Cromartie. The name meant nothing to Gabe, but there were still a number of unit nurses and physician's assistants and even a couple of doctors he had yet to meet.

"Well, come on in, Nurse Cromartie," he called out. "The Admiral Wright fan club is now in session."

Gabe heard a magazine being dropped onto the table, and moments later Alison Cromartie appeared in the doorway to his office.

Radiant. The word filled Gabe's thoughts the instant he saw Alison Cromartie for the first time. Absolutely radiant. What Admiral Ellis Wright's starched whites did to light up a room Alison accomplished wearing nothing more imposing than a crisply tailored green pants suit-maybe jade green, Gabe decided-and a muted yellow top. No jewelry. And if she wore makeup at all, it was precious little and impeccably applied. Gabe flashed on his reaction to first meeting Cinnie in the hospital ER, when he vowed on the spot that this was the woman he was going to marry.

No such pledges here, but he did sense immediately that this was someone he was going to enjoy being around. Her looks were unusual and exotic-mixed nationalities of some sort, he guessed-with smooth, light mocha skin and a trim athlete's body. Her jet hair was cut short, and her face, dominated by dark, curious eyes, seemed ready to laugh at the slightest provocation. She shook his hand firmly and introduced herself, keeping her gaze fixed on him just long enough to express interest.

"From what I just heard out there," Gabe said, motioning her to the chair opposite his, "you're not an Admiral Wright appointee. Yet here you are."

"Here I am," she replied matter-of-factly.

"So, how'd you manage that?"

"I used to work with a surgeon who's a friend of President Stoddard. He recommended me. I think he's a big-time fund-raiser as well."

No accent whatsoever-if anything, a hint of the South. Alison Cromartie either was American born or had one hell of an English teacher.

"So, have you had to take care of the POTUS?"

"POTUS?"

Gabe grinned. "When I got here, I thought I was the only one in the city who had never heard the acronym."

"Acronym?… Oh! President Of The United States. No, I met him once, but I haven't been involved in his care. I like the acronym, though. I'm always the last one to hear about anything that's in."

"There's even FLOTUS for the First Lady, for those who absolutely can't live without abbreviating things."

"Well, when the POTUS recommended me to the admiral-insisted he hire me would probably say it better-Dr. Ferendelli was still here. Then, soon after I arrived to begin work, he was gone. It's a measure of my personal growth that I didn't feel responsible."

"Aha, one of those! Another club we both belong to-the Loyal and Honored Order of I Would Have Been the Cause of World War Two If I Had Only Been Alive When It Started."

Gabe added Alison's smile and laugh to the list of attributes he felt drawn to.

"So, how's it been going for you so far?" she asked.

"This is only, like, my fourth day, but so far so good-except for all the protocol I've had to absorb, and that little exchange with Admiral Starch."

"That doesn't count."

"Did you hear the part about how I couldn't carry the military docs' medical bags?"

"I did hear that, yes."

"Actually, as far as I can tell, the military docs and nurses and PAs working in this unit are pretty damn good."

"I've been impressed with the same thing, but I'll bet you're a pretty darn good doc yourself."

"As far as I know, most of my patients and colleagues back in Wyoming think so. How about the stuff about my drinking, did you hear that, too?"

"I… um… tried not to."

Alison's blush was genuine.

"No big deal. It's been years-decades, even-since my last one."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me. My dad was in AA. He was Creole. Drinking was a way of life where he was raised. Besides, I'm in the habit of forming my own opinion about people."

"How'm I doing so far?"

"You were doing perfect… until you asked."

Again, that smile.

"Well, don't worry, I'm much less insecure when I'm running a code."

"Let's hope you never have to prove that to me here. But I have a feeling that in crunch time you can handle yourself pretty well."

Her expression gave the statement a thousand layers. Gabe was working, probably too hard, at formulating a response when his radio sounded.

"This is Piper," Magnus Lattimore's detached voice said. "Has anyone seen the doc?"

"This is Dr. Singleton… I copy direct."

"Doc, it's Magnus. You still in the office?"

How did you know where I was?

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"I'll be by to escort you to dinner in ten minutes."

"Roger."

"And Doc?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever the admiral had to say, pay no attention. He's just spraying to mark off his territory."

"Just spraying. Roger that."

"Your first state dinner," Alison said as Gabe set the radio down. "How exciting."

"I'll tell you what-you go to the dinner and I'll man the fort here. I'm a wrangler, not a mingler-especially not sober."

"Who's the dinner for?"

"Um… depending on who you ask, that would be either the President of Botswana or, to a lesser extent, me."

"The guest of honor!"

"More like an auxiliary guest of honor. People are jittery over Dr. Ferendelli's disappearance, so President Stoddard wanted everyone to get a look at the man who was taking his place, and to know he was in reliable medical hands."

"Makes sense. Well, in that case, I think some sort of tie is called for to go along with the rest of that tux-perhaps the one I noticed casually resting in the bathroom sink."

"It's being punished-a time-out for insubordination."

"Nothing worse than a surly, disrespectful bow tie. I've dealt with its kind before."

"Well, make this one behave and you get a year's supply of tongue depressors."

"Plus a rubber glove blown up and decorated like a rooster?"

"You drive a hard bargain."

"You got that right."

Alison retrieved the tie and took less than a minute up on her tiptoes, inches away from him, to knot it. Wishing it had taken longer, Gabe breathed in what might have been her shampoo or a microdot of subtle perfume. He decided as she stepped back to appraise her handiwork that he would try for a Guinness record for breath holding before he had to exhale.

"There you are, Doc," she said. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

"Congratulations, Nurse. You have been of great service to the United States of America."

"I want my rooster smiling and autographed," she replied.

Direct sunlight never found its way into the three-hundred-foot-long underpass beneath Levalee Street. The tunnel, just a few miles from the seats of justice and government of the most powerful nation on Earth, was a living, teeming monument to the have-nots in this richest of societies. In fact, in many ways the rules of this microcosm were as complex and constricting as those of the civilization that surrounded it. And chief among those rules was never to deal with outsiders.

The man appeared at the south opening of the squalid corridor just as dusk was settling in over the city. He wore a light brown suit over a dark knit shirt and looked average in every way, at least until he extracted a powerful flashlight and a noise-suppressed.45-caliber Heckler & Koch pistol from loops on his belt. He had learned to kill game as a child in Mississippi and humans as a sniper in the Army and then had honed his skills over the dozen years since his discharge. The name he used most was Carl-Carl Eric Porter-but there were many others. As usual, he was being well paid, and as usual he was relishing every aspect of his job.