Together, Drew and Cooper overcame a double-digit deficit to nip Bradford Dunleavy and VP Charles Christman at the wire. Now, from all Gabe could tell, Drew had kept his campaign promise to revitalize the office of vice president and to use it in such a way that every day and every mission better prepared Cooper to step in and lead the country. The two men met together regularly, and Cooper was encouraged to be active and visible, especially in the areas of preservation and enhancement of natural resources, conscientious improvement and updating of the country's infrastructure, and issues involving immigration and illegal aliens.

In some circles, in fact, Cooper was viewed as more effectively conciliatory than Drew, who at times could have a hair-trigger temper. One recent poll actually suggested that the VP, who everyone assumed was a lock for the head of the ticket in four years, might be as electable as his running mate, even in this campaign.

"Tom Cooper is a Brutus . . ."

"Dr. Singleton, your patient's here," Heather announced through the intercom before Gabe could complete the thought.

"Have him come on in," Gabe said, curious as to why a man with his own medical team would have specifically asked to be treated by him.

With a soft knock, the Vice President of the United States entered the office. He was six-foot-four or so and carried an extra twenty or thirty pounds without looking all that out of shape. He was wearing a black eye patch over his right eye and was carrying a thin, black leather folio, which he set down on the corner of the desk before he shook hands.

"So, Doctor, thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

His voice was low pitched and his speech measured. Totally presidential, Gabe decided.

"Your timing was perfect," he replied. "In another hour or so I'll be off for—"

"Baltimore. I know."

Of course. Here in D.C. land, everyone knows everything . . . except for those of us who don't. Gabe flashed on something LeMar Stoddard had said over lunch. "In this town you're nobody if you know nobody. But if the only person you do know happens to be The Man, you're still a major somebody."

"Yes, that's right," Gabe confirmed, with more flatness than he had intended. "Baltimore."

"President Stoddard originally asked me to replace him, but I have a speech scheduled myself."

Cooper settled into the chair opposite Gabe. There was a softness to Cooper's face that seemed to engender trust—especially backed up by the steely manliness of the eye patch. Still, whether it was LeMar Stoddard's Brutus warning or the as yet unexplained reason Bear chose Gabe over the medical people assigned to his care, there was tension between the two of them.

"Well," Cooper said, "we haven't had much chance to talk since you arrived here. Everything okay?"

"I'm still picking my way through the tulips and the buffalo chips, but all in all things have been pretty uneventful."