"Perhaps we will contact him and give him our decision."
"Or—?"
Rex shrugged. "Perhaps we won't bother." He held out his hand. "Goodbye, Mr. President, and good luck...."
The President of the United States sat alone in his study. His face seemed wearier than usual. There was a sag in his shoulders that would have drawn comment in public. He was considering his future—the future of the world.
There were of course many good men in both parties. In the privacy of his own thoughts, it was hard to judge which party had really done the nation greater service. At one time, he himself had debated running for the Presidency on the other ticket. The country would be in good hands regardless.
Ordinarily.
But now it came down to the man rather than the party. Would he be able to convince an incoming president of what had occurred on Mount Ranier? Make him truly understand how little time remained? Would his predecessor have been able to convince him?
No. Of course not. Only he, The President of the United States, knew of the peril ahead. He pressed a button on his desk. The Press Secretary entered. The President straightened his shoulders. "When the right moment comes," he said, "tell them I will run again."
And God grant I win, he added in his heart.