Kraig looked at him in silence.
‘Of course, that’s very unlikely,’ the doctor went on. ‘What happened in Iowa is probably some kind of mass hysteria.’
‘Probably?’ Kraig asked.
‘Probably,’ the physician concluded. ‘In any case, we’ll work with what we have.’
‘Thank you for seeing me, Doctor.’
‘The hospital administrator tells me the media are waiting for a statement,’ the doctor said. ‘I waited to hear from you. From the government, I mean.’
‘I appreciate it. We can draft something together,’ Kraig said.
An hour later Joseph Kraig stood beside the hospital spokesman, an administrator named Dr Cobb, as he faced a large group of reporters outside the main hospital entrance. Video cameras were running, the bright lights making Kraig squint.
‘Dr Cobb, how is the vice president?’ The question came from several directions at once.
‘The vice president is well,’ Dr Cobb said. ‘We’ve been running a lot of tests today, and the patient is understandably tired. The tests will continue tomorrow.’
‘What is the current diagnosis, Doctor?’ Again several voices shouted this at once.
‘We’re not prepared to make a definitive diagnosis until a full battery of tests has been run.’
Every word so far, Kraig reflected, had been approved by the White House. This was no time for ad-libbing. Kraig’s eyes scanned the mob of reporters and video men. They looked like jackals closing in for the kill. The microphones on their poles were like the proboscises of oversized insects who fed on the pain of humans.
‘Doctor, is there any truth to the rumor that Vice President Everhardt’s condition has baffled your physicians?’
The question was asked by a young female reporter with dark hair, a woman Kraig did not remember seeing before.
‘No truth,’ Dr Cobb said.
‘Doctor, is it true that the vice president is mentally incapacitated?’
‘Not true,’ Cobb answered with some irritation.
‘Doctor, is there truth to the story that the vice president’s illness is connected in some way to the epidemic in Iowa?’
The questions were coming from the same reporter, who outdid even her Washington peers in rapid-fire attack.
‘Not at all,’ Cobb said.
To Kraig’s surprise, the next question was addressed to him.
‘Agent Kraig, are you concerned about protecting the health of other federal officials?’
Kraig narrowed his eyes at the reporter. Who was this hound, anyway?
‘It’s our job to protect the president and those who work alongside him,’ he said. ‘I don’t see how the vice president’s condition affects that.’
‘Does Vice President Everhardt’s incapacitation make you worry about the safety of other government officials?’
‘I wouldn’t call it incapacitation,’ Kraig said.
‘Have you interviewed the vice president yourself, Agent Kraig?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘And how did you find him?’
‘I have nothing to add to what Dr Cobb has told you.’
‘Agent Kraig, isn’t it true that Vice President Everhardt hasn’t said a single word since he became ill?’ The reporter’s dark eyes seemed to bore into Kraig.
Kraig frowned. He had had enough. ‘I repeat, I have nothing to add to what Dr Cobb has told you.’
Karen Embry nodded with a politeness tinged by lingering suspicion. She looked crisp and professional in her dark suit and blouse. Her hair had been brushed with care, and her makeup accentuated her delicate features. There were a lot of female reporters present, from the wire services and cable stations as well as the local media, but none was quite as attractive as Karen. It would have been hard for an observer to recognize in her the young woman who had dragged herself out of bed at seven o’clock this morning with a crushing hangover. But there was no such observer. Karen made sure that no outsider ever saw her without her professional armor on. And her beauty was part of that armor.
The news conference lasted another twenty minutes, all of them uncomfortable, as Dr Cobb parried questions from dozens of reporters. Finally, citing the late hour, the doctor called a halt to the session.
Grateful to make his escape, Kraig left the hospital and drove back to his office.
Since the attack on the Pentagon of September 11, 2001, many of the major federal agencies had been covertly moving around the city. The Secret Service was presently located in a nondescript office building a block away from HUD, in the shadow of Interstate 395. From the weedy parking lot full of unmarked vehicles no one would have guessed the place was a government facility. Only the name tags the agents and secretaries clipped on as they approached the entrance betrayed the true nature of the operation.
Most of the agents were out, but Kraig’s boss, Ross Agnew, was in. It was Agnew who had gotten Kraig this assignment. They had known each other as trainees twelve years ago. Agnew, a graduate of the University of Virginia and a former FBI agent, was a natural-born administrator and a gifted politician. He was the temperamental opposite of Kraig, a field agent who liked solitude and distrusted authority. But they got along well.
‘How is Everhardt?’ Agnew asked.
‘He didn’t look good to me,’ Kraig said. ‘But I’m not a doctor.’
‘Not good in what way?’
Kraig shook his head. ‘A sort of paralysis,’ he said. ‘He can’t talk, and he can’t obey simple commands. So far they can’t find anything wrong with him physically. If it’s mental, it’s bad mental.’
‘I take it he’s not in any condition to go back to work,’ Agnew said.
‘No way.’ Kraig shook his head.
Agnew thought for a moment.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ll tell the White House. They’re not going to like it. Deep concern at the top level. You know what I mean.’
Kraig nodded. He cared little for politics. If it weren’t for that maniac Colin Goss angling to get into the White House, Kraig would not have cared who occupied the place.
‘Do you think the president will have to appoint another man?’ Agnew asked.
‘If Everhardt goes on this way, I’d say so,’ Kraig replied. ‘He’s incapacitated.’
‘Who do you think it might be?’
‘Search me.’ Kraig sat down.
He thought for a moment before saying, ‘Everhardt’s doctor was wondering about the epidemic in Iowa. There are some symptoms in common.’
‘Really?’ Agnew asked. ‘Which ones?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Kraig frowned. ‘I don’t know that much about Iowa.’
There was a silence.
‘Does the doctor think this might be something communicable?’ Agnew asked.
‘He doesn’t know. He seemed worried by the prospect.’
Kraig sat listening to the muted hum of the traffic on the expressway. He looked at the pictures on Agnew’s walls, most of which showed sailboats or fishing boats on the Chesapeake Bay. Agnew was leaning back in his chair with one leg crossed