'Very pro,' mumbled Weingrass.
'I only have one question,' said the third nurse looking at Khalehla. 'You mentioned that the quarantine was temporary… Well, not that I'm about to be invited to the Grand Prix in Monte Carlo, but how long is temporary?'
'Too many crowds during the Grand Prix,' interjected Manny, drinking. 'You can't cross the streets and the Bains de Mer goes crazy.'
'No more than a few days,' answered Kendrick, again speaking quickly. 'They just want to run the usual checks… And if you get that invitation, Manny will personally accompany you.'
'Congressman, try Daffy Duck.'
'Mishegoss.'
There was a sudden, startling commotion outside. Shouts were heard and a horn blared. 'Get away from the windows!.' shouted the CIA agent racing through the living room. 'On the floor! Everyone on the floor!'
Evan lunged towards Khalehla, astonished to realize she had dropped between the rugs and was rolling over and over to the base of a sliding door, an automatic in her hand.
'It's okay, it's okay!' yelled a voice from the front lawn.
'That's one of us,' said the man from the Central Intelligence Agency, on his knees, his weapon also in his hand. 'What the hell—?' He got to his feet and ran into the living room with Kendrick following him. The massive front door opened and a startled well-dressed figure walked haltingly inside escorted by a park ranger. He carried a black medicine bag; it was open; it had been searched.
'I never expected such a reception,' said the doctor. 'I know we're not always welcome but this is a bit much…Congressman, it's such an honour.' They shook hands, the CIA agent watching, bewildered.
'I'm afraid we haven't met, have we?' asked Evan, equally confused.
'No, we haven't, but we're neighbours, if approximately seven more miles into the hills is a neighbour. My name's Lyons.'
'I'm sorry about your reception. You'll have to blame it on an overprotective President. What is it, Dr Lyons? Why are you here?'
'Because he wasn't there,' replied the intruder, smiling gamely. 'I'm Mr. Weingrass's new doctor. If you'll check his schedule, he was to be in my office in Cortez at four o'clock this afternoon. He never arrived and we couldn't reach him on the telephone, so as this house is on the way to mine, I thought I'd drop in and see if there was a problem.' The physician stopped and reached into his pocket, taking out an envelope. 'Incidentally, in relation to those overprotective measures, here's my clearance from the Walter Reed Hospital, countersigned by the proper officials in the administration. I was to show this to Mr. Weingrass and his nurses, or at least the one who accompanied him to my office. He's all right, isn't he?'
'Manny!' yelled Kendrick irritably.
Weingrass appeared in the veranda archway, a drink in his hand. 'Why are you screaming at me?'
'Weren't you supposed to be at the doctor's this afternoon?'
'Oh, yeah, somebody called last week—'
'It was my receptionist, Mr. Weingrass,' explained Dr Lyons. 'She said you wrote it down and agreed to be there.'
'Yeah, well I do that now and then, but I feel fine so why trouble you. Also, you're not my doctor.'
'Mr. Weingrass, your doctor passed away several weeks ago from a cardiac seizure. It was in the papers and I know you received an announcement of the funeral.'
'Yeah, well I don't go to those, either. Mine's overdue.'
'Nevertheless, as long as I'm here, why don't we have a look?'
'What are we looking for?'
'A little tub-thumping and a short blood sample for the lab.'
'I feel fine.'
