The lopsided smile came back. "Guess not." The smile went away, to be replaced by a puzzled frown. "My whole left side feels dead. What's the matter?"
Instead of answering, Dr. Frank Cannon turned to the Navy medic. "I'll let the commander explain that. What's your diagnosis, doctor?"
The commander ran his tongue nervously over his lips before speaking. "There's apparently a small blood clot in the brain, Mr. President, interfering with the functioning of the efferent nerves."
"Permanent?"
"We don't know yet, sir. We hope not."
President Cannon sighed. "Well. Thank you, commander. And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak to my brother—alone."
The commander glanced at Dr. Frank, then back at the President. "Certainly, sir." He turned to leave.
"Just a moment, commander," Dr. Frank said. "There'll be news reporters out there. Tell them—" He frowned a little. "Tell them that the President is conscious and quite rational, but that there is still some weakness. I don't think anything more than that will be necessary."
"I agree. Certainly, doctor." At the door, the commander paused and said: "I'll keep everyone out until you call."
"Thanks," said Dr. Frank as the door closed behind the Navy man.