Gabe looked to see if Stoddard was toying with him, but there was nothing in the president's expression to suggest that was the case. He checked Stoddard's pupils again. They had initially been midsize and a bit sluggishly reactive to light. Now they were smaller and more briskly reactive. Another sign that things were getting better.

Hyperactive cardiovascular system, uncontrolled rocking, disjointed, pressured speech, excessive perspiration, inappropriate affect, visual hallucinations. What in the hell was going on?

Gabe desperately needed to speak with both Carol Stoddard and Magnus Lattimore, but there was no way at this point that he would leave his patient to do so. Lattimore saved him the anguish.

"Whatever you need to say to us, Doctor, you can say before the president."

There was no panic in his voice and little, if any, anxiety. Gabe wondered if Lattimore's odd demeanor was at least in part due to the fact that Drew Stoddard now appeared to be rapidly improving. Lattimore moved over to where Carol Stoddard stood, stroking her husband's hand. Her expression was odd—more one of annoyance, perhaps, than concern.

"Okay," Gabe said, "it's your call." He calmed himself with a deep breath and slow exhale. "To begin with, it looks like whatever is going on here is beginning to resolve. Drew's life doesn't appear to be in immediate danger. But we all know that for the last hour or so, he has not been in control of his faculties. The implications of that are obvious."

"Go on," Lattimore said, his expression unchanged.

To Gabe's left, the president had sunk down on his bed, eyes closed. His breathing was still somewhat rapid and shallow. The redness had drained from his face, which now looked drawn, pale, and utterly spent. Concerned, Gabe checked Drew's pulse and blood pressure once more.

"Fairly normal," Gabe said, shaking his head in bewilderment. "Give me a minute to draw a few tubes of blood."

"What for?" Lattimore asked.

"I'm not sure yet, but it's better to have them and not need them than to realize tomorrow I should have gotten them."

"Do you need to put them on ice?" Carol asked calmly.

"I don't think so. I'll refrigerate them in the clinic until I'm ready to send them off."

"You won't put his name on them, will you?"

"No, I promise. I'll identify them some other way."

"Honey," the First Lady said gently, her lips brushing her husband's ear, "Gabe's going to draw some blood. Is that okay?"

"Go for it," Stoddard managed, through lips that were stiff and dry.

Gabe drew three vials of blood and set them in his bag. The president barely reacted to the procedure.