Michael Palmer - The First Patient

"Watch me."

Without hesitating, the president doubled over, grabbed his throat, and crossed unsteadily over to the entrance. Then, using a corner of the guardhouse to brace himself, he started to cough… and cough. The moment the agents realized what was happening, they raced to him. By then, Gabe had slid the hunting knife from his backpack.

"A bug!" one of the agents called out. "He says a bug or a bee went down his windpipe."

The racking cough continued-Academy Award quality, Gabe acknowledged. Now, completely concealed from the agents and the medical team, he set the knife handle against his chest and leaned against the side-wall of the spare with all his weight and all his strength. The powerful blade easily slid through the rubber and became buried to the hilt. He withdrew it and had it back in his pack when Griswold called to him from beside Stoddard.

"Hey, Doc, what's going on? Get over here!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

Without bothering to explain the delay, he raced over to the group, all of whom were standing helplessly around the hunched-over, distressed, sputtering commander in chief. Gabe set one hand on the front and one on the back of Stoddard's chest.

"It's okay now, Mr. President," he whispered.

He applied a slight, quick thrust with each hand. Instantly the hacking stopped. Stoddard sputtered once for effect, then stood up, smiling.

"Gone," he said. "Damn, but that was scary."

The entourage, amazed and totally impressed, turned to Gabe.

"Kind of a Wyoming version of the Heimlich maneuver," he said matter-of-factly. "Now, let's ride."

With six minutes gone, they mounted and headed up the trail.

One tire down, Gabe was thinking, at least one to go.

Quickly the Secret Service trio dropped back, allowing twenty or thirty yards to open between them and the two riders ahead.

"Nice acting job, Mr. President," Gabe said.

"Just like the olden days. Remember those coeds from Goucher?"

"This was better."

"Did you accomplish anything?"

"I disabled the spare. Now I have to get at one or two of the other tires and we've got a chance."

"Sorry I forgot about the van."

"Nonsense. Listen, Drew, I am just so grateful you are trusting me with all this. I know it isn't easy for you."

"I'm scared to death with what we're doing, and I'd be just as scared if we weren't doing it."

Gabe checked the time.

"With any luck, we've got fifteen or twenty minutes. The farther away we are from Camp David, the better. If nothing happens to their horses, I think we have to abort. But if the sedatives kick in, I'm going to go back there. I want you to keep steadily putting distance between us. I'll go back to check on their horses. That's when I'm going to try and take care of the van. Questions?"

"When do I take off?"

"Keep drifting ahead; then, when you see me move, you hit the gas. There's a trail to the left somewhere up there that'll take us to the car. I've set up a pile of stones on the right about thirty or forty feet before the trail. Keep an eye out for it. Also, I've marked the trees at eye level where we're supposed to turn. By then I should have caught up with you."

"I'd feel less frightened trying to elude my Secret Service people in a jet."

"You're doing fine."

For some minutes, the two rode in silence. Then Gabe leaned over slightly toward his onetime roommate.

"Drew, there's something I want to say. I don't know how to put this in any delicate way, but I want you to know that for years and years, even though I haven't had a drop of alcohol, I've been popping pills-never without a reason, mind you, headaches, insomnia, and the like-but you can probably guess that those reasons are more like justifications or excuses. I should have told you when you came to the ranch."

"Do you really think that would have mattered to me? Look at all the things you've done with your life."

"The funny thing is, since I had to watch Jim die, and focus on what was being done to you and to the country, and deal with Alison's disappearance, I haven't wanted to take a pill no matter how tense or frightened or sleepless I've been. It's like Jim's death was a slap of perspective for me-a shot across the bow of my life, telling me that I wasn't doing any justice to the lost lives of that woman in Fairhaven and her child by systematically destroying mine. I just needed to say it before we-"

"Doc, this is Griswold," his radio boomed. "You two slow down and get back here. There's something wrong with the horses."

"We're on!" Stoddard exclaimed.

"God bless Ellen Williams. Okay, Mr. President, just keep walking ahead, slow and steady."

Without bothering to respond by radio, Gabe gave Grendel's reins the slightest right-hand tug and then urged him ahead. The powerful animal spun like a seasoned rodeo performer and charged back down the trail. Gabe was pleased to see the size of the gap that had opened up between them and the agents. If they were paying as much attention to the president as they were to their horses, which wasn't likely, it would still be hard for them to realize, or to believe, that he was still moving away.

Confusion and distraction. Those were his biggest allies now. Confusion and distraction.

Even at a distance, he could see that the agents' horses were in no condition to keep going. Two were standing still, muzzles hanging down almost to the ground, their riders still sitting in their saddles, urging them forward. The third, Griswold's mount, was leaning against a hickory, contentedly rubbing his shoulder against the shaggy bark. Griswold was standing by the tree, looking into the horse's eye. But best of all, both the corpsman and the nurse were out of the van, checking to see if they could be of any help.

Be calm, Gabe urged himself as he dismounted and led Grendel toward the van. Be calm and look like you know what you're doing.

The handle of the hunting knife was in his palm, the blade concealed up along his forearm.

"Would somebody go after the president," Griswold ordered.

"This guy won't move," one of the agents said.

Gabe bent over and hammered the broad blade through the sidewall of the left rear tire. Soundlessly the van sank toward that side.

"Then get down and run!" Griswold was shouting. "Never mind, never mind. I'll get him myself. Hey, Mr. President. Stop!"

Of the three agents, Special Agent in Charge Griswold was carrying the most bulk. Exactly what shape he was in, Gabe mused, would be determined momentarily. Griswold threw off his windbreaker and started sprinting after Stoddard. With everyone watching Griswold, Gabe was able to take out the right rear tire with a single adrenaline-driven thrust. The van dropped to its rear end like a prizefighter who had just taken one to his glass jaw.

"I'll get him!" Gabe hollered to no one in particular. "I'll get him!"

He couldn't remember the last time he had done a running mount, but he never hesitated. With massive Grendel charging from standstill to full gallop in a single step, Gabe grasped the dense mane with his left hand and the saddle horn with his right and jammed his left foot into the stirrup. He went to push off his right foot, but he was already airborne, sailing along beside the powerful horse like a streamer. A second later, using strength he never would have guessed he had, he was upright in the saddle, thundering past Griswold.

"I'll get him," Gabe hollered.

Up ahead, the president glanced back at him and smiled. Then he gathered the reins and prodded the gray with a single brisk kick against the animal's flanks.

"Keep going!" Gabe shouted, pulling alongside.

They galloped that way, shoulder to shoulder, for another minute before Gabe spotted the marker he had built and pointed first to it, then to the woods on the left where the narrow trail would materialize.