"What can I say? You know better than I do that all politicians think they're immortal. To them power is more than an aphrodisiac-it's a drug high and alcoholic haze combined. Nothing excites them or inflates their ego like a mob of people cheering and clamoring to shake their hand. That's why they're all vulnerable to a killer standing in the right place at the right time."

"Tell me about it," said Lucas. "I've baby-sat four Presidents."

"And you haven't lost a one," Fawcett anded.

"I came close twice with Ford, once with Reagan."

"You can't predict behavior patterns accurately."

"Maybe not. But after all these years in the protection racket you develop a gut reaction. That's why I feel uneasy about this boat cruise."

Fawcett stiffened. "You think someone is out to kill him?"

"Someone is always out to kill him. We investigate twenty possible crazies a day and carry an active caseload of two thousand persons we consider dangerous or capable of assassination."

Fawcett put his hand on Lucas' shoulder. "Don't worry, Oscar.

Frinay's excursion won't be given to the press until the last minute. I promise you that much."

"I appreciate that, Dan."

"Besides, what can happen out on the Potomac?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe the unexpected," Lucas answered, a strange vacancy in his voice. "It's the unexpected that gives me nightmares."

Megan Blair, the President's secretary, noticed Dan Fawcett standing in the doorway of her cubbyhole office and nodded at him over her typewriter. "Hi, Dan. I didn't see you."

"How's the Chief this morning?" he asked, his daily ritual of testing the water before entering the Oval Office.

"Tired," she answered. "The reception honoring the movie industry ran past one A.M."

Megan was a handsome woman in her early forties, with a bright small-town friendliness. She wore her black hair cropped short and was ten pounds on the skinny side. She was a dynamo who loved her job and her boss like nothing else in her life. She arrived early, left late and worked weekends. Unmarried, with only two casual affairs behind her, she relished her independent single life. Fawcett was always amazed that she could carry on a conversation and type at the same time.

"I'll tread lightly, and keep his appointments to a minimum so he can take it easy."

"You're too late. He's already in conference with Admiral Sandecker."

"Who?"

"Admiral James Sandecker. Director of the National Underwater and Marine Agency."

A look of annoyance crossed Fawcett's face. He took his role as the guardian of the President's time seriously and resented any intrusion on his territory. Any penetration of his protective ring was a threat to his power base. How in hell had Sandecker sneaked around him? he wondered.

Megan read his mood. "The President sent for the admiral," she explained. "I think he's expecting you to sit in on the meeting."