Read The President's Brain Is Missing for Free Online

news?” Alex asked.
    â€œHe’s not,” Boehm said. “Anil didn’t tell him.”
    â€œWhy not?” Fitzgerald asked.
    â€œYou have to ask that, Mona?” Boehm asked. “The President gets freaked out when he has a cold. He has nightmares he’s going to drown in his own phlegm. The last time he got a paper cut it was like ninjas had slashed his carotid artery. The President is a good man, but he’s a hypochondriac. If he knew he was missing his brain, he’d probably have a stroke. Anil decided, rightly, that it was not his job to burden the President with this information at this time. Instead he told the President that he has a sinus infection and that he should rest for the remainder of the day. Then he came and found me.”
    â€œYou can’t keep this from him forever,” Hsu said. “He’s the President, for God’s sake. And he has that town hall tax speech tomorrow.”
    â€œI agree,” Boehm said. “But when I do tell him, I’d like not to have to say ‘You’re missing your brain and we don’t have a single clue why.’”
    National Security Advisor Stein, who had been silent all this time, shifted on the sofa and leaned forward. “Why are you telling us, Dave?”
    â€œBecause you are the people who need to know,” Boehm said. “Tony, we have to assume that even if the President is healthy now, that could change at any second. Mona, you’ll have to deal with the rest of the world if and when we have to announce this. Brad, it should be clear just what sort of security implications this has for us.”
    â€œWhat about me, Dave?” Alex asked.
    â€œAlex, you’re here because you’re the one person out of all of us who can do anything about this,” Boehm said. “The rest of us are too closely watched by the media and by the President’s political enemies. If we deviate from our schedules they’ll want to know why. So Mona has to meet with the Burundi ambassador, like she’s supposed to. Brad has to go to the Pentagon for a briefing. Tony has to read a book to third-graders in Fairfax. And I have to take or reschedule the President’s meetings today.
    â€œBut your schedule is whatever I tell you it is,” Boehm reached down to the folder on the table, picked it up and held it out to Alex. “No one’s watching your schedule like they’re watching ours. So your job is to find out just what the hell is going on here, Alex. And do it fast.”
    Alex took the folder. “How fast?” he asked.
    â€œThe Vice-President pointed out that we have that Town Hall speech tomorrow,” Boehm said. “It’s thirty-four hours from now, in point of fact. You’ve got twenty-four of those to get me something. That is, assuming the President doesn’t drop dead between now and then.”

    Alex looked up from his folder to see Brad Stein standing over his desk.
    â€œI wish you would knock,” Alex said.
    â€œI’m the Head Spook,” Stein said. “I’m supposed to sneak in. Anyway, it’s been an hour. Thought before I went to the Pentagon I’d check in and see what you’ve got so far.”
    â€œI got nothing,” Alex said. “Or maybe I’ve got a miracle. I mean, look.” Alex plucked the X-Ray out of the folder and handed it to Stein. “How do you get along without your brain?”
    â€œThe press corps has been asking that about the President since the campaign,” Stein said, holding up the X-Ray to the light.
    â€œThey don’t mean it literally,” Alex said. “The President’s not the brightest bulb in the drawer but that’s what he’s got the rest of us for. But this,” Alex tossed the folder down onto the desk and threw up his hands. “I don’t even know where to begin on this one.”
    â€œYou’re looking at a puzzle, that’s for