"Tom Cooper is a Brutus…"

"Dr. Singleton, your patient's here," Heather announced through the intercom before Gabe could complete the thought.

"Have him come on in," Gabe said, curious as to why a man with his own medical team would have specifically asked to be treated by him.

With a soft knock, the Vice President of the United States entered the office. He was six-foot-four or so and carried an extra twenty or thirty pounds without looking all that out of shape. He was wearing a black eye patch over his right eye and was carrying a thin, black leather folio, which he set down on the corner of the desk before he shook hands.

"So, Doctor, thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

His voice was low pitched and his speech measured. Totally presidential, Gabe decided.

"Your timing was perfect," he replied. "In another hour or so I'll be off for-"

"Baltimore. I know."

Of course. Here in D.C. land, everyone knows everything… except for those of us who don't. Gabe flashed on something LeMar Stoddard had said over lunch. "In this town you're nobody if you know nobody. But if the only person you do know happens to be The Man, you're still a major somebody."

"Yes, that's right," Gabe confirmed, with more flatness than he had intended. "Baltimore."

"President Stoddard originally asked me to replace him, but I have a speech scheduled myself."

Cooper settled into the chair opposite Gabe. There was a softness to Cooper's face that seemed to engender trust-especially backed up by the steely manliness of the eye patch. Still, whether it was LeMar Stoddard's Brutus warning or the as yet unexplained reason Bear chose Gabe over the medical people assigned to his care, there was tension between the two of them.

"Well," Cooper said, "we haven't had much chance to talk since you arrived here. Everything okay?"

"I'm still picking my way through the tulips and the buffalo chips, but all in all things have been pretty uneventful."

A totally political response. Lattimore would be proud.

"Good to hear… You're from Wyoming, right?"

"Tyler."

"That's southeast?"

"Precisely. Eighty or so miles north and west of Cheyenne."

"Ever come up north to Montana?"

"From time to time. The fish there always seemed a little bigger and a little more gullible than the ones around where I live." Gabe had never had much patience for hidden agendas cloaked in small talk, and he felt certain he was confronting one now. He also had his medical bag to check over for the trip. "So," he pushed, "what's the deal with your eye?"

"Ever since I woke up this morning, I've felt as if there's something in it-maybe a lash or something."

"How about we go in the examining room and I'll take a look."

"Actually," Cooper said, removing the patch to reveal none of the redness that would have quickly developed had a lash or any other foreign body made contact with the eye, "I think whatever was in there may have washed out. There's been a lot of tearing."

"I see."

Gabe felt himself understanding more and more the concern expressed by LeMar Stoddard. Thomas Cooper III was not only oblique; he was unsubtle and oblique-hardly what Gabe expected.

"The truth is," Cooper went on, "the lash probably washed away pretty quickly, but I've had trouble with corneal abrasions before and wanted to have things checked."

"No problem."

"And," the VP went on as if Gabe hadn't interjected the words, "I decided to seek you out because there's another matter I wanted to discuss with you. Two birds and all that."

At last the other shoe falls.

"I've got to get some things ready for the trip to-"

"This won't take long. Doctor."

Just that quickly, any softness there seemed to be about the man vanished. Gabe's internal alarm sounded a strident warning. For all his country upbringing and easygoing, disarming manner, Tom Cooper was, in fact, a seasoned politician, who had risen to the second-highest office in the land not long after he turned forty-six. It seemed probable that he never spoke-obliquely or not-without knowing precisely what he was saying. There was no sense examining his eye, even though at some point well past there may have actually been something in it.

"Go on," Gabe said.

"President Stoddard never made it to the state dinner the other night."

"We had a press conference about that."

"I know. Migraine headache and gastroenteritis, complicated by his asthma."

If there was facetiousness in the man's tone, Gabe couldn't hear it.

"Mr. Vice President, I had written permission from the president to speak about those aspects of his medical condition to the public. I would never share any information about him otherwise-to anyone."

"I understand, and I completely support you in that regard. Tell me something, though: Did you know that at least twice in the past Dr. Ferendelli and the president withdrew from the public eye for an extended period of time?"

"That's not a question I can or will answer."

"For a city of almost six hundred thousand, Washington is like a small town. Rumors start. Rumors spread. Rumors vanish. Rumors refuse to die. Some are total fabrication, some have a grain of truth, and some much more than that. Those of us who have been around here for a while have learned that when a rumor surfaces and then resurfaces, there is often something to it."

"Mr. Vice President-"

"Please call me Tom. It'll save time."

"Tom, I really have to get going soon."

"Dr. Singleton, the hot rumor in town at the moment-the one that doesn't seem to want to go away-is that the president is having problems other than migraine headaches and gastroenteritis and asthma. No one is speaking out about it, at least not yet. Magnus Lattimore and the rest of the president's spin people have done a remarkable job of keeping the rumor under wraps, but it keeps resurfacing-and from more than one direction, too, which I have learned over the years is something worth paying attention to. There are those who believe President Stoddard may be mentally ill in some way. For the moment, the rumors are just whispers. But I assure you, Doctor, the whispers are getting louder."

Gabe tried for a reaction of bewildered amusement but wasn't at all certain he succeeded.

"As the president's physician, I will not discuss his health in any way," he reiterated, "including to comment on whether he has or has not any mental or other medical problems. I'm sure you expect that same sort of professionalism and respect from your doctor. If you're that concerned about rumors you have heard, perhaps you should speak with Magnus, or even with the president himself."

"When I have translated rumor into fact, I intend to do just that. Meanwhile, Dr. Singleton, you need to know that I have supported Drew without hesitation or reservation since the day he chose me to run with him. After we won, he could have buried me in the political backwater like so many presidents have done with their vice presidents, but he chose to make me an important part of his administration. He is my friend, just as I am his, and I would do anything to ensure that his legacy is that of one of the most effective, significant leaders our country has ever had. His policies and vision for America are mine, and when I get my chance, I intend to continue them."

"Okay then," Gabe said, feeling ill at ease before Cooper's emotional outpouring of fidelity. "What can I do for you?"

The vice president opened up the leather folio and slid a document across the desk. Gabe sensed without looking what it was.

"There is a great deal at stake here, Doctor, and you have a significant role in the drama that may be unfolding."

As the president's frantic, frightening episode was beginning to resolve, Lattimore had mentioned that locked within The Football, along with the electronics and codes necessary to unleash Armageddon, was an agreement signed by Drew and Thomas Cooper III outlining those situations in which there was to be a transfer of power from president to vice president according to the provisions of the Twenty-fifth Amendment. At that moment, Gabe had made a mental note to ask the chief of staff for a copy of the document. Over the ensuing, chaotic hours and days, he had simply forgotten to do so.