Michael Palmer - The First Patient

"Because then he will kill me. Sooner or later, he plans to kill me anyway."

"I can't believe that about Donald."

"Constanza, please, please listen to me. You must listen and help me. Help me or I will die. Donald works for the government."

"No, he is a businessman."

"Does this look like something a businessman would do?"

"Who are you? I remember you from the nail shop. What is your name?"

"Please. I won't last much longer. My name is Alison. I work for the government, too-just like Donald."

"I'm sorry he had to do this to you."

Alison studied the woman's face but could see no sign that she was lying-that she had been sent down by Griswold to accomplish what his muscle-tearing chemical and the Alupent overdose could not.

"He didn't have to do this to me, Constanza; he wanted to. Please untie me. I am in so much pain."

"Donald is sending us away," the beauty said, pointedly ignoring Alison's pleas.

"You and Beatriz?"

"Yes. There is a woman in Mexico City he knows. We are to leave to go there in just a few minutes, and wait until he sends for us. We are all packed. We have money. He is sending a car to take us to the airport."

Don't bother coming back to this house, Alison was thinking. It's not going to be here. Soon-maybe as soon as tonight-your Donald is going to see to it that this place mysteriously burns to the ground. That is what people like him are expert at-covering up and then counterattacking. It was one thing to blow the whistle and bring charges against such highly connected people. It was another to come up with the evidence to make them stick.

"What time is it now?" she asked.

"Almost nine in the morning. Donald has gone to work."

"Constanza, listen to me, please. Don't leave me like this. I know Donald has been good to you, but he has hurt me. He has hurt me badly. And he's not done. He will continue to hurt me until he is convinced I have told him all I know; then he will kill me."

"But Donald will be furious with me. He sometimes has a short temper, and he can get very angry."

Alison continued desperately fumbling for the right words.

"Think of… of how you would feel being tied down like this."

Constanza did think for a time. Then she shook her head, turned, and headed back toward the stairs.

"I'm sorry," she murmured over her shoulder.

Alison felt her heart sink.

So far so good… So far so good…

As Gabe showered, the mantra flowed steadily through his head. So far so good …

He got no cell phone signal in the castle, but he did outside. He dialed both of the numbers he had for Alison, half-expecting-or was it praying-to hear her voice. No answer at either. The mantra slowed, then stopped.

Was there anyone he could call to report that she was missing? Anyone he could ask? He briefly wondered if he should try to reach the admiral. Possibly Ellis Wright knew something.

The third number he dialed was answered on the first ring.

"Yes?"

"Drew, it's Gabe."

"Hey! Calling from The Aerie?"

"By the moat. There's no signal inside."

"What do you think?"

"Charming little bungalow. A monument to benign neglect-sort of like me."

"Look at the bright side: You could have grown up there."

"Everything okay with my patient?"

"Never better. I've been up for an hour. Did a little stretching, drank some coffee, did a few sit-ups, vetoed some bills. You know how it is with this job."

"You ready to ride?"

"I'm ready to put this whole business behind me. I feel so damn helpless. What good is it being president if you can't control everything and boss everyone around?"

"Not to worry. You'll be back martineting before you know it. Just remember, until we know who and why, everyone is a potential assassin, no matter how meek or innocent they might seem. Keep your eyes open and keep your plans guarded until the very last minute. I'll be coming into the city to run some more errands; then I'm going to find a safe place to stash my new wheels just off one of the riding trails."

"You going to be able to find the car again once we're galloping through the woods?"

"I intend to go to the stables as soon as I can and to convince the stable master-what's his name again?"

"Rizzo. Joe Rizzo."

"To let me go for a brisk solo ride to clear my head."

"I'll make a call and set that up for you. You have that map I drew showing where the stables are?"

"It's a break that they're outside the compound. Will they be bringing our horses to us?"

"Probably."

"Any special horses or should I pick?"

"You pick. I don't know them well enough. Meanwhile, everything's going okay, yes?"

"I'm not so sure," Gabe said.

"No Alison?"

"Nothing. It's been more than two days now."

"I promised to call Mark Fuller and get some people on this, and I will."

"Right now?"

"Right now. I'm sorry this is happening, Gabe. She's all right. Just wait and see. Some sort of misunderstanding."

"Thanks for doing this."

Gabe reiterated his plea for vigilance, then rinsed out a cup and poured the first of what would undoubtedly be a number of cups of coffee. He paced as he drank, mentally ticking off his to-do list. The most critical item was picking up the mixture sent by Ellen Williams. If for any reason the tranquillizer didn't arrive on time, he and Drew would have to find a way to delay everything for a day when every minute meant more danger, not just for the president but for Gabe as well.

Sunset would be at seven forty-five-later than he would have liked, but likely to be of some help before they reached The Aerie. The less daylight when they hit the riding trail, the better. If possible, he would find some way to communicate to Drew the need to stall for a few more minutes of dusk. Details. Details.

By six fifteen, he was back on the ATV, rumbling down the mountain to where the Impala was hidden. Not enough cover, he decided, easily picking it out from a dirt road that was virtually untraveled anyway. Using his hunting knife, he cut a dozen more branches, then pulled the car out and replaced it with the ATV, which instantly became swallowed by the forest when he covered it up.

With no idea whether or even why he might need them, he added the knife to some rope and tools and two bottles of water, stashed in a small backpack he had left on the seat of the Chevy. Also in the pack were some apples and sugar cubes for the horses. Details.

At ten forty-five, when the call came in to his cell phone from the front desk at the Watergate that a package had arrived for him via FedEx, he was walking the streets of D.C., breaking in a new pair of calfskin boots that needed no real breaking in and might have cost as much as the total of all the other boots he had ever owned. He had chosen a messenger service on L Street and had paid them well to have the messenger bring the package from the Watergate to their office and then have a different messenger take the package out the back door to the lot three blocks away where Gabe had parked the Impala.

On the way there, Gabe gave in to his fears and frustration and tormented himself by trying Alison's numbers again. Nothing. Once at the lot, he ducked behind a van and scanned the street for anything or anyone unusual. They couldn't have followed him here, he was thinking, at the same time he was picturing Jim Ferendelli collapsing to his knees, then pitching forward onto his face. They couldn't have followed him there, either.

The messenger arrived, and the exchange was quick and uneventful. Gabe tipped the man fifty dollars of the president's money and then added a second fifty for the one who had picked up the package at the Watergate. One final check of the lot and Gabe slid behind the wheel of the Impala and set the package on the passenger seat.