SATURDAY MARCH 2, THE WHITE HOUSE - 1130 HRS

Gary was making futile attempts to wrap the fingers of his left hand around a tennis ball when he heard the disturbance in the next room.  As the fuzzy yellow sphere rolled out of his hand for the umpteenth time, the door burst open and the agent assigned to guard him that morning jumped to his feet.  

“Gary,” Polly Gannon snapped.  “Could you tell these . . . gentlemen that we’re friends of yours?  Preferably before I hurt one of ‘em?”

“Again,” Jake added with a chuckle.  He glanced at the agent entering behind them, who was ruefully rubbing his right wrist.  Kneeling next to the chair Gary was seated in, he placed a hand on his cousin’s uninjured shoulder.  “How goes it, cousin?”

“I’ve been better,” Gary admitted, the corner of his mouth turning up in a tired grin.  “Thanks for coming, guys.  You, too, Dr. Griner.  Have you ever been to the Capitol before?”

“The city, once or twice,” William Griner drawled as the guard guided him to another chair.  “Never been invited to the White House before.  Echoes like a museum.  Tell me, Gary.  Do you go anywhere without leavin’ a trail of blood?  I went through most of my tour without getting hurt near as much as you’ve been right here on the home front in the past six months.”

Dr. Griner was referring to his tour of duty in Vietnam when he was not much more than a boy.  It was there that a failed mission to rescue POWs had cost him his sight.  Bitter and at loose ends as to his future, he had finally decided to put his misfortune to work for him, taking the first faltering steps to become a psychiatrist specializing in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Which was how he had met Gary.  

“I thought he was you, at first,” the guard smiled, indicating Jake.  “Your file never mentioned a brother.  Or an uncle, for that matter.”  He was referring to the fact that Dr. Griner also resembled Gary to a remarkable degree, considering the almost sixteen year difference in their ages.  

“Jake’s my cousin,” Gary corrected him with a dry chuckle.  “Dr. Griner might be, but we haven’t gotten that far on the family tree, yet.  He’s my therapist.  The lady who almost twisted your arm off is Polly.  Didn’t anyone tell you they were coming?”

“They must’ve overlooked that in the briefing,” the agent grumbled good-naturedly.  “Well, since they made it past Security, and you vouch for them, I guess it’s okay.”  He nodded to the agent positioned in the room, handing over responsibility.  Turning to go back to his post in the other room, he paused as his gaze passed over Polly.  “Where’d you learn that move?” he asked.  “My whole arm went numb!”

“X-ray school,” the tech shrugged.  “Unruly Patients 101.  We had to subdue without causing further damage.  I aced that one.”

“You mind if I talk to my superiors about you giving a demonstration?” the man asked.  “Something like that could come in handy.”

“No problem,” Polly grinned.  “It’s mostly the same basic street fighting I learned from my three brothers, but if you think it’ll help . . .”

“You can never know enough, in this business,” the agent replied as he walked out.

Jake held a seat for Polly before pulling one up for himself.  Looking around, he noticed that Lois and Bernie were nowhere in sight.  Gary must have understood his puzzled glance, saying that his dad had gone for a stroll over an hour before, and his mother had gone looking for her husband a few minutes ago.

Polly noticed the tennis ball in Gary’s lap, as well as the way his left hand just seemed to lay there.  

“How’s the arm?” she asked.  “Has the feeling come back, yet?”

“Oh, there’s loads of feeling,” Gary was quick to assure her.  “A little too much, if you know what I mean.  So, um, so you guys had a nice flight?”

“It was okay,” William shrugged.  “Never really cared much for flyin’, myself.  The engines are too noisy and the scenery never changes,” he quipped.

“The ‘scenery’ hasn’t changed for you in nigh on thirty-two years, darlin’,” Polly chuckled kindly.  She patted his arm in a familiar manner, making Gary wonder how well, and how long, the two really knew each other.  Polly noticed his raised eyebrow and sly smile.  “Get yer mind outta the gutter, son.  We’ve been friends for years.  His wife and I went to college together for a while.”

This revelation surprised both of the younger men.  “Is there anyone you don’t know?” Jake asked incredulously.  “Gary said you’d met Clay long before he came to Chicago.  You know every doctor in six different hospitals around the city.  I’ve even heard you’ve traveled over most of the country, including Alaska.”

“That was a temp job,” Polly shrugged dismissively.  “Had to cover for a fella going to Bangkok on vacation.  There’s lots o’ people I don’t know.  I’ve never met a President, yet.  And this is the first time I’ve ever set foot in the White House.  Now, back to business.  Is that tennis ball all the therapy they have you doin’?  Diane would have a fit,” she grumbled at his desultory nod.  “How about massage?  Are they at least doin’ that?”

“Twice a day,” Gary nodded.  “And heat packs to keep the muscles limber.  The doc thinks there may still be some swelling around the nerve.  I seem to be prone to things like that,” he grumbled.

“Well, Diane gave me a few tips before we left,” the tech nodded.  “We’ll see if I can help, or if this is one of those things that has to happen in its own time.  Like the deal with your legs.”

Gary shuddered, his right hand unconsciously going to his wounded shoulder, as he recalled the months spent confined to a wheelchair before finally taking those first faltering steps.  It had been one of the worst periods of his life.  If not for the support of his family and friends, he seriously doubted that he would have made it.

“And that reminds me,” Polly grumbled.  “I thought you promised to be more careful.  The first I knew you were hurt . . . Well, let’s just say that I did not enjoy havin’ a seizure in front of God an’ everybody!”

“Sorry about that,” Gary murmured contritely.  “Things ‘ve been kinda weird from the get-go on this one.”

“That reminds me,” Jake chuckled, getting up and heading for the door.  “We brought someone else with us, but she stopped off to check out Lincoln’s bedroom.  Something about ‘the aura.’  I’d better go see what’s keeping her.”

Jake’s hand was still inches from the door when they heard voices on the other side, followed closely by a muted rapping.  Grinning at the close timing, Jake opened the door.  A short, stocky woman with light brownish hair came bustling in, followed closely by President Bartlett and Gary’s parents.  

“This is the most amazing place!” Claire greeted her friend enthusiastically.  “It’s like being at a spiritual convention!  You can’t go ten feet without sensing . . . something.  Sometimes they’re very faint, almost as if they’re just reliving fond memories.  A few really knock your socks off!  How’re ya doin’, Hobson?  Still getting flashes of the future?”

Gary submitted to her restrained embrace with good grace, even managing to return it, somewhat.  “It’s good to see you, too, Claire,” he chuckled.  “What are you doing here?  I haven’t seen you since, what, before last Christmas?  How’ve you been?”

“Great,” she replied, flashing Jake a grateful smile as he held a chair for her.  “It took a lot of talking on your cousin’s part to convince me he isn’t you.  And he said there are more of you?  A set of twins and someone else out west?  That is so incredible!  And . . .”

“W-wait a minute, Claire,” Gary murmured, holding up his good hand to cut off her flood of words.  He had noticed the confused look on his parents’ faces, and the President pointing at Claire‘s back, mouthing the words, ‘Who is she?’  “Um, Mom, Dad.  I’m sure you remember her from the, um, the hospital last year.  M-Mr. President.  This is Claire.  She’s, um, sh-she’s a psychic.  I guess Peter figured she could help w-with the, um, th-the haunting.  M-maybe we shoulda told him the situation kinda resolved itself.”

“Nonsense,” President Bartlett chuckled, extending his hand to the blushing psychic.  She had been in such a hurry to find Gary, the clairvoyant had scurried right past him and the Hobsons in the corridor.  “I don’t think I’ve ever met a genuine psychic before.  How do you do, madam?”

“Oh, my,” Claire murmured, her face scarlet.  “I should’ve sensed something when I passed you.  I am so embarrassed!  But this place is just flowing with energy!  It’s no wonder someone as sensitive as Gary should have trouble resting here.  It’s incredible!  It’s . . .”  She broke off suddenly, her face clouding in confusion as she turned back to Gary.  “There was something dark here,” she murmured.  “No.  Not one.  Two entities.  Very dark.”  She hugged herself and shivered, as if feeling a sudden chill.  “This man hasn’t been dead long.  Five, almost six years.  And he didn’t die here.  But he worked here once.  ‘The soul is a country unto itself.’  Does that mean any . . . Gary?  Are you all right?”

Gary had lost what little color he had as a chill struck through him to the bone at Claire’s words.  He swallowed convulsively, looking away as he fought to get his breath.  Those words, like everything J.T. Marley had said that day, had been burned into his brain.

“I think we’d better send for the doctor,” Jed Bartlett murmured, alarmed at Hobson’s sudden pallor.  He stepped closer to the stricken man, placing a comforting hand on his arm.  The President was aware of Lois and Bernie crowding in from the other side.  “What’s wrong, Mr. Hobson?  Are you in pain?”

“N-not physically,” Gary stammered.  “No.  I-it’s okay.  J-just, um, just never expected . . . Christ almighty!  When is that bastard gonna leave me alone?” he whispered.

“What bastard, son?” Bernie asked anxiously.  “Who are you talking about?”

“J.T. Marley,” William murmured from his seat.  Everyone turned to look at him, taking some of the focus off of Gary, as he had intended.  “The man who tried to assassinate your predecessor, Mr. President.  Forgive my breech of ethics, Gary, but the man damned near killed you.  He has no business messin’ up your life, now.”

“Oh, my lord,” Lois sighed, noticing the other man for the first time.  “Another one.  Gary, you have got to finish that family tree.  This is getting way beyond weird.”

“I’m getting a little confused,” the President murmured.  “Are you another relative?”

“S-sorry, Mom.  Um, guys, M-Mr. President, my psychiatrist.  Dr. William Griner,” Gary stammered out by way of introduction.  “He’s . . . well, he’s, um . . .”

“Visually impaired,” William drawled laconically as he stood to shake hands with the trio.  “So pleased to finally meet ya’ll.”

“Gary’s such a chatterbox,” Lois commented dryly, taking his hand.  “He’s told us absolutely nothing about you,” she added, giving her son an exasperated glance.  

Gary didn’t notice.  His eyes were still staring out at nothing, his right hand rubbing his wounded shoulder as his mind whirled around the events of that fateful day.  ‘You’re a traitor,’ he’d said to Marley.  ‘A man without a country.’  To which Marley had replied, ‘The soul is a country unto itself.’  ‘But you don’t have a soul,’ Gary had countered, trying desperately to distract the killer from his bloody purpose.  ‘If I need one, I borrow one,’ Marley had said with a negligent shrug.  

As he had tried to borrow, no, steal; Marley had been trying to steal Gary’s soul that day.  To frame him, posthumously, for the murder of the President, as well as the murder of the real Agent Dobbs whose body was concealed under plastic sheeting just a few feet away.  If not for the timely arrival of the Chicago PD, Marley would’ve succeeded in his nefarious purpose.  Instead, he had fallen dead at Gary’s feet, providing ample fodder for years of sleepless nights.

