"If I can pull it together and reappear, think about what my press people can do with this. The world will love it."

"The world will think you're an absolute nut with no regard for his health and a total incompetent for a doctor."

"Listen, Gabe. I can't help it if you happen to be really really good at what you do."

"You've got an IV running."

"All the better. I'll drag it out there with me. Just a minute or two, for closure . . . and a couple of photos."

"No!"

"Gabe, we're talking about a presidential election—my last shot at really making a difference in this country and the world. Your doctor's head will always opt for the conservative approach—well, almost always. But please try and look at the big picture. You've broken the asthma attack for me. You did it! I can feel it. Look, I don't even have to gasp for breath between sentences. Let me just go out there and say thank you and good-bye and show the people that I'm all right and I'll be back in this chair before you know it."

Exasperated but at the same time exhilarated, Gabe turned to Latti-more.

"How long have you been working for this guy?" he asked.

"Long enough to know what the outcome of this one's going to be," Stoddard's chief of staff replied.

CHAPTER 24

It was a bad dream.

Alison kept telling herself that as she and the paramedics packed up the FAT kit and got ready to head for the medical van.

What she had witnessed, the conclusions she was considering—they had to be nothing more than a bad dream.

But she knew otherwise.

Treat Griswold, the legendary Treat Griswold, number-one Secret Service agent to the President of the United States, had reached into his jacket pocket, withdrawn an asthma inhaler, allowed the president to administer the contents to himself, and then put the inhaler back in his pocket. It sounded innocent enough and probably looked like no big deal to anyone else who observed the incident—although there were few, if any, in a position to do so.