Alison surveyed the area one final time. At the base of the high velvet curtain was a plastic Baggie—the one, sealed and signed by all who had touched it, that had originally contained a cortisone inhaler, which was also sealed and signed per the chain-of-custody protocol. The final step, the loop closer, was that once the seals had been broken and the medication used on the POTUS, regardless of what that medication was, it was to be disposed of immediately and a new chain of custody implemented.

It was most likely no big deal that Treat Griswold had control of the president's inhaler. Griswold had been a loyal, even heroic guardian of presidents for two decades at least. The best thing she could do was probably let the matter drop. Still, Dr. Jim Ferendelli had vanished, and she had been placed undercover in the White House Medical Unit specifically to keep her eyes and ears open and to report to the head of internal affairs anything out of the ordinary—anything at all.

The notion of blowing the whistle on anyone, let alone Griswold, was chilling. She thought about her horrific experience in the hospital in L.A. She had been in the right then—totally in the right. The incompetent surgeon had killed a patient and destroyed a good, caring nurse. The proof Alison had of that was solid, if not absolute. At least that was what she believed before her life was methodically undermined and sent crashing down around her.

Not this time.

Even if her job was to observe and report, there would be no whistle-blowing on Treat Griswold without irrefutable, undeniable proof that rules had knowingly and willfully been violated. Instead, she would learn what she could about the man, searching for a chink in his armor of competence and devotion to office or else affirming that he was beyond reproach and worthy of the honors bestowed upon him over the years.

"Alison, this is it. We go now or we don't bother!"

She hurried to the elevator and rode down with the PA. The career military men who served as White House valets were mess specialists—trained to observe the preparation of the POTUS's meals and personally serve whichever plate he wound up getting. They watched every bit of food he was served and from time to time would taste the meal as well. Would any of them tolerate a Secret Service agent showing up in the kitchen carrying and then serving the president's dinner?

No chance.

She had to proceed to look into this situation, but to do so cautiously. The likelihood was that the president himself had chosen to bend the rules for the sake of convenience and that Griswold was simply complying with his commander's wishes.