Alison dropped to one knee, extended both arms, aimed, and fired the Glock once—just once. Instantly a perfect hole materialized in the center of Griswold's expansive forehead. He stared at Alison in utter disbelief until life had faded completely from his eyes. Then he pitched face-first to the stone floor.

It's not going to come down to your word against mine, Griswold, Alison was thinking savagely. Not this time. Not ever.

She walked cautiously over to the agent and nudged his corpse with her foot. Then she turned to Gabe and quickly surveyed his wounds.

"Don't worry, honey," she said, embracing him. "I'm not always this disagreeable. We'll get you to a hospital right away. We'll get you put back together."

"Alison, meet LeMar Stoddard, Drew's loving father. He didn't have enough money."

"So I heard back there."

"Gabe, p-please, listen to me," LeMar said. "Miss, y-you listen, too. Listen and you'll both work with me. L-listen and you'll see that the . . . the president isn't fit for his office. I p-promise you will."

He bent down and retrieved the oddly shaped leather case from next to Treat Griswold's corpse.

Gabe sighed.

"I can't think of anything you could possibly say that I would want to hear, Dad, but go ahead."

The squinting and stuttering continued. Something was going on inside LeMar's head, Gabe was sensing. Something very bad. The man's blood pressure had to be off the chart.

"Okay then," Stoddard went on. "H-here's what I have to say. You weren't driving the car that killed that woman and her unborn . . . child that night in Fairhaven. The man sleeping downstairs in the bunker was."

"That's impossible."

But even as he uttered the knee-jerk response, Gabe knew that LeMar's statement was not only possible, it was true. Blackthorn had warned him and his own instincts had told him Drew was lying about something—something important.

"Your l-life has been ruined by . . . by an accident that the . . . the president was guilty of. Y-you were in an alcohol-induced blackout that night, but the president wasn't. H-he knew what had happened. H-he knew who was driving. The two of you were f-found down . . . an embankment in a muddy ditch, a h-hundred feet from the accident. You h-had a bad h-head injury and no memory whatsoever."

The stuttering, thick speech and blinking were worsening.

"I can't believe Drew would be aware of what happened and not say anything."

"He . . . he was f-frightened of the c-onsequences if he confessed. . . . He . . . he asked me to help. I couldn't say no. He was my son. I saved his life—his . . . his career. I took care of what policemen I had to. . . . And— and then look what Andrew did: He has made me look like a fool! . . . All these years, a f-fool. And now, he is threatening to t-take everything from me—everything!"