"You did that?"

"I don't even want to think about it. Treat Griswold is dead, too."

The president looked surprised but not shocked.

"You again?"

"Alison. She was following him. He tried to kill her."

"I'm glad she's all right."

"No thanks to Griswold. He tortured her, but she escaped. We can talk more about that later. Turns out Griswold was the one we came here to get away from-the one with the transmitter. Your father had found a way to blackmail him into poisoning you. Griswold kidnapped young girls from Mexico and kept them for his pleasure."

"Treat and my father," Stoddard said. "Who can you trust?"

"Well, clearly not them."

"I wish I were more stunned to learn it was my father. Is he still alive?"

"For the moment. Initially there's no way to know with strokes, and his is a big one."

"Dad had that heliport built on the roof. The Aerie was so well constructed that almost no shoring up had to be done. I'll call rescue."

"Do that. Tell them they may have to make two trips."

"How bad are you hurt?"

"For someone who's been shot twice and bashed around, not so bad."

"Will LeMar make it?"

"He might. No matter what, his life as master of all he surveys is over. Given the best he'll have to look forward to, I think he would opt for a quick end."

"I'm sorry. No matter what, he's still my father."

"It doesn't seem like he ever had his priorities straight."

"Well, my friend, you certainly have gone above and beyond the Hippocratic oath in this one."

Gabe shifted in his seat to find a position he could handle for a few minutes more.

"Drew, I'm not sure how much longer I can remain upright. But before we go upstairs, I want you to have this."

He handed over LeMar's case and the president opened it, peered in at its contents, then slowly pulled the zipper closed.

"From Fairhaven?"

"Your father got ahold of it after the accident. He says your fingerprints are all over it. None of mine."

"I was going to speak to you about Fairhaven after this business-the election-was over," Stoddard said. "It's been hard for me."

"Drew, it's been hard for me!"

"I… I was so frightened of my father that night, of what might happen. Turns out he knew all the time."

"He said you petitioned him to keep you out of trouble."

"I… well, maybe I did. It's been a long time."

"Gee, it's been just that long since I was in prison and I remember every detail of every day I spent there, Drew. I remember my father being too ashamed to speak to me right up until the day he died. I remember going to AA meetings and lying to everyone by saying I was clean and sober when I couldn't stop popping pills all the time. You're fortunate that your blackout seems to have been more selective and lasted much longer than mine."

"I tried to make up for what I did by the way I conducted my life."

"The country is grateful to you. You've been a hell of a president."

"Are you going to go public with what I did? You know I won't have a prayer at getting reelected if you do."

"I don't know, Drew. Right now, I don't know anything except that I'm almost fifty-three years old and more than half my life has been lived under the cloud of two murders I didn't commit."

Stoddard crossed to where his jeans were hanging and from the pocket pulled an envelope folded in half.

"This letter reached me soon after I was elected four years ago. I was going to give it to you when I told you… about the accident. Then, right before I left for Camp David yesterday I took it with me."

Gabe took the envelope and extracted a single sheet of plain typing paper, written in pen in uneven print.

Mr. President,

Irina Kursova and I were ready to get married when she was killed by a car you were in. My son Dimitri in her womb died also. I cannot find the man Singleton who was the driver with you that night. If I could I would kill him. I know you are protecting him, but if you send his address to Milton, care of 253 Nolan Street, Annapolis, 01409, I will do the rest.

"The man who tried to kill me-twice," Gabe said. "Someone must have showed him that article in the paper announcing I had joined your team. After all these years, suddenly there I was back in town."

"His name isn't Milton. It's Leon. Leon Uretsky. He works as a baker in Bowie. The address belongs to friends of his. The Secret Service found him pretty easily, but aside from a few threats, there wasn't anything they could do. I didn't know he had gone after you until you told me about the attempted shootings."

"You could have told me about this letter when you flew to Tyler, Drew," Gabe said wearily. "You could have told me a number of things that you chose not to."

"I'm sorry. Truly I am."

"More than thirty years. Such pain to want to kill even after thirty years. Did this man ever marry?"

"Not as far as I know."

"I want his contact information, Drew. I want it as soon as you can get it to me."

"Gabe, listen, I-"

"And you know what else I want? I want you to find him and go to him."

"But-"

"Tomorrow, Drew. I want you to find Leon Uretsky and go to him and tell him that it was you who was driving that night. Do that or I swear, you will have made the decision for me, and I'm going straight to the papers and anyone else who will listen."

"But you're going to see him, too?"

"Yes. If he'll let me. He and I need to talk. We need to talk about pain… and loss. We need to talk about you."

"It will finish me, Gabe. If this gets out, it will finish me and everything I have stood for."

"Maybe." Gabe pulled himself up and hobbled toward the door. "Maybe it will."

CHAPTER 65

It was the first time Gabe had been in Fairhaven, Maryland, since the accident. Working off a MapQuest printout, he removed his sling and negotiated the streets through a steady drizzle. His mood was as somber as the evening. In the trunk of his rented Honda, his bags were packed. In the early morning he would leave Alison in the hotel room they were sharing and head to the airport for the trip home to Wyoming.

Three days had passed since the nightmare at The Aerie. He had not returned to the White House, nor did he ever intend to enter the place again. He had spoken to the president only long enough to ensure that he had honored Gabe's demand to personally visit Leon Uretsky.

It had required more than an hour in the operating room to debride the wounds in Gabe's hip and shoulder. Gratefully, there was nothing critical to repair, and he left the hospital twelve hours later. After that, he had spent as much time as possible with Alison when he wasn't giving statements to the investigators from the Secret Service and police. What Alison's plans were after everything was cleared up remained uncertain, but he was hopeful they would somehow include him.

The shot that had brought down Treat Griswold, she told him-the improbable, remarkable shot-was one she had made over and over in her mind as she lay tied up, humiliated, and in continuous agony in the basement of the house on Beechtree Road. During those endless hours, what little hope she hung on to became focused in that shot. None of the hundreds she imagined ever missed its mark.

Several times during the nights they had spent together, Gabe held her and dried her tears at the notion of having taken a life the way she did-even one as monstrous as Treat Griswold's. The story she shared of her battles in L.A. to clear the name of a fellow nurse, and also her subsequent torture at the hands of Griswold, more than justified her actions in Gabe's eyes. But there were tears nonetheless.

Gabe's own reaction to having killed the men sent to kill him was far more tempered-certainly less anguished than on the two occasions in his life as a physician when his decisions, forced during raging medical emergencies, contributed to the death of a patient.