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"Stop the tape!" he shouted.
Startled, Mitchell pressed a button on the recorder and the image froze.
"The hands!" Mayo said excitedly. "The hands on the steering wheel!"
"So he's got ten fingers," mumbled Mitchell, his expression sour.
"So what?"
"The President wears only a wedding band. Look again. No ring on the middle finger of the left hand, but on the index finger you see a good-sized sparkler. And the pinkie on the right-"
"I see what you mean," Montrose interrupted. "A flat blue stone in a silver setting, probably an amethyst."
"Doesn't the President usually sport a Timex watch with an Indian silver band inlain with turquoise?" observed Mitchell, becoming swept along.
"I think you're right," Mayo recalled.
"The detail is fuzzy, but I'd say that's one of those big Rolex chronometers on his wrist."
Mayo pounded a fist on his knee. "That clinches it. The President is known never to buy or wear anything of foreign manufacture."
"Hold on," Montrose said slowly. "This is crazy. We're talking about the President of the United States as if he wasn't real."
"Oh, he's flesh and bone all right," said Mayo, "but the body sitting on that tractor belongs to someone else."
"If you're right, you've got a live bomb in your hands," said Montrose.
Mitchell's enthusiasm began to dim. "We may be digging for clams in Kansas. Seems to me the evidence is damned shaky. You can't go on the air, Curt, and claim some clown is impersonating the President unless you have documented proof."
"Nobody knows that better than me," Mayo admitted. "But I'm not about to let this story slip through my hands."
"You're launching a quiet investigation then?"
"I'd turn in my press card if I didn't have the guts to see it through." He looked at his watch. "If I leave now, I should be in Washington by noon."
Montrose crouched in front of the TV screen. His face had the look of a child who found his tooth still in the glass of water the next morning. "It makes you wonder," he said in a hurt tone, "how many times one of our Presidents used a double to fool the public."
VLADIMIR POLEVOI GLANCED UP from his desk as his chief deputy and number-two man of the world' largest intelligence organization, Sergei Iranov, walked purposefully into the room.
"You look as if you've got a hot stake up your ass this morning, Sera-..
"He's escaped," Iranov said tersely.
"Who are you talking about?"
"Paul Suvorov. He's managed to break out of Bougainville's hidden laboratory."
Sudden anger flushed Polevoi's face. "Damn, not howl"
"He called our New York covert action center from a public telephone in Charleston, South Carolina, and asked for instructions."
Polevoi rose and furiously paced the carpet. "Why didn't he call the FBI and ask them for instructions too? Better yet, he could have taken out an advertisement in USA Today."
"Fortunately his superior immediately sent a coded message to us reporting the incinent."
"At least someone is thinking."
"There's more," said Iranov. "Suvorov took Senator Larimer and Congressman Moran with him."
