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to Andrew Jackson's personal slaves）； didn't mind； it seemed unnecessarily insulting to them。 Ryan had never been one to have others do his work； however。 Oh； sure； it was nice to have his shoes shined every night by some guy who didn't have anything else to do； and who drew a fortable government salary to do it； but it just seemed unmanly to be fussed over as if he were some sort of nobleman； when in fact his father had been a hardworking homicide detective on the Baltimore city police force； and he'd needed a government scholarship （courtesy of the United States Marine Corps） to get through Boston College without having his mom take a job。 Was it his working…class roots and upbringing？ Probably； Ryan thought。 Those roots also explained what he was doing now； sitting in an easy chair with a drink in his hand； watching TV； as though he were a normal person for a change。
Cathy's life was actually the least changed in the family； except that every morning she flew to work on a Marine Corps VH…60 Blackhawk helicopter； to which the taxpayers and the media didn't object…not after SANDBOX； also known as Katie Ryan； had been attacked in her daycare center by some terrorists。 The kids were off watching televisions of their own； and Kyle Daniel； known to the Secret Service as SPRITE； was asleep in his crib。 And so； that Dr。 Ryan…code name SURGEON…was sitting in her own chair in front of the TV； going over her patient notes and checking a medical journal as part of her never…ending professional education。
〃How are things at work； honey？〃 SWORDSMAN asked SURGEON。
〃Pretty good； Jack。 Bernie Katz has a new granddaughter。 He's all bubbly about it。〃
〃Which kid？〃
〃His son Mark…got married two years ago。 We went； remember？〃
〃That's the lawyer？〃 Jack asked； remembering the ceremony； in the good old days； before he'd been cursed into the Presidency。
〃Yeah； his other son； David； is the doctor…up at Yale； on the faculty； thoracic SURGEON。〃
〃Have I met that one？〃 Jack couldn't remember。
〃No。 He went to school out west； UCLA。〃 She turned the page in the current New England Journal of Medicine； then decided to dog…ear it。 It was an interesting piece on a new discovery in anesthesia； something worth remembering。 She'd talk about it at lunch with one of the professors。 It was her custom to lunch with her colleagues in different fields； to keep current on what was going on in medicine。 The next big breakthrough； she thought； would be in neurology。 One of her Hopkins colleagues had discovered a drug that seemed to make damaged nerve cells regrow。 If it panned out； that was a Nobel Prize。 It would be the ninth hanging on the trophy wall of the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine。 Her work with surgical lasers had won her a Lasker Public Service Award…the highest such award in American medicine…but it hadn't been fundamental enough for a trip to Stockholm。 That was fine with her。 Ophthalmology wasn't that sort of field； but fixing people's sight was pretty damned rewarding。 Maybe the one good thing about Jack's elevation and her attendant status as First Lady was that she'd have a real shot at the Directorship of the Wilmer Institute if and when Bernie Katz ever decided to hang it up。 She'd still be able to practice medicine…that was something she never wanted to give up…and also be able to oversee research in her field； decide who got the grants； where the really important exploratory work was； and that； she thought； was something she might be good at。 So； maybe this President stuff wasn't a total loss。
Her only real beef was that people expected her to dress like a supermodel； and while she had always dressed well； being a clotheshorse had never appealed to her。 It was enough； she figured； to wear nice formal gowns at all the damned formal affairs she had to attend （and not get charged for it； since the gowns were all donated by the makers）。 As it was； Women's Wear Daily didn't like her normal choice of clothing； as though her white lab coat was a fashion statement…no； it was her uniform； like the Marines who stood at the doors to the White House； and one she wore with considerable pride。 Not many women； or men； could claim to be at the very pinnacle of their profession。 But she could。 As it was； this had turned into a nice evening。 She didn't even mind Jack's addiction to The History Channel； even when he grumbled at some minor mistake in one of their shows。 Assuming； she chuckled to herself； that he was right； and the show was wrong。。。。 Her wineglass was empty； and since she didn't have any procedures scheduled for the next day； she waved to the usher for a refill。 Life could have been worse。 Besides； they'd had their big scare with those damned terrorists； and with good luck and that wonderful FBI agent Andrea Price had married； they'd survived； and she didn't expect anything like that to happen again。 Her own Secret Service detail was her defense against that。 Her own Principal Agent； Roy Altman； inspired the same sort of confidence at his job that she did at hers； Cathy judged。
〃Here you go； Dr。 Ryan；〃 the usher said； delivering the refilled glass。
〃Thank you； George。 How are the kids？〃
〃My oldest just got accepted to Notre Dame；〃 he answered proudly。
〃That's wonderful。 What's she going to major in？〃
〃Premed。〃
Cathy looked up from her journal。 〃Great。 If there's any way I can help her； you let me know； okay？〃
〃Yes； ma'am； I sure will。〃 And the nice thing； George thought； was that she wasn't kidding。 The Ryan's were very popular with the staff； despite their awkwardness with all the fussing。 There was one other family the Ryan's looked after； the widow and kids of some Air Force sergeant whose connection with the Ryan's nobody seemed to understand。 And Cathy had personally taken care of two kids of staff members who'd had eye problems。
〃What's tomorrow look like； Jack？〃
〃Speech to the VFW convention in Atlantic City。 I chopper there and back after lunch。 Not a bad speech Callie wrote for me。〃
〃She's a little weird。〃
〃She's different；〃 the President agreed； 〃but she's good at what she does。〃
Thank God； Cathy didn't say aloud； that I don't have to do much of that！ For her； a speech was telling a patient how she was going to fix his or her eyes。
There's a new Papal Nuncio in Beijing；〃 the producer said。
〃That's an ambassador； like； isn't it？〃
The producer nodded。 〃Pretty much。 Italian guy； Cardinal Renato DiMilo。 Old guy； don't know anything about him。〃
〃Well； maybe we can drive over and meet the guy；〃 Barry thought as he knotted his tie。 〃Got an address and phone number？〃
〃No； but our contact at the American Embassy can get 'em quick enough。〃
〃Give the guy a call；〃 Wise ordered gently。 He and the producer had been together for eleven years； and together they'd dodged bullets and won those Emmys； which wasn't bad for a couple of ex…Marine sergeants。
〃Right。〃
Wise checked his watch。 The timing worked just fine。 He could get a report at his leisure； upload it on the satellite； and Atlanta could edit it and show it to people for breakfast in America。 That would pretty much take care of his day in this heathen country。 Damn； why couldn't they do trade conferenc