“H-he came back,” Gary murmured numbly.  His mud puddle green eyes continued to stare into the middle distance.  “The bastard wasn’t satisfied with almost killing me.  He still wants to finish the job.  His son failed, so he came back to do it himself.”  He looked up into a ring of concerned faces.  Only the President and the Secret Service agent showed any signs of disbelief.  “Can you explain it, then?” he challenged them.  “What tore this room up yesterday?  Wh-what was it that made me so weak I-I could barely breathe when I was supposed to be getting better?  A-and how did I recover so quickly after it was over?”  He looked directly at Claire, his eyes frightened.  “Is it over?  Could he still be here?”

“No,” she assured him, her voice gentle, but confident.  “Something, some more powerful force, drove him away.  You said something tore the room up?”  Claire watched his face carefully, not liking what she saw.  Gary was almost in shock.  “That was most likely him pitching a fit because he couldn’t have his way.  Like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum.  He’s gone from here, Hobson.  Completely and utterly vanished.  All that’s left is a sort of . . . residue.  Like the aftertaste left behind when you throw up.  Nauseating, but harmless.”

“Didn’t feel so harmless yesterday,” Gary shuddered.  “I could actually feel myself getting weaker.  I-it was so hard to stay awake.  Then, all hell broke loose, a-and there was glass everywhere . . .”  His voice broke off as his eyes sought, and found, his Dad.  “You never said, Dad.  How bad were you hurt?  Wh-when you were . . . were shielding me, I could hear things hitting you.  Did I thank you for protecting me?”

“Yes, you did,” Bernie replied with a rueful grin.  He should’ve known Gary would remember that, if nothing else.  “The doc took me for x-rays.  Nothing broken, but my back is gonna be pretty colorful for a while.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Gary murmured in apology.  “You guys might be safer if I go some . . .”

“You finish that thought, young man,” Lois growled, “and wounded or not, I will take you over my knee.  Don’t you even hint at going off on your own!  We’re in this as a family, whether you like it or not.”  Her words were backed with a chorus of ‘Here, here!’ in which even the President and the anonymous Secret Service agent joined in.  William had resumed his seat with a sly smile.

Gary opened his mouth to protest, not wanting his family or friends to risk injury for his sake, only to be distracted by the arrival of a familiar orange fur ball.  The omniscient tabby jumped up into his lap, rearing up and placing its paws on Gary’s chest.  The cat brought his face close to the human’s and meowed loudly.  

“Great,” Gary grumbled, rubbing the striped head and breaking into a tired grin.  “Even the cat is against me.  I guess I’m out voted.  So, um, wh-what’s for lunch?”

************

“You have a hell of a support system, Gary,” William commented with a dry chuckle as he settled back in his chair.  It was an hour later.  They had all enjoyed a hot lunch, which, to Gary’s delight, included soup, vegetables, and meat that his mother had to cut up for him.  It was cooked almost tender enough to cut with his fork, and delicious.  Besides he really didn‘t mind the extra attention.  The others had then pleaded other business, leaving the two alone for a much needed therapy session.  “It’s not many people who’d take on the kind of danger you’re in right now.”

“You did,” Gary pointed out, looking around.  At his insistence, there was no recording equipment in evidence.  “You’re here, too.  Like it or not, your resemblance to me puts you and Jake in just as much danger as I’m in.  If Buddy and Clay were here, the same would go for them.  Last year, well, I got a taste of what a case of mistaken identity could lead to.  A convict on death row in Montana managed to reach all the way down to Texas and almost killed me, thinking I was Clay.  Three times,” he added ruefully.  “I’m beginning to feel like the center of a bull’s eye.”

“And you once more encountered the paranormal,” William nodded.  “I do remember you tellin’ me about that when you got back.  How did that incident resolve itself?  Did you ever find that saddle?”

“Yeah!” Gary chuckled.  “That’s why I missed our appointment last month.  I was in the hospital with pneumonia and smoke inhalation after, well, it was a busy day.”  He quickly told of discovering the missing Civil War saddle in a private collection that was being threatened by a fire.  The owner and his family had been so grateful to Gary, they had given him the McClellan saddle.

“And this picture Jake was tellin’ me about was inside?” William murmured incredulously.

“Yes,” Gary nodded.  “In a secret compartment.  They had it in a box made of teak, and packed with cotton so tight, no one ever suspected it was there.  I guess it also protected everything against dryness and humidity, because they were perfectly preserved.  Now I’m fielding offers from both the Smithsonian and the White House.  Secretly, I think that’s one of the reason’s they wanna keep me alive,” he chuckled dryly.  “I’ll never sell that photo.  It’s too important to me.  I might loan it out for display, from time to time, though.”

“Let’s talk about why you’re here, in the first place,” William suggested, changing the subject.  “Tell me how that came about,”

Hesitantly, unsure how much he could safely reveal to the analyst without sounding too crazy, Gary told of meeting the two NSA agents.  He then related the events leading up to his hurried flight to the Capitol city.  His voice broke a few times as he described the kidnapping, the brutal torture at the hands of his old enemy’s son, and the timely rescue by the two agents.  He faltered over the voice, and the vision, at the train station, still a little unsure if it had been real, or a delusion brought on by his recent ordeal and his own failing strength.

“You think you were looking for excuses?” William asked.  “In case you failed?”

“P-pretty much,” Gary murmured, looking down at his useless hand.  “I mean, I was in a little over my head, wouldn’t you say?  A-and here was this voice telling me I was meant to fail, this time.  Th-that I was practically ordered to.”

“But you went on,” William observed kindly.  “Even in the face of that, you put everything you had into stoppin’ those trains from collidin’.  That took remarkable courage, Gary.  Did you see yourself as defyin’ God?”

“No,” Gary stated firmly, his voice conveying his conviction.  “I can’t see God wanting something like that to happen.  I just can’t.  I mean, why let me know about it ahead of time if he didn’t want it stopped?  God doesn’t work that way.  Not the God I was taught to believe in.  When it was over, this . . . person . . . she was angry.  Not just at me, though.  At herself, too.  Like she was the one who’d failed.”  He rubbed his right hand against his left arm, chilled by the flaccid feel of the muscles.  “We, um, we thought it was all over, then.  The express was almost a mile down the track, already.  The Vice President’s train was safely out of the way, and the . . .”  He paused to lick suddenly dry lips.  “The only people . . . dead,” he murmured, “were some of the men behind it.  O-one of them died at the warehouse.  I, um, I-I felt his . . . It was just like b-before.  With Savalas.  I could s-see the look . . . on his face.  F-feel his heart . . . stop.”  Gary paused, wiping at the tears trickling down his cheeks, as he looked away, ashamed of this show of weakness.

“The man was holding you against your will, Gary,” William murmured, leaning forward in his seat.  “He was one of the people who were torturin’ you, intent on killin’ you.  You have no guilt in his death, or in any of the others who died that day.  You were more of a victim than they were!”

“That doesn’t make them any less dead, does it?” Gary asked when he at last found his voice.  “It doesn’t absolve me . . . of what I saw, or in being relieved . . . that it was them instead of me.”

“It’s called survivor’s guilt,” William sighed, sitting back in his chair.  “I see it almost every day.  You’re human, Gary.  Accept that.  No matter how many lives you save, there’s always gonna be those you can’t get to in time, or who can’t be deterred from their chosen actions, or who just don’t want to be saved.  Leave matters of guilt or innocence to the courts.  Or to God.  Just go on doin’ the best you can.  It’s all you can do.”

“I-I guess you’re right,” Gary nodded with a shuddering sigh.  “But it’s hard.  Dear Lord, it’s hard.  A-anyway, we thought it was all over, that everyone was safe.  Then . . . I was shot.  I don’t think I even heard it, this time.  Just felt this . . . like being hit with the world’s biggest fist.  I remember staggering, and grabbing onto something, Parker’s arm, I think.  Then I was on the ground, and he was trying to keep my back off the gravel.  I think he tore off another piece of my shirt.  It was getting kinda ragged by then.  Not much left of it.”

“And that was when your old girlfriend showed up,” Dr. Griner prompted.  This was the part that he sensed was really eating at Gary.  

“Yeah,” the injured man murmured softly.  “M-Meredith.  She’s, um, she’s a reporter.  A member of the Press Corps.  I-it kinda threw me, at first.  I guess I was hurtin’ too bad to think straight.  And I was starting to blackout.  Th-things were getting . . . fuzzy.  Th-then this . . . this little boy came . . . H-he called her . . . called her ‘Mommy.’  He looked right at me, a-and I could see his eyes.  My eyes,” he whispered.  “M-my son . . . has . . . my eyes.”

And there it was, William thought with a mental sigh.  All of Gary’s dreams tied up in one neat little package.  A package that he dare not open.  Moving carefully, William eased out of his chair and groped his way over to the quietly sobbing man.  He knelt in front of Gary’s seat and gently pulled him forward, forcing the patient to lean on his doctor for support.  Both physically and emotionally.  Gary finally laid his head on Dr. Griner’s shoulder, his good arm encircling the broad back as he gave vent to his overwhelming pain and grief.

************

“He’s resting, now,” William informed the small group seated in the antechamber of the Oval Office a few minutes later.  Charlie, the President’s aide, guided him to a seat.  “This whole experience has been pushin’ the limits for ‘im.  Not that that hasn’t happened before.”

“From what everyone’s been telling me,” Vice President Hoyne murmured, “his limits are constantly expanding.  With everything he’s gone through, lately, I’d be a basket case!”

“Amen,” President Bartlett agreed.  “It’s absolutely incredible that this young man hasn’t come to our attention before!”

“Gary avoids publicity as much as possible,” Lois sighed.  “He feels that he wasn’t given this ‘gift,’ whatever it is, for that purpose.  And this isn’t the first time it’s put his life in danger.”

“Lately,” Bernie sighed, “he’s managed to attract all the wrong attention.  This Marley character, for one.  That Neff fella out west, for another.  When we got the word that Jaggs Neff had been taken back to Montana and executed, Gary, well, he didn’t know what to feel.  He was in the hospital at the time.  Yeah, yeah.  I know.  Big surprise.  Anyway, he was in there for pneumonia, this time.  It was right after that guy gave Gary the Civil War saddle and he found the medal and that picture.  The twins called and said they had gone to witness the execution.  Clay said that, when Neff saw them, he went ballistic.  Screamin’ and yellin’ that he’d haunt them for the rest of their lives.  That he’d come back from the grave to get even.”

“That’s all you need,” President Bartlett snorted.  “A ghost haunting all four of you.”

“Except that Gary will be the only one of us who could see him,” Jake spoke up.  “Which is kinda unfair, if you think about it.  I mean, how can we help him if we don’t know what he’s going through?”

“Trust me,” Claire sighed.  “You don’t want to know.  Hobson’s going through something that I’ve only just skimmed the surface of.  You can study this stuff for a lifetime, and still not know everything there is to know.  Hobson . . . he seems to live in uncharted territory.”

“So, how did he take the news of Neff’s execution?” Jake asked.  “I took Joanie out, that night and, well, we didn’t exactly celebrate, but I can’t say I’m sorry he’s gone.”

“He brooded about it for days,” Lois sighed.  “He felt sorry for Neff, I think.  You know, you can’t help wondering what makes a person so twisted that they can do the kind of horrible things that Neff did to my son.  Someone like Gary, well, he feels that no one is beyond hope of redemption.  To run up against monsters like Neff and the Marleys, it . . . it shakes up the very foundations of his faith in humanity.”

