Michael Palmer - The First Patient

"This is Lily."

Gabe flashed on the woman, elegant, alluring, and stately in her tuxedo-clearly one of a kind. Despite the drawing in Ferendelli's desk and the notion that Lily and the man were involved with one another, the idea of spending some time with her, especially on horseback, held definite appeal.

"Lily, it's Gabe. Gabe Singleton."

"Well hi. After the other night I was hoping I might hear from you. Everything all right with the president?"

Gabe focused on what he and Lattimore had told the world after Stoddard missed the state dinner. It was no surprise, really, but the list of those anxious for information on Drew's health kept growing.

"He's doing fine."

"Excellent. After we spoke the other night, then you rushed away on your mission of caring, I decided you needed Serious Therapy, so I've been anxiously waiting to tell you."

"Are you that perceptive? Half the people who know me think I could use a good shrink."

"Not a shrink, Doctor, Serious Therapy. He's my best trail horse-an absolute hunk."

"And here I thought you had brilliantly diagnosed me after just a few minutes together."

"Maybe I have. We'll see what you need after you spend some time on S.T. I hope you'll agree this is some horse. The president's ridden him twice."

"Before he became the leader of the free world, Drew and I rode several times at my ranch in Wyoming. For a Navy man, he knows his way around a horse pretty well. Serious Therapy sounds perfect for me."

"Name the day."

"Tomorrow if possible. Sometime in the late morning or early afternoon?"

"Serious Therapy tomorrow at, say, one. You'll love him."

"I suspect I will."

"Some tea and maybe a little lunch first?"

"That would be perfect. One other thing, Ms. Lily. Do you know very much about nanotechnology?"

There was a hesitation before her reply-just a beat, but definite.

"At this point, before answering, I'm supposed to ask you why you want to know. But instead I'll just tell you that among certain circles I might be considered something of an expert on the subject."

"That's terrific. Do you mind if we make our lunch and ride sort of a nanotechnology in-service? I've done some reading, but I want to know more."

"I'll do what I can. Do you want to tell me why the sudden interest?"

"Sure. It's probably nothing, but one of the other docs here told me that my predecessor, Jim Ferendelli, had a rather large medical library in his house in Georgetown. I thought I might borrow some of his basic medical textbooks to use in the White House medical office. I'm sort of famous back home for looking things up in front of my patients. I figure that if they know I'm not afraid to admit I don't know something, they might lower their expectations a bit.

"Anyhow, I mentioned the book thing to Drew, and he had a key to Ferendelli's place. So I went there. In addition to just the sort of books I need, the doctor had a number of volumes dealing with nanotechnology. I brought them home with me and just started reading. Fascinating, fascinating stuff. But educating myself has been a slow-going process. I thought maybe you could give me a bit more grounding."

"I'll be happy to try," Lily said. "It's impressive that he should be interested in such an arcane subject."

"Did he ever mention that interest to you?"

"Hardly. In fact, except for maybe one brief introduction, I've never spoken to the man."

Gabe felt himself go cold.

The drawing in Ferendelli's desk drawer, quite well done, with obvious caring, was clearly of Lily. It seemed possible, albeit remotely so, that he could have done it from photographs, but why? How could the two of them not have known one another, and quite well at that?

Gabe struggled to remain calm and to come up in tempo with just the right words.

"Well," he managed, "it sounds like you would have had something in common with him."

"Probably so. In addition to industrial manufacturing and communications, medicine is probably the most promising area of nanotechnologic research."

Gabe's mind was swirling through the possible reasons that Lily would deny knowing Ferendelli. He felt desperate to get off the phone before he somehow gave his concern away.

"So then," he said, "tomorrow it will be nanotechnology and Serious Therapy."

"And tea," Lily Sexton said. "Never forget the tea."

Late afternoon shadows stretched across the esplanade as Treat Griswold, driving a two-year-old silver Jeep Grand Cherokee, maneuvered through light traffic. Half a dozen car-lengths behind, Alison followed warily. There was no reason for Griswold to suspect he was being tailed, but he was a pro and he had seen Alison on several different occasions, including just that morning in Baltimore.

After her return by motorcade from the Convention Center, Alison had spoken to Secret Service director of internal affairs Mark Fuller, who had originally sent her undercover into the White House medical office. Careful not to allude to Griswold in any way, she explained that while she was waiting for something, anything , to break regarding the Ferendelli disappearance, she had decided to do background checks on a number of White House employees, including several agents. Fuller considered her request for access to personnel files and then somewhat reluctantly gave her the passwords she needed.

Alison took pains to review the files of a dozen randomly chosen men and women. The last thing she wanted anyone to know was that she had a particular interest in any one of them-especially the president's number-one protector. It was frightening to know that she was dealing with perhaps the most thorough, effective, efficient investigative agency in the country. If she had been asked to keep an eye on the White House, there was no reason not to suspect that someone had been given the task of keeping an eye on her. Mixing her subjects and keeping meticulous records as to how long she spent on the files of each, she began to piece together the story of the man who had been decorated three times for his service to three different presidents but who also seemed to have surprisingly little life outside of his job.

Griswold, a state high school wrestling champion, born and raised in Kansas and educated in criminal justice at K State, had turned fifty-one this past month. He had been married and divorced twice before he was thirty-two-the first time after four years, the second after just two. No children. No subsequent marriages. He lived in what sounded like an apartment complex in Dale City, Virginia, thirty miles south of the capital. There was really remarkably little else to be learned about the man.

He earned a better than decent salary, approaching $175,000 with Senior Executive Service and SAIC-Special Agent in Charge of detail-pay factored in, but didn't seem to live up to his means. He was right up to the minute in terms of using his fairly generous allotment of vacation time, but as far as she could tell, he had never taken a day of sick time. Never.

As part of her training, Alison had taken courses in single and team surveillance. Keep slightly to the right of the car ahead. No sudden lane changes. Anticipate the moves of the quarry, and be ready to react smoothly. Employing every rule she could remember, she followed Griswold across the Potomac and onto I-95 leading south into Virginia. On paper, and indeed in real life, Treat Griswold seemed almost too good to be true. To this point, in addition to his not being among the most physically attractive men in the world, the only chink in his highly polished armor seemed to be the inhaler he carried in breach of regulations, or at least in violation of tradition and unwritten protocol.

The likely explanation, hardly a thrilling one, was that the president had simply found it more convenient to do things that way, rather than having to scout down the doctor on duty each time he felt wheezy while away from the medicine cabinet in the official residence.