Brognola frowned. "I'd like to take a look at what you've got."

"It's classified at present."

"I've got clearance."

"Not for this," Chatsworth replied smugly.

"Since when?"

"Since your department has been compromised."

"Goddammit, Chatsworth..."

"Gentlemen."

They both turned toward the President and found him leaning forward, elbows planted on his desk, his dark eyes boring into each in turn.

"Excuse us for a moment, Emil."

Chatsworth seemed about to protest, but he reconsidered instantly, unwilling to let momentary anger pull the plug on job security. He spent another moment glaring at Brognola, then retreated from the Oval Office, the manila folder tucked beneath his arm.

"I'm sorry, sir."

The President was not concerned with his apology. "I understand your feelings, Hal. There were compelling reasons for excluding you from the investigation."

"I'd be very interested in an explanation, sir."

"Security was paramount."

Alarms were going off inside Brognola's brain now, but he forged ahead. "You indicated that the problem touches Phoenix?"

"Intimately."

Hal made no attempt to mask his rising irritation. "Mr. President, I cannot hope to offer any meaningful advice if I am kept in ignorance."

"I didn't call you in to ask for your advice."

Brognola spread his hands. "Then, what?"

Behind his massive desk, the chief executive was scowling like a man beset with sudden pain. "I've got no stomach for this double talk and innuendo," he declared at last.

"I called you in because our information indicates that you are Mr. X."

Brognola felt as if someone had sucker-punched him, hard, below the heart. For just a moment he was stunned. The Oval Office seemed to shrink around him. His stomach did a sluggish barrel roll, and throbbing pain erupted in his temples, keeping perfect time with his accelerated pulse.