“Speaking of Marley,” the President murmured.  “My head of security got a call from the District Police Department today.  They want to send a man over to talk with your son.  See if he’s remembered anything more that could be helpful.”

“I doubt it,” Bernie sighed.  “From what Gary told us,” he added, waving a hand to include Lois and himself, “Marley was the one asking all the questions.  And he wasn’t goin’ out of his way to be nice about it, either.”

*********

Lois went in to check on Gary after everyone else had scattered in pursuit of other diversions.  She found him sleeping peacefully, the cat snuggled up against his injured shoulder.  Ever since the orange feline had started sleeping close to Gary, his sleep had been much more restful, for which Lois was thankful.  Her son had enough to worry about when he was awake.

Pulling a chair up next to the bed, she couldn’t resist the urge to brush a lock of his thick, dark hair from his forehead.  Gary turned his face into the cup of her palm, murmuring inaudibly.  Lois stroked his cheek in a gesture so familiar, it brought tears to her eyes.  She wondered what was going through his mind.  Was he dreaming about Geran?  Was he aching to hold his child as she and Bernie had held him?  Thinking back, she marveled anew at the existence of the grandchild she had craved for so long.  It had been so wonderful to take him in her arms and hold him close, to feel the flutter of his tiny heart, beating against hers.  To marvel at how closely he resembled his father, even to the tiny birthmark just below his right sideburn.  

From what Meredith had said, Gary had been given only that one brief glimpse, just before he had passed out at the train station.  Did he know just how much like his father the child really was?  Had he heard those clear, childish tones as the little boy spoke with his father’s voice?  A voice Lois still carried in her fondest memories of Gary at that age.  Did he dream, as she did, of taking Geran to ballgames, on picnics?  Did he wonder what it would be like to walk his son to school for the first time?  Did Gary feel cheated of having heard his child speak his first words, take his first faltering steps?  Was it eating away at his heart, not having been given the chance to hold his child moments after he was born?  Would he ever know that joy?  Would he even allow himself to dwell on these missed opportunities, or would he block them from his mind, as he often did with subjects too painful to deal with?

The cat reached over and patted her hand in an oddly comforting gesture, looking up at her with half-open, golden orbs.  He purred deep in his tiny chest, as if to let her know that Gary was being well looked after.  Lois stroked that orange head, marveling at the intelligence in those heavy-lidded eyes.  There were times she hated what the cat represented, what Gary had gone through on behalf of the forces behind the Paper.  Still, she found herself grateful for whatever peace the purring tabby could bring him.

He’d had so little, of late.

***********

Dimly, Gary could hear the sounds of music and laughter.  Somewhere in the floor below his room, there was a party going on.  A gala, actually.  The Vice President and his wife had decided that Lois and Bernie should be included in the festivities, even to the extent of providing them with appropriate attire.  It pleased Gary to no end that his parents were receiving such special treatment.  They had endured so much on his behalf, and this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.  It didn’t bother him, in the least, that he was, as yet, unable to attend such an event.  Mixing and mingling was not his forte.  The promised dinner with the President, Vice President, and their families was more his speed.  Gary hadn’t gotten out much in the last few years.

He listened to the distant sounds of merriment, imagining that he could make out his mother’s tinkling laugh.  She had a wonderful laugh that he had missed when he first left home.  And was that his dad’s guffaw?  Pleased, Gary snuggled deeper into his pillow as the morphine kicked in and he drifted back to sleep.  

The cat, its tiny orange body curled tightly against the human it served as both guide and protector, raised its head and uttered a low growl.  The Special Agent, who had been stretched out on the cot near the French doors, leapt to his feet instantly.  His hand automatically went to the pistol grip protruding from his shoulder holster.  His first instinct was to check the door to the adjoining room, and then he noticed the cat’s glowing eyes were aimed in his direction.  Puzzled, he turned to look over his shoulder, at the doors leading to the balcony.  Could someone have gotten past security and penetrated that far?  Listening intently, he silently placed one hand on the door handle, careful not to rattle it.  

The handle slowly moved under his hand.  Not much, just enough so that he was sure of what he felt.  Slowly drawing his gun and holding it close to his ear, he eased the hammer back.  He waited, sure that an attack of some kind was imminent.  

“I’ve got movement on the balcony,” he whispered into his radio.  The microphone was sensitive enough to pick up even that faint sound.  His first instinct was to fling open the doors and corner the suspect.  His duty, however, was to stay by Hobson’s side and defend the sedated man.  With his life, if necessary.

“We copy,” came the muted reply in his earpiece.  “We’ll check it out.  Hold your position.”

Almost in the same instant, there came the sound of running feet, followed immediately by others as his fellow agents gave pursuit.  Edward Chisholm held his place until the word came that the intruder had escaped over the north wall.  Easing the hammer back from the cocked position, he returned his gun to its holster.  The danger was past.  For tonight, at least.  He turned back to study his peacefully sleeping charge, thankful that nothing more had come of the incident.  At the same time, he regretted that they had been unable to apprehend the would-be assailant.

Just what kind of man attracted such animosity, he wondered?  From what he had learned of Hobson, both from his file and from Meredith, he was not the type to go out of his way to irritate people.  

So, how did such a nice guy end up in such a mess?

**********

SUNDAY MARCH 3, THE WHITE HOUSE - 0700 HRS

Gary awakened to quiet, for once, the orange tabby plucking at his covers with a single claw.  Carefully turning onto his right side, Gary peered out the French doors to see bright sunshine pouring in through the sheer curtains.  It looked like a beautiful spring morning.  A shame to have to spend it indoors, he mused.  He noticed that his guard of the previous night was absent, and another had already taken his place.  The man was reading a newspaper as he sipped at a cup of coffee.  Gary felt a momentary surge of panic as he scooted up in bed.  Was that his Paper?

“Um, s’cuse me,” he murmured, catching the agent’s attention.  “I-is that today’s paper?”

“Yes, it is,” the man nodded.  “Picked it up on my way to work.  Did you want to read it?  I’m through with the front page.”

“Y-yes, please,” Gary stammered, suppressing a sigh of relief.  The cat must’ve left The Paper with his parents.  Gratefully accepting the periodical, he skimmed over the headlines.  So far, his name had yet to find its way into print.  A fact for which Gary was profoundly thankful!  Satisfied, he gave the pages back to the anonymous guard and settled back for a few more minutes of sleep.

“Well, look who’s awake!” Lois greeted him an hour later as she held the door open for the waiter pushing the breakfast cart.  “How do you feel, sweetie?  Did you sleep well?”

“Slept fine, Mom,” Gary murmured drowsily.  He rolled back over and awkwardly scooted himself up in bed.  The smells coming from the covered tray already had his mouth watering.  “Do I smell bacon?”

“And a cheese omelet,” his dad chuckled.  He entered two steps behind the waiter, both hands stuffed in his pockets as he strolled into the room.  “We even have some Fancy Feast for the fur-ball.”  He stepped over to the bed and picked up the purring feline.  “Hey, buddy.  You like chicken?  You look like the chicken type.”

“Chicken’s his favorite,” Gary confirmed with a sleepy smile.  “Mornin’, Dad. Mom.  How was dinner with the President last night?”

“Just wonderful,” Lois smiled wistfully, her mind drifting back to the gala scene.  “Your father looked so very handsome in his tuxedo.”

“You didn’t look too shabby, yourself, in that dark green satin number,” Bernie reminded her with a sly smile.  “Made me jealous, the way all those guys were fawning all over you.”

“Wish I’d ‘ve been there to see it,” Gary chuckled.  He thanked the waiter, as the tray was set across his lap.  “You two don’t dress up very often.  Have you had breakfast, yet?  Y-you could join me, if you haven’t.  There’s plenty here.”  He was pleased that his parents were having such a good time.  They had spent so much of the last few years worrying about him; he felt fresh pangs of guilt every time he took a risk of any kind.  Still, he saw no other way around his responsibilities to the Paper.  “You’d think this was my last meal, the way they’ve loaded this tray.”  He paused, his hand hovering over the fork, and gave his mother a sideways grin.  “Y-you guys aren’t holding back anything, are you?”

“Whatever makes you think that, hon?” Lois asked as she adjusted the pillow behind his back.  She gave the abundance of food a quick glance.  “Oh my.  They did sort of pile it on, didn’t they?  Bernie, see if they left a couple of extra plates on that cart.  There’s enough food here for all three of us, plus some!  There’s pancakes, French toast, and . . . there must be some mistake.  You’re still on a bland diet.  You shouldn’t . . . Gary!  Put down that sausage!”

Gary popped the sausage link into his mouth before she could stop him.  He paused in mid-chew, closing his eyes and heaving a sigh of purest bliss before finishing.  He then gave his mom a mischievous grin.  

“You’re in a good mood this morning,” his dad observed, pulling up a chair and helping himself to a couple of the pancakes and some sausage.  “You must’ve slept pretty good.  No nightmares?”

“Um-mm,” Gary replied around a mouthful of omelet.  “It’s weird, but for the last couple of nights I’ve been sleeping pretty good.  Started to have a doozy of a dream the other night, a real Stephen King film fest.  Then . . . I don’t seem to remember any more dreams at all.  Just a feeling of . . . peace, I guess you’d call it.  Whatever’s behind it, I’m not complaining.  I really needed the rest.  Hey, Dad.  Try some of this omelet.  It’s great.  You, too, Mom.  This thing is a monster.”

He quickly divided the huge omelet into thirds and tried to serve it up one-handed, only to have his mom take over when he almost dropped the plate.  For the next few minutes, the three of them enjoyed this brief respite from the series of traumas that had become Gary’s life.  For Bernie and Lois, it was a welcome change to see Gary smiling and joking with them.  He had always been so serious, even as a child.  Moments of real joy, for him, had been few and far between.  Lois found it hard to remember the last time she had heard him laugh.  Not just a nervous chuckle, but a real, from the heart, guffaw.  For this one, precious moment she would always be grateful to President Bartlett and his staff.  They had, in her opinion, gone out of their way to make them feel welcome and to look after Gary’s welfare, in particular.

“If nobody minds,” Gary said, taking a sip of his coffee, “I’d like to walk around outside for a little while.  You know, tour the rose garden, maybe.  It just looks like too pretty of a day to be cooped up.  Besides, I need to stretch my legs some, or I’ll forget how to walk more than ten feet at a time.  Do . . . do you realize I haven’t been anywhere but the bathroom since I’ve been here?  And this is the White House!”

Lois and Bernie exchanged contemplative looks.  Speaking in that special ESP that only people who have lived most of their lives together could share, they came to an agreement.

“We think it’s a wonderful idea,” Lois told him.  “You’ve been looking much too pale.”

“A little time in the sun might be just the thing to put some color in your cheeks,” Bernie nodded.  “Maybe Dr. Griner or some of the others might like to join you.  Your Mom and I, well, we like it better by moonlight.”

