. You're a better man than I am, kid._

Across Pennsylvania Avenue, Senator James Cannon was doing some heavy
consideration, too. He sat on the edge of his bed and looked at the
small tubular device in his hand.

_Will Frank be safe? That's the only weak point in the plan._

Frank was safe. He _had_ to be. Frank hadn't been over from Blair House
in three days. They hadn't even _seen_ each other in three days. The
Secret Service men--

He threw a glance toward the door that led from his bedroom to the hall.

The Secret Service agents would know that Frank couldn't possibly have
had anything to do with it. The only possible connection would be the
hypogun itself. He looked at the little gadget. _Hell_, he thought; _now
or never_.

He got up and strode purposefully into the bathroom. He smiled crookedly
at his own reflection in the mirror. It was damnably difficult for a
President to outwit his own bodyguard.

_Get on with it!_

He swallowed the capsule Frank had given him. Then, placing the muzzle
against the precise spots Frank had shown him, James Cannon pulled the
trigger. Once ... twice ... thrice ...

Against each nerve center in his left side. Fine.

Now that it was done, all fear--all trepidation--left Senator James
Cannon. Now there was no way to go but ahead.

First, the hypogun that had blown the drug into his body. Two minutes to
get rid of that, for that was the only thing that could tie Frank in to
the plan.

They had already agreed that there was no way to get rid of it. It
couldn't be destroyed or thrown away. There was only one way that it
could be taken from the White House ...

Cannon left his fingerprints on it, dropped it into the wastebasket, and
covered it with tissue paper. Then he left the bathroom and walked
toward the hall door. Beyond it, he knew, were the guarding Secret
Service men.

And already his left side was beginning to feel odd.

He walked to the door and opened it. He had a scowl on his face.

"Hello, Jenkins--Grossman," he said, as the two men turned. "I've got a
hell of a headache again. Aspirin doesn't seem to help, and I can't get
any sleep." He looked rather dazed, as though he wasn't sure of his
surroundings. He smiled lopsidedly. "Call Frank, over at Blair House,
will you? Hurry?" Then he swallowed, looked dazed, and fell to the floor
in a heap.

The two Secret Service men didn't move, but they shouted loudly. Their
orders were to guard the body of the Pres