LeMar's speech was intensely rushed and pressured now, and the slurring of his speech was more pronounced. He was still animated and speaking with his hands, but Gabe could see now that his right arm was not moving nearly as much as his left. In fact, it was barely moving at all.

"LeMar . . . ?"

"Later, I did what I c-could to be certain it didn't go too h-hard for you. . . . I-I got you the best lawyers. I-I talked to the judge on the case and h-helped him with a little matter. . . . I-I got you the minimum sentence possible."

His stroke was clearly evolving now, his speech thicker and more forced. His arm was hanging limp.

"Mr. Stoddard," Alison said urgently, racing to support the man before he fell over.

But LeMar Stoddard ranted on, making his tongue and his lips form thick, clumsy words, it seemed, by the sheer power of his will.

"I have proof. . . . I have proof what he did." He began fumbling with the brass zipper on the case, all the while muttering, "I have proof. . . . I have proof."

His leg gave way completely, so that Alison could no longer bear his weight. Gently, she lowered him to the floor. Gabe was out of his chair now, kneeling beside the man. He checked the pulses in LeMar's carotid arteries. Both were present.

"I think hemorrhage, not clot," he said to Alison. "But I guess it could still be either."

"The case . . . the case."

Gabe slid back the zipper and removed a large, sealed heavy plastic bag containing the steering wheel from a car—an old car. There were smudges of powder in various spots.

"From the accident?" he asked.

"The car you b-borrowed . . . only his fingerp-prints. . . . None yours. . . . Kept in a safe all these years."

LeMar Stoddard could speak no more. His eyes closed and his head lolled to one side. Spittle appeared at the corner of his mouth. Alison took her jacket and folded it between his ear and the floor. His breathing became deep and sonorous.

Gabe slipped the steering wheel back into its case and stood up painfully. Then he held Alison closely.

"I was so sure something had happened to you."

"Nothing that matters now," she said, stroking his hair away from his forehead.

"Do you want to call the cops?" he asked.

"Will you be all right?"

"For now. I've got to go downstairs and have a serious talk with the man in the bunker."

CHAPTER 64

Gabe only had to push the electronic buzzer by the bunker door once. In seconds a narrow panel in the center of the door slid open.

"Hey, Doc," the president said, fully awake with the immediacy and clarity of an emergency physician . . . or a head of state, "why so early?"

"We've had visitors, Drew. But it's okay now. The threat's over."