Dr. Albertson’s lips clamped close together. “Kincaid, I have not betrayed my president. Or my country.”

“And I haven’t said you have. Yet. Please let me continue.”

Albertson’s face was red and he was breathing noisily, but he held his tongue.

“There was at least one other possibility,” Ben continued. “Twice today I’ve watched Agent Zimmer bring the president his coffee.”

Over at the door, Agent Zimmer slowly removed his headset.

“And I get the impression it’s something he does fairly often. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just convenient, since he’s almost always around and not participating in the policy decisions. Maybe it’s a standard protocol to make sure no one else has the opportunity to tamper with it. At any rate, I’m sure I don’t have to explain to this august body how easy it would be to lace someone’s drink. Particularly something as strong as coffee. The harsh, bitter taste of hot black coffee could mask any number of additives.”

Zimmer cleared his throat. “I’ll step down pending a further investigation. Agent Gioia, you’re in charge.”

“I appreciate your cooperation,” Cartwright said, “but I’d just as soon you didn’t do anything. At least till we’ve got this thing figured out.” He turned back toward Ben. “You got anything more, or is that it?”

“Of course I’ve got more,” Ben said. “If I didn’t have more than that, I would’ve kept my mouth shut. I’m only speaking now because I figured it out-eventually. Took way too long, I know. But I didn’t pick up the key clue until a few minutes ago. When I saw something I never expected to see.”

“What’s with all the dramatic pauses?” Ruiz said. “Just get on with it!”

“Right, right,” Ben said, nodding. “Sorry. I’m used to being in the courtroom. Here’s the thing. I’ve theorized about the president being exposed to foreign substances in all the ways I just described. But so far as I could tell, none of them led to one of these episodes. But a few minutes ago, I saw the president taking something. And not ten minutes later he plunged into the latest irrational scene-while he was testifying.”

“What are you talking about?” Secretary Rybicki asked. “What did you see?”

Ben took a deep breath, then continued. “I saw the president smoking.”

Lips parted. Brows knitted. Sarie was shaking her head.

“It’s true. I was as shocked as anyone, because my wife reminded me earlier today that the president had given up smoking as a promise to his wife. No one wants to break a promise to his wife-or for her to know that he has. Which explains why he has been sneaking around so much lately. Seeking privacy-away from his wife.”

Ben took the general wordlessness as a good sign. They were all processing this new information, running it through their brains, trying to make all the pieces of the tangram fit together.

“I never meant to hurt anyone,” Kyler said softly. “I just… couldn’t quit.”

“You’re not the first person to have trouble giving up smoking,” Ben replied.

“If I had more time to focus on it, maybe,” Kyler added. “But I don’t.”

“Exactly. And you’re under enough stress already, without the added stress of trying to wean yourself off nicotine.” He turned toward Dr. Albertson. “This is what you meant when you referred to the president being under the added stress of giving up bad habits, isn’t it? You were talking about the difficulty he was having giving up this addictive substance. Nicotine.”

Dr. Albertson frowned. Ben knew he still wasn’t exactly on the doc’s top ten list. “I was aware he was having trouble with it, yes.”

“And this also explains why you kept ditching your security detail, doesn’t it?” he asked Kyler. “You’d sneak off for a cig in the little boys’ room or wherever. And that in turn would lead to another hallucinatory episode. So by the time Sarie found you, you would be in the midst of another crazy-seeming episode.”

Kyler looked up at him, his mouth gaping. “I never put the two together. I just thought… well, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I was afraid…” He hung his head down low.

“I can imagine your worries,” Ben said. “You were losing control of yourself-and you didn’t know why.”

“Speculation is all well and good, Kincaid,” Cartwright said. “Do you have any proof of this?”

“Not yet. But Mr. President-and yes, I am talking about President Kyler-can you loan me a cigarette?”

With considerable reluctance-and embarrassment-Kyler reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a cigarette.

Ben handed it to the doctor. “Dr. Albertson, could you examine this, please?”

“You trust me?”

“I do.”

Albertson opened his doctor’s bag and withdrew a small scalpel. He laid the cigarette on the black table and slowly cut it open.

The cigarette fell apart, spilling its contents. Ben saw lots of tobacco, a filter, and, when he looked closer, tiny white granules.

“Any idea what that is?” Ben asked.

Albertson touched a finger to a few of the granules, then touched it to his tongue. “Just an educated guess,” he answered. “But I’m thinking it’s LSD.”

The reaction in the bunker was electric.

“That’s lysergic acid diethylamide,” Albertson expounded. “A psychedelic derived from ergot, a grain fungus that grows on rye. It traditionally produces effects such as the extreme reduction of inhibitions, a sense of time distorting, and irrational reasoning.”

“In other words, exactly what President Kyler has been experiencing.”

“Yes. It’s normally ingested orally on an absorbent surface, such as a sugar cube or blotter paper. It can also be taken in liquid form. Inhaled as a crystal, like this, it would probably be less potent-but it would be enough to create the brief episodes the president has experienced.”

Kyler slowly rose to his feet. His face was as stony as granite, but Ben sensed lava boiling beneath that surface.

“I want to know who did this,” he said succinctly. “And I want to know now.”

“I think we all do,” Admiral Cartwright said. “Can you help us out here, Kincaid?”

“I can. Mr. President, where do you keep your cigarettes?”

“I have a silver cigarette tray-a gift from the British prime minister-that I keep tucked away in a desk drawer. I take a few out each morning and tuck them into my coat pocket.”

“Is the desk locked?”

“Not during the day.”

“So anyone with access to the Oval Office could have planted tainted cigarettes. Anyone in this room, to be blunt.”

“But why?”

“That’s a factor to consider, too,” Ben continued. “Because I don’t believe anyone would commit a crime of this magnitude for money. Or revenge, love, extortion, the desire to humiliate, or any of your traditional motives. It has to be politically motivated. Nothing else makes sense.”

“Someone wants us out of Kuraq. Badly,” Secretary Ruiz said.

“Or perhaps,” Ben said, “out of the Middle East altogether.”

Swinburne pressed a hand against his chest. “What are you saying? Are you accusing me of being the traitor? Is that what you’re saying?”

“You don’t have to speculate,” Ben said. “If I decide to accuse you, you’ll know it.”

“How about it, then?” Secretary Rybicki asked. “Do you know who it is?”

“I do,” Ben answered. “I’m surprised no one else has figured it out. I told you all a long time ago that we had a mole among us. I would’ve imagined everyone was trying to figure out who it was.”

“Frankly,” Cartwright said, “I thought you were just trying to stir up trouble. Playing typical lawyer games.”

“Well, then, your infantile prejudice against lawyers prevented you from stopping a potential national catastrophe. That might be worth remembering in the future.”

Cartwright looked appropriately chastised.

“Here’s the thing,” Ben explained. “Someone gave Colonel Zuko inside information. They told him the president was in the bunker, or was on his way there, and then later told him that the vice president was down here, too.”