"I think it's overkill," Stoddard said. "We pulled it off, Gabe. We kidnapped me right from under the nose of everyone. Now, how about a room with a view?"

"There are posters on the wall of the bunker."

"God, but I hate taking orders."

"Probably not as much as I dislike giving them. We've come this far, Mr. President. Let's not risk screwing everything up by getting complacent. Your safety is what this is all about."

Stoddard sighed and allowed himself to be escorted downstairs to the bunker.

During the minutes that followed, Gabe felt himself hit a wall. The adrenaline rush of their escape was still churning, but it was merging with an intense exhaustion that his body had probably been storing up for days. It was a tribute to eleven-hundred-dollar boots that he was barely aware of having been in them, walking and riding, since early that morning. He trudged up the spiral stone staircase of the West Tower, hauling along the backpack of supplies that had served him so well.

The high-ceilinged circular bedroom was cool and comfortable. Gabe slipped off his boots, lay on the bed, and awaited the return of his exhaustion by flipping through the pages of a three-year-old copy of Field & Stream. A trout-fishing-in-the-Tetons article made him profoundly homesick, and he decided it would be worth petitioning the president for a replacement as soon as the warrants were handed out and the arrests began. Although they had never spoken about it, he strongly suspected that Alison would love pulling on a pair of waders and stepping into a crystal Wyoming river, fly rod in hand.

It was nearly midnight when he finally set the magazine aside and headed for the bathroom. On the way, the spiral metal staircase leading up to the battlements caught his eye, and suddenly he wanted one last view of the magnificent panorama that had contributed to giving the castle its name. Not bothering with his boots, he climbed up and opened the heavy door leading outside.

The sky was somewhat overcast, but the view from the tower might have been fifty miles on a clear day. He was looking mostly out to the distant west and north, although there was nearly a 360-degree panorama available. It was almost by chance that he gazed directly downward when he did. There, past the moat, at the edge of the forest, he saw a figure moving furtively among the trees.

In an instant, any fatigue he was feeling vanished.

"Stop right there!" he called out. "I can see you and I have a gun!"

His words seemed to be swallowed by the night.

Below, the figure vanished into the forest.

Then, from Gabe's right, he saw a second shadow, moving parallel to the first.

These weren't kids looking for mischief. Every fiber in his being said that whoever was down there was trouble.