"There must be some mistake." It sounded lame, the desperate defense of an embezzler or adulterer confronted with his secret sin.

"As Chatsworth said, we have the tape, the stills. Your phone logs have been triple-checked."

A momentary sense of outrage kindled in his chest, extinguished instantly as Hal digested the apparent situation. It did not surprise him that his phone calls had been monitored, his movements filmed. He had been fingered as a mole, and SOP surveillance had been instituted automatically. He had helped to set the system up himself in the wake of the disastrous raid on Stony Man, and he could not complain if it had worked efficiently.

Except it hadn't worked. There was no proof of his complicity. There couldn't be.

The President had settled back into his chair, regarding Hal with mingled sadness and a sort of morbid curiosity.

"I thought we'd better talk it over one-on-one."

Brognola's mind was racing, searching for connections, links between this latest bombshell and the disappearance of his family. Discounting any possibility of mere coincidence, he sought some common thread between the two events.

"I can't respond to any charges without looking at the so-called evidence."

"You'll have that opportunity, of course."

"And the informant?"

"Will remain anonymous," the President replied. "For what it's worth, we don't know who the hell he is. There have been two communications, written, both unsigned. Both posted here in Washington."

"That's pretty thin."

"The letters won't be used as evidence. They put the wheels in motion, nothing more. Whatever Justice has collected came through channels, SOP."

"I see." Brognola was astounded by the sudden calm that settled over him, as if he were a mere observer to a drama that concerned some other life, some other idiot's career. "Is Justice moving for indictment?"