"Or Dunleavy, or the Koreans, or the psycho terrorists, or the drug lords, or… or… or."

"If you're right, Gabe, than you might be in danger, too."

"I might. But I'm not the President of the United States. And to tell you the truth, Drew, at the risk of hurting your feelings, I wouldn't want to be."

"It requires a special kind of madness."

"You're making a difference, my friend. There's a spirit of optimism throughout much of this country. We've got to keep you healthy and in the game."

"I knew I brought you here for a reason-it's to remind me of stuff like that."

"The way I see it, we need to start grilling the scientists and administrators in that lab attached to Lily's place-find out who they're working for other than Lily, and what they might know that will help get those fullerenes in you neutralized or eliminated. But before we do that, I really think we should find a place to hide you away from anybody who might possibly be behind this."

"What do you mean by anybody?"

"Just that."

"My wife? My Secret Service protection? My staff? The country?"

"Drew, you're no good to any of us dead. At the moment, virtually everyone connected with you in any way is a suspect."

"Excuse me, my friend, but haven't you seen what life is like for me? Except for here in our little temporary apartment, I'm not able to go to the bathroom without a phalanx of agents standing by. It's their job, and they do it well."

Gabe tapped his fingers together and worked through the idea that had taken root in his mind.

"I have an idea for a way we might be able to get you separated from everyone-everyone except me, that is."

"Pardon me for my skepticism, but I've seen the Secret Service in action. I don't believe you can do that."

"I didn't say it was going to be easy."

Gabe stared out the window and again played through the scenario he had concocted.

"You have figured out a way to kidnap the President of the United States?" Drew said.

"It's not kidnapping if the president goes along with it-more like borrowing. What we need is a place to go-a place where you might be able to hide out for a few days."

"We would have to notify Tom Cooper that he's about to become president."

"Nonsense. It's his job to be ready to become president. That's why you picked him. Besides, as you suggested, he might be the last person we want to tell anything to. Drew, the Constitution and the laws of the land have been put together to handle situations involving you having to take a break from running the country."

"I suppose. I can't believe that my ratty ol' cowboy pal is lecturing me on constitutional law."

"Believe me, sir, your ratty ol' cowboy pal has been busy making himself something of an expert on this. Now, if we're to succeed in separating you from the world, it will have to be soon. Should be today, but I'll need time to get some things together. So tomorrow."

"I'll try and stay in here alone or with Carol as much as possible until then."

Gabe flashed on the unsettling exchange with the First Lady the night of Drew's psychotic episode.

"With Carol would be better," he managed. "I don't want you to be alone. If you can, I'd appreciate it if you make your main priority mobilizing people to help find Alison. I'm really worried about her."

"Count on it."

"Just keep the rest of the world as far away as possible. And please, tell her as little as you can get away with."

"Gabe, our marriage just doesn't work like that."

"I understand. Do what feels right. Remember, the person we need to be frightened of could just as easily be one of Carol's connections as one of yours. Now, what we need most of all is a place we can escape to where the minimum number of people, if any at all, will get a look at you. Specifically, I'm looking for a place within, say, a hundred miles of Camp David."

"What?"

"Camp David. Tomorrow afternoon or maybe evening, we're going to escape from Camp David."

"It can't be done."

"Maybe not, but maybe so. I'll go over the details with you and then see what you think. But first, we need a place."

"Within a hundred miles of Camp David."

"More or less. I'm actually wondering how Sharon Turner's house would work out, back here in D.C."

"I don't want to put her or her family in harm's way," Stoddard said, "and as neat as that woman sounds, there aren't many who could go without saying to some friend or relative, 'Oh, by the way, guess who's staying over at the house for a couple of days?' "

"Ferendelli's brownstone?"

"That would be one of the first places the Secret Service would look. As investigators those guys are the best. Hopefully you'll see that when they set out to find Alison." Stoddard hesitated, a resigned expression on his face. "I know of a place we can go to," he said almost reluctantly. "It's in Berkeley County in West Virginia about thirty miles west of-"

"Hagerstown," Gabe said. "I know the area. I spent a year of my life there, much of the time studying maps against the day when I reached the end of my rope and decided to make a break for it."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry for not being more sensitive, Gabe. I'm really sorry."

"No need to be. There just happened to be a prison there, and I just happened to be in it. What have you got in mind?"

"The place is called The Aerie. It's a castle, a real medieval castle, complete with moat, set on the top of a high hill, or maybe you could call it a low mountain, right in the middle of some of the wildest, densest forest this country has. It was built by my grandfather-my father's father."

"So it's secluded."

"Nobody goes there anymore, but it's still in the family. There's like some sort of family trust, but it only meets every couple of years and hardly anyone comes. I think someone comes in every month or two to do battle with the cobwebs and dust off my grandfather's collection of armor and weapons. I don't know for sure. But I am a trustee, and I do have a key."

"Electricity?"

"As far as I know. Either way, there's a generator."

"Sounds promising."

"Gabe, are you sure this is necessary?"

"Are you sure that it isn't?"

"Okay, okay. And try not to worry too much about Alison. I'm sure there's a simple, logical explanation why you haven't been able to connect."

CHAPTER 51

Hatred.

There were no windows in Alison's prison, only the unadorned concrete walls, the scattered pieces of junk, and the bare bulb hanging directly over her head, making it unpleasant to open her eyes. After four sessions of Griswold's droning interrogation, each followed by a dose of the unbearable, muscle-tearing intravenous drug, he had left and not returned. Alison had discerned from her own sense of time and some remark he had casually dropped as he was heading off that it was morning.

Now, she guessed, it was evening again. Thirty-six hours-maybe more. She remained strapped on her back, drifting in and out of wakefulness. Her wrists and ankles were expertly secured by rope to the metal frame of her cot. She was helpless and in throbbing pain throughout her body. With her arms stretched above her head and barely able to move, her shoulders were especially uncomfortable. When-if-she finally did get to lower her arms, she wondered if they might simply fall off.

At some point during the endless hours, or perhaps during the actual torture that had preceded them, she had wet herself. Griswold, if he was aware of that fact, had made no attempt before he left to change her or to help her change.

Beside her, two plastic intravenous bottles, hooked in parallel, drained saline into her arm, one crystal drop at a time. Why would Griswold ever want her to dehydrate to death and deprive him of his sport?