"For an incredibly impatient, kinetic man, your friend Mr. Stoddard displayed remarkable restraint and a deep desire to get to the bottom of things."

"I'm not surprised."

"Your office the best place?"

Gabe flashed on Alison working undercover for the Secret Service. Was it possible she had somehow managed to bug the medical office? It seemed highly unlikely, but his trust in anything or anyone had been pulled perilously thin.

"You hungry?"

"I can always eat."

"And I could use some fresh air. Let's go have an early dinner at the Old Ebbitt Grill. Magnus Lattimore, the chief of staff here, took me there. The food's excellent, and at its quietest the place is noisy enough so that the only person anyone can hear is the one sitting directly across the table or right beside them."

"I am aware that you are in a hurry to come to an understanding on this matter," Blackthorn said, "but I assume you know that my final conclusions will have to wait until I have gone over all the test results and my notes and correlated them."

"Notes?"

"I have written nothing down, but I have used an electronic, Braille typewriter."

"Just hold on to it tightly."

"The moment someone tries to get into my notes without using the right password, the machine erases its contents."

"So, you want to review your notes and correlate them with the test results. Makes sense. But you have formed some preliminary opinion?"

"I have."

"And you'll share that with me?"

"I will."

The two men left the White House through the East Wing and headed up Fifteenth Street through fading afternoon sun.

"So," Gabe said, "thanks again for doing this. I know how busy you are and how much you don't like leaving home—especially for government work."

"I've never been one to hold a grudge," Blackthorn said. "Whenever I'm troubled about the genocide of my people, I just think about all those big, shiny casinos and how reassuring it is to have organized crime on hand to help take care of us."

Gabe sympathetically patted him on the back. He had heard the man eloquently decry the subject of Indian genocide in any number of speeches and forums over the years.

"So," Gabe said, "over and above the testing, what did you think of my patient?"

"What do you want me to say, Gabe?"

"I don't know. I guess I want you to tell me that as a psychiatrist and a psychologist you found him to be a man of magnificent character, who has the potential for true greatness as a leader."

This time it was Blackthorn who patted Gabe on the back.

"My dear friend," he said, "to make that pronouncement, I would have to be with the person in question for a good deal longer than the few hours I spent with your Mr. Stoddard this afternoon. Besides, if nothing else, this is a time for objectivity."