The First Patient

CHAPTER 13

Gabe lay facedown on LeMar Stoddard's king-size bed, trying unsuccessfully to will himself to sleep. He had come to D.C. to replace a physician who had disappeared, and now he himself had almost been killed. At least that was the way it looked. Eyes closed, he envisioned Alison Cromartie's expression as he stood abruptly and left her by the river. She was clearly surprised, but was that because she expected him to tell her what was going on with the president? Was she or whoever she was working for trying to expand on some rumors-some half-truths they might have learned about the chief executive's health?

What she said about the futility and possible negative fallout of reporting the drive-by attack to the police made perfect sense. Still, it seemed, he had to do something more than merely allow her to get LeMar's car fixed and have the bullet examined. He had to share what had happened with someone. Lattimore? Treat Griswold? Admiral Wright? The president himself?

Even more important, he had to decide what to do about the recurrent attacks of insanity in the commander in chief of the most powerful armed force in history. For a time he tried to imagine what Nixon's final days in office had really been like-pacing the empty halls of the White House, allegedly holding animated conversations with the ghosts of Lincoln, Wilson, and other presidents past; down on his knees, blubbering like a child to Secretary of State Henry Kissinger. From all Gabe could tell, Nixon had lost his grip well before that last, fateful walk to the waiting helicopter. How long had the finger of that madman rested on the button that could have killed hundreds of millions? Days?… Weeks?… Even longer?

Had Kissinger, Ford, and others somehow banded together and formulated a plan to bypass any orders from Nixon that they felt were not in the best interests of the country… and of the rest of mankind?

He rolled over once again, this time replaying the remarkable accomplishments of Andrew Stoddard's first three and a half years in office and the potential of the four years ahead-especially if the man was working with a friendly Congress. Gabe had never had much faith in the political process being able to make a huge improvement in the quality of life of the average American-and especially in the lives of those less fortunate than the average. He often mused about how much could be accomplished if the billions spent on political campaigns, most of them unsuccessful, could be applied to public works projects, or to reversing global warming, or to cancer research, or to providing computers for inner-city schools.

Yet here the man was-a president with a true vision for America, not someone frantically navigating the country from one crisis to another; a president of the people, with the courage to go nose-to-nose with big business, and big oil, and big pharma, as well as with the architects of terror; a president with the charisma to bring people together. Would it be right at this time to invoke the Twenty-fifth Amendment, effectively pulling the plug on Drew's presidency, when it was just getting rolling? The decision wasn't one he could put off much longer.

At quarter after six, still unable even to doze, Gabe showered and shaved, then gave serious consideration to taking a Xanax.

"You still a drunk? Pill popper?"

Ellis Wright's words kept Gabe from immediately reaching into the bottom bureau drawer for the plastic bottle and its varied contents. Few would argue that after the day he had just endured, a little sleeping aid was both necessary and deserved. But there were others who would point out that sooner or later, the reasons for taking pills would mutate into reasons to take them. Maybe they already had, he wondered briefly. Maybe this particular fallout from Fairhaven would be part of his life for keeps, enduring as long as he did.

He considered putting LeMar's elegant coffeemaker to work with something high-octane. Loading up on caffeine would be the final capitulation to his inability to sleep. Then, as if in a trance, he searched out a Xanax from his stash of pills and washed it down.

Whether it was the act of taking the drug or the drug itself, fifteen minutes later he floated off to a fitful sleep. When the ringing phone woke him at eight forty-five, he had decided, with an edgy certainty, what he was going to do about the crisis in the White House. For the time being, he would do what he could to keep Drew in office and in as strong a position as possible for reelection, while at the same time doing everything he could to follow up on Jim Ferendelli's investigations into what might be causing the president's episodic mental imbalance.

Hopefully, sometime in the future, when the reason for the president's episodes had been diagnosed and properly treated and any of the countless potential disasters had simply failed to materialize, he and Drew and Carol would look back and laugh at the role the tranquilizer Xanax had played in saving the country.

The ringing persisted.

At some point during the hours since he had returned to the room, he had managed to pull the room-darkening drapes. A scant amount of sunlight from between them made it possible to find the bedside lamp, which he turned on, and a half-empty glass of water, which he finished before picking up the receiver.

"H'lo?"

"Dr. Singleton?" a woman's voice asked.

"Yes. Who's calling?"

"Doctor, please hold for Mr. LeMar Stoddard."

