Drew Stoddard's dry cough quieted down for a time but then picked up again as they entered the outskirts of Baltimore. It was minimal and would not have been the least bit alarming had it been occurring in someone other than the President of the United States. Because of the makeup, it was impossible for Gabe to evaluate Stoddard's color, but his respiratory rate was no more than slightly elevated at eighteen per minute and the beds beneath his fingernails looked reasonably pink—a decent sign that he was getting enough oxygen into his circulation. Gabe felt comfortable speaking about the president's asthma in front of Griswold, but not the speechwriter.

"You okay?" Gabe asked after a brief volley of hacking.

"Maybe a little wheezy, but no big deal," Stoddard replied.

"You have asthma?" Martin asked, ending whatever concern Gabe had about making the disclosure.

"Low-grade for years," Drew replied matter-of-factly.

"I have it, too. Used to be bad when I was a kid. But it seems to have gotten pretty much better as I get older. Now, I don't think I have it anymore."

"Burnout of childhood asthma is quite common," Gabe offered, not taking his eyes off his patient. "You feel able to go through with this speech, Mr. President?"

"Of course. I'm really fine. You brought an inhaler for me, right?"

"Actually I have several of them—both bronchodilators and cortisone. They're in the FAT kit in the medical van."

"Griz," Stoddard asked, "do you have one of my inhalers with you?"

"Right here, as always."

The Secret Service agent patted over the inside breast pocket of his suit coat.

"Okay, then. If I feel like I need a puff of that stuff, I'll get it from you until the doc here unlocks the medicine case in the van and gets me whatever he has there. That okay with you, Doc?"

"I . . . um . . . guess so," Gabe said, reflecting on his conversations with the chief executive's father and the vice president and wondering if he should find a way to warn Drew to be a bit less cavalier with information regarding his medical status. "I would like to have a listen to your chest before we do anything, but somehow this doesn't seem to be the place for that."

"We have a screened-off prep area backstage," Griswold said. "A place for the president to sit down, get his makeup refreshed, and get ready for his speech."

"Good," Gabe said. "That'll probably be fine. Mr. President, grab a water bottle from the fridge there and drink at least half of it. You want to stay well hydrated."

"Got it."

"Doc, I'll get you and the president up to the screened-off area as soon as we arrive. Meanwhile, Mr. President, if you need any of this Alupent inhaler just ask."

"Roger that. Mr. Shapiro, I think we've done as much as we can with this puppy. You've done a great job as usual. Stanford, right? What was your major there?"