Gary shot his parents a startled look, amused by the slow flush crawling up his mother’s cheeks.  Bernie was looking a little ‘rosy,’ too.  Gary fought to suppress a big, sly grin as he pictured his parents strolling hand-in-hand down a moonlit path, surrounded by the smell of roses in bloom.  Of course, it was too early in the year for them to actually be blooming.  Still, it was a nice picture.  He ducked his head, suddenly very interested in a piece of French toast.

“So, um,” he murmured, trying hard not to smile, “you guys’re, um, enjoying your stay?  Keeping busy?”  

“Oh.  Yes.” Lois replied, nodding vigorously.  “Very, um, very busy.  Th-there’s so much to do here!  There’re the, um, the museums, and the theater.”

“The parks and the monuments,” Bernie added, a little too quickly.

“Historic tours,” Lois hurried to add.  “And the zoo!  Oh, the zoo was wonderful!  You’d love the zoo, Gary!”

“Whoa!”  Gary held up his good hand, a big grin splitting his handsome features as he tried to curb their ‘enthusiasm.’  “I’m only talking about a few minutes of fresh air!  We’ll save the grand tour for when I’m a little steadier on my feet, okay?”  

“You’re right, dear,” Lois giggled, blushing a little.  Nowhere near as red as she had been a moment before, though.  “Still, you shouldn’t be alone.  And I don’t mean a squadron of Special Agents walking four paces on either side of you.  Someone you can talk to, at least.  Claire, maybe.  Or that Ms. Gannon.  She’s a little strange, but I kind of like her.”

“Claire and Polly are planning a tour of haunted houses this morning,” Gary chuckled.  He pushed his plate aside with a satisfied sigh.  “Dr. Griner is expecting a friend to drop by today.  Some teammate from his old unit.  So, I guess it’s Jake and me, then.  Do you think he’d like that?  Escorting his poor, decrepit cousin on a morning stroll?”

“Oh, he is in a jolly mood,” Bernie chuckled to his wife.  “I’ll ask ‘im.  The two of you haven’t had much time to really get to know each other.  That vacation you four took last year, it didn’t exactly turn into the ‘bonding’ experience you guys were looking for.”

Recalling that ill-fated trip with a shudder, Gary had to agree.

******

The dark-clad figure silently emerged from his shadowy concealment.  It had taken a substantial bribe to coerce a low-level intern into smuggling them onto the premises the day before, and they were still nowhere near their goal.  If not for the sudden appearance of half a dozen bodyguards just as he had reached Hobson’s balcony, it would all be over.  Whatever insight into the future the young Chicagoan possessed would have died with him in a single, well-placed shot.  It had taken some fancy footwork to elude his pursuers and convince them that both he and his co-conspirator had fled over the north wall.  Now, it was up to him.  He would have to pick his chance carefully.  One was all he was likely to get.  Hobson had yet to leave his room, so his best bet was to try to get into a position for a long shot through the French doors.  The doors overlooking the rose garden.

*********

Jake helped Gary descend the broad staircase leading to the first floor.  It was the first time the young barkeep had been out of his room since awakening there almost a week before.  It was also the first time he had tried to walk more than twenty feet since his initial ordeal.  If not for Jake’s arm to steady him, he doubted that he would’ve made it down the stairs in one piece.

“You know,” Jake murmured as they neared the last step, “I’ve heard rumors that there’s an elevator around here somewhere.”

“Good thing, too,” Gary huffed as he clung to the railing.  “I don’t know if I can climb this monster on the way back.”  He was dressed in his usual jeans and flannel shirt.  His mother had brought him one of a solid hickory color, saying that he needed a change of pace.  Which made Gary wonder what the color of his shirt had to do with anything.  Still, it was clean, warm, and comfortable.  What more could he ask?   Especially as his mother had thrown a tan jacket about his shoulders, to ward off the cold.  

They finally made it to the entrance to the rose garden, where Jake guided his cousin to a nearby wrought iron bench.  Gary eased onto the metal seat and leaned back with a grateful sigh.

“M-maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he murmured tiredly.  “I had no idea I was this weak!”

“You lost a lot of blood, Gary,” Jake reminded him as he, too, took a seat.  “Plus whatever happened the day before we got here.  Which, they tell me, was straight from a Spielberg movie.  And you haven’t been in the best shape to begin with, lately.  I’ve heard that the effects of pneumonia can hang in there for quite a while.  And how’s your back doing these days?”

“Okay!” Gary grumbled good-naturedly.  “I get the picture.  I shouldn’t go out for the ‘Iron Man Triathlon’ anytime soon.  Still, it’s nice to get outside, y’know?  I’m beginning to feel like a hothouse flower.  So many people,” he added, waving a hand at the hovering Special Agent standing on alert just a few feet away, “watching my every move.  Almost like they’re afraid I’ll faint if someone sneezes.  It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been . . . What are you laughing about?”

“You were about to say it’s not . . . not the first time you’ve been hurt,” Jake chuckled.  “That has to be the understatement of a lifetime!  Gary, from what I’ve heard, you almost ended up in a casket half a dozen times in the past coupla years alone!  At least twice since I’ve known you!  Aren’t you a little young, yet, for a midlife crisis?”

“The way you describe it,” Gary snorted, “it sounds more like an ‘end of life’ crisis.  Honestly, I’m not trying to get myself killed.  I-it, well, it’s complicated.”

“So uncomplicate it,” Jake suggested.  “Figure out what’s got your life so screwed up and change it.”

**********

The assassin couldn’t believe his luck.  There was his target, leaning on the arm of another man whose face was turned so that it was hard to make out his features.  They were followed by a guard who stayed no more than four paces behind.  The man in the suit helped the target onto a bench, and then sat down to his right.  Only then did the sniper get a good look at the other man.  Stunned, he rubbed at his eyes.  Two of them!  Which one was his target?

**********

“It’s not that simple,” Gary sighed, shaking his head sadly.  “The thing that screws it up the most is the same thing that gives it meaning.  That makes me feel that I actually matter in the grand scheme of things.  Pathetic, isn’t it?”

Jake let his breath out in a ‘whoosh’ of sympathy as he patted Gary’s good shoulder.  “Yeah,” he sighed.  “That is pathetic.  Not exactly what you had in mind when you left home for the first time, I take it.”

“You take it right,” Gary agreed miserably.  He looked up at a robin hopping around on the branch of a nearby tree.  “I had all the same dreams of most guys our age.  Finding the love of my life, making a home, a family.  That sorta thing.  I thought I had it . . . then . . . it was gone.  Poof!  I was alone again.  Since then . . . well, my life hasn’t exactly been stable enough to make me a good catch.”

“So now you’re a poor fish,” Jake nodded.  “Swimming all alone in his tiny pond.”

***********

He had to make a decision.  Quickly.  His window of opportunity was growing narrower by the second.  If he couldn’t choose one, he’d have to take out both of them.  Carefully, he lined up his shot.  The one with the sling.  He was the most likely target.

***********

With a derisive snort, Gary leaned forward and shot his cousin an amused look.  “Does this,” he asked, waving his good hand at their surroundings, “look like a ‘small pond’ to you?”

Whatever Jake was going to say in reply was cut off as the young banker gave a startled cry, clutching at his left arm!  Without thinking, Gary dragged him off the bench and pushed him behind a tree, keeping himself between his cousin and any further gunfire.  At almost the same instant, the Secret Service agent had moved to cover Gary, who had yet to even hear the shot.

“Jesus Christ!” Jake hissed through clenched teeth, his right hand clasped tightly over the bloody wound.  “This hurts!”

“Like I don’t know that?” Gary murmured.  “Be still.  That bastard’s still out there.”

“Not for long,” the agent remarked, indicating the teams of suited men closing in from each side.  “He’s gone or he’s toast.  I’m voting for toast.”

“You’ve got my vote,” Jake grunted in agreement.  “I can’t believe I’ve been shot!  Man, Joanie’s gonna have a fit!”  

“Let me explain it to her,” Gary suggested, ducking instinctively as more shots rang out.  “She’ll see you as the ‘conquering hero,’ when I’m through.”  He cried out, falling back, as pain seared along his left side.  “Christ almighty!  Do these guys hate ‘lefties’ or something?”  He looked down as blood welled from a deep furrow that followed his lower ribs.  “Man, this is getting old,” he groaned, plucking at his bloody shirt with his good hand.  “Mom just bought this shirt, yesterday.”

Less than five minutes later it was all over.  The shooter was cornered and chose to go down fighting in a fanatical, and useless gesture.   As soon as it was safe, both cousins were hustled back into Gary’s room and the doctor summoned.  Gary insisted that he look at Jake first, since this was a new experience for the banker.

The bullet had pierced the muscle of Jake’s upper arm, but had missed the bone, Dr. Michaels happily reported.  He numbed and sutured the wounds, wrapping it all in a pressure bandage, then gave Jake a hefty shot of antibiotics, and some pills for the pain.  Then it was Gary’s turn.  

“Well,” he sighed, “we don’t need x-rays to see that no ribs are broken.  I can see them just fine.  You might as well settle back, Mr. Hobson.  This may take awhile.”

“Wonderful,” Gary murmured.  “Just what I need.  Good thing I’m already full of antibiotics from the last one.  Saves me at least one . . . what’s that for?”

“You don’t get off that easy,” Dr. Michaels chuckled as he filled the second syringe.  “You got exposed to a whole new set of bacteria, so you get a whole new range of meds.  This first one is to numb the wound.  The second is to stave off infection.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Gary accused the physician.  

“Not in the least,” the doctor grinned as he tapped the syringe to clear out trapped air bubbles.  “This won’t hurt . . . much.”

What Gary had to say at that point is best left to the imagination.

***********

“Boy,” Jake murmured an hour later, sitting in the lobby with Polly, Claire, and William after they had returned from their outings.  “It’s a good thing his parents weren’t there.  I don’t think he learned that kinda language from them!  Wow!”  He adjusted his arm in the sling the doctor had insisted he use, trying to find a comfortable position.  “Of course, if his hurts as bad as mine, I can’t say that I blame ‘im.”

“Gary’s been through this a lot more than you have,” Polly reminded him, rubbing absently at her left ribs.  “Hell, a lot more than anyone has!  Hopefully, this will be your first, and last GSW.  That’s medical shorthand for gunshot wound, in case ya’ll were wonderin’.  I imagine he’s a might perturbed at being laid up for so long, then getting set back almost to square one.  He wants to go home, and he can’t while that Marley character is on the loose.  Granted, this is one of the classiest places you could wish for, but, if you can’t leave when you want to, it’s still a prison.”

William merely nodded as he listened to the others discuss Gary’s situation.  They all knew that all they had to do to be free was walk out the front door, climb into a limousine, and ride to the nearest airport.  Marley knew nothing of them, or where they lived.  He knew way too much about Gary’s whereabouts and activities.  That, as much as anything else, had to be wearing his patience pretty thin. Add to it the burden of keeping his son a secret from everyone involved, it was no wonder that his temper might be getting a little frayed.

“I think, maybe, Gary’s feeling a mite guilty,” the psychiatrist sighed.  “He feels that your injuries are his fault.  Whether because of your resemblance or proximity to him at the time, he probably feels that it should’ve been him, rather than you.”