Gabe reflected that if he were worth 10 billion or more, he probably wouldn't be making his own calls, either. Hopefully the First Father wasn't calling to take his Buick back.

"Gabe? LeMar Stoddard here."

Gabe pictured the surpassingly handsome man in a penthouse office somewhere, seated at a desk the size of his bed, gazing out across the city.

"It's me, sir."

"Drop the 'sir' stuff, cowboy. We've all grown up now. It's LeMar."

"I'll try."

"Everything okay? The place? The car?"

"Everything's fine. I'm very grateful to you for all this."

"Good. I like having people feel grateful to me. It'll go that much better for me when my damn high blood pressure or bad cholesterol or whatever catches up with me and I have to check into the great office building in the sky."

His laugh was hearty and self-deprecating, but Gabe had little doubt that the remark about having people beholding to him was serious. For a multibillionaire, LeMar had always seemed to Gabe to be reasonably right sized, although Drew, of course, had other thoughts about that. Whatever negotiations had landed Gabe the Watergate suite and the Riviera had been between the First Father and his son. The last time Gabe had met the man face-to-face had been early in the campaign when the Stoddards flew into Salt Lake City on LeMar's jet and Gabe drove down from Tyler. LeMar, a year or two short of seventy then, with dark hair graying at the temples and electric gray-blue eyes, was as fit and dashing as any Hollywood swashbuckler.

"Well," Gabe said, "all that this incredible place and the car have done is dig me deeper and deeper in the gratitude hole."

"Nonsense. You're a good guy, Gabe-a good guy who had a lousy break and has had the character to overcome it. Having you up here taking care of Drew makes us more than even. In fact, not to toot my own horn, but it was me who originally put the bee in his bonnet about bringing you on board."

"Well, thank you for that. I'll be here as long as he needs me."

Gabe stopped himself at the last instant from adding sir.

"Excellent. So, I was wondering if you might have a little time today for me, say lunch?"

"Provided my patient doesn't need me, I can do that."

"Wonderful. We're moored at the Capital Yacht Club downriver from you. I'll send a driver to pick you up at noon. Once you get a look at Aphrodite, I don't think you'll feel too guilty about nudging me out of the Watergate."

Given how much everyone in D.C. seemed to know everyone else's business, Gabe half-expected the tycoon to mention the shattered rear window in his Buick.

"I'll be waiting in front," Gabe said.

"Perfect. Bring your appetite."

Gabe set the receiver down and then pushed open the drapes, flooding LeMar's wondrous apartment with morning light. Four stories below, the Potomac sparkled. Somewhere downriver, the apartment's owner was probably sitting on the deck of the boat named for the Greek goddess of love and beauty, sipping some exotic blend of Arabian coffees, while his companies continued churning away, adding to his net worth at a rate far faster than he could ever spend.

Nice life, sir… except for a little problem with your son.

Gabe chose some Kenyan beans from the wide variety in the freezer and spooned them into the built-in Coffee Master. The single push of a button took the selection from beans to brew. Not surprisingly, the result was perfect.

Nice life.

Cup in hand, he retrieved his address book from the desk, opened it to the Bs, and set it by the phone.

He had made his decision regarding Drew Stoddard. Now it was time to put this aspect of his plan in motion. He dialed and listened to the ringing of Kyle Blackthorn's private line, picturing the small office fifteen hundred miles away, warmly decorated with Indian weavings and artifacts, mostly Arapaho, Blackthorn's tribe.

"Dr. Blackthorn."

"Kyle, it's Gabe."

"Hey, brother. I feel like I should break into a rendition of 'Hail to the Chief.' But I really only use that one at tribal councils."

"Hey, that's pretty funny. And here I thought you guys had no sense of humor at all."

"You doing okay in the big city?"

"Pretty much. I miss everyone back there, but they allow cowboy boots in the White House, so I'm managing."

"What can I do for you, my friend?"

"You can let me send you first-class tickets and fly out here to do what you do."

"The patient?"

"I'd rather brief you when you get here."

"Does it have to be soon?"

"Very. Can you juggle your schedule?"

"I know you wouldn't be calling like this if it wasn't important, and you know that after you saved my mother's life there's nothing that I wouldn't do for you."

"Someone will call you later today with travel details."

"It will be good to see you, my friend."

"Don't forget to bring your testing stuff."

"I never leave home without it."