Michael Palmer - The First Patient

"Name them."

"I want your promise to hole up here with Carol. For the time being, please, please tell her as little as possible. She may not believe that this business is as serious as it is, but she never got to watch Jim Ferendelli die like I did. Also, Lily Sexton was her friend. It may take some doing for her to believe Lily's involvement in all this. I don't know the range of those transmitters, but I don't want to take any chances on losing my only patient. I don't know what killed Lily, either, but if someone wants you dead, being a patient in a hospital is only slightly safer than sleeping on a firing range."

"You think she was a loose end?"

"As soon as Ferendelli made contact with me and I got away, I think the rules might have changed from 'make Drew look crazy' to 'make Drew be dead.' That's why I'm so worried about you."

"I appreciate that."

"Okay then, back to Carol. Clear everyone out of this apartment. No help, no valets, no Secret Service agents. Have her intercept anyone who makes it past the agents downstairs and watch them as they go back down in the elevator. Any argument from anyone, even someone like Magnus, and she needs to call the Palace Guards immediately."

"You have my word. What's the second thing?"

"Money. Cash. I'll need lots of it, and maybe a few wallets to stick it in. Can you do that?"

"I have a reliable banker at First Washington Trust. I'll give you a check and make a phone call."

"Just don't tell him why."

"I don't think I'll have to. Walter really belongs in one of those banks in Switzerland or Grand Cayman. He loves the chance to be discreet almost as much as he loves having people know how discreet he is."

"Then you're going to arrange for our evening ride, yes?"

"As soon as you leave, I'll set things up. We've got some damn fine horses out at the stables near Camp David."

"I want it to get dark an hour or so after we disappear. At first we'll need to see what we're doing, but then I want to make it as difficult as possible for the people who are looking for you."

"Now, why would they want to be doing that?"

"Beats me. You're only the president. Drew, I know this has got to be hard for you. It's tough getting bossed around when you're used to being the capo del capo . But please believe me, we're doing the right thing-the only thing."

"Why can't we just-?"

"Just what? Arrest everyone? It was horrible watching Jim collapse and stop breathing the way he did. He could have had a hundred Secret Service men around him, a thousand, and the outcome would have been the same."

Stoddard drummed his fingertips together, and Gabe could tell that he was scanning every possibility for how he might deal with the threat to his health and life and still remain president.

"You have the map I drew marking where you should leave the ATV?" he asked finally.

"Right here."

"Remember, I haven't been there for years, so there's no vouching for accuracy."

"I'm planning on making a trial run up there later today."

"Just call if you get lost."

"That reminds me. Do you have a cell phone I can borrow? Mine was in my pocket along with my wallet when I went for the big swim."

Drew padded to the bedroom and returned with a check and a cell phone.

"Careful now," he said, handing the cell phone over. "Push the concealed button by mistake and you wipe out Moscow."

The two friends stood quietly for a time, then shook hands and finally embraced.

"Where're you going to start?" Stoddard asked.

"I have some errands to run, but first I'm going to see just how easy it is to buy a car and get it on the road when all I have is cash."

"My money's on you. I just spoke a little to Carol and told her what's in store for us. She says she trusts you to do what's best for her husband."

"Thank her for me, Drew."

"I knew I did the right thing bringing you out here from Wyoming,"

"And I knew I did the right thing voting for you."

B IG AL, THE CAR BUYER'S PAL.

The slogan, complete with a caricature of the man, was painted on a sign that rose from the top of a shacklike office, overlooking a lot of forty or so used cars, festooned with red, white, and blue balloons.

While Gabe was working over and over through the elements of the plan that was designed to save the presidency of Andrew Stoddard and possibly the man's life as well, Big Al Kagan was working over every cliché in his automobile buyer's Blue Book in an effort to sell Gabe a late-model Bordeaux red Chevrolet Impala, with CD changer, power sunroof, factory alloys, and cruise control.

"All you need to do," Big Al was saying, "is just take this baby out for a drive, just a quick spin around the block and out Sixty-six for a few miles, and you'll be belting yourself in for the long haul."

"What do you need?"

"Just your license and I'll hook a dealer's plate on this puppy and you're off."

"I… um… don't have a license right now. My wallet was stolen."

"ID?"

Gabe thought about the handwritten introductory note folded in his pocket from the president to banker Walter Immelman-a note he never even had to use to get twenty thousand dollars in cash.

"Nope."

"Do you have a trade-in?"

"No, I sold my other car."

"Well, then you must have the plates."

"I… well, yes, yes, I do have one."

"One is enough."

"If I get the plate, can I just take the car?"

"Of course, once I get a little paperwork done. But don't you want to take her for a little-?"

Stoddard's cell phone cut the bewildered dealer short. It was playing "Hail to the Chief."

"Give me a couple of minutes, Big Al," Gabe said, walking ten yards away to lean against a silver Infiniti with air, CD changer, low mileage, Bridgestone Turanzas, and a red balloon.

"Ellen?"

"Hey there, cowboy."

"Thanks for getting back to me so quickly."

Gabe pictured the trim, seasoned veterinarian seated in her pine-paneled office, just outside of Tyler, surrounded by photos and children's drawings and paintings of horses. Dozens and dozens of horses. In fact, her office chair and those in her modest waiting room were hand-tooled western saddles, transformed with backs and legs by the grateful owner of a patient.

"In no time at all, you've become a legend in these parts, Gabe."

"I promise to undo that misconception just as soon as I get back home."

"Before you go and do any undoing, my kids will want your autograph and a signed photo of your boss."

"Tell them if they want a legend, they don't have to look any further than their mom… Okay, okay. Harry and-"

"Sarah, with an h . Harry and Sarah. Make it one for each."

"Done. You want one, too?"

"Only if he's on a horse. In that case it'll be to Dr. Ellen K. and Gilbert F. Williams. Gilbert hates being left out. The middle initials'll make sure people know it ain't just any ol' Ellen and Gilbert Williams."

"Done."

"So, you mentioned your call has something to do with your patient. Now, pardon me for saying it, but that's intriguing. What can an ol' veterinary sawbones do for you and our esteemed president?"

"I need you to put a potion together for me and ship it out here so that I have it in my hands by noon tomorrow. Any later will probably be N.G."

"Exactly what's this potion supposed to do?"

Watching Big Al Kagan pace about his otherwise deserted sales lot, Gabe went over the details of his requirements. Seventeen hundred miles to the west, Dr. Ellen K. Williams listened intently.

"That's it," he said. "That's all I need."

"That's it, huh? Well, Doc, let me ask you something. What would you say to me if I called you long-distance and asked if you could do this to a bunch of humans?"