Perhaps the rumors swirling about the nation's capital have some truth to them—maybe a lot of truth. The rumors are telling us that a good deal of the time the man in the golden chair, with the golden boy looks and the liberal, suck-gold-from-the-workingman philosophy, is showing an irrationality that can only be called Nixonesque. That's right, that's right, Tricky Dick was a Republican and here I am bashing him in a way most foul—by lumping him in with he who should not be named.

Well, crazy is nondenominational and apolitical, and if our chief executive, the man with his pointer finger on the BIG BUTTON, is losing it, I don't care what party he is. So, Prez, I say be afraid of these latest poll numbers. Be very afraid. The American public is getting concerned about what I have known all along—namely, that you are not all there. You're not the first chief exec to try and keep big secrets from us law-abiding wage earners, and you undoubtedly won't be the last. I suspect that by the time your poll numbers and Brad Dunleavy's cross for the final time, we'll know the truth.

Gabe set the printout down and exhaled audibly.

"Hyenas is the word," he said.

"We've got to get to the bottom of this before it blows up in our face."

"I'm working on it, Drew; I really am."

"And?"

"I need another day; then we'll talk."

"Have you heard from your psychologist friend?"

Gabe stiffened at the question. Among the many things he had decided to keep from Drew, at least for the time being, was the attack on Blackthorn at the airport hotel, and especially the missing briefcase. Hopefully, as Blackthorn had promised, there was no accessible information in there.

"I haven't spoken to him since he returned to Tyler," Gabe said, "but his initial impression was that somehow a toxic chemical was intermittently entering your body."

"Like poison?"

"Not necessarily. There are other explanations. Drew, you're the boss here, but I really would rather get some more data before telling you what I've been able to learn."

"You're the doc. But make it quick, Gabe. You read that column."

"I understand; believe me, I do."

"Just tell me a couple of things. Do you think the guy who tried to kill you killed Jim?"

Tomorrow, Gabe had decided. Tomorrow after he and Ferendelli had spoken, he would bring Drew up to speed on the situation. For the moment, as Ferendelli had requested, he would tell no one.

"It's possible," he said. "But if he was as inept at Jim's assassination as he was with mine, there's a good chance Jim's still alive."

"And the woman, Alison?"

"I'm hoping to speak to her tonight or tomorrow. As far as I know, she hasn't uncovered anything."

"But she's sharp?"

"I think very sharp."

"You falling for her?"

"Too early to tell."

Stoddard's expression grew steely.