“You’ve pretty much nailed it, I think,” Claire chuckled.  “That display of temper you saw, Jake, was aimed more at himself, than anyone else.  So, how does it feel to be among the walking wounded, Evans?”

“To tell the truth,” Jake replied with a pained grimace, “I thought Gary expressed himself very well, back there.  For both of us.  Well,” he sighed, pushing himself to his feet, “I’ve gotta find a phone and some privacy.  I promised to let Joanie know how Gary was doing, and what the President was really like in person.  Oh, and don’t let me forget pictures!  If I go home without at least four rolls of film, she’ll think something was wrong!”

“Jake,” William chuckled, “you’ve been shot.  She might excuse you a coupla rolls.”

“I’m sure she will,” Jake grinned as he headed for the door.  “Otherwise I’d need six.  Catch you later, guys.”

**********

Half an hour later, Jake had finished his call home and had decided to check in on Gary.  He got turned around a couple of times, but finally found himself headed down the right corridor.  At least, it looked like the right one.  He was just passing one of the broad staircases when a pretty, auburn-haired woman came up, leading a small boy by the hand.  The boy took one look at Jake and let out a squeal of delight!  Before Jake could blink twice, the child had both his little arms wrapped around the young banker’s legs!  Stunned and embarrassed, he gave the woman a puzzled smile, trying to gently disengage the little boy.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you up and around,” the woman sighed.  “Ever since my son, Geran, saw you at the station, he’s been worried sick that you’d died!”  She wrapped her arms around Jake‘s neck, pulling him close.  “I still haven’t told him,” she whispered.  “He doesn’t know that you’re his . . . that we . . . h-he’s too young to understand.”  Releasing her hold, the woman stepped back, brushing back a stray curl.  “I-it’s so nice of you to take the time to reassure him that you’re okay,” she stammered nervously, and a little louder than necessary.

“My daddy was ‘tecting you last night,” the little boy piped up, stepping back to look up at the much taller man.  “Did you see ‘im?  Was he brave?”

Smiling uncertainly, Jake knelt before the proud, and inquisitive child.  Getting a good look at the boy for the first time, Jake was instantly struck by the resemblance to himself, as he must have looked at that age.  The clear, intelligent eyes were exactly the same as those he saw in his shaving mirror each morning.  There was even a tiny birthmark . . . Suddenly, he knew whose child this was.  Whose son it had to be.

“Yes, Geran,” he said seriously, ignoring the pain in his arm and wrapping the boy in a fierce embrace.  “I saw your daddy, and he was very brave!”

*************

It was a much-subdued Jake Evans who knocked on Gary’s door an hour later.  After his brief, but significant encounter in the hallway, he wasn’t sure what to say to his cousin.  He knew how important family was to Gary, how badly he wanted a wife and child of his own.  To know that he, in fact, had a child, a son that he could never see . . . it was heartbreaking.  Should he tell his cousin that he knew, Jake wondered?  Was it even his business to intrude?  Meredith.  She had finally named herself when he professed his ignorance.  She clearly believed that he knew her, but was putting on an act for the boy’s sake.  From what he had gathered from Meredith, Gary knew about his son, Geran, but had only seen him the one time, at a distance.  He had never felt the warmth of his child’s embrace, never seen how his face glowed when he smiled.  Never heard him say ‘daddy,’ even knowing that it was for someone else.  How could he stand it?  

No wonder he’d been such a grouch, lately!  The bullet wounds couldn’t hurt half as much as this!

Not getting an answer, he tentatively knocked again.  A second later, he heard footsteps, and then the door swung open.  The same Special Agent who had been guarding Gary late last night looked him over before finally letting him in.  He was a tall, slender, dark-haired man, not quite Gary and Jake’s height, but close.  

“C’mon in, Jake,” Gary greeted him.  He was seated in one of the wingback chairs near a small table, reading.  Since finally getting to walk around a little, he was determined not to spend any more time in bed than he was forced to.  At least he could look out the window, on occasion.  He marked his place and set the book on the table.  Not an easy task with just one functioning hand.  “Are you okay?” he asked.  “That arm still bothering you?”

“No worse than a broken toe,” Jake grinned.  “What about you?  How many stitches did you end up with?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Gary sighed.  “I need to buy stock in the company that makes these suture kits.  It’s the only way I’ll get anything back.”  He studied his cousin’s face, evidently concerned by what he saw.  “Something’s bothering you.  Wanna talk about it?” he asked, indicating the other chair.  

The young banker gingerly sat down, perched on the edge of his seat.  He still hadn’t figured out how to approach the subject.  Especially with an audience, although he was sure the agent could be counted on for his discretion.  Finally, he decided to give it his best shot.

“On my way back here,” he murmured, “a-after calling my girl, J-Joanie, I, um . . . There was this . . . this woman coming up the stairs.  Sh-she had this kid with her.  Cute little guy.  A-a real charmer.  A-anyway, she . . . she thought I was . . . you.”

Jake had often heard the expression ‘white as a sheet.’  He had never before seen anyone who actually fit that description . . . until now.  Gary slumped back in his chair, breathless, looking as if every drop of blood had been drained from his body.  His eyes had taken on a dazed, glassy look. For a moment, Jake thought he was going into shock.  The stricken man swallowed convulsively, trying to work up enough energy to speak.

“Wh-what did she tell you?” he asked in a choked whisper.

“Nothing directly,” Jake answered truthfully.  “She obviously didn’t want the boy to know that you’re . . .”

Gary jumped up from the chair, cutting Jake off in mid-sentence.  He staggered a moment, as pain shot through his side, then began to pace frantically about the room as words spilled out of him in a rush.

“Don’t go there, Jake,” he pleaded, his voice harsh and raspy.  He flickered a glance toward the guard that bordered on panic.  “J-just . . . don’t.  This is one can of worms you don’t wanna fish with!”

“Why not?” the banker asked, honestly confused.  “My God!  You have a son, Gary!  If it were me I’d be crowing from the rooftops!”

“But I’m not you!” Gary snapped.  “I-it’s not that simple with me!”  He ran his right hand through his hair nervously as he continued to pace.  “Y-you don’t understand!” he moaned.

“What’s to understand?” Jake persisted.  “You’re a father!  I’d think you’d be so proud we’d have to hose you down!”

“But I’m not!” Gary hissed angrily, his voice tight with emotion.  “I-I’m not his father!  There’s a lot more to . . . to being a father than one lousy sperm with a sense of direction!  I wasn’t there for him!” he elaborated, gesticulating wildly with his good hand.  “Not when he was born!  Not when he took his first steps, spoke his first words!  Th-the first time he cried out for someone to . . . to chase away the monster under his bed!  I didn’t sit up with him when he was sick with a fever, or had trouble getting to sleep.  I d-didn’t sing lullabies to him when he was a baby!  Someone else did all that.  Someone who could give him and his mother what I couldn’t.  The security of being there for them, of loving them unconditionally.”

“But he’s still your son,” Jake reminded him.  “You still have rights . . .”

“To do what?” Gary asked dismally, fighting to keep his voice low.  “To rip him away from two parents who love him so I can show the world I’m a man?  To take away his chance to have everything I ever wanted for my child?  Wh-what about his rights, huh?  The . . . the right to a stable home life.  To a mom and dad who love him!  He’s only four years old, for cryin’ out loud!  He has his whole life ahead of him, Jake!  And there’s a maniac running loose out there who wants to take mine away!  How can I subject an innocent kid to that kind of danger and still look at myself in the mirror?  I . . .”  He sank back into the chair as he buried his tear-stained face in his hand.  “God!” he moaned.  “I don’t even know his birthday!”

“July 27th,” a soft voice murmured.

Both men turned startled faces to the agent standing by the French doors.  He stepped forward hesitantly.  “He was born July 27th, 1997,” the agent repeated.  “He was a little early.”

“E-Edward?” Gary murmured nervously.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he shrugged.  “I thought Meredith had told you I was in the Secret Service.”

“She did,” Gary whispered.  “Sh-she just never told me your last name.  God, I’m sorry.  I never wanted anyone to find out.  N-not like this!”

“It’s okay,” Edward grinned.  “She told me everything that evening, when they first got home from the station.  I was the one who told her that Geran needed to meet the man he saw get shot.  He needed to know you were okay or he’d have nightmares about it forever.  We, neither of us, figured on you having a double.  I hope you were gentle with him,” he added to Jake.

“I was,” Jake assured him, his voice subdued.  “He’s a great kid.  You’ve done a good job with him.”

“I’d like to think that I’ve done as well as his real father would’ve wanted,” the agent replied.  “Now I have to wonder.  You’ve obviously put a lot of thought into what makes a good father, Mr. Hobson.”

“You might as well call me Gary,” he sighed.  “I’ve had a good example.  My parents are the greatest you could hope for.  Just a little overbearing at times.  I . . . I’ve always hoped I’d be as good with my own kids.  Wh-what kind of life could I offer anyone, now?” he asked helplessly.  “My life makes the ‘Tower of Terror’ look like ‘Dumbo’s Joy Ride!’  No.  Geran’s much better off with you and his mother.  Safer, even.  I mean, look at you.  You’ve been in the Service how long?”

“Five years,” Chisholm shrugged.  “Ten years with the District PD, before that.  Why?”

“In those, um, fifteen years,” Gary continued, “how many times have you been shot?”

“Once,” the agent admitted with a wry grin.  “That’s how I met Meredith.  I caught one in the leg during a training accident the day Geran was born.  Again, why?”

“Today makes ten for me,” Gary sighed.  “In less than two years.  I’ve been in and out of hospitals so many times there’s actually a room in one of them with my name on it.  The ER staff calls me once a month to see how I’m doing.  I spent most of one year either in a bed or a wheelchair, wondering if I’d ever walk, or talk straight, again.  Th-things happen to me all the time.  Sometimes silly, sometimes . . . sometimes dangerous.  And there’s no rhyme or reason to it.  I-it’s just the way things are,” he finished dismally.

Jake didn’t know what to say in the face of such misery.  His own yearnings for a wife and children seemed paltry next to Gary’s hunger just for a normal life.  And there stood Chisholm, straight, tall and uninjured.  The man who had everything that Gary had ever wanted.  

Including his son.

************

Bernie couldn’t understand the sudden change in his son’s mood.  He had seemed so cheerful that morning, at breakfast.  Really looking forward to his first chance to get outside.  True, news of the shooting had upset him and Lois terribly, but Gary and Jake, both, had come out of it with nothing more than flesh wounds.  The doctor had said they were both in good humor after it was all over.  Yet, when Lois and Bernie had returned from their outing, they found Gary back in bed, staring at the walls.  When they tried to talk to him, he just answered in grunts and monosyllables.  His lunch was sent back to the kitchen, untouched.  

The President and his wife stopped by to check on him.  Gary barely acknowledged their presence.  Concerned, they drew Lois and Bernie to one side.

“How long has he been like this?” Mrs. Bartlett asked.  “Since the shooting this morning?”   

“I don’t know,” Lois sighed.  “The doctor said he was upset about Jake getting hurt, insisting that he get treatment first.  But, everyone said he was in good spirits afterwards.  Even joking about . . . about ruining his new shirt.  I think that man guarding him might know something, but he won’t tell us anything!”

