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Grayson. He was also a navy admiral. To Martel’s astonishment, Grayson quietly and reluctantly admitted that he hadn’t seen Wilson in a couple of weeks either.
    They went upstairs to the second level, the private quarters of the president. They informed a Negro servant that they’d arrived, and that it was imperative that they see President Wilson immediately.
    A few moments later, an unkempt woman in a long robe emerged and glared at them. “You may not see my husband. How dare you come here unannounced at this time of night? The president is ill and needs all the rest he can get.”
    Lansing handed Edith Wilson a copy of the German message. “Please read it.”
    She scanned it quickly and returned it. “Rubbish. All lies and filth designed to upset my husband and to disparage his achievements. The Germans have signed a peace treaty and they will live up to it.”
    “Madame,” said General March firmly, “the Germans have a history of aggression and we must prepare for it. We may be at war with Kaiser Wilhelm in a very short while. The president must know of this so we can begin to plan.”
    Edith Wilson would have none of it. “My husband kept us out of the war of 1914 and he negotiated the peace treaty that guarantees peace, perhaps forever. He won the Nobel Prize for his efforts, and you have the audacity to bring these lies to disturb him?” She turned and backed away. “No, you will leave.”
    Lansing winced. Woodrow Wilson had been co-winner of the Nobel along with the humanitarian Herbert Hoover. Hoover had won because of his efforts to feed the starving in Europe during and following the war. Rumor had it that Wilson had been furious at having to share the honor with a man he considered a rude engineer.
    “No we will not leave,” said Justice White as he pulled a document out of his jacket. “This order requires you to admit us to his presence or you will be found in contempt of court. It also authorizes us to use whatever force is necessary to see the president and that the Secret Service is to assist us. There is considerable doubt that the president is up to fulfilling his Constitutional duties, in which case, something must be done to protect the nation.”
    Martel stood behind the group. It was difficult for him to breathe. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Was this a coup? Now the idea of couple of days in a small plane seemed rather pleasant.
    Mrs. Wilson seemed shaken. She began to wring her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”
    She began to sob as Lansing gently pushed her aside. He opened the door and stepped into the president’s bedroom. Stale air and the stink of medicine wafted out, along with the unmistakable stench of body waste. The men went in. Luke took a deep breath and followed.
    Woodrow Wilson, age sixty-four and the twenty-eighth President of the United States, lay on his back on a large bed. A cot was beside it and that was where Mrs. Wilson apparently slept. Jars of medicines were arrayed on a table. Luke felt embarrassed at invading the Wilsons’ privacy. Blankets covered Woodrow Wilson’s body up to his chin. His eyes were closed, his jaw was slack, and his face was drawn and gray. There was dried spittle on his chin. Martel thought the man in the bed looked worse than awful, but said nothing. Nobody spoke. Everyone was shocked by the president’s condition. Luke stared at the blankets. Were they even moving? Was he breathing?
    Mrs. Wilson gathered her strength. “All right, you’ve seen him. You can also see that he isn’t up to visitors. He must rest and you must leave. Perhaps you can talk to him another day.”
    Doctor Grayson reached a hand out to his Commander in Chief. “Don’t touch him!” Mrs. Wilson shrieked and grabbed for his arm.
    Grayson ignored her and pulled the blanket down to the middle of the president’s chest. He gently placed his hand on the president’s wrist and then his neck. He stood up slowly. His face was pale as he turned