Gabe rubbed at the grit in his eyes and tried to focus on what Alison had just said—that she had been placed in the White House medical office after Ferendelli's disappearance. Hadn't she told him earlier in the day that she had started working there before Ferendelli vanished? Gabe tried, through the deepening fog of fatigue, to re-create the exchange between them but sensed he might not be recalling it exactly. Why would she bother lying to him about when she started working at the White House? Then again, why would anyone have been lying to him about anything?

He thought about trying to pin down which version of her story was the real one, but this just didn't seem like the time or place to get into an irresolvable yes-you-said-it, no-I-didn't discussion.

"Well," he said, "whatever the reason for why you were there, thanks again for saving my life."

"The alternative would have made a hell of a mess of the interior in that snazzy Buick of yours."

Earlier in the evening, as she was working on his tie, Gabe would have offered his ranch for them to be sitting together at four in the morning on a bench behind the Watergate, overlooking the silent, ebony Potomac. Yet here he was in just that situation, distracted, edgy, and totally ill at ease.

"Tell your boss that your secret is safe with me."

"I'm not sure that will do the trick, but I'll try."

"I always wondered why they called it the Secret Service when those agents in their dark suits and shades made no effort whatsoever to be secret."

"They're meant to be seen and recognized. A lot of us aren't."

"And there are Secret Service offices outside of D.C.?"

"There are field offices all over. We do investigational stuff and also prepare for any presidential or major diplomatic visit."

"And our good friend the admiral doesn't know he's got a Secret Service agent working for him?" Gabe asked.

"Almost no one knows."

"Treat Griswold?"

"Nope. I report only to one man—the head of internal affairs."

"Internal affairs?"

"Gabe, I really can't tell you any more right now. First thing in the morning I'm going to have to report to my boss that I've blown my cover."

The hour caught up with Gabe, and he tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

"Listen," Alison said. "Why don't you go on in. I can do all my explaining sometime later. I'll get this bullet to the lab and arrange for your car to be fixed. Just leave it on the street where you parked it. It'll be taken away within the hour, and it won't take more than a day to be good as new."

"Better be. It's on loan from the First Father."

"I know."

"Of course. Everybody here knows everything, or at least tries to. So, what are you going to tell your boss?"

"The truth," she answered matter-of-factly.