“Of course he won’t,” the President sighed.  “His job is to protect Gary, not inform on him.  Not unless it’s something that puts Gary’s health or safety at risk.  If what he knows can help Gary, he’ll tell us.  If not, we’ll only hear it from the source.”

**********

“You have to snap out of this, Gary,” Jake told his cousin.  “Everyone is worried that you’re having a relapse of some kind.  And I’m getting funny looks from Polly.  Damned if I don’t think she’s almost as psychic as Claire.”  No response.  “Damn it, Gary, talk to me!  Tell me to go to hell, if nothing else, but say something!”

“I thought I’d pretty much said it all,” Gary sighed.  Finally, signs of life.  He was lying on his right side, facing away from his cousin.  “Look, I’m sorry to be such a pain.  Tell everyone . . . tell ‘em I’m brooding about that near miss this morning.  A-about you getting hurt.  Call it delayed shock . . . or something.  They’ll buy it.  I-I just need time to sort things out.  Okay?”

“How much time?” the banker nodded.  “A day, maybe?  Two?  You don’t want to let this drag on too long.  Lois is already talking to Dr. Griner about you.”

“That might not be such a bad idea,” Gary murmured.  “God!  What a mess!  I’ve never even met the . . . the boy, yet.  M-maybe it’s best that I never do.”

Jake pulled a chair up next to his cousin’s bed, perching himself on the edge of the seat.  He had no idea what to say to make this better.  It was a situation totally outside his experience.  He found himself wishing that Joan were there.  Even if she didn’t know how to fix things, she’d find some way to make them all feel better, at least.

“Tell me what I can do to help, Gary,” he pleaded.  “T-tell me how to make the pain go away.”

“You can’t,” Gary sighed.  A sad smile flickered across his tired features as he gave a choked laugh.  “They didn’t exactly cover this in college.  An MBA doesn’t include ‘Outer Limits: 101’ or ‘Peyton Place For Beginners,’ does it?”  

“No,” Jake had to agree.  “It doesn’t.  So, what do we do?”

“We get on with our lives,” Gary told him, sadly.  He rolled back to face his cousin, vainly wiping at the tears staining his face with the heel of his hand.  “Look, just . . . just give me a couple of hours.  That’s . . . that’s all I need.  Just a coupla hours to get my head straight again.  But we can’t talk of this again.  Ever.  Especially where my folks might hear.  I don’t want Mom and Dad brooding about a grandchild they’ll . . . they’ll never get to see.  You’ve got to promise me not to mention this to them.”

Jake squirmed uncomfortably, not liking the idea of keeping secrets from Gary’s parents.  Hell, he couldn’t even keep a secret from Joan!  “I dunno, Gary,” he murmured.

“Promise me, Jake!” Gary insisted.

“Okay!” Jake relented.  “O-okay, I’ll keep quiet.  Just . . .just don’t expect me to like it.”

“And you think I do?”

*************

True to his word, Gary put on a brave face and managed to be cordial, even cheerful, by suppertime.  Only Jake and Agent Chisholm, standing stoically nearby, had any idea of what the effort to appear normal might be costing him.

“I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better,” Lois sighed with relief as she helped set up his dinner tray.  “You really had us worried there for a while, sweetie.”

“I-it just kinda hit me all at once, Mom,” Gary apologized with a tired grin.  “Sorry I worried everyone.  I’m okay, now.”  He was seated in the same wingback chair that Jake had first found him in earlier.  It had been turned to face the windows, but a safe distance away from them.  Until further notice, neither he, Jake, nor even William, would be allowed outside.  Not until it was discovered how the intruders had gotten onto the grounds, and they could be sure that no others were hiding in the woodwork.  The President and Vice President were under similar restrictions.  “I’m betting they’re kinda sorry they invited me in,” Gary sighed on hearing the news.  “Like they didn’t have enough to worry about before.”

“It’s not like they haven’t had scares like this before,” Bernie reminded his son.  “Both the President and that Josh Lymon fella were shot just a little over a year ago, weren’t they?  They say Lymon almost died.”

“You’re right!” Lois nodded thoughtfully.  “That may be why they’re so protective of you, Gary.  You were injured . . . oh, what is that . . . above and beyond the call of duty.  And it happened while saving one of their own.  Of course they feel responsible for your safety!  They know the kind of pain you’re going through, and they wanted to show their appreciation!  You won’t let them have a public award ceremony, so they’re trying to make up for it by keeping you alive a little longer.  I’m sure that, as soon as you’re back on your feet, and we get through that dinner party in your honor, we’ll be able to go back home and resume a, well, a relatively ‘normal’ life.”

Gary had to chuckle at his mother’s quick modification of the phrase.  Normal, in his experience, was a subjective term.  

“Well,” he sighed, “the doctor says I can go home in a few days.  My hand is still kinda . . . it’s not coming along like it should, but he still thinks I’ll get full use of it, eventually.  We, um, w-we might not want everyone to go back at one time.  Or by the same way.  I-I was thinking that the rest of you should go back by plane a day or so after I leave.  I’ll take the first train to Chicago, the day after the dinner.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gar,” Bernie snorted.  “You don’t think for one minute that we’re gonna let you go back by yourself, do you?  Not with that Marley character still out there!”  The others were quick to agree.

‘That’s the whole point,’ Gary thought to himself.  ‘While he’s after me, the rest of you are safe.’  If only he could figure out a way to slip out of the White House unseen!

*************

Gary’s sleep that night was anything but restful.  He kept seeing Marley, both father and son interchangeably, as they taunted him with threats to his parents, his friends . . . to Geran.  Visions of the child being subjected to the same torments to which they had subjected Gary haunted his dreams.

The cat nudged Gary’s chin repeatedly as he tossed and turned in fitful slumber, but even the presence of the mystical tabby wasn’t enough to bring the troubled human peace that night.

************

MONDAY MARCH 4, THE WHITE HOUSE - 0930 HRS

The doctor encouraged Gary to walk about more, to try to build his strength up.  The younger man had been confined to bed much too long, he’d decided.

“You need to start out slow,” Dr. Michaels reminded him.  “Just up and down this corridor, at first.  Also, I’m reducing your morphine to 15 mcg.  In a couple of days, we‘ll try you out on extra-strength Tylenol.  You won’t be completely pain free, but you will be drug free.”

“Thank you,” Gary murmured with a relieved sigh.  “I’ll admit that that’s been bothering me.  K-kinda like an itch at the back of my neck.  Just . . . just couldn’t make it go away.”

“You should be able to get by with over-the-counter sleep aids and pain killers by the time you head back to Chicago,” the physician assured him.  “If we haven’t removed all of your stitches by that time, your family doctor can do it, or the nearest ER.  Don’t try to tough it out, Hobson.  If the pain gets to be too much, or you start running a fever, get to a doctor right away.  Especially if you start running a fever.  Promise me that.”

“I will,” Gary promised.  “But I don’t know what kinda germ could survive all the stuff you’ve pumped into me over the past week.”

“And you don’t want to find out,” Dr. Michaels warned him.  “Trust me on that.  So, your parents tell me you had a little bout of depression yesterday.  Want to talk about it?”

Gary’s expression became guarded as he shook his head.  “Not really, doc,” he mumbled softly.  “I-it’s just something I need to work out on my own.  Or m-maybe with Dr. Griner.  He’s been my therapist for a coupla years, now.  H-he knows me pretty well.”

“Well,” the doctor chuckled dryly, “I wish you both the best of luck.  Seems like you’ll need it.”

“Cute, doc,” Gary grumbled, making a face.  “Real cute.  You do ‘stand-up’ as a hobby, right?”

“I’m giving you a prescription for oral medications, too,” Dr. Michaels grinned, ignoring Gary’s barbed comment.  “You won’t need to get it filled until you go home.  We’ll take care of everything until then.  Now, try to spend more time out of bed, than in.  And I‘ll see you in the morning.”

***********

Polly spent thirty minutes massaging and manipulating Gary’s injured arm.  She helped him grip the tennis ball, keeping his hand wrapped with both of hers, as he worked the protesting muscles.  This she followed up with heat packs and more massage, to keep the muscles limber.  

“We’ll do this again this afternoon,” the tech promised him.  “And a brief session before you hit the sack.  Don’t expect too much right away.  It may take a few days before we see a difference.”

“I dunno,” Gary murmured.  “It doesn’t seem to hurt quite as much as it did when you started.”  He flexed his fingers experimentally, wincing slightly.  “Thanks, Polly.”  He bit his lip, trying to think of some way to broach a delicate subject.  “Um, y-you and Dr. Griner seem pretty close.”

Polly nodded absently, her plain face taking on a thoughtful look as her mind drifted back.  “I met him about, oh, not quite thirty years ago.  It was 1974.  I was fresh out of high school, and my folks didn’t quite know what to do with me.  Hell, I didn’t know what to do with me!  I don’t remember all the particulars, but I ended up in Chicago that summer.  Got a job as a file clerk in a doctor’s office and kinda got talked into expanding my horizons.  William was in his third, no fourth year, working toward his Ph. D.  It was almost inevitable that we’d meet.  We were the only Southerners on campus.”

“But he was already involved with someone, wasn’t he,” Gary guessed.

Polly jerked her mind back to the present, giving her friend a suspicious glare.  “Just what, exactly, are you hintin’ at, Gary?”

“Just wondering,” the younger man grinned.  “How long have you been in love with him?”

“Long enough to know it’ll never happen,” she told him flatly.  “I was there at his wedding.  At the birth of his first child, a son.  I was there when his wife died giving birth to their second child who only outlived her by a few hours.  I was at his side when they lowered the coffin holdin’ both mother and daughter into a single grave.  I’m his friend, Gary.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I have the same link with him that I have with you.  If you sense anything between us, that’s it.  And that’s all.”

“S-sorry,” Gary murmured, thoroughly chastened.  He felt as if he had trespassed somewhere that he did not belong.  “It’s just that . . . the two of you seem so . . . close.”

Polly gave him a solemn, almost pitying look.  “There’s no one like that in my life, Gary,” she told him.  “There never has been, and never will be.  Ever.”

Startled, Gary met her dark gray eyes with his own muddy green ones.  She was more serious than he had ever seen her before in the two years he had known her.  “You don’t know that for a fact,” he ventured hesitantly.  “You’re only, what?  Forty-seven?  Surely . . .”

“I’m almost forty-eight,” she shrugged, “and a little psychic.  Nowhere near Claire’s league, but I know things about myself, and my own future.  Some things I’ve always known.  Some things I may never know.  Since I was seven, I’ve known that I would never have what most kids my age were too young to even imagine.  A home, family, children of my own.  It was never meant to be.”

Suddenly, Gary knew what it was that formed the ‘link’ between them.  Between her and Dr. Griner.  It was loneliness.  Polly shared their physical pains because she already shared the even deeper, all pervading emptiness that could only be filled by what they’d never, or no longer had.  The love of a soul mate.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a near whisper.  “I didn’t mean . . . I-I just thought, the way you look at him, sometimes . . .”

