“What happened?”

“Long story short, I lost my footing. Went tumbling down the roof. I would’ve been a big drunk blood splatter on the pavement-except Roland Kyler grabbed my foot and held on for dear life. I was dangling off the edge, watching my life play before my eyes. I must’ve weighed a ton. But he held on to me. Held on for almost twenty minutes, sweating and straining, his bones aching, but he never gave up, he never let go, until finally some help arrived.” Albertson paused reflectively. “These people have heard me say that President Kyler is the only reason I’m here today, and they think I mean because he appointed me White House physician. But they’re wrong. I mean that if it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t be alive. I wouldn’t have gone to medical school, wouldn’t have been doctor of the year, wouldn’t have been anything. But for him.”

“That’s a great story,” Ben said, rising, “but I don’t see the relevance.”

“The relevance is this,” Swinburne said. “Dr. Albertson, you are totally loyal and devoted to the president, aren’t you?”

“One hundred percent.”

“That is why, even when he exhibits clearly disturbed behavior, you refuse to draw the obvious conclusion.”

“That’s not true. I-”

“What’s true is that this man could be standing on his head wearing a bunny suit and you still wouldn’t acknowledge that there was anything wrong with him!”

“Objection!” Ben said.

“Sustained,” Cartwright replied, but Ben knew it didn’t matter. Swinburne had made his point.

“That’s all right, Judge,” Swinburne said. “I think I’ve established this witness’s obvious bias. It’s unfortunate that a personal friend-particularly one with a debt of gratitude-was given an important executive post, especially since it has significant ramifications. But I can’t change that now. What I can suggest is that the members of the cabinet take the witness’s bias into account and consequently disregard his medical assessment. If there’s going to be an unbiased determination as to the president’s sanity, it’s going to have to come from the cabinet.”

Ben looked at the closed-circuit screen and saw several of the cabinet members nodding in agreement. That was not a good sign.

Swinburne had established that the president was acting insane and that the president’s physician would never declare him insane, no matter what he did. Which meant it was a job for the vice president and the cabinet. And Ben had no doubt they would do it, and quickly-unless he gave them a reason not to.

Ben thought a moment about how to proceed. Normally, on cross-examination his job would be to undo whatever damage had been done to his client’s case by the witness. In this instance, however, the doctor himself hadn’t done any damage to President Kyler, at least not directly. Technically, the only person Dr. Albertson had damaged was himself-his own reputation and credibility. But Ben knew that was going to have a negative impact on President Kyler’s case. He needed to find some way to salvage Albertson’s credibility as a medical witness who believed Kyler was absolutely sane.

“Dr. Albertson,” Ben began. This tiny room in the bunker made for an awkward ersatz courtroom. Under normal circumstances Ben had some distance from the people he was grilling, not to mention the judge. That was done for a reason. Given the raised tempers that attended most trials, it was important for the participants to have some space. Here they were practically on top of one another, breathing down one another’s necks, with no room to maneuver or escape. “Let’s start with that last bit of business first. You’ve testified that President Kyler saved your life once and you are grateful to him. The unanswered question is whether your gratitude renders you incapable of issuing a reliable medical opinion.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well,” Ben said, playing the devil’s advocate, “that’s easy to say, but-”

“Mr. Kincaid, I have been a doctor for almost thirty years now. I know what I’m doing.” Good. Ben had managed to raise his dander a little, which was exactly the reaction he wanted. The doctor needed to get a little feisty if he was going to salvage this mess. “I took the Hippocratic Oath. I have an obligation to the AMA. So when it comes to rendering a medical opinion, it’s just as if I were under oath-every time I do it. I give the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, no matter what. No matter who it is.”

“So you’re saying your friendship with the president has not influenced your medical opinion.”

“That’s exactly right. My testimony is based upon observation and constant, almost daily mini medical evaluations, plus a complete workup done not two weeks ago. There is simply no evidence of negative brain function, nor of any physical ailment, such as a stroke or brain tumor, that might affect his mental condition. The president may have unique coping mechanisms, but so what? The question here is whether he’s sane. And that question I can answer with certainty. He is.”

Beside him, Ben could see his client sitting up a little straighter. He was glad he’d had this opportunity to rehabilitate the witness.

“Let me ask you a few questions about the coping mechanisms you mentioned. Can you explain what you mean?”

“Of course. We all deal with stress in different ways, some healthier than others. Some cope by drinking too much, or turning to drugs, or other alleviators. Nixon became an alcoholic in the White House. Some think Clinton became a sex addict. Those are obviously unhealthful coping mechanisms. Roland, on the other hand, likes to sing and act a little childish. So what? He isn’t hurting anyone. It’s not as if he’s on national television. And it’s a good sight better than drinking himself to death.”

“So you see no problem with it?”

“Why would I? He has to do something-he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s given up some of his favorite stress relievers. Why not let the man have this one harmless indulgence?”

“Would it be fair to say everyone has coping mechanisms?”

“Of course. Everyone.” Albertson pointed. “Even the esteemed vice president.”

Ben saw Swinburne sit up a little straighter in his chair. They definitely had his attention now.

Dare he press further?

“Okay, I’ll bite. What does the vice president do?”

“Have you not noticed how often his hand goes into his suit coat pocket? And then his arm gets all stiff and tense. I think he’s got one of those squeeze balls, those stress relievers you buy in Hallmark stores. Either that or a big wad of Silly Putty.”

Ben turned slightly toward the vice president, as did almost everyone in the room.

A moment later Swinburne somewhat sheepishly reached into his pocket, then rolled a yellow squeeze ball onto the table. It looked like a tennis ball but obviously had a different, squishier consistency. The impressions of Swinburne’s fingers were still visible on it.

“Nice work, Sherlock,” Swinburne said.

Albertson grinned, probably for the first time since he took the witness chair. “Elementary, my dear Swinburne.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Ben said. “No more questions.” Ben felt he had done about all he could do. Most of Albertson’s testimony had been favorable. He had shored up the holes as best he could. The cabinet might still suspect that Albertson was not an impartial witness, but Ben had given them a plausible alternative explanation for the president’s behavior. He hoped that would be enough-at least for the present.

Vice President Swinburne rose to his feet. “Judge, may I redirect?”

Cartwright tapped a pencil against the tabletop. “May I remind you that we have a countdown ticking here?”

“No one is more aware of that than I, Judge. The whole point of this trial is to make sure no more people die when that countdown is completed. But I do think I have something valuable to bring out.”