Grateful that he had closed the medical office for the day and diverted all traffic except the president to the Eisenhower Building clinic, Gabe returned some routine phone calls, then leaned back in his chair and dozed off—one of the perks of having such a truncated practice. The ringing telephone intruded on a hazy scene in which he and Alison were riding across the desert together, bareback on what looked to be Condor. Her arms were locked around Gabe's waist and her cheek was pressed against his back. Blearily he checked his watch. Blackthorn had been with the president for four and a half hours.

"Dr. Singleton," he answered, the words reminding himself of that fact.

"Yes sir, Doctor. Agent Blaisdell here. I'm upstairs in the residence. Your man has finished with the president, sir. We're checking to see if the coast is clear; then we'll bring your man down."

"Everything all right?"

"As far as I know, sir. Agent Griswold signed out a few hours ago, and just asked us to contact you in the office when the president was done with his visitor."

"Well then, bring him down, but be very careful he isn't spotted by anyone."

Gabe hurried to the small bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. From the moment Magnus Lattimore had led him into the president's bedroom, from the moment he had seen his onetime roommate thrashing about, sweating profusely, and babbling incoherently, Gabe had felt isolated—alone with his sensibilities and his emotions; alone with what seemed right and what felt right; alone with the awesome pressure of the Twenty-fifth Amendment. Now he would at least have an ally he could rely on in the struggle to sort things out—a friend with no hidden agenda and nothing at stake except getting to the right diagnosis.

Gabe had just toweled off when, without a knock, the outer door to the medical office opened and closed. Hat in hand, looking none the worse for his lengthy ordeal, Kyle Blackthorn stood alone in the center of the waiting room. He set his valise of testing supplies on the floor by his feet. It looked to Gabe as if Blackthorn were quietly invoking the senses available to him, hypertrophied from overuse like the muscles of a weight lifter, to get the lay of his situation. After just a few seconds he turned directly toward the small bathroom.

"So, Doctor," he said, "you were napping in my absence."

Gabe stepped into the waiting room.

"Actually, I . . . what I was doing was . . . okay, yes, actually, yes, I was. But how did . . . ?"

"If you hadn't been napping you would have been out here to welcome me back, not in there toweling off your face."

"Well, at least you didn't begin your explanation with, 'Elementary, my dear Singleton.' "

"I thought about it. Ready to talk?"

"Almost five hours. That must have been quite a session."