“Oh, I do love him, Gary” Polly told him bluntly.  “Just not that way.  I love him the same way I love you.  I won’t say like a brother, ‘cause my brothers and I can make that little fracas in the Persian Gulf look like a hiccup.  You’re my friends, and I’d never do anything to wreck that.  It’s too precious to me.”

Gary didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded.  He had often wondered just what the canny older woman expected of him.  Now, he knew.  Nothing.  The only relationship she was seeking was akin to what he shared with Marissa.  They were partners in a venture, the Foundation, and they were friends.  That was all . . . and it was enough.  His eyes widened as another thought occurred to him.

“Does this mean you’ll start feeling whatever happens to the twins?” he asked in concern.  “And Jake, maybe?”

Polly’s own eyes grew large as she thought over his question.  “Oh, Lord!” she sighed, burying her face in her hands.  “I hope not!”

*************

Gary walked slowly down the corridor shortly after lunch.  He was flanked on his left by Jake, and on his right by Claire.  The young banker had helped him get dressed in faded jeans and another new shirt his mother had given him that morning.  This one was a light blue flannel in a broad plaid.  It had been an awkward undertaking as both of them had to work one-handed.  To their mutual embarrassment, Polly had walked in while they were vainly trying to zip up his jeans.  Her face composed in a neutral, nonchalant expression, she had completed the job without saying a word.  The gleam in her eyes, though, was unmistakable.  After their earlier conversation, Gary found he was not as self-conscious as he had once been around her, and could easily see the humor in the situation.  Jake was not so lucky.

“Man,” he groaned.  “I thought I was gonna die when she came in and my hand was still on your zipper!  I just know that the minute we were out the door, she was rolling on the floor, laughing her head off.”

“She probably was,” Gary chuckled.  “The look on your face was priceless!  I thought I was gonna bust a gut, myself.”

“You weren’t exactly the picture of composure,” Jake grumbled.  “Your face was as red as mine, I’m sure.”

“I keep missing all the fun stuff,” Claire sighed.  “You could’ve told me you needed help.  I’d have been . . . Okay, bad idea,” she chuckled as Jake gave her a steady look.  “But I could’ve found one of the servants.  Or that guard might’ve helped.  Did she tie your shoelaces, too?”

“Yes, she did,” Gary nodded, his face reddening slightly.  “Jake can get by with loafers,” he grumbled, “but I like my Reeboks.  So, what are your plans for the day?”

“I’ve got to meet with some investment group in a couple of hours,” Jake sighed.  “The boss figures, as long as I’m here, he’s gonna put me to work.”

“I’ve been invited to a séance tonight,” Claire shrugged.  “They have a wonderful research group, here, who’re serious about what they do.  You might want to look into it, yourself, Gary.  Lord knows, you qualify.”

Gary had a brief vision of himself sitting in a dark room with wires taped to his forehead and leading to a huge bank of monitors as he waited for the Paper to arrive.  A shiver ran up his spine as he jerked himself back to reality.

“Um, thanks,” he murmured.  “But no thanks.  I have enough to worry about in this world.  I’ll leave the afterlife in God’s hands.”  He paused, for a moment, to get his breath.  They had been walking for little more than ten minutes, taking their time.  “Lord!  It didn’t seem this hard yesterday morning!”

“You were shot yesterday morning,” Jake reminded him.  “Again.  We both were.  Mine still hurts like a son of a gun, and it wasn’t as deep as yours.  How many stitches did you end up with?”

“Enough for a small quilt,” Gary grumbled good-naturedly.  “In two layers.  I still think Dr. Michaels was enjoying his work way too much.”

************

Later, alone in his room, Gary made a few phone calls.  It had taken a great deal of persuasion on his part to get the President and the Secret Service to relax the guard on him to this extent.  Feeling a little paranoid just for thinking it, he found himself hoping that the phones weren’t tapped.  Still, unless he could sneak outside to find a payphone, he had no other options.  Earlier, while his cousin had availed himself of Gary’s bathroom, the young barkeep had copied the numbers and expiration dates from one of Jake’s credit cards.  He knew that, when he actually picked up the tickets, he’d probably have to produce some kind of ID, but he’d worry about that when the time came.

Gary soon had a sketchy timetable of trains going to Chicago over the next few days.  As things stood, that was as far as his preparations could go.  Checking his wallet, he found he still had more than enough cash to pay for his ticket, when he picked it up, and cab rides, as he needed them.  The trick would be to make his escape in such a way as to elude the people trying to protect him and, at the same time, draw out the ones trying to kill him.  Staying alive to actually reach the safety of his loft was also high on his list.  He only wanted to protect his loved ones, not commit suicide.  A dead hero, he decided, was more dead than hero.  He really wasn’t interested in being either one.

***********

TUESDAY MARCH 5, THE WHITE HOUSE - 0900 HRS

Ten days after he had first been shot, and one week after being sequestered in the White House, Gary stood for the final fitting of the tuxedo he was to wear at ‘his’ dinner the next night.  The President had come by shortly after breakfast to see how he was doing, and to announce that he was expecting a few other guests to arrive the next morning, keeping the total number of participants to less than thirty.  How much less, he wouldn’t say.  Standing in front of the full-length mirror, Gary had to admit that the tailor had done a fine job.  He had even fashioned a matching sling for Gary’s injured arm.  The results were impressive.

“S-so, um, how do I look?” he asked his mother nervously, slowly turning to face her.

“Oh, my!” Lois sighed.  “Dashing.  You look just like Errol Flynn!  No, better.  A cross between Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, and John Wayne.  Very handsome, and so very manly!”

Blushing, Gary ducked his head to hide his embarrassment.  “A simple ‘fine’ was all I was looking for,” he mumbled.   “S-so, am I gonna get to see you in that green satin dress Dad liked so much?  The one you wore last weekend?”

“No,” Lois giggled.  It was her turn to blush.  “CJ took me shopping yesterday, and helped me pick out this lovely . . . well, you’ll see it tomorrow night.  I just hope your father likes it.  That thing cost almost as much as his last RV.”

Gary gave a low whistle at that revelation.  She wasn’t talking petty cash, there!  “Let me give you the money for it,” he pleaded.  “We could take it out of my ‘Vegas winnings.  That way Dad doesn’t have to know, and it won’t even make a dent in the Foundation accounts.  Please?  I-it’s the least I can do after everything you two have done for me.”

Lois hesitated, not wanting to place such a burden on her only child.  It had been her decision to put the dress on their charge card, and she felt that she should figure out a way to pay for it.  “I can’t let you do that,” she sighed.  “You don’t . . .”

“Yes,” Gary told her firmly.  “I do.  I sent most of my winnings to the Foundation accounts, but I kept a little over a hundred thousand for emergencies.  Please, Mom, let me do this for you.  The price of that dress doesn’t even touch what I owe you guys for . . . for just being there for me.  For standing by me through all these God awful messes I keep finding myself in.  I just wish I could do as much for Dad!”

Chuckling deep in her throat, Lois placed a hand on her son’s good arm, admiring the cut of the jacket, and the soft texture of the material.  “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she told him with an impish smile.  “I think we can come up with something to knock his socks off!”

**********

“I’ve transferred forty thousand to your parents’ account,” Jake told Gary as they sat down to lunch.  “Just like you asked.  Was her gown that expensive?”

“Actually,” Gary chuckled, “I called the store and it was less than fifteen.  Mom was trying to psych me out of doing just what I offered to do.”  He was already seated at the table where the waiter was setting up their meal.  He had hoped that his parents could join them, but they had already accepted an invitation from a foreign delegate they’d met at the reception that weekend.  “You know, I’d planned on signing the Winnebago over to Dad when the twins got tired of it, but now . . . I think he deserves a new one.  Don’t you?”

“That’s a lot of money just to say ‘thank you’, Gary,” Jake murmured.  He couldn’t imagine going to such lengths for his own parents.  It was only because of Joan that they now had any kind of relationship, at all.  “The one the twins are driving wasn’t cheap.”

“This one doesn’t have to be as big,” Gary told his cousin.  “Not just for the two of them.  But I don’t want something cut rate, either.  This is for my dad, after all.  When we get back to Chicago, I want to take him shopping for a really nice one.  Would you come along?  Help us narrow down the list?”

Jake was touched by his cousin’s desire to include him in what was essentially a family outing.  It made him feel closer to the Hobsons than he ever had to his own parents.  A thought that filled him with mixed emotions.  What was it that was missing in his own upper class family that Gary’s middle class one had in such abundance?  What made his own mother and father so . . . distant?  He might never know, but felt blessed to have finally found the closeness he had missed out on most of his life.  First with Joanie, now with Gary and his family.

“Sure, Gary,” he replied with a hesitant smile.  “I’d be happy to.”

*********

Gary felt guilty, making plans as if tomorrow was going to be just like any other day, but he just couldn’t let anyone know what he was planning.  If his parents, Jake, or even Polly so much as suspected what he was up to, they would lock him in a padded cell.  For his own good.  Or the President might send him for a stay at Leavenworth.  A nice, safe, cozy little room with a lovely view of the exercise yard.  No, he was on his own, no matter what it cost him later.  

‘If I survive the next two days,’ he vowed, ‘I’ll make it up to them, somehow.  If they still trust me after tomorrow night.’

***********

Polly could sense something wrong the moment she touched Gary.  He seemed tense, distracted.  Even the muscles of his injured arm were tighter than normal, making his therapy session more painful.  By the time they were finished, he was bathed in a fine sheen of sweat.  

“Want to talk about it?” she asked as she rubbed his arm with a mild smelling sports cream.  

“Talk about what?” Gary mumbled distractedly.  He was having a little difficulty meeting her concerned gaze.

“Whatever it is that you’re planning that you think I won’t like.”

Startled, Gary finally raised his head to look at her.  She was intent on her task, massaging the muscles of his arm and shoulder.  It seemed to be taking up all her attention.

“Wh-what makes you think I’m planning anything?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, and failing miserably.

“Gary,” his friend sighed, “I’m nearsighted, not blind, and my hearing is a damned sight better than yours.  I can almost hear your heart pounding like a jackhammer.  You’re thinking of doin’ somethin’ that you know the rest of us won’t like.  Somethin’ pretty dangerous, and it‘s got you scared to death.  You’re doing it to protect the rest of us, especially Jake and Dr. Griner, because they could be mistaken for you.”

“Jake was,” Gary murmured miserably.  “I think that sniper was gonna kill both of us, just to be on the safe side.”  

“True,” Polly nodded, packing away her things.  “That doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice yourself ‘for the greater good.’  I’ve always thought it took more gumption to stay alive in situations like this.”

For some reason, that struck Gary as funny.  He voiced a dry chuckle as he shook his head.  “And how many situations like this have you been in, Polly?” he snorted.

The portly woman raised her head, finally, to meet his amused gaze.  Her own expression was grim.

“You really don’t want me to answer that.”

*******

Gary slept fitfully that night, feeling that what he was planning could be seen by the others as a betrayal of their trust.  Neither the morphine, nor the cat could help his troubled imagination settle down enough to grant him the peace of mind he so desperately craved.  It wasn’t just Jake and Dr. Griner, he told himself.  The others were equally at risk.  Any one of them could be used as a hostage to draw him out.  And what about the child?  His child!  Gary still had trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that Geran even existed; that he finally had the son he had dreamed of, and yet, he didn’t.  If Marley, or anyone else who might have a grudge against Gary, were to learn of the boy . . . Gary’s mind refused to take that thought any further.  

