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“Good to know POTUS is in good shape, though,” Liam goes on. “Saw on CNN yesterday that he’s in perfect health. Were you part of the team doing the poking and probing?”
Spencer says, “Sure was. And yep, he’s in good shape … physically.”
That last word sticks with Liam.
“Whoa, back up there for a moment, friend,” he says. “What do you mean, ‘physically’?”
Spencer quickly shakes his head. “Nope, I’ve drunk too much, said too much. Forget it.”
“Spencer … there’s no way I’m going to forget it. Give.”
His friend’s face is bleak.
“Liam, please, don’t push me.”
“Spencer … you really need to tell me. Honest. I’m not asking for my health, or for morbid curiosity, or just to have something to gossip about.”
Spencer stays quiet.
Liam says, “Look, the past couple of months I’ve been seeing POTUS almost on a daily basis. Giving him the PDB, I’ve been up close to him … and I’ve seen things. If you can confirm it …”
Spencer finishes off his Guinness, slaps the glass down, and walks out through the crowded tavern.
“Shit,” Liam says, pulling out his wallet, tossing a few twenties on the table, hurrying to catch up with Spencer.
Outside in this popular part of Arlington, there’s a lot of foot traffic, but Spencer being well above six feet, Liam quickly spots him. He pushes fast through the crowd and grabs an elbow, and Spencer spins around.
“Hey, come on, leave me alone,” Spencer says.
Liam says, “I can’t. Spencer, if there’s more going on here … you’ve got to tell me.”
Spencer lowers his voice, leans in, and says, “I could lose mylicense, get court-martialed, and probably arrested if I were to break doctor–patient confidentiality. You know that, right?”
Liam thinks for a moment and thinks again of Admiral Farragut.
Damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead.
He sees a closed stationery store nearby, with an alcove. He gently pushes Spencer into it, and looks back.
“Okay, fair is fair,” he says. “I’ll go first.”
A quick glance to make sure no one is within earshot.
Liam says, “I’ve been working directly for the president. Highly classified missions overseas. Dangerous ops, not cleared by congressional oversight. At first I wasn’t worried … but now you’ve got me worried, Spencer. Worried about what the hell I’m doing. It feels like we’re turning into his own personal Army, settling personal grudges, not missions that benefit the country. Like he’s hell-bent on eliminating enemies before they can reach him.”
Liam feels he’s in one surreal world where the mental health of the President of the United States is being discussed out in the open in a popular tourist district.
Spencer looks to his feet, then looks up at Liam, eyes troubled and burdened.
“Just this once, and don’t ever dare bring it up, ever again.”
“I promise.”
Spencer speaks quickly, like he wants to limit the possibility of getting caught. “We only look into his physical condition. Only. Weight, height, blood pressure, cholesterol level, that sort of thing. We wouldn’t dare ask him how he’s feeling, or thinking, or his moods. I mean … what the hell would we do if he said he was suicidal?”
“But he didn’t say that, did he?”
“No,” Spencer says. “He started talking about his health, and how as the most important man in the world, he always has to be on guard for his health. He said that’s why he works out every day, watches his diet, and how the Secret Service protects him atthe White House with a special ventilation system that can detect viruses, microbes, or even radioactive materials.”
