Ruiz’s upper lip actually curled. “They don’t have fraternities at Oxford. But I suppose you wouldn’t know that.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I went to school in Oklahoma, where everyone has the sense to know that anyone crazy enough to seize control of our missile systems is a serious threat.”

“I know he’s a threat,” Ruiz said, cutting off Swinburne’s objection. “I just don’t believe the president is handling the threat in the right way. And to continue sending in troops when we can’t get him out of our computers is nuts!”

“Isn’t it possible that Zuko might back off when he sees our troops marching up his front lawn?”

“I think the U.S. East Coast will be gone before that happens.”

“That’s your prediction. I asked if it was possible.”

“Anything’s possible.”

“So it’s possible the president is right.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t ask what you think. I asked if it’s possible.”

“I suppose. Remotely possible. Very remotely. More remote than the Andromeda galaxy.”

“But possible.”

“Remotely.”

Well, at least he’d gotten that concession. If you could call it that. But there was still something nagging at the corners of Ben’s brain.

“Secretary Ruiz, didn’t we learn earlier that your relationship with Colonel Zuko is deeper than a mere college friendship? That he actually contributed to your first political campaign?”

Ruiz shrugged his shoulders. “It was a tiny contribution. Maybe five hundred dollars. I don’t really remember.”

“And he never contributed again to any subsequent campaign?”

“No.” He paused. “Colonel Zuko never contributed to any of my subsequent campaigns.”

Ben thought a moment. Something about the way Ruiz said it bothered him. Yes, he looked up and to the right as he said it. His good friend police detective Mike Morelli had told him once that that was the sure sign of someone who either had extreme attention deficit issues-or was lying. But Ben also noted the way he’d said it. He hadn’t used the pronoun he, as one normally would in response, since Ben had just used his name. Instead he’d said “Colonel Zuko never contributed”-as if he were making some sort of distinction in his own mind.

“Secretary Ruiz, did someone else make a contribution to your subsequent campaigns?”

Ruiz’s brow knitted. “I would guess something like several thousand people made contributions to my subsequent campaigns. What are you getting at?”

“I’m asking about contributions that may be relevant to this proceeding.”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

Ben thought for a moment. He felt certain he was close to something. He just wasn’t sure how to get there.

Beside him, he saw President Kyler tilting his head and making bug eyes. Was he having another episode? No, he was trying to tell Ben something.

And then he remembered Rybicki’s note.

“Secretary Ruiz, did you ever receive any contributions from… Apollo?”

As soon as he spoke the word, Ben saw Swinburne twitch a little. That was a good sign.

Ruiz leaned forward slightly, looking confused. Ben was pretty sure he wasn’t. “Apollo?”

“Yes. You know what it is, don’t you?”

Ruiz looked at Swinburne. Swinburne looked away. On your own, buddy.

“Are you… talking about the energy company?”

Ben took a shot. “Obviously.”

“Sure. I’ve heard of it. Hasn’t everyone?”

“And did they contribute to your campaigns?”

Ruiz acted nonchalant. “I… think they may have done so on occasion.”

“And what’s their connection to Colonel Zuko?”

“Is there one?”

Ben was getting tired of this cat-and-mouse game. “Yes, there is one, and I want you to stop wasting our time and tell the cabinet about it right now.”

Ben saw Swinburne twitch again. He was probably thinking about objecting but didn’t want to do so in a futile effort that might give the appearance he was trying to cover something up.

“I don’t know any of this firsthand.”

“Tell us what you do know, Secretary.”

“It’s my understanding that Apollo may have some drilling leases… in Kuraq.”

At long last. “And that would require the express consent and involvement of Colonel Zuko, right?”

“I suppose so. He pretty much runs the whole economy.”

“And if the colonel is removed from office, Apollo would lose those leases.”

“It’s possible.”

“So Apollo has a direct financial interest in the perpetuation of the colonel’s dirty little dictatorship.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. Because Apollo has you deep in its pockets.”

“Objection,” Swinburne said. “I don’t know what the technical ground would be, but that can’t be permissible.”

“I think the ground might be that it’s argumentative,” Cartwright suggested. “Or perhaps failure to ask a question.”

“Fine. I object because of those.”

“Objection granted. Mr. Kincaid, you’ve made your point. Save the rest for your closing.”

Sound advice, but Ben wasn’t ready to take it. “Secretary Ruiz, are you suggesting that your relationship with Apollo doesn’t have any impact on your reasoning?”

“Exactly.”

“Then why were you trying to cover it up?”

“I wasn’t!”

“Well, you certainly weren’t forthcoming.”

“I didn’t see what it had to do with the matter at hand. I still don’t!”

“Let me ask you a hypothetical question, Mr. Secretary. If you found out a member of your staff had been receiving money from a company with financial holdings in North Korea, would you send him out there to negotiate a nuclear arms treaty?”

“Of course not. But that’s totally-”

“So you admit that financial interests could potentially influence decision making?”

“No. I mean-sure, but I don’t-” He paused and took a deep breath to clear the befuddlement. “Look, just because Apollo contributed a little campaign money does not mean they own me.”

“So I guess you’ve never done a favor for someone who contributed to your campaign?”

“Well…”

“Of course you have. Probably everyone has. The question is, how do we know you’re not paying back a campaign contribution right now?”

Swinburne shouted his objection, but Ben plowed on ahead. “How do we know you’re not paying Apollo back by protecting their leases-by ensuring that Colonel Zuko remains in office?”

Cartwright banged on the table, Ruiz protested-and Ben kept right on going.

“How do we know you’re not trying to help out your buddies at Apollo-and the colonel-by eliminating his greatest threat, the president, and advocating the removal of our troops from Kuraq?”

Ruiz rose to his feet. “That’s preposterous!” he shouted. His words echoed through the tiny room. His face was red. “I would never do that. It’s just a contribution. It’s-”

“No more questions,” Ben said, turning away.

“But I’m not done,” Ruiz sputtered.

“Apparently you are,” Admiral Cartwright said. “Please step down.”

“But he’s accusing me-”

“We all heard it, Secretary. We don’t need a recap. Step down!”

Ruiz reluctantly tucked his head and left the witness chair. Ben wanted to lean over and give Secretary Rybicki a big kiss, but he restrained himself. If the man wanted to remain in the background, so be it. His intel had salvaged that cross-examination and, Ben hoped, given the cabinet members a reason to disregard Ruiz’s testimony.

But would that be enough to make them disregard the disturbing image of the president of the United States singing the theme from The Brady Bunch while the world was on the brink of disaster? That was another question altogether. And as long as they held that image in their heads, it would be hard not to vote him out of his office.