Michael Palmer - The First Patient

"T-take it from me, Gabe, this president is not worthy of his office."

What is going on with his speech?

"The voters are supposed to decide that, Dad ," Gabe said.

"You don't understand. I tell you, this presidency is not worth saving."

"Let me reason with him," Griswold cut in, brandishing his pistol. "I promise he'll come to understand."

"No, you creep!" a woman's voice cried out from the side of the hall. "I promise you'll come to understand."

From the corridor to the portcullis, Alison stepped into the room, her pistol leveled at Griswold from, perhaps, twenty-five feet away.

"Alison!" Gabe cried out.

"Set the gun down, Griswold. Set it on the floor and kick it away. Hard!"

Griswold seemed to be weighing his options; then, slowly, he did as Alison demanded.

"As you wish, ma'am," he muttered. "My, my, my, my, my."

"You should never have left me my radio, Griz. I caught up with you when you left all the others and flew back from Camp David to the White House. Seemed fishy then, seems fishy now."

"Those naughty girls," Griswold said, smiling in a most unsettling way. "They know perfectly well that insubordination will not be tolerated. I think a spanking is in order. Now, if you will be so kind, Agent Cromartie, it is my turn to demand that you put down your gun."

He lifted up his left hand to display a transmitter.

"What do you expect to do with that?" Alison asked.

"Expect to do? Well, for starters, I expect to push these buttons here and release the chemicals that my trusty inhaler deposited along your brain stem and other areas in your cute little noggin. Enough chemicals, I would say, to blow your mind-literally and figuratively. Many times more than what we've been giving to the prez."

"Drop the transmitter, Griswold or I swear, I'll put a bullet between your eyes."

"From there? In the heat of battle? With a dainty little, what have you got? A Glock? A Glock Twenty-six maybe? You must be kidding. At this range, with your hand shaking like a leaf, and death staring you in the face in the form of me, you'd be lucky to hit the wall behind me. Now, I'm going to count to three. Put your gun on the floor or I push these buttons-all of 'em at once. One… two… three!"

Griswold depressed the buttons on the transmitter. His narrow eyes widened. They widened even more when Alison held up the Baggie containing the president's inhaler.

"Guess what this is," she said. "You never should have let that pickpocket at your garage in Fredericksburg get away. He made the switch, you pig. The Alupent you almost killed me with was nothing more than that-Alupent. I'm glad you pushed those buttons, though. That makes this self-defense."

"You fucking bi-"

Griswold, reaching for a pistol in his belt, got no further.

Alison dropped to one knee, extended both arms, aimed, and fired the Glock once-just once. Instantly a perfect hole materialized in the center of Griswold's expansive forehead. He stared at Alison in utter disbelief until life had faded completely from his eyes. Then he pitched face-first to the stone floor.

It's not going to come down to your word against mine, Griswold , Alison was thinking savagely. Not this time. Not ever .

She walked cautiously over to the agent and nudged his corpse with her foot. Then she turned to Gabe and quickly surveyed his wounds.

"Don't worry, honey," she said, embracing him. "I'm not always this disagreeable. We'll get you to a hospital right away. We'll get you put back together."

"Alison, meet LeMar Stoddard, Drew's loving father. He didn't have enough money."

"So I heard back there."

"Gabe, p-please, listen to me," LeMar said. "Miss, y-you listen, too. Listen and you'll both work with me. L-listen and you'll see that the… the president isn't fit for his office. I p-promise you will."

He bent down and retrieved the oddly shaped leather case from next to Treat Griswold's corpse.

Gabe sighed.

"I can't think of anything you could possibly say that I would want to hear, Dad, but go ahead."

The squinting and stuttering continued. Something was going on inside LeMar's head, Gabe was sensing. Something very bad. The man's blood pressure had to be off the chart.

"Okay then," Stoddard went on. "H-here's what I have to say. You weren't driving the car that killed that woman and her unborn… child that night in Fairhaven. The man sleeping downstairs in the bunker was."

"That's impossible."

But even as he uttered the knee-jerk response, Gabe knew that LeMar's statement was not only possible, it was true. Blackthorn had warned him and his own instincts had told him Drew was lying about something-something important.

"Your l-life has been ruined by… by an accident that the… the president was guilty of. Y-you were in an alcohol-induced blackout that night, but the president wasn't. H-he knew what had happened. H-he knew who was driving. The two of you were f-found down… an embankment in a muddy ditch, a h-hundred feet from the accident. You h-had a bad h-head injury and no memory whatsoever."

The stuttering, thick speech and blinking were worsening.

"I can't believe Drew would be aware of what happened and not say anything."

"He… he was f-frightened of the c-onsequences if he confessed… He… he asked me to help. I couldn't say no. He was my son. I saved his life-his… his career. I took care of what policemen I had to… And- and then look what Andrew did: He has made me look like a fool!… All these years, a f-fool. And now, he is threatening to t-take everything from me-everything!"

LeMar's speech was intensely rushed and pressured now, and the slurring of his speech was more pronounced. He was still animated and speaking with his hands, but Gabe could see now that his right arm was not moving nearly as much as his left. In fact, it was barely moving at all.

"LeMar…?"

"Later, I did what I c-could to be certain it didn't go too h-hard for you… I-I got you the best lawyers. I-I talked to the judge on the case and h-helped him with a little matter… I-I got you the minimum sentence possible."

His stroke was clearly evolving now, his speech thicker and more forced. His arm was hanging limp.

"Mr. Stoddard," Alison said urgently, racing to support the man before he fell over.

But LeMar Stoddard ranted on, making his tongue and his lips form thick, clumsy words, it seemed, by the sheer power of his will.

"I have proof… I have proof what he did." He began fumbling with the brass zipper on the case, all the while muttering, "I have proof… I have proof."

His leg gave way completely, so that Alison could no longer bear his weight. Gently, she lowered him to the floor. Gabe was out of his chair now, kneeling beside the man. He checked the pulses in LeMar's carotid arteries. Both were present.

"I think hemorrhage, not clot," he said to Alison. "But I guess it could still be either."

"The case… the case."

Gabe slid back the zipper and removed a large, sealed heavy plastic bag containing the steering wheel from a car-an old car. There were smudges of powder in various spots.

"From the accident?" he asked.

"The car you b-borrowed… only his fingerp-prints… None yours… Kept in a safe all these years."

LeMar Stoddard could speak no more. His eyes closed and his head lolled to one side. Spittle appeared at the corner of his mouth. Alison took her jacket and folded it between his ear and the floor. His breathing became deep and sonorous.

Gabe slipped the steering wheel back into its case and stood up painfully. Then he held Alison closely.

"I was so sure something had happened to you."

"Nothing that matters now," she said, stroking his hair away from his forehead.