"Roger that. Good move with that Condor note. I never forget a horse."

"Mr. President, I need you to send someone out to get me."

"I'll send a car right out."

"Terrific."

Gabe read the address.

"Twenty minutes," Stoddard said.

"And send along a couple of photos-one signed to the Turners and one a thank-you to Louis Turner. Sometime soon I want you to have Mrs. Turner here and her family over for dinner."

"Done. Any friends of yours are friends of the Stoddards."

"Great. Hey, what were you trying to reach me about?"

"Something bad," Stoddard said. "Very bad. A few hours ago we got notified that your patient Lily Sexton was found dead in her hospital bed."

CHAPTER 50

The two friends sat across from one another enveloped in a somber silence. Twenty-five years ago, they might have been in their room in Bancroft Hall at the Naval Academy, chatting about women or an upcoming exam. Now they were alone together in the presidential study in the White House residence, mulling over the significance of frightening and deflating news-the deaths of former White House Physician Jim Ferendelli and the Secretary-designate of Science and Technology, Lily Sexton.

"The police and Secret Service investigators don't report finding anything unusual or suspicious below the Benning Street Bridge," Stoddard said finally.

"I'm not surprised. These people, whoever they are, are organized and professional."

"You're certain Jim's dead?"

"I'm as sure as I can be without a body to examine. I don't know much, but after all these years as a doc, I know dead. It was really quite horrible. We were running, and suddenly he grabbed the sides of his head, uttered a cry straight out of Edgar Allan Poe, and went down. When I knelt to check him, he wasn't reacting at all. He was not breathing effectively, and he didn't have any pulse that I could discern. It only took, like, ten or fifteen seconds. I think they stopped his heart either directly or through the connections in his brain. The two men were coming at us fast. That's when I took off. Running away from Jim like I did was a reflex reaction, but I'm certain that if I didn't, one way or another, either from some chemical they put into me or from a bullet, I'd be dead now. I'm sorry, Drew. I really am."

"I'm sorry, too. Jim was a very good man. Sounds like he went through hell these past weeks. And he said Jennifer was someplace safe?"

"He wouldn't tell me where, but yes. That's what he said."

"I hope we find his body. Except for Jenny he didn't have much family, but especially for her sake, I want to find it."

"An autopsy might help us answer some questions about you, too."

Autopsy. The word hit Stoddard like a slap.

"This is terrible, Gabe," he said, "just terrible. Listen, I want you to go over things one more time, just to be certain I have it all straight."

Patiently, Gabe again reviewed the events leading up to the meeting in Anacostia with Ferendelli, starting with the note that had been left for him at the Watergate. For the moment, he only alluded to his ill-fated ride with Lily Sexton and the remarkable search of her house that followed. The details he would fill in when it was clear the president had come to terms with the certainty of Ferendelli's stunning and horrific death.

As Gabe proceeded, Stoddard stopped him frequently, asking for clarification of the half hour or so that Gabe spent with Ferendelli and the man's unrequited love for Lily. After Stoddard was satisfied he knew all there was to know, he listened attentively to the account of the arrival of the two killers, the chase to the river, Ferendelli's collapse, the explosion of hallucinogenic drugs in Gabe's brain, and finally the moment Louis Turner found him unconscious in the vacant lot.

When Gabe felt comfortable that the president had processed the death of his friend and physician as well as he was going to, he took Stoddard step-by-step through the discovery of the underground passageway and the nanotechnology laboratory. It took most of an hour and a number of diagrams of drug-carrying fullerenes and brain sketches to bring Stoddard up to speed on how his irrational episodes, Gabe's powerful hallucinations, and Ferendelli's death were related.

At last, the president sank back in his high-backed leather easy chair and stared out the window, breathing deeply and slowly through his nose-a calming exercise Gabe remembered from their days at the Academy.

"Sorry about the car," Gabe said. "On the way back here we drove by where I had left it, but it was gone."

"I think my father has insurance," Stoddard quipped. "Gabe, who could it be? Who's doing this to me? And why?"

"As you and every other president and president's physician knows, there are no limits to the number of 'whys.' All I can tell you, Drew, is that Ferendelli felt that in order to dose you with drug-carrying fullerenes, and then to fire off the transmitter that causes them to open up, at least one of the people responsible had to be someone close to you-possibly someone in the background of your life, like an aide or a valet or a secretary; possibly someone quite visible, like one of your advisors, a Secret Service agent, or even a cabinet member."

"I'm getting a damn migraine just thinking about this."

"Speaking of Secret Service agents, there's another problem I'm really concerned and frightened about. Alison Cromartie, the undercover agent working in the medical clinic, may have vanished. She left me a note saying to contact her at one of two numbers, but she wasn't answering either before I left for Anacostia."

"Lord. Can you try again now?"

"I'm afraid her note was in my pocket when I went for my little swim. Maybe whoever rolled me took it. But I have a staff list in the clinic. I can get her numbers from there."

"Good. I'll contact Mark Fuller at the Secret Service offices right away and get people on this."

"Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

"I'm sorry, Gabe. I hope she's all right. First Jim, now Lily."

"And Alison's disappeared. I've been thinking the same thing. What happened at the hospital with Lily?"

"I don't have much to tell. She was transferred sometime last night to the medical center here in D.C. From what's been reported to me, she was perfectly stable. At some point today she was due to have her shoulder operated on. Then, a few hours after she was admitted, she was found dead in bed. So far no one's been reporting having seen a thing."

"I told you, these guys are professionals."

"You think she was murdered. Magnus was told they were thinking embolism-the sort that happens sometime when bones are broken or operated on."

"Fat embolism," Gabe said. "It's the fat in the bone marrow. Pardon me for my skepticism, but two people who are connected to you and knew each other well are dead within a few hours of one another. I'm just not big on coincidence. With an IV line and a chest tube in place, there were plenty of ways to see to it she didn't talk."

"There's an autopsy scheduled for later today."

"Don't bank on its finding too much. These people are good."

"I just don't believe this. Gabe, what should I do?"

For a time, Gabe studied his hands. The filth from the river and the vacant lot, still embedded under some of his nails, seemed to underscore the direness of the situation. Someone physically close to the president, at least intermittently, had the virtually unstoppable capability of either driving him insane or killing him.

"The problem is," Gabe said, "we don't know if Ferendelli's death has changed the rules-maybe caused whoever is behind this to alter their goals or their timetable."

"Do you think it could be Tom Cooper? It would seem he's got a lot to gain if I go bonkers, or worse."