situation. For the moment, as Ferendelli had requested, he would tell no one.

"It's possible," he said. "But if he was as inept at Jim's assassination as he was with mine, there's a good chance Jim's still alive."

"And the woman, Alison?"

"I'm hoping to speak to her tonight or tomorrow. As far as I know, she hasn't uncovered anything."

"But she's sharp?"

"I think very sharp."

"You falling for her?"

"Too early to tell."

Stoddard's expression grew steely.

"Just remember who you're working for, okay? I have to know that I come first."

"You come first, my friend," Gabe said. "Now, I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"Is there anything of importance that you're holding back from me? Anything at all?"

Stoddard momentarily looked at him somewhat queerly, then shook his head.

"What's that all about?" he asked.

"Kyle Blackthorn told me he has like a sixth sense about people-whether they're being totally on the level or not. He wondered if you might be holding something back or maybe not telling the whole truth about something. I mean, when we first talked in Wyoming, you did manage to hold something rather big from me."

Again the flicker of that odd look.

"Well, not this time," Stoddard said. "If I know something of any importance, you'll know it. Now, keep me posted, and if you need resources that are at my disposal, just say the word and they'll be at yours."

"The closer to the vest we play this, the better," Gabe replied.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

The friends stood and shook hands.

"Tomorrow," Gabe said, before heading to the office to prepare for his rendezvous with Ferendelli.

On the ride down in the small elevator, he acknowledged two things. One was that it was very unlikely that he had any heightened or additional senses as did Blackthorn. But the other was that almost certainly, despite Stoddard's protestation to the contrary, the president was either holding something back from him or lying outright.