"They're well."

Please, God.

"I'm glad to hear it."

Silence stretched out between them like a steel garrote, uncomfortable, tense. Beside Brognola, Chatsworth made a show of studying his wing-tip shoes.

At length the President declared, "We've got a problem, Hal. I need your input."

Chatsworth snorted, covering belatedly with an exaggerated coughing fit. Brognola didn't waste the energy to glance in his direction.

"Yes, sir?"

"We've received persuasive circumstantial evidence to indicate you've got a leak at Justice. A mole. High placed."

Brognola's mind was racing, trying to digest the President's announcement. Always on alert for leaks, for any vestige of corruption, he was not aware of any ongoing investigations. There had been some trouble — plenty of it — with the FBI and NSA last year, but that had been wrapped up by Christmas, all the leaks securely welded tight. Or all the leaks they knew about, at any rate.

The President returned to sit behind his massive desk, eyes locked with Hal's, ignoring Chatsworth for the moment.

"Word is that it touches Phoenix."

Something dark and dangerous was stirring in the shadows of Brognola's mind. If there was a connection with his family's abduction, something to provide him with a handle...

"Sir, I have to say this comes as a complete surprise. I've had no indication from my staff of an investigation under way. If you could let me have specific information..."

"Chatsworth?"

Seated on Brognola's right, the aide de camp was riffling through a thin manila folder, nodding to himself and clearly looking forward to the game now that the coach had called him in to play.