He already had enough nightmares to deal with.

**********

WEDNESDAY MARCH 6, THE WHITE HOUSE - 0600 HRS

Rubbing his eyes with his good hand, Gary wriggled around until he was sitting almost straight up in bed.  The window was still dark, lit only by the backwash of distant streetlights.  It was no use.  There was no way he was going to get any sleep, now.  Laboriously, he swung his legs over the side of the king-sized bed and sat there for a moment, letting a brief spell of dizziness pass.  As soon as his head was clear, he levered himself up and padded to the bathroom.  A few minutes later, after washing up and splashing a little cold water on his face, he returned to take a seat in the chair facing the window.  

Gary had his plan more or less worked out.  That had been the one benefit from not being able to sleep.  He had replayed every aspect, tried to find every flaw and come up with some way to counter them.  Unfortunately, he kept coming up with more flaws than solutions.  Finally, he had mapped out a course of action that, with luck, prayer, and a huge dose of divine intervention, just might get him home alive . . . or, at least in relatively one piece.

**********

The waiter had just taken away the remains of the breakfast Gary had shared with his parents.  Lois and Bernie were on their way to see more of the Capitol City, and Gary was temporarily at loose ends.  Everyone seemed to have something to do to get ready for the dinner party that night, except him.  All his preparations, the ones he could admit to, anyway, were done.  As he sat there, staring dismally out the window and wondering if his plans had even one chance in hell of succeeding, the cat jumped into his lap, startling him.

“Hey, buddy,” he murmured, absently scratching the feline behind its ears.  “If you have any better ideas, I’m willing to listen.  Just don’t try to talk me out of it.  I have to do something, or someone is gonna get killed.  I can’t let that happen, and neither can you.”

“You going ‘Dr. Dolittle’ on me, Hobson?”

The cat leaped gracefully to the bedside table as Gary tried to jump up a little too quickly from his seat.  He would’ve fallen, if not for a timely catch by the two NSA agents.  

“You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you,” Frank Parker commented dryly as he clasped Gary’s good arm to steady him.  “Still a little wobbly, though.”

“P-Parker!  Donovan,” he stammered, a big grin spreading across his weary features as he regained his balance.  “I thought you guys were stuck in Nevada!  When did . . . I mean . . . why?”

“Did you think we’d let you hog all the honors?” Craig Donovan chuckled.  “We got a message from the Committee.  They want us to make one more pitch to get you on our team.”

Gary’s grin faltered and faded.  So their mysterious ‘Committee’ still had their sights on him.  That was not good news.  Awkwardly, he waved his two new friends to sit down as he resumed his own seat.

“There’s no way I can work for those people,” Gary told them bluntly.  “I can’t let someone I don’t know, or t-trust, decide who’s worthy of saving and who isn’t.  I just can’t do that.”

“We know that,” Frank sighed, shaking his head, “and you know that.  The only way you’ll be able to convince them is to state your case in person.”

“And have them find five thousand excuses to keep me there?” Gary replied with a shake of his head.  “No way.  They’ll want to do testing and more testing, observations, whatever.  The only way they’ll be satisfied is if I say ‘yes,’ and then I’d never see daylight again.  They’d keep me locked away, ‘protecting a valuable resource,’ or some nonsense like that.  Then, whatever I do tell them, they’ll make the decisions and I’d never know which way the vote went.  I may not be much, but, to a lot of people, I’m all they’ve got.  And that’s got to be better than no hope at all.”

“Gary,” Frank sighed, “I followed you around for the better part of four days.  I saw you run yourself to death trying to save people who were no more thankful than your average bureaucrat.  I saw you risk your life for a coupla kids who probably ran right out and rolled a wino, or wrote profanity all over some wall in day-glow paint.  Do you really think that, to these people, you made any difference in their lives at all?”

“I gave them at least one more day,” was Gary’s curt rejoinder.  “One day to turn their lives around, or to spend with the people they love.  O-or to make atonement for past sins.  Whatever.  Don’t you see?  That’s all I can give anyone!  Just a little extra time to make a difference of their own!  But everyone deserves that much.  Everyone.”

“Even you?” Frank asked softly.  “What do you deserve?”

“A kick in the butt, most days,” Gary grinned wearily.  “One more day outside of a padded room.  I think I used up my quota of miracles over a year ago.  I’m just taking each day as it comes.”

“Well,” Donovan sighed explosively, “we can at least offer you and your group an escort home.  We’ve already got too much invested in you to just walk away, now.”

Gary didn’t quite know what to say to that, at first.  Then he nodded his head in appreciation.  For a moment, he was tempted to enlist their help in his ‘escape plan.’  He knew the two agents would never let him go through with it, however.  No, he was still on his own.

*********

Lois pinned a blue carnation to Gary’s sling as he settled his arm more comfortably.  She was dressed in her new gown, and Gary had to admit it was well worth the price.  It was of a pale blue, lightweight material that shimmered as she turned.  The skirt was gathered at the waist, and split down the front in an inverted ’v’.  The opening revealed a pleated satin underskirt of the exact same shade.  The bodice was sleeveless with a v-neck, and topped by a short, long-sleeved jacket.  A dark blue velvet choker supporting a tiny cameo topped it off.  Gary thought she looked absolutely breath taking in it, and said so.

“You’re just saying that because I’m your mother,” Lois accused, blushing furiously.  Her lips were twitching as she said it, secretly pleased at the compliment.

“Mom,” Gary assured her, “You’re gonna turn every head there.  Even William’s.  The man may be blind, but I’ll bet even he can somehow sense just how beautiful you are.  Look at Dad.  He can’t take his eyes off of you.”

Lois glanced over to where Bernie was standing in front of the mirror, his back to them.  He seemed to be fussing with his tie, but the reflection of his eyes kept meeting hers.  Caught, he grinned and turned around.

“He’s right,” Bernie chuckled.  “There’s not gonna be a woman there who’ll outshine you, Lo.  Now, let’s not keep the President waiting.”

Stepping out into the corridor, they joined the others who were just coming abreast of his door.  Jake was dressed in a tux identical to Gary’s, the only difference being a yellow carnation pinned to his sling.  Claire was dressed in a dark green gown of a velvety material that made her look ten pounds slimmer, while it had been all they could do to get Polly into an outfit that at least looked like a gown.  The bottom was actually trousers with wide, flowing legs that could be mistaken for a skirt from a distance.  The top was a linen shirt covered by a jacket that matched the pants.  

“You will never, ever, catch me in a dress,” she had told them earlier, in a tone that brooked no arguments.  “Not even in my grave.  Try it, and I’ll flat refuse to die.”

“You look lovely,” Lois grinned.  “Both of you.  Burgundy is definitely your color, Polly.  Wherever did you find it?”

“A little shop on some back street,” she shrugged.  “I don’t know exactly where.  I was lost at the time.  Are we ready for this shindig, or what?”

Wordlessly, Gary gave his parents a courtly bow, sweeping his right arm out in a ‘lead the way’ gesture.  His parents each flashed him a dazzling smile and, arm in arm, proceeded towards the dining room.  At the last second, Lois slipped her hand around his right arm, drawing him along with them.  He was not going to walk into that room alone!  The seven of them gathered in the bar adjoining the dining room as they waited for a few last-minute guests to arrive.

“I’m so glad to see you’re looking better, Mr. Hobson,” CJ Cregg told Gary.  “Have you had a chance to think about a statement for the press?”

Gary swallowed nervously as he thought of facing a crowd of reporters.  The last time he had done that was the night Savalas had been revealed as the man who had murdered columnist Frank Scanlon, proving Gary’s innocence.  That time at the airport, coming back from California, hardly counted, at least in his mind.  He had been on a euphoric high, at the time, having just taken his first steps in several months.  It had taken only a few stammered words to bring him crashing back down.  It was another month before he could talk well enough to be understood.  Even now, he often found himself completely tongue-tied.

“P-please,” he stammered, self-consciously.  “C-call me Gary.  And no.  I-I’d really prefer if no one even knew it was me.  I-I mean, no one could possibly recognize me from j-just that one picture . . . could they?  I was . . . k-kind of a mess, at the time.”

“You were almost recognizable as a human being,” Josh Lymon chuckled.  The Deputy Chief of Staff was sipping at a martini.  “Those guys worked you over pretty good.  You, um, never did say what you were doing in Washington, in the first place.  Or what their interest was in you.”

“I know,” Gary sighed.  “My business here was . . . it was kinda personal.  A-and it doesn’t matter anymore, anyway.  As for those goons,” he added with a shudder.  “That Marley guy . . . I guess he was looking to settle an old grudge.  See, I was . . . s-sorta involved w-with . . . with the death of his father . . . S-see, he was . . . God, it’s so complicated,” he moaned.  He paused to sip at his glass of water.  His throat felt as if someone was growing cotton in there.  “About six years ago,” he sighed, staring into his glass as if it were a crystal ball, “J. T. Marley needed a patsy for a job he was about to do.  Someone to take the blame, posthumously, for an assassination.  He picked me,” he murmured dismally.  “The, um, th-the police got there before he could . . . A-anyway, that’s why this Marley wants me.  Revenge.”  At least that was mostly true.

The two staffers stared at him, appalled at this grim revelation.  Gary took another sip of his water, noticing for the first time that there were others listening to his sketchy account.  In fact, almost everyone in the room was staring at him in fascination.  The only exceptions were Donovan and Parker.  They had already learned the truth from his file.  

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve only skimmed the high points?” Sam Seaborn murmured.  “It must’ve been horrible!”

“I-it wasn’t fun,” Gary admitted, meeting his parents’ horrified gazes over the Deputy Communications Director’s shoulder.  This was the first time he had ever spoken of the incident in front of them.  The first that they had ever known how close to death he had come that day.  

“You’ve certainly led an exciting life,” Toby Zeigler commented dryly.  “What do you do for fun?”

“Sleep,” Gary chuckled.  “When I can.  Seriously, I usually lead a pretty quiet life,” he shrugged.  “I just have this knack for finding trouble.”

“Sounds like it,” Leo chuckled.  “No wonder you’re so stressed out.  You need a vacation, kid.”

Lois almost choked when she heard that, remembering what he had gone through out west.  Gary just shook his head with a wry grin and turned toward the sound of voices just coming in the door.  “No, thanks,” he murmured under his breath.  “The last one almost killed me.”  He brought the glass of water to his lips once more, preparing to take another sip.  Fortunately, he had yet to do so, the glass still inches from his mouth when he spied three familiar figures striding through the door.  The slender young woman was dressed in a flowing, strapless gown of red satin.  Both men were in dress white Naval uniforms.  All three of them stopped in their tracks, staring open-mouthed at the guest of honor.  Stunned, they glanced at each other, and then back to Gary, who was beginning to feel like a specimen on a microscope.

Three astonished voices cried as one.

“Nowicki?”

************

Continued in Installment 6

Email the author: Polgana54@cs.com
 

Back Home to McGinty's

Stories by Title

Stories by Author