"Well, Zeke took things one step further. Once he started getting positive results, he anticipated the obvious question as to how these drugs could have gotten into the president's blood in such minute concentrations. He decided that the amounts administered would be far too small to have any neurological effect unless they were delivered to precisely the part of the brain where they were the most effective. The best he could come up with was a theory summarized in several articles he gave me."

"Nanotechnology," Gabe said, almost breathless at the way the pieces were at last dropping into place. "I didn't find any articles, but I found your books on the subject while I was searching through your place for clues about what might have happened to you, and I've been studying them. I'm still an amateur on the subject, but I'm a lot more knowledgeable than I was when I started."

For the first time, Ferendelli managed a smile. He reached out and patted Gabe approvingly on the shoulder.

"I would bet you are an excellent physician," he said.

"I feel the same way about you. Initially you went to see Lily Sexton to learn about nanotechnology, didn't you?"

This time, at least, mention of the woman's name didn't provoke as much agitation.

"From what I read," Ferendelli said, "it seemed as if using molecular-size nanobots to deliver drugs directly to cancers or to specific sites in the body was still very much on the drawing boards and in the minds of futurists. I went to her to see if there was something I didn't know about the status of the field. I also needed to develop some sort of possible explanation—a hypothesis—to answer the question: If the president was being dosed with micro-amounts of psychoactive drugs, how were the chemicals being introduced into his body? How were the drugs able to seek out the area of his brain where they would be most effective? And perhaps most urgent and frightening, how could their release be triggered on cue?"

It's not in the future! Gabe wanted to shout, flashing back to the disembodied brains in Dr. Rosenberg's glass cylinders and the immunofluorescent deposits on his slides. It's here—right now! But first Gabe needed to learn how his predecessor—and Drew—had come to be in such danger.

Already it was clear to Gabe what a hero Jim Ferendelli was. In an incredibly short time, he had accumulated an astounding amount of information in trying to save the presidency of his patient and longtime friend. In the process, Jim had placed his own life in jeopardy. At this point, the man should be standing on a golden pedestal in front of Congress and the American people, awaiting the highest honors this country could bestow, not skulking in the shadows here amid the beer bottle shards and fetid odors, emaciated, unkempt, and fearful.